Chapter I

I USED TO OBSESS OVERstories about missing girls.

The headlines were always so provocative. So irresistible. Like watching a car wreck in slow motion. Back then, I didn't think of the girls as actual people. Not living, breathing humans who had been tortured, pushed beyond their breaking points. That could never be me. Never. I'm ashamed to admit that a small, secret part of me was smug. I thought I was invincible.

But then, I learned. I learned that I didn't need shackles or chains to keep me bound. All I needed was four walls of pristine forest. And fear. The kind that festers and blisters, makes your limbs twitch. Yes. The best prisons are the ones created in our own minds.

When a child goes missing, the first forty-eight hours are crucial. Time is of the essence. Facts are cataloged and filed in a report. Where did the child go? Who did the child see? What was the child doing?

Let's make it easy. Here's the timeline of my abduction. This is what you probably already know.

The day started like any other. Around seven in the morning, India picked me up for school. I was in the kitchen, eating cereal standing up. A honk rippled through the neighborhood. I shoved one last heaping spoonful of colorful loops into my mouth.

Mom wandered into the kitchen. She looked sleepy and small, wearing one of Dad's sweatshirts and pajama pants dotted with Christmas wreaths. It was May. She leaned against the counter and palmed her head. The day before, she'd made me come to work with her. Then stay after closing while she drank with her friends. I had to drive us home because she'd been tipsy. She rubbed her face and narrowed her eyes at my bottom half. "Christ, Ellie."

I'd doodled on my jeans with a Sharpie—shooting stars, arrows piercing hearts, a human body with a horse head. "What?"

"What do you mean what? Those are brand-new jeans. I just bought them for you."

Mom was always worried about money. About how much things cost. How much I cost. Sometimes I wondered if I hated her. Which hurt to think of. Then I wondered if she hated me. Which hurt even more to think of. "I'll buy my own jeans next time." I also planned to buy a new phone. That's what started it all. A phone. My current phone was old and had about two hours of battery before dying. I'd inherited it from my mom. I was a girl who wanted something and would go to great lengths to get it.

She leaned against the counter. Right below the cabinet my dad busted a week ago. He'd been angry at me. "With what money? Ellie… you're missing the point."

Beep. Beeep. Beeeeep.

Mom covered her ears. "Christ," she said again. "Is that Danny? Please tell him to lay off the horn."

I rolled my eyes and dropped my bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter. Mom winced. The old porcelain sink was original to the house, and we broke more dishes in it than we washed. But the dish didn't break, and I remember thinking: my lucky day. I feel like a fucking idiot now.

I dashed from the kitchen, grabbing my backpack. "It's not Danny. It's India. I'm staying at her house tonight." The lie slipped easily off my tongue. I had something much bigger planned than sleeping over at India's. Bending the truth was a special talent of mine. Say anything with enough conviction, and you can even fool yourself. "Remember?" I challenged my mom. "I told you last night."

"Oh, right. I should probably meet her sometime. Send me her number, please?"

"Sure," I promised, leaving the kitchen.

"Be back early!" Mom shouted as I headed for the front door. "We're shopping tomorrow with Sam for maternity stuff."

India's horn blared again. "Yeah," I hollered over my shoulder, backpack in hand. "I can't wait." Mom kept shoving us together, Sam and me, hoping we'd become best friends. But we had nothing in common, most of all age. The problem was… I thought Sam treated me like a baby, and Sam thought I acted like a baby. The last time I'd seen Sam, she accused me of stealing her ID. I can't believe you'd even think I'd do something like that, I told her, spreading the indignation thick.

Sam had crossed her arms, resting them on her protruding belly. It was in my wallet when I came over last night, and now it's gone. It didn't just disappear, Ellie. Then she softened up. I won't tell Mom if you give it back, okay?

But I'd insisted I didn't have it.

Outside, India's hatchback idled at the curb. I dove in the front, shoving my backpack at my feet. David Bowie played on the speakers. India's white-blond hair practically glowed in the morning light. The inside of her car reeked—must, clove cigarettes, stale coffee. I flipped down the visor and applied eyeliner. We sped off, our smiles wide and contagious, so careless, so free, not knowing how little time I had left.

