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
Ron’s a thin guy, a few years older than my dad, which puts him in his early fifties. His clothes are always rumpled, and his hair always looks like he was just out in a storm. But he’s not a slob. In fact, Ron speaks in a very precise, educated way, even more so than any of the other teachers in the school. He was born in Maryland, but he seems like a guy who came from another country, maybe even another time. He’s that well-mannered.
He pulls open the passenger door, letting in a cool gust of air, and slides into the seat. Once he’s in, he runs his hand through his hair. It makes no difference.
He slaps me on the knee. “Good to see you, Hunter. I’ve been reflecting on your situation a great deal. And it’s terrible. Just terrible.”
“Yes, it’s been kind of wild. Obviously. It’s scary just to leave the house.”
I’ve found it odd that Ron hasn’t reached out to me more often. He sent one get-well message after the accident, but other than that, nothing. He has to know he’s my favorite teacher. He knows he’s the guy I go out of my way to talk to every day.
It’s as if he reads my mind.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in better touch,” he says. “I went by the hospital the morning after the accident, but you were in no condition to have visitors. I imagine you were consumed with talking to the police. And I know how fraught that can be.”
“Yeah. I heard you came by.”
“I was also informed that you stopped by the office, but I’d come down with something wicked, and it kept me laid up for a few days. I’ve thought of you often—and Chloe, too, of course.”
“It’s been pretty terrible. I’m not sure... I guess I don’t know what to make of any of it. I don’t know who to trust. I can’t even trust my own mind.”
Ron nods as though he understands. “You’ve become the unreliable narrator of your own life.”
“I guess so.”
“And you really can’t remember anything from that night?” he asks.
“Nothing important.”
“I see.” He taps his fingers against his thigh. “I suppose it’s possible that if memories do come back, they may not be reliable, either. They might be some kind of false memories. Almost worthless.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Everything is a mess. And I’m sorry I used the Ex Libris YouTube channel to share those videos. I wanted to reach people in the school.”