Saving Red

  and say,

  “I can

  forgive you,

  Mom.

  I can

  forgive you

  right now.”

  Until Today

  Until

  this very minute actually,

  I was

  under the impression

  that when you forgave people

  you did it to make them feel better.

  Now I see that it works

  the other way around:

  forgiving people

  makes you feel better.

  Or maybe . . .

  Oh, I don’t know . . .

  Maybe it makes both of you

  feel better.

  When Mom and I

  Are done wiping our eyes

  and blowing our noses,

  we continue on

  to Cristo’s house.

  But it isn’t until we’ve ridden a few blocks,

  that I start to notice them—

  taped onto every tree

  and lamppost and empty wall:

  LOST DOG signs

  with Pixel’s photo on them.

  Beautifully made signs

  offering a $1000 reward,

  with both my parents’

  cell numbers listed.

  I’ve cried a zillion times already today.

  Why stop now?

  When We Get to Cristo’s

  And I step into his yard,

  I can’t help feeling

  a pang.

  I’d give anything to be able

  to call him right now and tell him all about

  how Operation Red turned out.

  But I guess

  that’s not exactly

  an option . . .

  Pixel and Sequoia are chasing

  each other around in such tight circles

  that it’s hard to tell who’s chasing who.

  Dad’s standing by the pool watching them,

  with a now-I’ve-seen-everything grin

  on his face.

  I busy myself filling

  Sequoia’s food and water bowls

  while Mom goes over to talk to Dad.

  I can tell by his serious expression

  that she’s filling him in

  on our conversation.

  When She’s Done

  He tries to hug her, but she pulls away.

  He smiles sadly, squares his shoulders,

  and marches over to me.

  He clears his throat

  and reaches for my hands.

  But I slip them into my pockets.

  “I owe you an apology too,” he says.

  “For letting you think, even for a minute,

  that Noah’s disappearance was your fault.”

  “You sure do,” I say. “You owe me an apology

  for that. And for your disappearing act, too.

  I mean, you haven’t exactly been around much . . .”

  “You’re absolutely right,” he says,

  looking straight into my eyes.

  And I can see that he really means it.

  “I realized something last night,” he continues,

  “when you called me and I didn’t even bother

  listening to your message till my meeting was over.

  I realized that I’ve been escaping

  into my work to hide from you and your mom.

  Because being around the two of you . . .

  Well . . . I guess it reminded me

  that Noah was gone.

  And I just couldn’t cope with it.

  I am so sorry for that, Molly. So very sorry . . .”

  His voice cracks when he says this.

  And something inside of me cracks, too.

  Then,

  I’m pulling my hands

  out of my pockets

  to take hold of his.

  While Sequoia Eats Her Dinner

  I sit with my parents on the lounge chair,

  Pixel curled in my lap,

  and tell them all about Red.

  When they ask me whose yard this is,

  I just tell them it belongs

  to a friend of hers.

  I don’t even mention Cristo.

  I need to keep that part

  of my life to myself.

  Besides,

  it would hurt too much

  to talk about him right now—

  about how

  it really seemed

  like he liked me.

  Until it didn’t.

  I Feel So Overwhelmed All of a Sudden

  I wish I could talk to Red about him.

  She’d understand . . .

  She’s only been gone a couple of hours,

  but I already miss her a ton.

  I guess I’ve been so obsessed

  with trying to get her back to her family

  that I didn’t even notice that, along the way

  somewhere, she’d become my best friend.

  Sure—

  she’s totally crazy.

  But that’s a big part of what makes her

  such fun to be with.

  And what makes her so . . .

  I don’t know . . .

  So weirdly wise

  about everything.

  I mean, if it weren’t for Red,

  I’d still be walking around hating myself,

  feeling like Noah’s disappearance

  was all my fault.

  Red saved me.

  My Battery’s Totally Dead

  So I have to borrow my dad’s phone

  to Google the hospital’s visiting hours.

  But it turns out

  I could see Red right now!

  My parents offer

  to drive me over.

  And we stop on the way so I can buy her

  some Skittles and Pringles and Silly Putty.

  I walk up to the desk in the lobby

  and tell the man I’m here to see Red.

  “I’m sorry,” he says

  with a sympathetic smile.

  “But she doesn’t want any visitors,

  and we have to respect her wishes.”