At 7:24, we arrived at school with one minute to spare. The morning hours blended together. Biology. English. Gym. I was present and accounted for in all my classes. Jeremy Davis, Lindsay Jackson, and Steven Laurier probably even remember slipping me twenties between periods.

At 12:09, I scarfed down a vending machine sandwich on the school steps. The words SAFE, RESPONSIBLE, AND RESPECTFUL stenciled in yellow on the risers. An arm caught me by the waist. Startled, I spun around.

"El."

There he was. Brown skinned, a boyish face, tender eyes, the kind that couldn't hide emotions very well. Dark shiny hair scraped his shoulders. Danny. Boyfriend. Best friend. Love of my life. Have you ever felt that way about someone? As if the two of you invented love?

Danny grinned at my half-gone sandwich. "Egg salad from a vending machine. Brave girl."

I lifted a shoulder. "I like to live on the edge."

"I know you do. How does it feel to be free again?"

Did I mention I'd been suspended the week before? For possession on school grounds. I had a tiny bit of weed in my locker. Not illegal in Washington. But I was underage. Cops were called. My parents had grounded me, which was why I'd been to work with my mom the previous day.

"Great." I gave Danny a salute. "I'm totally reformed. Ready to walk the straight and narrow."

"That sucks. I kind of have a thing for bad girls."

We kissed. Right in front of the school. The one-minute bell rang, and Danny and I broke apart. "You're still coming tonight, right?" I asked. I had a roll of twenties and my sister's ID burning a hole in my backpack.

Danny's lips twitched. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Yeah, I meant to tell you. I can't. I have to work at the restaurant tomorrow morning. I need to get some sleep. I have to be up early."

"Seriously?" I pushed out.

"C'mon, El."

"C'mon, D. It's important."

It wasn't, really. I wanted a new phone. I'd stolen Sam's ID and planned a motel party, charging kids twenty bucks to drink as much as they wanted. The scheme had good profit margins, enough for me to buy a refurbished phone. I wanted Danny to stay the night with me. There's that word again. Want. Was that the problem? Did I want too much? I think a lot about how all of what happened is my fault.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he said. The hall was clearing. Classroom doors slammed. Danny rested his forehead against mine. "I love you."

I didn't say the words back. Withholding love was a power play. I had a mean streak a mile wide.

Danny sighed. "Are we really going to fight about this?"

"Depends on you, I guess."

I frowned. He kissed the corner of my mouth. It was our last kiss. I wish I had known. I would have lingered against him. I would have held his hand a little tighter. I would have told him goodbye.

At 1:03, 2:30, and 2:55, a flurry of texts passed between Danny and me. The contents are embarrassing, but suffice it to say, I was trying to make my boyfriend feel like a piece of shit for working and skipping out on me. There are lots of moments I'm not proud of. This is one of them. But I was selfish. I was that girl—the one who persuaded other people, Danny in particular, to do things they shouldn't do. What I should have said was that I would miss him. I should have said never mind, it's a stupid idea. A phone isn't that important. Let's go to the movies instead. But I was stubborn. Selfish. Foolhardy.

By 3:07, I was late again, but it wasn't my fault this time. Our substitute English teacher held the whole class captive two minutes past the final bell to finish a poem about a snowman and a moor.

India waited for me in her car. We pulled out of the school parking lot right as the last bus left, around 3:20.

By 3:45, we were outside of Coldwell. I tapped out a text to my mom: REMEMBER, I'M STAYING AT INDIA'S TONIGHT. I included India's number. Then another to Danny: WILL GUNNER WILL BE THERE. It was a last-ditch effort to get Danny to come to the motel. I dated Will before Danny. He'd graduated the previous year and then gone to school on a partial baseball scholarship. He visited during breaks and frequently tried to hook back up with me.

