Then You Were Gone Read Online Free PDF

vent of a Mexican bakery. I stop in, buy a big pink cookie and a Coke (old Dakota ritual), then glance out the window. The hill to D’s house is twisty and steep. A long residential road that intersects with the eastern stretch of Sunset Boulevard.
    Shoving half the cookie in my mouth, I exit the shop. To my left: two Korean markets, a clothing co-op, and a fruit juice stand. To my right: a ninety-nine-cent store. I finish my treat, dust my fingers on my tights, then start the climb.
    When I reach the top, I’m breathless and hunched over, hands on knees, staring. There it is: two stories, pink, flat roof, clay tile. I’m dizzy with kid memories: sleepovers, prank calls, brownie binges, dance numbers. I try to see inside, butthe house looks dead. Where’s Emmett? Do I do this? Do I dare ring the bell?
    Slam.
    I whip around. It’s Julian Boyd, walking away from a battered blue Datsun. “What’re you doing here?” he asks, incredulous, as if he’s just discovered me hiding at the bottom of his laundry hamper.
    “I—what am I doing here?” I’m sweaty from the climb and suddenly embarrassed. I pull my sweater away from my tacky body. “Why are you here?”
    His chest deflates. He looks past me, at the house. “Don’t know.”
    We’re quiet. My eyes dart between the car and his face. The car, clearly not a VW Bug. I turn so we’re standing side by side, our faces forward. I say, “I’m Adrienne Knox.”
    “I know who you are.”
    An unexpected kick, he knows me . I look down at my feet, tangled up in an overgrown mess of crispy lawn. “Anyone home?” I ask.
    Julian unwraps a single slice of foiled gum. “No,” he says, not offering me any. “No one’s home.”
    •    •    •
    For dinner, Sam makes spaghetti Bolognese with ground turkey instead of beef. We line our bowls up—one, two, three—on the mosaic coffee table in the den. We curl upin love seats. We twirl pasta and watch the six o’clock news. Sam kisses Mom. I feel cozy and—not happy exactly, but almost-happy, because for three seconds I’m able to forget Dakota. And heartbroken Julian Boyd. I’m home safe. Sam’s Bolognese rocks. Mom looks flushed and pretty. But then straight from the sky falls this shitty commotion:
    “Turn it up!” Sam’s screaming. Mom’s kneeling in front of the TV screen, pumping the volume.
    “Early this morning, a body, believed to be that of missing fifteen-year-old Cassidy Chang, was discovered along the shoreline not far from the Santa Monica Pier. The Los Angeles teen disappeared late last month after an argument with a family member. Amber King reports.”
    My head swings to Sam, who looks super stiff and alert. My legs tingle. Then back to school photos of Cassidy as they flash across the screen. She’s wearing stripes. She’s grinning. More talk of suicide. Of dental records. Another photo: cheek to cheek with a fluffy puppy.
    “This past week, another local teen, Dakota Webb—member of the popular SoCal band Dark Star—went missing. Her abandoned Jeep was found in the same beach parking lot where Chang’s Ford sedan was discovered late last month. Police are investigating a possible connection.”
    Mom quickly switches stations. She lands on an insipid sitcom rerun with a laugh track that strikes me as mockingand dark. She grabs my chin with her free hand. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
    The pit in my belly deepens. Any momentary peace I thought I’d found has now completely vanished.
    “Nothing’s changed,” Sam insists.
    “I know that,” I bluff. I look back at the TV.

15.
    The waiting room is windowless. There’s a side table made of fake wood, a minifridge, a coffeemaker, and a faux-silver serving platter with stacks of powdered creamer and saccharin packets.
    “Ms. Knox.”
    Officer Walsh shakes my hand and leads me through a cubicle labyrinth to a messy desk by a wall of filmy windows. “Have a seat.” He rolls a chair my way, sits with a heavy thud. “Thanks