Video #1
I push the red record button.
I’ve never made a video like this, never tried to talk so openly to strangers. Icy sweat trickles down my back. I don’t know what to say or how to begin.
My face beams back at me, pale and thin from the time I spent in the hospital. I wear a small white bandage on my forehead, and I’m still feeling the effects of the concussion. Bright lights make me wince like a vampire exposed to the sun. If I move too quickly, I get nauseated, and my ears won’t stop ringing.
It’s time to talk. My phone is recording, and I can’t just sit here staring.
I almost turn it off—shut it down.
But I need to talk. I need to get this out.
“Hi,” I say, before realizing how simple that sounds. “My name is Hunter Gifford. I’m seventeen years old. A senior. I don’t know, maybe a lot of you already know who I am. I guess everything that happened has been in the news. That’s why I’ve stopped looking at my phone. Or talking to anybody. Or maybe they’ve stopped talking to me. I’m not really sure. But it has the same effect. Normally, I like to write things down to make sense of my life, but I haven’t been able to write since the accident. I just stare at the blank page and nothing comes out. So I decided to give this a try.”
I clear my throat and watch the red light. My face looks even whiter than when the video started…if that’s possible.
I remind myself to keep talking.
“I’m making this video because of all the things that happened that night. Because of the accident. And because my girlfriend, Chloe Summers, hasn’t been seen since then. A whole week ago. She was in the car that night, but no one has seen or heard from her since. I guess I should back up. I think she was in the car that night. She should have been. We’ve been dating. We went to homecoming together.” I try to swallow again, but I can’t produce any spit. “We went everywhere together. So I assume we left the dance together, but I don’t know for sure. Because of the accident, and what happened to my head…”
I see myself point to the bandage. My movements look awkward, but I don’t want to stop and start over. If I stop, I may not start again.
“I don’t remember the accident. I don’t remember much of that night. There are holes—blind spots I just can’t see. And that means I don’t know what caused the accident. Or what happened to Chloe. The police told me we drove into a tree in Dad’s Charger, and somehow I ended up at the hospital. The truth is, no one even knows how I got there. The police think a Good Samaritan found me dazed, wandering on the side of the road, and dropped me off. But Chloe was gone. Everything she had with her—her purse, her
phone, even her shoes—was still in the car. But no Chloe. Gone without a trace. That’s what they keep saying on the news.”
My mouth is dry, and my lips look like cracked pottery, but I need to finish.
“So I’m hoping someone out there knows what happened. To Chloe, I mean. Everyone is worried. Her parents. Her friends. Her teachers. Me. If you know, just call the police. Or message me. Or tell a teacher or somebody. Because she’s somewhere, right? And she might be hurt. She might not remember anything just like I don’t. And she’s probably scared or confused or cold or completely out of her mind.”
The next part makes me nervous. I’ve thought about leaving it out. It’s really personal. Everyone thinks people my age just spill everything all over social media, but I’m not like that.
But it feels right. It does.
“And, Chloe, if you’re seeing this…well, I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t remember. I really don’t. But I remember that I love you.” I pause. I don’t even try to swallow because I can’t. “And I want to know where you are and that you’re safe. I just want to know that more than anything. Even if you don’t want to see me or date me, I need to know you’re safe.”
I take a deep breath. The red light blinks back at me.
I should probably smile. My whole life, people have told me to smile more. Smile when I have my picture taken, and smile when I meet a stranger. But I don’t like smiling that way because it feels weird and fake.
My skin feels itchy, my limbs stiff. I don’t want to smile, but I want to look concerned.
phone, even her shoes—was still in the car. But no Chloe. Gone without a trace. That’s what they keep saying on the news.”
My mouth is dry, and my lips look like cracked pottery, but I need to finish.
“So I’m hoping someone out there knows what happened. To Chloe, I mean. Everyone is worried. Her parents. Her friends. Her teachers. Me. If you know, just call the police. Or message me. Or tell a teacher or somebody. Because she’s somewhere, right? And she might be hurt. She might not remember anything just like I don’t. And she’s probably scared or confused or cold or completely out of her mind.”
The next part makes me nervous. I’ve thought about leaving it out. It’s really personal. Everyone thinks people my age just spill everything all over social media, but I’m not like that.
But it feels right. It does.
“And, Chloe, if you’re seeing this…well, I don’t know what happened that night. I don’t remember. I really don’t. But I remember that I love you.” I pause. I don’t even try to swallow because I can’t. “And I want to know where you are and that you’re safe. I just want to know that more than anything. Even if you don’t want to see me or date me, I need to know you’re safe.”
I take a deep breath. The red light blinks back at me.
I should probably smile. My whole life, people have told me to smile more. Smile when I have my picture taken, and smile when I meet a stranger. But I don’t like smiling that way because it feels weird and fake.
My skin feels itchy, my limbs stiff. I don’t want to smile, but I want to look concerned...
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2025 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
