Gia Cribbs - The Disappearance Of Sloane Sullivan

“Plus,” Jason said, “your first and last name start with the same sound. That cancels out the fact you think it doesn’t count.”

When Jason smiled, I couldn’t help but smile back. An obsession with both Superman and Spider-Man when we were little made him believe that anyone with first and last names that started with the same sound could really be a superhero in disguise.

Livie made a dismissive noise. “Of course they’ll count Sullivan. My last name’s Dawson and they let me in.”

“Dawson’s a first name,” Sawyer insisted. “What about Dawson’s Creek ?”

“It’s a fictional first name,” Livie said. “Have you ever met a real person named Dawson?”

Sawyer laughed. “Some of us like having a first name based on a fictional character, right, Sloane?”

I turned to Sawyer. “How’d you know my name is based on a fictional character?”

He shrugged. “The only Sloane I’ve heard of before is from that movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off .”

My skin tingled as the very first time I had to pick a name—the time I’d accidentally started naming myself after fictional characters—popped into my head.

My dad spun in a circle, his eyes bouncing around the room without ever landing on anything, like he was in a daze. “What else?” He wrung his hands together. “Underwear. Did you pack underwear?”

My gaze darted to two burly guys in suits huddled between my twin bed and the desk Jason helped paint blue and purple. They were mumbling to each other, oblivious to the underwear comment. I studied the tiny duffel bag on top of my flower bedspread. “Yes.”

“We really need to get going,” one man insisted, examining his watch.

Dad nodded. He leaned toward me, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead. “Pick the thing you want to bring as your personal item, okay? I’m going to go pack a few things for Mom.” He rushed out of the room, leaving me with strangers.

The two guys by the desk glanced at each other, then followed Dad into the hall.

“What do you want your name to be?”

I jumped. I hadn’t heard the third guy, who’d been keeping watch by my window, sneak up on me. He smelled sweaty and I swallowed hard, trying not to throw up again.

“Well?” he prompted in his thick Jersey accent.

I balled my shaking hands into fists and blinked uncomprehendingly in his direction. Over his shoulder, I spotted Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland sitting on my bookshelf. “Alice,” I muttered. Because that was how I felt: like I was falling down a rabbit hole.

It was easier the second time, even though I was still terrified.

Mark turned off the TV and knelt in front of me. Something about his cologne calmed my pounding heart. I took a deep breath. The spicy scent was so much better than the stale-smelling lumpy couch I was lying on.

“I know it’s only been three weeks, but we need to move again,” he said in a soothing voice. “So you’re going to have to pick a new name.”

I gazed over his shoulder at Dad, who was leaning against the cramped motel room wall. His dyed brown hair was matted to his head and his brown eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he gave me a slight nod of encouragement.

I closed my eyes and imagined who I wanted to be. Because anyone had to be better than the broken girl Alice was.

“Beth,” I whispered. I’d just started reading Little Women and Beth’s character was described as living in a happy world of her own. That’s just what I needed.

“Hmm.” Mark rubbed his chin. “You picked Alice from the Wonderland book, right?”

I nodded, surprised he knew that. He hadn’t been in my room that day.

“Did you know Lewis Carroll based that character on a real girl named Alice Liddell?”

I sat up. “No.”

“What if we use Beth Liddell?” He stood. “It’ll be our little secret, the connection between your names.”

A hint of a smile formed on my lips. “Okay.”

And even though I soon found out Beth ended up dying in Little Women , that was how the tradition was born. I picked the first name and Mark picked the last. I went alphabetically, because it helped me remember what letter my name started with every time we moved, and he chose something related to my prior first name. Which was simple, given it always came from a book or movie or song. It gave me an easy answer when someone asked about my name. Because, like Sawyer, someone always asked. It was the one constant I found everywhere we went: people were curious.

I’d been Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web , Elise from The Cure’s “A Letter to Elise,” and Jenny from Forrest Gump . And now Sloane from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off . Hey, it was on TV when I was picking. And who wouldn’t want to be the girl having a fun ditch day with her boyfriend?

I nodded at Sawyer. “You guessed it—I’m named after Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend. And you—” I tapped a finger against my lip “—must be named after Tom Sawyer.”

Sawyer’s mouth dropped open in offense. “No. I’m named after Sawyer from the TV show Lost .”

I snickered. “That show wasn’t on TV yet when we were born.”

Jason chuckled.

“Busted,” Livie sang.

Sawyer blushed. “Okay, fine. I thought it would go over better with the ladies if I was named after a sensitive bad boy rather than some kid in a boring old book.”

I placed a hand over my heart. “I happen to like that boring old book. And if your ladies can’t figure out how to Google when a TV show first aired, maybe you need to find some smarter ones.”

Sawyer gave me a lazy smile as his eyes roamed up and down my body. “Maybe I should.”

Livie’s eyes danced. “It’s going to be so entertaining to watch you crash and burn again.”

Sawyer glared at her.

Dial it back, Sloane. Blend in. Be forgettable. Start asking them the questions. “So,” I said, “what other senior stuff is coming up?”

Sawyer wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Prom.”

“Career day,” Livie added.

“The senior trip,” Jason said.

Livie gasped and released Jason’s arm to point at me. “You and I can room together! This is perfect!”

Good God, how far is she going to take this First Day Buddy thing? “What’s the senior trip?”

Jason straightened a stack of napkins on his tray. “It’s a school tradition that all seniors take an overnight field trip to Charleston the last weekend in April. Everyone goes. We visit Fort Sumter and tour the city and eat good food.”

“And people smuggle alcohol along and party in their hotel rooms,” Sawyer said.

Jason shot him a pointed look. “But not too much alcohol, right?”

“What?” Sawyer’s voice was a little too innocent.

“Last time you drank, you got pissed someone beat you at cards and punched a hole in the drywall in your basement.” Livie shook her head. “I know you haven’t forgotten being grounded for a month.”

“Whatever,” Sawyer muttered. A blush crept up his neck.

Livie turned back to me. “So what do you think?”

School traditions and parties and alcohol were all things I tended to stay away from. Plus, I wasn’t sure how Mark would react to an overnight field trip. But a tiny flutter of excitement ran through me. Because traveling, actually going to a new place just to sightsee and hang out and not have to change names to do it, sounded amazing. “Is it too late for me to sign up?”