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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

That night, I go to the bathroom to take a shower, but instead, I walk over to the mirror and study the spots on my elbow that are now sprinkled down my forearm like breadcrumbs from Hansel and Gretel.

Except that Hansel and Gretel used the breadcrumbs like a map to find their way back home.

Whenever I have a problem, I like to retrace my steps, Gram said. Go back until I figure out where things started to go wrong.

My skin is kind of like a map, too. You know, the two-tone ones where continents are patches of green in the ocean of blue?

Except my map is a map of my differences. Every chalky island on my skin is another reason that I don’t fit in.

As I return to my bedroom, an owl hoots outside like it’s agreeing with me. I look over to where The World at the End of the Tunnel lies on the table next to the bed, untouched. I haven’t picked it up since last week.

Here is something I’m not proud of. That ball of anger that I felt in my stomach the other night? It hasn’t gone away.

I still miss Gram, but whenever I think about her now, the anger is there, too. I keep wondering why she bothered with all these fairy tales—“Hansel and Gretel” and the rest.

All stories have truth in them, darling Emma, I hear her remind me. Especially fairy tales.

But how can fairy tales be true when they all end the same way? Happily ever after.

That’s not how Gram’s story ended.

And why was it so important to her to make me believe in the charmed folk? In magic? If magic was real, then she could have used it to get better. But she didn’t. She died.

Gram lied to me.

Magic and fairy tales and happily-ever-afters—they’re all just make-believe.

I’m not like Hansel and Gretel. I can’t follow my spots back to a happy ending. I can’t retrace my steps to who I used to be. Because it’s not just the outside of me that’s changing. With every new spot I get, I feel further away from Emma, and more and more like someone I don’t know.

So what’s going to happen if my patches keep spreading and spreading?

I look down at my moonlit skin. I imagine someone taking an eraser to me and rubbing and rubbing until there is nothing left of Emma at all.

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The village girl had been right. Ivy’s shadow had gone. No matter how many ways she turned beneath the winter sun, she could not get it to return.

Next to disappear were her feet. Two days later, she bent to pick up a dropped spoon, only to find that her toes had begun to flicker like the dying flames in the hearth.