Dead to You Read Online Free

stare out the window at the two vehicles along the road. Blake pushes the box toward me. I look at it. Look at him. We wait in uncomfortable silence for his waffles to pop up.
    “Look,” I say finally, feeling like our conversation from last night needs to be finished. “I don’t know why I went with them. I don’t really remember anything about any of it, or my life before, you know? She messed with my head. A lot.”
    Blake shifts on his feet and doesn’t acknowledge me. It’s quiet again.
    The toaster pops up and we both jump. He puts the waffles on a plate and pours syrup on them.
    I put mine in and press the lever. “So, I’m sorry,” I say. “If I just went with them, if that’s what happened . . . I’m really sorry.”
    Blake swallows hard. I can see his little baby Adam’s apple move in his neck. He goes to the table. “Yeah, I know,” he says quietly. “I mean, it totally wrecked everything here.”
    “What was it like?” I try to sound simply interested, but my legs are shaking from the anxiety—as much as Mama wants to know where I’ve been, I want to know what happened here, after. I control my face so he doesn’t see how badly I want it.
    “A disaster.” Blake takes a bite. He chews, and then shoves the plate away and stands. Scowls, like he’s trying to decide something, and then looks at the clock. “I gotta get to the bus stop.” He wipes his mouth on a napkin. “Dad?” he calls out. “Am I just supposed to ignore the reporters, or what?”
    I turn away, groaning inside. Wipe my hand over my face, trying to smooth the stress away. I just want to know. Is that so much?
    Dad doesn’t answer, so Blake walks down the hallway to the bathroom and bedroom. I hear them talking, and then Blake returns with his backpack. He nods when he passes me, like he’s the older brother and I’m the younger one. Like he knows I want information and he’s punishing me.
    I know I’m paranoid. I am. “Don’t talk to them,” I say. Another TV news truck pulls up.
    “Whatever,” Blake says. I hear the door to the mudroom opening, the sound of boots, the outer door creaking and slamming shut. From the little window over the sink I see reporters get out of their vehicles and rush toward the house, and Blake heading for the bus stop. He moves faster. Dad flies through the kitchen to the mudroom, hair still wet and buttoning his shirt. He gets into his coat and boots and I see him jogging through the Minnesota snow, talking to the reporters, protecting Blake. One of the reporters is trying to talk to some of the kids at the bus stop, but he moves back to our driveway when Dad comes out.
    Blake makes it to the four-way stop right out front, where the small group of what looks like middle and high school kids stand, waiting for the bus. He walks up to a couple of shorter guys and I watch them all goof around, stealing glances at the reporters. There are girls there too. One of the taller girls, with a red coat, her black hair shooting down her back, stares at Blake, and then looks sharply at our house, into the window, almost like she’s looking straight through me. But then she looks away when the bus pulls up. I take a bite of my waffle and wonder if I should know any of them. If I ever played with them. I feel so empty, so . . . nothing. I wonder if Blake will tell them about me.
    When I see Mama’s car coming around the corner, I rinse my plate in the sink and then go to take my shower. Thinking and thinking about how much more strained all of this is than I expected.
    It’s been such a long time. The big hunks of life aren’t going to come back just like that, no matter how much I want them to.

CHAPTER 8
     
    After my shower, I slip past Mama on the phone and head to the basement wearing a pair of my dad’s sweatpants, safety-pinned to keep them up, and a flannel button-down shirt. Upstairs, the phone doesn’t stop ringing. Mama is blabbering excitedly about me, one call to the next. On one