  Red doesn’t know anyone

  in Santa Monica but me.

  It’s me

  she doesn’t want to see.

  My throat closes up.

  Pixel nudges his nose into my palm.

  I leave my gifts on the counter

  and run back out of the hospital.

  I’m Not Going to Say

  That the week between

  Christmas and New Year’s Eve

  was a blissful cozy time spent

  with my deeply apologetic parents.

  I’m not going to say that a workaholic

  and a pothead, who are trying not

  to work and smoke for the first time

  in almost a year, are any fun to be around.

  Or that Mom suddenly decided

  to forgive Dad for ignoring her for so long

  and that they started acting all lovey-dovey.

  Because they definitely didn’t.

  I’m not going to say how selfless I was either—

  how I tended to my mom’s every need,

  brewing chamomile tea to calm her nerves,

  baking cookies to tempt her to eat.

  Because I haven’t been doing any of that.

  Though I did hide my dad’s cell phone

  and computer (at his request)

  for a couple of hours one afternoon.

  I’m not going to say

  that it didn’t demolish me

  whenever I had to go over

  and feed Cristo’s cat.

  Or that

  I finally stopped having

  those hideous nightmares

  about the coffin.

  Or that it didn’t hurt like hell

  when I called the hospital every day

  and every day I was told that Red

  wasn’t accept
ing any visitors.

  I’m not going to say

  any of that.

  Because if I did—

  I’d be lying.

  The Truth Is

  I really miss Red.

  I miss her more each day.

  I even sort of miss

  The Duke and Lana.

  (Though I don’t exactly like

  admitting that.)

  There are some days

  when I think I miss Cristo

  almost as much

  as I miss Red.

  And other days when I miss Red

  almost as much as I miss Noah.

  Or even a little more

  than I miss Noah.

  And when that happens

  I feel kind of guilty.

  Which makes me feel

  even worse.

  But When It Gets Real Bad

  I picture Red

  in the hospital,

  sitting in a sunny room,

  her mind becoming more and more clear,

  like a window someone’s washing

  with a squeegee.

  I picture

  her sanity returning to her

  like a long-lost friend.

  I picture her

  dancing out of the hospital

  into her family’s waiting arms

  and piling into a minivan with them

  for the long, pretty drive home

  along the coast up to San Francisco

  and how happy they all are

  to be together

  again.

  And though none of that

  makes me miss Red any less,

  it does dull the ache in my chest.

  And sometimes, picturing all of that

  sort of makes me feel like my heart’s

  too big to fit inside of me.

  Because it’s just so full.

  When I Wake Up on December 31st

  The first thing I notice

  is that I’m not drenched in sweat.

  I must not have had

  the coffin dream . . .

  Then Pixel pulls open my curtains,

  letting the sun stream in.

  I groan and yank the covers up

  over my head.

  I wish I could just stay in bed all day

  watching YouTube.

  If I could do that,

  maybe I wouldn’t have to face the fact

  that today

  is the first anniversary

  of my brother’s

  disappearance.

  And maybe I wouldn’t have to fall

  down the dark well of gloom

  that’s threatening

  to swallow me whole . . .

  But Sequoia needs to be fed.

  Even if her owner is a heartless jerk.

  So I drag myself out of bed, throw on

  some clothes, pop Pixel into the bike basket,

  and head over to Cristo’s.

  Halfway There

  While waiting

  at the corner of 4th and California

  for the light to change,

  I happen to glance off to the left

  and notice some kids selling lemonade

  at a stand down the block.

  Suddenly,

  I’m blinking back

  the tears.

  And even though

  the stand is a little bit out of my way,

  I ride straight over to it.

  I order two cups

  and guzzle them

  both down.

  Then I tell the kids

  it was the most delicious lemonade

  I ever drank.

  And before I head off again,

  I make sure to ask them

  for their recipe.

  I Pedal Through Palisades Park

  And cruise past the spot

  where Pixel ran toward Red and me

  like a beautiful white blur . . .

  Past the spot

  where I stood and watched

  as the ambulance carried her away . . .

  I think about Red.

  About how I couldn’t get her back

  to her family,

  but at least now they know

  she’s in the hospital, safe,

  and getting better every day . . .

  I think about my parents.

