Chapters (53)
- Front Cover
- Letter from the Author
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- • One •
- • Two •
- • Three •
- • Four •
- • Five •
- • Six •
- • Seven •
- • Eight •
- • Nine •
- • Ten •
- • Eleven •
- • Twelve •
- • Thirteen •
- • Fourteen •
- • Fifteen •
- • Sixteen •
- • Seventeen •
- • Eighteen •
- • Nineteen •
- • Twenty •
- • Twenty-One •
- • Twenty-Two •
- • Twenty-Three •
- • Twenty-Four •
- • Twenty-Five •
- • Twenty-Six •
- • Twenty-Seven •
- • Twenty-Eight •
- • Twenty-Nine •
- • Thirty •
- • Thirty-One •
- • Thirty-Two •
- • Thirty-Three •
- • Thirty-Four •
- • Thirty-Five •
- • Thirty-Six •
- • Thirty-Seven •
- • Thirty-Eight •
- • ∞ •
- • Thirty-Nine •
- • Forty •
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Excerpt from Be Dazzled
- One
- Two
- About the Author
- Back Cover
Amity Regional High was an old beast, summoned from bricks and concrete in 1923 and then barnacled with new additions as the town’s population rose. Kane and his father sat in a rental car in the school driveway, watching the mist rise in the morning breeze. It looked suspiciously idyllic.
His dad inched them closer to the doors, killing the engine and throwing Kane a look of grim resignation before asking, “You’re sure about this?”
No.
“Yes,” Kane said.
“Your mother said just yesterday you were begging not to go back. She talked to the principal. You’re allowed to take another week at home.”
“No, I want to go back.”
No one knew about the photos he’d found; therefore, no one in Kane’s family understood his overnight enthusiasm for returning to school, least of all his dad. The two shared a love of avoidance that was practically hereditary in the Montgomery men. Kane hid in the lush worlds of fantasy; his father dwelled in the sparse dimension of architectural drawings. Kane used to imagine them hanging out in that dimension, perched atop translucent buildings made of frost-blue lines and panes of papery whiteness.
“Earth to kiddo.”
“What?”
“Do you know him?”
His dad pointed at a boy who had just materialized on the school steps. Kane hadn’t even seen him walk by.
Why do parents think their kids know every other kid? Then he realized: if he knew this person, would he even remember? He took a closer look. The boy was staring at the car. Really staring. The clean light of morning lay over a face of brown skin and sharp angles, illuminating two gray-green eyes.
Like sea foam, Kane thought.
The boy must have been deep in thought; tension lined his jaw and neck. Distance yawned in those eyes.
“Don’t know him,” Kane said. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Kane hurried his dad into the office, where they had to fill out a bunch of paperwork ensuring that Kane was approved to return to school. Or something. He only half listened, unable to stop looking down the hallway, his heart jumping every time someone crossed his periphery.
“Nurse’s office next,” his dad said, squinting at some forms.
Kane brought him there, losing himself in murky dread as he thought of the photos. He had them in his backpack, ready for when he ran into Ursula and could confront her. He was rehearsing what he’d say. You know me. You knew me. He was replaying their conversation on the path over and over. You told me where to look. You knew.
Amid a discussion with the nurses about medications, Kane found that he was absolutely furious. The joy of finding out that he had a friend was totally eclipsed by the realization that she had let him believe he was all alone, giving him only a riddle to work out for himself.