"You want one?" India offered me her pack of clove cigarettes. I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. She shrugged, tapped one out, and held it in her teeth. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she lit the cigarette with the other, the maneuver oddly graceful. "Aw." She squeezed my thigh. "Cheer up, chickee. Danny will come around."

I'd told India everything. Except I'd left out the part about Danny working. And I'd added in a part about him being too tired. Maybe called him a pussy. So what if I'd cast myself in a more sympathetic light? Every story needs a villain. I checked my phone. No word from Danny. BE HOME EARLY TOMORROW MORNING, my mom had texted back. REMEMBER, IT'S SAM'S DAY.

India yawned, and I stuck my finger in her mouth. She swerved off the road and back on. Horns blared. A sedan whizzed past. India held her chest and laughed, righting the car.

We drove awhile, over a bridge and into Astoria while listening to a song about how the night can break your heart. India pulled over into the Riverbend Motel parking lot, right under their sign advertising hourly and nightly rates. "This good?"

"Perfect," I said.

India was already texting the address to people. She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "All right. Let's do this."

The night would be long, with many moving parts. I rented a room using Sam's ID, then India and I found a grocery store with a stocked liquor section, and I cleared the shelves. The bottles jiggled in plastic bags as I exited the store. India waited in the car behind the wheel.

"Hey," a woman called out to me. I stopped. She was pretty with long dark hair, an open face, big eyes angled down and cheeks stung red by the wind. "Do you think you could give me a hand?" She stood by her car door, a banged-up SUV, arms full of a baby carrier and grocery bag.

"Yeah, sure." I put my plastic bags down and opened the door for her.

"Thanks." She smiled brightly, clicking the car seat into the base and depositing the bag next to it. The baby made a little noise as she shut the door. Then she dug around in her purse. "Here," she said, offering me a five-dollar bill.

I put up my hands. "It's cool." Then I added. "My sister is having a baby." I don't know why I said it.

She smiled even wider, tucking the bill back into her wallet. "Well, congratulations."

I muttered a thanks and picked up my bags, scooting back to the car. India laughed and called me a Goody Two-Shoes. I cracked open a bottle of vodka and swigged it right there in the passenger seat.

At the motel, a man with small teeth loitered in the doorway of the room next to ours.

"You girls having a party?" He pressed a cigarette to his lips and inhaled. His fingernails were bitten down and bloody.

India straightened. "Just a few friends."

He whistled low and smiled. "Yeah, yeah. If it gets too crowded, you all can extend the festivities to my room."

India stuck out her hand for a shake. "India."

"Brett." He took her hand and looked at me.

"Ellie," I said.

"Ellie and India," he repeated. He flicked his cigarette away. "You girls make good choices." He went back to his room, and we fell into our own room in a fit of giggles.

"Fucking weirdo," India said.

It wasn't long before kids showed up. More money exchanged hands.

By 11:01, the party was in full swing, with forty kids crammed into our motel room. I sipped from a wine cooler and moved toward the bathroom. The door was shut. Will Gunner leaned against the wall. "Hey," he said. "Nick and Lindsay have been in there for twenty minutes. Pretty sure they're hooking up. Or puking. You want me to walk with you to the gas station? You could use the bathroom there. We could catch up." He licked his lips.

I huffed out a laugh, automatically smiling while I turned Will down. "No. It's cool. I'll go on my own."

I didn't think I needed to tell anyone where I was going. I felt certain I was safe. Untouchable. That I had forever.

I headed out. The night was cold and the air stung my lungs. Brett, our small-teethed motel neighbor, hung out in the open door of his room. "You making good choices?" He picked at his face. I hurried away, passing the vending machines with posted signs: ARE YOU A VICTIM OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING? CALL THIS TOLL-FREE NUMBER FOR HELP.

I have a hard time not blaming myself for what happened next. I wish I didn't. I wish this was not a cautionary tale about what happens to girls who wander off in the dark. Who are made to learn there are bad people everywhere. That the truth is these people are not strangers. They are the men who you sleep with, the men you work with, the men you raise. I wish this wasn't what it means to be female—it is not a matter of if something bad will happen, but when.