Who I'm Not (2 page)

I don't know how long it was before I was sitting on a plastic lawn chair in an office, and this guy who said his name was Josh was talking to me. By then, I was wide awake and more. I could've felt a mosquito flying in the next room. I'd met lots of Joshes before, back in the Bad Time, and usually in offices like this. Only difference was, my feet didn't always reach the ground then.

“Frank,” he said, “you understand I'm not police? You're at Youth Services—it's a shelter. My job is to protect you. You've had a crazy time today. All I'm here to do is help.” He gave me a business card. It was my day for cards.

I stuffed it in my pocket and nodded. Harley was dead, but I wasn't feeling that, only how the room was throbbing with Bad Time vibes. I was fighting down the panic, panting. Whenever Harley had been really pissed with me, especially when I was younger, all he'd had to say was
You want to go back to the Bad Time
? and I'd cave, instantly. No matter what, I
never
wanted to go back to the Bad Time. My memories of it had gotten all hazy and jumbled, but that just made it scarier, like something changing shape in the shadows. All I wanted was to get out of here, even if all I had was five bucks and bad ID.

Josh slung one leg up onto the mess on his desk. His shoes were black Converse high tops. His short-sleeved shirt was all rumply.
Trust me
cool. He leaned back in his chair, but he kept his eyes locked on me. They were dark. Behind him, his computer screen still glowed; he'd been typing when they brought me in. Above his shoulder, I could just make out
CASE MANAGEMENT STRATEGIES
. I knew all about case-management strategies—the story of my life. Somewhere, a file about me was full of them. He said, “Is there anybody you want to call, or want me to call?”

I shook my head. “No, it's okay. I should just go.” My voice wobbled.

Josh pressed his lips together. “Well, Frank, the question is, where to? According to your ID, you're fifteen, which makes you a minor. And from Michigan. Have you got family here in Tucson? Friends?”

“Oh sure,” I said. “There's the Ludwigs, and the McLeods, the Lombards. And the Alvierezes, they live really close. You don't have to call or anything. I can just walk.”

I stood up fast. It made me dizzy.

“Frank,” Josh said gently, “chill.”

I sat back down, shoving my hands in my pockets so he wouldn't see them tremble. I was wearing Gap cargo shorts to go with the preppy-rich-kid look. They made my legs look skinny, which probably made me seem even smaller and younger than I was. I didn't know if that was good or bad.

Josh said, “The cops told me about the IDs in the van, with a lot of other stuff. A bag full of pin machines, et cetera. You want to tell me anything else?”

“I told
them
. I didn't even
know
that guy. I was just passing, like everybody else.”

Josh nodded. He took his leg off his desk and put his elbows on it instead. Then he cupped his face in his hands and looked at me some more. He scratched under his chin; he was one of those guys with the three-day-beard look. I'd probably like that look if I could do it. Then he said, “The cops said you were running the key game.”

I wrinkled up my face. “What's the key game?”

Josh just shrugged, his chin still in his hands. “Something the cops think you were doing. Not my problem. I hope not yours, but they're probably going to want to talk to you about it. Me, I'm not asking. My job is to get you somewhere safe. To do that, I have to know who you are. So, who are you, Frank?”

And there it was. The Question. I looked straight back at him. “I dunno,” I said. It was true, but that didn't matter. They never believe you when you tell the truth.

Sure enough, Josh let that hang, still watching me. After a minute, he said, “Okay. Listen, you're weirded out. Who wouldn't be? Why don't you take a little time?” He stood up. He was tall and skinny. His rumply shirt was hanging out, too short. “I'm gonna get a coffee. You want anything to eat or drink?”

I shook my head. My heart was pounding in my ears.

“Cool,” he said. “Change your mind, I'll be out front. Take a break; chill for a while. You want to use the phone or anything, go ahead. Remember, I'm supposed to help, not hassle. If there's some place you need to get back to, some way I can help you go forward…” He shrugged, cocked his head and gave me a half smile. Then he walked out and closed the door.

