Wendy pushed back from the table and stood up. She made for the front door, but her father’s arm shot out, a finger pointing at her. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

Everyone was staring at her again.

She crossed her arms, trying to hide her shaking hands. “Jordan’s,” Wendy croaked.

His eyes bored into hers. “Don’t go anywhere else.” Wendy nodded and sprinted out the door.

She wanted to get away and get to Jordan. She was the only one Wendy could go to. Jordan never doubted or questioned her. She listened to what Wendy said and believed her, unlike everyone else in town.

“Wendy, you okay?”

The sudden voice made her jump. She turned to see her neighbor, Donald Davies, picking up his newspaper from his front porch in a dark red robe. He was a tall and slender man who only wore flannel shirts in various shades of red plaid when he wasn’t in a business suit. He had curly brown hair and a thick, dark beard. Mr. Davies and her dad worked at the same bank. Wendy had been babysitting his boys—ten-year-old Joel and seven-year-old Matthew—for years. He always gave her a big tip, and whenever she tried to give it back, Mr. Davies insisted she use it for her college fund.

“Mr. Davies, hi,” Wendy said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She glanced down at the newspaper in his hand. Ashley Ford’s picture smiled at her from the front page.

“Is everything okay?” Mr. Davies repeated, stepping down from his porch. Wendy could only imagine how she looked. Probably like she had just seen a ghost. Mr. Davies looked pale and his eyes kept cutting over to the police car parked in front of their house. He squeezed the newspaper in his hands.

Wendy forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, already starting toward the Arroyos’ house again. “I’ve gotta go, though—I’m late to meet Jordan.”

Mr. Davies blinked. Wendy was usually very neighborly and would stop and chat with him if she had the time, but right now she didn’t have the energy for it.

Her mind buzzed. She needed everything to slow down so her head could catch up. Her own skin felt suffocating. She wanted out. She wanted to run away. She didn’t want to be met with more stares and whispers when she went into town. She didn’t want to pretend she was fine.

But Wendy refused to let herself cry. It had taken so long to board everything up the last time. Wendy didn’t think she could manage it again.

The six months between running off into the woods and being found were just a black void in her mind. When she was in the hospital, the doctors had tried to get her to press against it, to poke and prod and see if she could remember anything, but she couldn’t.