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is so shiny it looks fake, like a prop from some old Western. His sleeves are rolled up neatly to show off his biceps, but his uneven, sandy mustache ruins the effect for me.
    But not for Kerry.
    “Hank, you’re a lifesaver!” A whiff of hair spray hits my nostrils as she sashays by to squeeze the sheriff’s bicep. You’d think he was rescuing her from cannibals.
    “Just doing my job.” He gives her an easy smile. “Let’s go, Elyse.” The sheriff’s hand feels intimidatingly large against my shoulder blades. “You are going to school if I have to handcuff you and drag you there.”
    “Why do you care more about my attendance record than my health?” I clench my teeth.
    “Elyse,” Dark-Eyed Boy repeats under his breath, and it dawns on me then. That’s what the sheriff just called me.
    I thought for sure when I heard my own name that I would know it . . . that it would sound right. Elyse doesn’t sound right at all. It’s girly, brittle. I hate it. It’s not me. I’m not an Elyse.
    I burst into tears.
    “I’m not named Elyse,” I manage to say between sobs. “And I’m not going to school. I don’t even know where the fucking school is. I just want to go home. But I don’t know where home is either.”
    Everyone stares at me, including Dark-Eyed Boy. First the invisible mommy incident and now a hysterical cry-fest—he must think I’m cracking up for sure. Then Kerry and the sheriff lock eyes.
    “Sounds like she forgot her own name,” he says, and nervously he peeks behind Kerry at the closed door to the clinic proper. “Aren’t we supposed to tell the—”
    “No, it’s not worth bothering him yet.” She lowers her voice. “We’ll wait and see if she gets better. Kids her age almost never get sent away.”
    Sent away where? My breathing’s gone rapid and shallow. What do these two know that we don’t? Dark-Eyed Boy moves to stand in front of me. He must be wondering the same thing I am: What happens if this doctor finds out we have amnesia? Is it some kind of crime around here?
    “She’s just having a moment,” Kerry says. “Just part of life. We all get them.”
    “Ain’t that the truth,” Sheriff Hank muses, rubbing his big chin. “Well, I wouldn’t want to waste the doctor’s time. I’ll take ’em both to Liz.” Who is this Liz? I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I’m scared now. “Get in the car, Elyse.” Once again he uses the name that doesn’t feel like mine. “Bring your new friend. We’re going home.”
    —
    I stare out the window, numb, as Sheriff Hank’s squad car barrels past the downtown building cluster and hangs a sharp right toward the hills. Hemlock and fir trees surround us, scenting the air green with their needles.
    Strapped into the backseat next to me, Dark-Eyed Boy reaches for my hand. I wipe mine on my skirt, clenching the fabric in my fist, before taking his.
    I lean toward him and whisper, “I’m nervous about meeting my own family.”
    “At least people recognize you,” he whispers back. “No one remembers me at all. It’s like . . . I never existed.”
    “You exist, believe me.” My life would suck even more without you.
    He looks me in the eyes. “I don’t even know my name.”
    “I think of you as Dark-Eyed Boy,” I say, blushing before the words are even out of my mouth.
    “Gonna have to take your word for it. I’ve never looked in a mirror.” He squeezes my hand before letting go. “Check that out.”
    I look up to see that the trees have given way to an amazing view. Pouring down the side of a green mountain capped with a shining white glacier is a waterfall. The drop is dramatic, more than a thousand feet down to the lake below. As we get closer the sounds of pounding water grow louder, and I can’t stop staring, turning my head to gaze at it even after we’ve driven past.
    There’s a turnoff ahead and a green sign with an arrow reading: “To E. Preston State Mental Health Facility, 5 miles.”