I hunched in the chair. Harley was dead. The Bad Time was all around me. For a minute I couldn't move at all. Joshes didn't move you forward, they sent you around in circles. I wasn't going back. I was going to get out of here, no matter what. I stood up. The office opened into the front room, so I couldn't walk out. No outside windows either.

What would Harley do?
I pulled my hands out of my pockets. My armpits went cold in the air-conditioning. There were sweat circles under the arms of my Tommy shirt. I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists. Something was crumpled in my hand: Josh's card and the one from the guy at the health club.

I tossed them on the mess on the desk. Everybody had a name. I'd had lots of them. I needed another, one that would at least buy me some time and maybe some distance, far enough away from here to figure out what I should do next. A name to save me from the Bad Time.

What would Harley do?
There was a bulletin board with a No Smoking sticker and posters of missing kids pinned up; a map of North America was stuck to the wall above the shelves. Papers, binders, dirty mugs…Josh was a slob. Even his computer monitor was messed up with those little yellow sticky notes. The screen had gone dark. I went around the desk to the computer and jiggled the mouse. The screen brightened.
CASE MANAGEMENT STRATEGIES
. Josh had forgotten to log out.

It was my first break all day. I sat down and took another deep breath. I minimized the screen and opened a new browser window. All I needed now was something to search for. What? A name? Who? What would get me out of here? I swiveled in Josh's chair. Binders, the map, a bulletin board with pictures of runaway kids. I swiveled back to the computer.
Report due Tuesday
, said one sticky note.
Ellen B'day
, said another. Some phone numbers, then a bunch of stickies all down one side of the monitor.
Houston/G
,
A/Grand Rapids Mi?De./Pomona Ca
and, at the bottom,
Ch Connect KC Mo
. My knees started bouncing. All at once I knew what Harley would do.

I typed
Missing Children
and looked again at the map, far from Arizona. Ontario was the first place I saw, up north in Canada. I remembered Ontario, California. One time a couple years back, Harley and I had made a big score there with an accident-insurance scam. I'd had to wear one of those white padded collar things for a week, but Harley had said it was more than worth it. Maybe Ontario, Canada, would be lucky too. I typed it in and hit the Enter key.

In the front room, voices rose and fell. The whole time I was online, I was scared someone would come in to check on me. No one did, though, and after about half an hour I had three possibles. In the end I picked the kid who had been gone the longest time, three years. He'd been twelve then. Where was I when I was twelve? I didn't want to remember. I memorized this kid instead. I'm good at memorizing—Harley made sure I was. He used to make me play memory games as we drove.

Then I checked out where the kid was from on Earth Eye and memorized that too. I didn't know if they had funny accents or talked a different language up in Canada. It didn't matter. All I needed to do was get everyone confused long enough for me to get away. I clicked back through the screens, closing them as I went, cleared the history and got out from behind the desk. While I waited for the monitor to go dark, I stuck the business cards back in my pocket. Names can come in handy.

The monitor blanked. Harley was gone. I was on my own. I walked out into the front room. Josh was slouched in a chair, holding a Starbucks tall cup, laughing about something with two hardcore-looking girls. He turned and saw me.

I waited a heartbeat. I said, “My name is Danny.”

“Hey, later,” Josh said to the girls. He stood up, tossing the cup at the wastebasket. Then he walked toward me.

THREE

My name is Danny Dellomondo. I was born November 9, 1994. I am short and slim, with curly black hair, a long nose and a cocky, wise-guy kind of smile. My eyes used to be gray-green. I had a mole on my right shoulder blade, a scar on my right calf where I got cut by a wire fence when I was little. I'm right-handed. I like honey-garlic wings, cookie dough ice cream, Medal of Honor
on PlayStation, metal bands,
Star Wars
and mirrored aviator sunglasses. I toe out when I walk. I use the word
sucker
a lot. My mother is Carleen. My older half brother is Tyson and my older half sister is Shannon. I live at 1787 Coach House Road, Grafton, Ontario, K2R 3P5.

