afraid of them.
Maybe it was the nasty looks on their faces.
“Who are those guys?” I asked.
Lacie didn’t answer. She didn’t have time.
One of the guys in black pointed at me.
“There he is!” he shouted.
“Get him!”
11
The two guys ran straight for me.
Who were they? I didn’t know.
But I didn’t stop to think. I jumped to my feet and ran as fast as I could.
I glanced back. Were they chasing me?
“Stop him!” one of them shouted.
Lacie stepped in front of them, blocking their path.
“Thanks, Lacie,” I whispered. I hurried out of the playground. I raced
through the strange neighborhood, trying to remember how to get home.
A few blocks from school I stopped to catch my breath.
No sign of the two guys. No sign of Lacie, either.
I hope she’s all right, I thought. They didn’t seem to want to hurt her.
They wanted to hurt me.
But why?
The day before, a bully had said he wanted to get me after school.
But today, in my new, weird world, I hadn’t seen him. Neither of the guys in
black was that bully.
Just two new bullies.
I’ve got to get help, I realized.
I don’t know what’s happening. But it’s all too much for me. And it’s too
frightening. I hardly know who I am.
I drifted through the streets until I finally found my way home. “Mom” and
“Dad” were out. The front door was locked. I climbed in through the kitchen
window.
My real mother was gone. My brother and sister and even my dog were gone.
But there must be someone else I know, I thought. Somebody, somewhere, who
can help me.
Maybe my real mom went somewhere else. Maybe she’s visiting relatives or
something.
I decided to try Aunt Margaret and Uncle Andy. I dialed Aunt Margaret’s
number.
A man answered the phone.
“Uncle Andy!” I cried. “It’s me, Matt!”
The voice said, “Who is this?”
“Matt!” I repeated. “Your nephew!”
“I don’t know any Matt,” the man said gruffly. “You must have dialed the
wrong number.”
“No—Uncle Andy, wait!” I shouted.
“My name isn’t Andy,” the man snarled. He hung up.
I stared at the phone, stunned. The man didn’t sound like Uncle Andy at all.
I guess I did dial wrong, I thought. I tried the number again.
“Hello?” It was the same man again.
This time I tried a new approach. “Is Andy Amsterdam there, please?”
“You again! There’s no Andy here, kid,” the man said. “Wrong number.”
He slammed the phone in my ear.
I tried not to panic. But my hands were shaking.
I dialed information. “What listing, please?” the operator asked.
“Andrew Amsterdam,” I said.
“Checking,” said the operator.
A minute later she said, “I’m sorry. We have no listing under that name.”
“Maybe if I spell it for you,” I insisted. “A-m-s—”
“I’ve already checked, sir. There’s no one listed under that name.”
“Could you try Margaret Amsterdam, then?”
“There’s no one named Amsterdam listed at all, sir.”
My heart started racing as I hung up. This can’t be happening, I thought. There must be somebody I know, somewhere!
I won’t give up. I’ll try my cousin Chris.
I called Chris’ number. Someone else answered.
It was as if Chris didn’t exist. Or Uncle Andy, or my mother, or anybody I
knew.
How could my whole family disappear?
The only person I knew was Lacie. But I couldn’t call her.
I didn’t know her last name.
The front door opened. The woman who called herself my mother bustled in,
carrying shopping bags.
“Matt, darling! What are you doing home in the middle of the day?”
“None of your beeswax,” I snapped.
“Matt! Don’t be so rude!” she scolded.
I shouldn’t have been rude to her, I guess. But what difference did it make?
She wasn’t my real mother, anyway.
My real mother had disappeared off the face of the earth.
I shuddered. I realized I was totally alone in the world.
I didn’t know anyone—not even my
Jodi Picoult, Jennifer Finney Boylan