Read Online The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer - Free Book Online Page A

their mouths together.
    Her mind was ridiculous . She could barely bring herself to say hi when she saw him in the halls, not very likely that she’d be leaping on him.
    But what about that drastic action ? Was now the time?
    If not now, when? She was always putting it off. Her belly lurched, and then she hurled herself—or so it seemed to 94

    her—across the space between them. “Uh, hey, Ethan,”
    she said. And it came out timidly, softly, as if she didn’t mean it. He didn’t turn, did nothing to show that he had even heard her. “Ethan,” she said in a desperately cheerful voice. “How’s it going?”
    “Uh, what?” He banged his locker shut, and he turned to look at her.
    “How’s it going?” she said again, with a terrified smile.
    “Oh. Good,” he said. “Yeah, good.”
    Gathering herself, she said, “What about that history test? Mean, wasn’t it?”
    “Whew!” He blew air out through his mouth.
    “Magruder knows how to k-k-k- kill us.”
    “I know. It’s true, so true.”
    “I don’t know how I did. Maybe I did okay.” His eyes were light blue. “I like that h-h-h-history stuff.”
    “Yeah,” she said, “me, too.” And then running the sentences together, as if they were one thought, “He’s a good teacher I’m Beauty Herbert.”
    He nodded. “I know.”
    Did he mean he knew Mr. Magruder was a good teacher? Or did he mean he knew her name? That was it—he knew her name. Of course he did. Everyone knew 95

    everyone in this school. Still, wasn’t it amazing? He knew her name! All this raced through her mind and what came out of her mouth, as if it were a brilliant new truth, was:
    “And you’re Ethan Boswell.”
    “I am.”
    “I sound like an idiot,” she said. “I’m scared. Sorry.
    Sorry! I want to ask you something.”
    “Scared? Scared of me?”
    “Uh-huh. Worse, now that I’ve confessed.”
    “I guess I can be pretty s-s-s-scary.”
    “No, no, it’s not—I didn’t mean—I—uh—” At this last groaning sound that she made, she shook her head in despair and closed her eyes and prayed and said, “Can we just pretend I never said anything? Go away, Ethan. Don’t look at me. Forget I ever opened my mouth and said such stupid, idiotic things. Good-bye. Are you gone ? ”
    She pressed her lips together and opened her eyes. He was still there. He was watching her. He hadn’t run away.
    He was waiting.
    Hot. It was suddenly so hot. She wanted to tear off her sweater, tear off all her clothes. They were looking at each other, and she had the impression that they were speaking without words, that they were telling each other some-96

    thing important. People pushed by. Shouts. Lockers slamming. It was all far away.
    “So . . . what was it?” he asked.
    “What was what?” She was dazed by the look they had just shared.
    “What you wanted t-t-t- to ask me.”
    “What I wanted to ask you?” She sucked in air. “Oh.
    Okay. Can I buy you a coffee? After school. I mean I’ll drink some, too. I mean, I won’t drink yours. Oh, Lord. I should just shoot myself. Or cut out my tongue.”
    “Okay,” he said.
    “Okay, I should shoot myself? Or okay, I can buy you a coffee?”
    “No. And then yes.”
    “No, and then yes,” she repeated. “Right.” She adjusted her backpack on her shoulders. “Do you want to meet outside or—”
    “Outside,” he said. He nodded several times. His hair flopped over his eyes. “Yeah. Outside.”
    The bell rang. They parted. She had calculus next. She somehow got through the rest of the day, wondering all the while if she had dreamed that conversation, imagined it, like imagining herself leaping on him. But, no, she had 97

    done it. Taken drastic action. And he was going to meet her. Hooray , she wanted to shout then. Hooray! Hooray for me. But at once she began to believe she had cornered him—she had!—and he had said yes because it was the easy thing to do. Anyway, can I buy you a coffee —what kind of invitation was