After we were done with the dishes, Dad called another family meeting.
“We’re returning to normal tomorrow,” he announced. “You two are going to school, and Mom and I are going to work. Obviously, if anyone tries to talk to you about what happened, you don’t say a word. And if anyone gives you any trouble in school, you go straight to the principal or the counselor. We talked to them earlier, and everyone’s on board with this plan.”
I was honestly relieved to hear we’d be leaving the fishbowl, even if it remained to be seen whether we’d have to wear smaller fishbowls to school.
Aidan didn’t look relieved at all. “I don’t want to go,” he said.
Dad chuckled. “As with any other normal morning, you don’t really have a choice, Aidan. You’re going to school.”
“I can’t go back there,” Aidan said.
And I realized: He wasn’t talking about just tomorrow. He was talking about never going back again.
Dad didn’t get it. He kept up his joking tone and said, “Look, if I have to go to work, you have to go to school. That’s the deal.”
But Mom shook her head. She understood what Aidan was really saying.
“You want to go to a new school?” she asked.
Aidan nodded.
Dad appeared dumbstruck. “Look, I know it’s rough, but—”
“It’s never going to stop,” Aidan said flatly. “We all know that.”
Mom didn’t miss a beat. “Is this about what happened?” she asked. “Or is this about before what happened? Has someone been giving you trouble at school?”
Aidan stood up from the table. “No. It’s not about that at all.”
“It’s okay,” Mom said carefully. “If that’s why you ran away—”
“I didn’t run away!” Aidan interrupted.
Dad slammed his hand down on the table. “Yes, you did. Let’s be very clear about that, Aidan. No matter where you went, you ran away. You weren’t kidnapped. Nobody forced you to leave. You left. Whether you stepped into another world or went to stay at a four-star hotel in Paris, it doesn’t matter—you left us high and dry. No word. No warning. No trace. So you are going to sit back down and you are going to listen to whatever your mother and I have to say, and when we are through, you will do your homework, and then tomorrow morning, you will go to school. If, as your mother is asking, there was something that happened at school that led you to run away, we’re all ears, and we will help you deal with it.”
“I told you,” Aidan said, sitting down, “there wasn’t anything wrong.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” Dad said.
Mom was staring at Dad, surprised. He never slammed his hand on the table or yelled. Now we all sat there, awkward. Dad had made Aidan stay for the rest of the conversation…but the conversation seemed over.
“It’ll be good to get back to a routine,” Mom said, but the sentence didn’t lead to any other sentences.
Finally, since I knew Aidan wouldn’t do it, I asked if we could be excused. Mom looked to Dad, and Dad said okay. He looked like he wanted to cry, or maybe yell again.
We left as quickly as we could.
34
The darkness of our bedroom, almost midnight.
“I didn’t think of it as running away,” Aidan said from his bed.
“Of course not,” I said from mine.
“I was just taking a look. It’s not like I thought I was going to stay.”
“How could you?”
I tried to picture it, right above our heads. The light coming through the doors of the dresser. Opening it up. Seeing the green sky.
If that had happened to me, I would have gone in too.
Or.
Wouldn’t I have come back downstairs first?
Wouldn’t I have woken up Aidan, made him take a look to make sure I wasn’t dreaming?
But Aidan had gone ahead without me.
“I wish you’d come to get me,” I mumbled, sleepy.
“I didn’t even think about it,” Aidan said. Not apologetic. But honest. “I just went.”
35
The next morning, Mom and Dad were taking the “normal routine” thing to heart. We had breakfast in our usual staggered way—me eating while Aidan showered, then me showering while Aidan ate. The radio on the counter was exhaling the news, and we weren’t mentioned. Dad left for the office ten minutes before we left for school. Mom was still driving us; that was the one thing that had changed. They were still worried about us walking to school.
Nobody mentioned the police, or unicorns, or storytelling.
The phone didn’t ring, but that didn’t mean people weren’t calling. We were just ignoring them for now.
* * *
—
This time when Glenn saw us arrive, he said, “Oh, wow—I didn’t think you’d show up today.”
“The classes in unicorn school were totally full, so I had to come back here,” Aidan replied.
It took a beat for Glenn to start laughing—like he had to be sure Aidan was joking first.
Aidan was getting the celebrity stares again. I could see the effort it was taking to ignore them; I hoped no one else could tell.
When we got to his locker, we found someone had put unicorn stickers all across it. Some had already been scraped off, but a few remained.
“Very clever,” Aidan commented. “So original.”
“Yeah, pretty dumb,” Glenn added.
Aidan got his books. My back was to the main entrance. So it was Glenn who saw the guy first. I noticed Glenn’s expression getting confused, then turned to find this man who clearly didn’t belong here. He wasn’t old, maybe a college student, maybe a little older. He had a piece of paper in his hand, and with a shiver I realized it was the missing poster with Aidan’s face on it.
“It’s you,” the guy said. “I found you again.”
Aidan looked up. I didn’t see any recognition in his eyes.
“Excuse me?” he said, tensing up.
“It’s me. Zeke. You were there too. We were there together.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aidan said.
The guy pushed forward, right next to him. Then he grabbed Aidan’s shoulder.