CHAPTER 22

“Where’s Ruby?” I ask.

She ignores me.

“Jamie!” she says, running past me to throw her arms around him. He does not seem to mind.

“Hey, Angela!” he says.

Ruby talks about a roommate named Angela. I guess this is her.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie!” she says.

I walk in. There’s a big window on the far wall of the room. In between me and it are two beds, two desks, two shelving units, two suitcases, and a wall-to-wall carpet of clothes and garbage. My sis has always been a slob, and it seems that Angela is one too.

Ruby’s not here, which makes me feel a little gulpy until I recognize one of her socks. I’m standing beside it. It’s black, with white groups of tally marks like the ones prisoners scratch on cell walls. I gave the socks to her for Christmas last year. Count of Monte Cristo socks. She laughed.

Where’s the other one?

Angela is showing Jamie something on her phone. He stares at it, then at me.

“Hey, Gus, watch this,” he says.

“Where’s Ruby?” I ask.

“Oh, do you know Ruby?” says Angela.

“No, I’m just asking random questions. What’s your favourite team sport? Isn’t this crazy weather we’re having? If you had a choice of superpower, would you rather be invisible or fast or strong? Do you think a driver’s licence is an asset when you’re looking for a part-time job? Of course I know Ruby. Where is she?”

Angela steps back. I guess I sound mean.

“Sorry. It’s been a stressful day.”

I drop my eyes to the floor, taking inventory. Brown sports bag. Empty coffee cup. Striped sweatpants. Yellow hoodie. Another empty coffee cup. Sweater with buttons … what are they called again? Box of I don’t know. Black hoodie. Coffee maker. Another coffee cup. Paperback with a picture of a scared woman on the cover. Stuffed blue backpack.

Where is that other Count of Monte Cristo sock?

“No, seriously, Gus, watch this.”

Jamie holds his girlfriend’s phone so I can see it. (It’s 2:44; I can’t help checking the time.) It’s a video of a stretcher on wheels, rolling down a city street. Me, of course, but you can’t see my face. Whoever took the video followed me for a full block. They caught the end of my ride, where Jamie stopped me. There’s a close-up of Jamie’s face as the car with the phone went through the intersection past us. The comment under the video is all caps: RUNAWAY STRETCHER! HERO ON LONGBOARD!

The video is fifteen seconds long. It’s kind of cool, watching myself. It’s also enough to make me sick and weak all over again, thinking again about how much trouble I was in.

“How did you get this?” Jamie asks Angela.

“Cailey’s friend reposted it, then she sent it to me and told me to look out for you — and there you were. Look at the views! My boyfriend is famous!” She gives him another hug and smooch.

“May I?” I take the phone (2:46) and watch the video again. Lele!

In less than an hour, the video has 5,589 views. There’s another — 5,590 — and a comment (Wow!) from someone. I agree.

I hand back the phone. I don’t want to have to start counting the views.

“What happened next?” Angela asks Jamie. “Did the cops show up? Did someone call 9-1-1?”

“Uh,” he says. And points to me.

“Oh, are you the one who called 9-1-1?” she asks me. “Jamie doesn’t have a phone. Isn’t that weird, not to have a phone? He’s like a cave dweller. I’m glad you called. The poor guy on the stretcher never moves. It’s like he’s frozen. Flapping hair, staring eyes. That’s all you see. So glad you were there to call. That poor guy on the stretcher, eh? What a random thing to happen. So … do you live nearby? Is that why you’re here?”

I don’t know where to start, so Jamie explains that I’m the victim on the video, and I’m also Ruby’s brother. Angela’s jaw falls open, then continues to drop lower and lower as the information sinks in.

“Wait —” she says. “But —” she says, and again, “Wait.”

She plays the video again. I watch. There’s my stretcher. The wheels are so small. The road goes past so fast. The scene is terrifying to relive.

Now 5,612 views.

“That’s you?” she says.

Her phone buzzes. She walks away to check it. Jamie brings his eyebrows down and concentrates on me, like I’m a math problem and he’s solving me. Or like I’m a fashion model.

I hold my arms out and spin around.

“This hoodie is straight from Paris,” I say. “All cotton all the time. Sizes XXS to XXXL.”

“Ruby’s right about you,” he says.

Angela comes back to say that Ruby is on her way. “She knows you’re here,” she tells me.

I flop on a bare mattress with a smile on my face. Ruby’s coming. I still feel bad for worrying her. But I’ll be able to apologize soon.

Angela throws handfuls of clothes into a big green garbage bag. Jamie closes it with a twist-tie, and they start on another one. I start to see bits of the floor.

I can’t help thinking about how impossible it is to get away with anything. Whatever you get up to — no matter how ridiculous or faraway — someone with a phone will see you and the world will find out all about it a few minutes later. Rolling down the road, falling into the ocean, anything! Sheesh! It makes you want to live in Antarctica or Lithuania or someplace.

(I don’t know why I picked Lithuania — it’s just a distant country I don’t know anything about. Which would be true of a lot of places. Namibia or Uruguay, for instance. Or Armenia. Or Filographia, which I just made up. Sorry, Lithuania.)

My insides swell like balloons. Talk about your heart in your mouth — my stomach is in my throat, my kidneys are somewhere near my eardrums and my lungs are bursting out of my butt. I don’t know what I feel. I’m a rainbow, a kaleidoscope, a box of crayons. I’m relieved and excited and happy, but also overwhelmed and anxious and puzzled and who knows what else. I’m everything. Because I’ll see Ruby soon.

Angela and Jamie fill three garbage bags and head out for a snack. Angela pauses in the doorway. She fiddles with her phone, aims it to panorama across the room. I wave.

Now that the floor is clearer, I can see the other Count of Monte Cristo sock. I get off the bed. Bent over, with my back to the door, I am surprised to hear a familiar voice from behind me.

“Gus?”

I whirl around. You are not going to believe who’s there.