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Back How to Disappear Completely Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. About the Author
  57. Back Ad
  58. About the Publisher

E: Eager for this day to be over

M: Missing Gram so much

M: Might have something wrong with my skin

A: Anxious about my appointment on Friday

After me goes Edie. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath, like she’s about to read some great work of art.

“E: Eloquent

D: Determined

I: Intelligent

E: Entertaining.”

I roll my eyes. Edie might not be an airhead, but she is definitely full of herself. While the rest of the class shares their acrostics, I write a new one in the margin of my notebook, shielding it with my arm so no one can see.

E: Egotistical

D: Disagreeable

I: Irritating

E: Evil

Okay, so maybe evil is a little bit dramatic. But I couldn’t think of anything better for the last E. Next to it, I draw a devil face with long, stick-straight hair. As I’m putting on the finishing touches, I look up to see Ms. Singh staring at me. It’s funny how some teachers know how to scold you without using any words, like a superpower or something.

I put my pencil down and mouth, “Sorry.” I like Ms. Singh—I don’t want to get on her bad side. At least there’s no way she could have seen what I was writing.

Once the whole class is done sharing, it’s time to go. As I reach back to grab my satchel, I bump my desk, and my pencil rolls onto the floor. I lean down at the same time that Fina reaches for it.

“Oh, here you go,” she says, grabbing hold of it first.

“Oh, thanks,” I reply.

“Um,” she says. She’s looking past me.

I turn to follow her gaze, and to my horror see Edie leaning over her desk, staring at my notebook. I slam my arms down on top of it, but not before her cheeks go past red to an “icebox plum” shade of purple. Then she stands up and walks out of class without another word.

But I have a feeling I haven’t heard the last of this from Edie.

In fact, I have just thought of a much better word for the last E in her name.

Enemy.

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When I get home that afternoon, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing her reading glasses and typing away on her laptop. She glances up as I trudge in and drop Gram’s bag. There are circles under her eyes that match mine, which is weird. Usually even when Mom is stressed, she doesn’t look it.

“How was your first day?” she asks, turning on her potential-new-client smile.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure? I got you a treat.” She pushes forward a plate of double chocolate cookies from my favorite bakery in town.