I disappeared the afternoon of Tuesday, April 27, 2006, when I didn't take the school bus home and hung out with friends instead. About 5:30 I phoned Tyson on a friend's cell and asked for a ride. Carleen was supposed to take me to the mall that night and I was scared she'd be mad and change her mind if I was late. Tyson said no. I started walking. I was wearing a black rapper's toque with a little brim turned to one side, a blue puffy vest, a black Slayer jersey, baggy jeans slung low over Simpsons boxers, and gray Vans skate shoes. I was carrying a purple and black backpack with
Led Zeppelin
written on one side in marker. I had a gold chain with a letter
D
on it around my neck. At the corner of Dairy Street and County Road Two, my friends went one way and I went the other. That was the last time anyone saw me.

Until yesterday in Tucson, Arizona.

I stood in the washroom, staring into the mirror, running over the sketchy line I'd fed Josh about being kidnapped and held captive.

My biggest problem when I'm snowing a mark is that I get carried away. I say too much. I'm probably saying too much right now. Anyway, this time I'd done my best to keep it simple, even if it sounded stupid. I'd tried to follow Harley's rules:
No details, no confusion
and
It's not what you say, it's how you say it
. So I made it too awful for me to talk about—I stopped and started and shrugged and looked away, like I'd done all those times in all those principals' offices back in the Bad Time.

I only got fancy once, because parts of Danny's description didn't match me. That came after I said I'd woken up in a place with barred windows where everyone spoke a different language. I whispered, “I…just…they…they did something to my eyes. With a needle. It hurt. Now they're brown.” I twisted my leg around. “And I had this mark on my leg where I cut it when I was little. They took it off too.” Could you do that stuff? I didn't know. I think it was all in a spy story I'd read in some crummy motel where they didn't have cable. Did it matter?
It's not what you say, it's how you say it.

“Why did they do that?” Josh had asked, still leaning back, watching.

I'd hugged my elbows, as if I was cold. “They said that way…no one would believe…and they wanted…me to…us to…look…uh…certain ways…for…”

Josh's Conversed foot came down off the desk. “There were more kids?”

“Yeah.”

“How many?”

I hugged myself harder and rocked back and forth. “I don't know. They changed.”

He gave a low half whistle–half whisper. Then he said, “I know it's hard to trust anyone, but the main thing you have to remember is that you're safe here.”

I'd kept my head down. I heard him swing his chair to his darkened computer monitor. “I understand how tough this is for you. Let me do some checking.”

Bingo.

I'd figured it would take Josh a couple of days to check things out. That would have given me time to figure out how to steal some coin and duck out of there before it all came apart. It didn't happen that way. About three hours later, I was staring at a piece of pizza while the suppertime news blared on a TV outside Josh's office. I was listening for something about Harley when Josh came in and said, “We've reached your family, Danny. They're on the phone. You think you can talk to them?”

I'd freaked, but I couldn't show it. Part of me knew I should say no and stall for time, but part of me said I had to go for it, that this was a test, almost. Maybe it was the way Josh was so fake relaxed about it. His voice and his slouch said
it's cool
, but his eyes were locked on mine again, and they seemed extra dark. I nodded. He picked up a cordless phone from its cradle on the desk and punched a button on it. “Yes, ma'am,” he said into it. “I have him here with me now, and he's willing to speak with you. Hold on, please.”

He'd held the phone out to me, then raised his eyebrows and mouthed,
Your sister, okay?
I nodded again and lifted the phone to my ear, making sure to wrap my hand around the mouthpiece to muffle my voice, the way I'd seen Harley do it a million times. “Hello?”

A woman's voice quavered, “Danny?”

At least they spoke English in Canada. What else could I do? I mumbled, “Yeah. Is that Shan—” Right there, I'd lost it. It was too crazy. My mouth had gone dry and the rest of her name disappeared. I felt Josh's eyes boring into me. I figured I'd blown it.

There was a gasp on the other end of the line. Then the voice said, “It's Shan, Danny, it's Shan.” Then I heard muffled voices, urgent-sounding, almost like an argument.

Another voice had come on then, this one razorsharp. “Who is this?”

I'd wrapped my hand tighter around the receiver and turned away from Josh. I went with it; I had no choice. “It's Danny. I—I want to come home.” Why not? In a way it was even true.