The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die by April Henry

burden. She has a lot of pride.”
    â€œBut … homeless?” It still seems like such a huge thing.
    â€œIt’s not all bag ladies. There’s lots of kids who get thrown out, or who have to leave, or who think it will be an adventure. The adventure lasts about a day. There are kids who go to my school who live in cars. There are people who brush their teeth and comb their hair in public bathrooms before they go to work pumping gas.”
    â€œSo … how did it happen to you? What happened to your family?”
    â€œIt’s not important.” He looks away. His lips press into a firm line, then he turns back to me and they relax. “Let’s talk about your family instead. Didn’t you say you had a picture of them?”
    I pull the backpack onto my lap and take out the framed photo. “I took this from the cabin. I think this is my family because that’s obviously me.” I tap my face. “But that’s all I know. And it’s not like you can tell anything by looking at it. Just four people in a snapshot.”
    â€œWait a minute.” Ty points at something in the background. “What’s that?”

 
    CHAPTER 22
    DAY 2, 9:32 A.M.
    Â 
    Ty’s not pointing at anyone in the photo but rather at something behind us.
    I haven’t really looked at the background until now. But the four people—the two adults who must be my parents, the little kid who I guess is my brother, and the girl I’m beginning to recognize as me—are all standing in front of a brick building. The sign reads MULTNOMAH ACADEMY OF —and then it’s cut off by the man’s shoulder. My dad’s shoulder.
    â€œThat must be where I go to school,” I say. And it feels as if another piece of the puzzle snicks into place, or nearly does, which I’m starting to think is about as good as it gets.
    â€œMultnomah must mean Multnomah County,” Ty says. “Which means Portland.”
    â€œSo then what am I doing out here in Bend?”
    Ty shrugs. “Didn’t you say that place where you woke up looked like a vacation cabin? Maybe your family was out here for a weekend and something went wrong.”
    Then where’s my family? Why was the ransacked cabin empty except for me and the two men? I just nod, tracing my finger over the figures of the mom, the dad, the little boy. Will I ever touch my family in real life? If I had gone deeper into the woods instead of out of them, gone to the place where Michael Brenner was dragging me, would I have found them sprawled on pine needles, with bullet holes between their eyes? If I never remember them and they’re already dead—as I am beginning to fear they must be—will it be as if they were never alive?
    Ty touches my hand. “I should go back and get my car. Then we could drive over to Portland and see if someone there knows what happened. Maybe your family’s even there.”
    â€œYou can’t go back, Ty. It’s not safe. If they tracked Brenner’s phone to the mall and then to your apartment complex, it won’t be long before they figure out that you’re the one who has both things in common.”
    Ty opens his mouth to argue, then closes it when he sees my expression. Despite the men hunting me, despite my missing fingernails, I think this whole thing is still a game to him. Crowding into closets like kids playing hide-and-seek. He never heard Brenner’s breath hitching as he lay so still on the ground. He never saw Officer Dillow’s face when I pointed the gun at him.
    Dillow’s gun is now digging into my stomach. At this moment, I might be the only girl in America with a gun in her waistband and a coffee mug cradled in her hands.
    Ty takes a last sip and then looks at the clock on the wall. “We could probably leave now and get to the library just as it opens. I’ll make sure the street’s clear.” He gets to his feet and