  And about the therapy session

  we all went to yesterday—

  about how the doctor said it might

  take us a while to realize that Noah’s

  disappearance wasn’t any of our faults, . . .

  and that if Mom and Dad were willing

  to work hard on their relationship,

  she was hopeful they could repair it . . .

  I think about

  everything that’s happened,

  and I wonder how it’s possible

  to feel so happy and so sad,

  so full and so empty,

  at the exact same time.

  Pixel looks up at me from his basket

  and cocks his head as if to say,

  “Life is a mysterious thing.”

  Then, just as I cross over Ocean Avenue

  and head up Adelaide Drive,

  my phone starts ringing.

  I reach into my pocket to fish it out

  and . . . oh my God—

  it’s Cristo!

  A Part of Me

  Is so pissed off at him,

  and so hurt,

  that I don’t even want to pick up.

  I just want

  to let it go straight

  to voice mail.

  But another part of me

  is practically dying to know

  what he has to say.

  And that’s

  the part

  that wins.

  When I Answer Cristo’s Call

  The first thing he tells me

  is how awesome it is to hear my voice.

  “Like in the literal sense of awesome,” he says,

  his own voice sounding kind of shaky.

  Then he tells me he’s incredibly sorry

  that he hasn’t been in touch,

  but that the morning after we last talked,

  his parents took him to upstate New York

  to visit his uncle Jeremy’s new cabin

  in the middle of nowhere.

  Only they accidentally on purpose

  forgot to tell Cristo that they’d be

  staying there for a whole week.

  And that his uncle’s cabin was off-grid—

  which meant that there was no Wi-Fi,

  no internet, not even a landline!

  So, basically, he’d been abducted.

  And when he demanded that

  they drive him somewhere with a signal

  so he could let me know what was going on,

  they said they were really sorry

  but that the nearest Wi-Fi

  was over two hours away

  and they just couldn’t do it.

  Then, finally, on the day they were

  supposed to be heading back to the city,

  there was a blizzard.

  And then Cristo’s voice cracks a little,

  and he tells me that he’s been

  totally freaking out because

  they weren’t able to dig themselves out

  and get back to civilization until . . .

  Well—until just this very minute.

  What I Know Now

  I know that when you think

  that the boy you like

  has stopped liking you,

  but then he calls you

  and you find out that he hasn’t

  stopped liking you at all

  and that maybe

  he likes you even more

  than you thought he did,

  that in fact

  he likes you a whole lot,

  not just a little bit,

  it makes

&nbs
p; you feel like

  a sparkler

  that’s just been lit.

  Then

  Cristo asks me

  how Pixel and Sequoia are,

  and what happened with Operation Red.

  And I fill him in on everything.

  “Whoa . . . ,” he says, when I tell him

  about Red being in the hospital.

  “You did an amazing thing for her, Molly.

  But I bet you really miss her.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

  And that’s when he tells me

  that he’ll be home tomorrow.

  Tomorrow!

  And that he’ll do his best to cheer me up.

  We make a plan to take a ride

  on the Ferris wheel at sunset on the pier.

  And then

  we just sit there for a while,

  listening to the sound of each other

  grinning ear to ear.

  I’m Still Not Sure If God Exists

  But

  I am sure

  that if he didn’t

  want people to feel

  the way I’m feeling

  right now,

  he wouldn’t

  have created

  hearts.

  It’s Almost Midnight

  I’m sitting between my parents

  on the couch in the family room,

  with Pixel

  snoozing in my lap,

  watching the celebration

  in Times Square.

  Just as the ball begins to make

  its slow-motion twinkly decent,

  Dad smiles at Mom and me

  and says, “Happy New Year, ladies.”

  Mom and I

  smile back at him.

  Then Mom takes hold of one of my hands

  and Dad takes hold of the other,

  like we’re three links

  in a chain.

  The Emcee Starts Counting Down

  Ten . . .

  nine . . .

  eight . . .

  seven . . .

  six . . .

  five . . .

  four . . .

  three . . .

  two . . .

  And that’s when

  my phone buzzes.

  I pull it out of my pocket,

  expecting to see a text from Cristo.

  But it’s not

  from Cristo.

  It’s from—

  Noah! Noah!

  And it’s just

  two words:

  I’m okay.

  Acknowledgments

  Many kind, patient, and generous people helped me write this book. Here are my heartfelt thank-yous: