Chapters (95)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Video #1
- 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
- Video #2
- 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
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Video #3
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- The Final Video
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Cover
Olivia laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard, and even Dad, who usually refuses to act like little kids are funny, manages a small smile. The story strikes me as pointless.
“I’m going to do my homework,” I say.
“There’s ice cream,” Dad says. “Vanilla and pistachio.”
“Oh,” Olivia says, “I kind of demolished the vanilla yesterday.”
“I bought more on my way home,” Dad says. “Besides, we all know Hunter’s favorite is pistachio.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “Maybe later.”
“Are you feeling sick?” he asks. “Your head? Haley said you hit the ground pretty hard at Basher’s house.”
“That really isn’t bothering me much. Hardly at all.”
Dad’s worried about me. He’s held off on a lecture about the trespassing charge. He knows every dead end means we’re further away from finding Chloe. And every dead end means I look guiltier and guiltier.
So he tolerates my moodiness and lets me go to my room.
But what do I do there? I’m sick of homework. Sick of studying and never getting to talk about any of the things I’ve read. Sick of emailing my work in and then getting emails back from my teachers. I don’t feel very motivated to write college essays, either.
I sit in front of my computer and open Daniel’s movie, skipping ahead to where the homecoming footage starts.
Chloe.
Even though I’ve seen it so many times—backward and forward—her image fascinates me. We talk. Argue? We get into the car and drive off, knowing that only minutes remain before the mystery begins. There’s a break in the filming like the camera was turned off. And then it comes right back on.
Again and again, I watch.
My brain feels locked and unable to look away.
Again and again. The same thing. After that break, I always stop before that second car comes up behind us. Maybe that car means nothing. Maybe it was just some kids who grew bored with the dance and wanted to get high or drunk or just get the fuck away from the smothering crowds in the gym. Maybe it was someone not connected to us at all. An Uber driver turning around. An old guy out for an evening drive. A teacher leaving his or her office.
The chair squeaks as I lean back. Thinking. The movie continues to play. The other car pulls out and then... Daniel cut the film poorly here. It’s a rough cut, but everywhere else his cuts were precise and smooth. He seems to have the tech side of things down, but he still needs help with his storytelling. But this is the only weird cut.