Ghost Time

license plates? he asked, clicking a few keys, turning the computer back around, showing me a frame of the enlarged license plate. It’s true; you could see Cam’s vintage yellow and brown California plate, clear as day.
    I realized I was biting my thumb, and I took my finger out of my mouth. I go, I don’t know what to tell you, and he goes, You don’t? What about this one, he said, and then he hit another key, playing another video of the two of us, having sex in my room on the day Cam disappeared. It was my room, I’m sure of it, and I knew it was me, because I was lying on my bed, facedown, wearing those stupid tube socks, and Cam was behind me, spreading my legs apart, just like he did that day. Foley was watching me the whole time, and he goes: Again, I’m sorry to have to ask you this, but do you recognize either of these two, Theadora? I couldn’t look at him, I was so freaked out, but I go, No. I don’t. And Foley goes, You don’t recognize either of them? Look again, he said, and then he hit another key on his computer, freezing the image, and I had to look away. I told him again, I go, No, I don’t, and I wasn’t lying—I mean, it happened, but it’s not possible. Because the thing is, that day, at the time, I wanted to see Cam’sface—I didn’t, but that was how I imagined his face—that’s what I imagined—you can’t capture that. No one could have taken that film: it was in my head.
    I said, You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? And then my stomach gurgled, and I crossed my arms, looking away. I couldn’t speak for I don’t know how long. And then, finally, all I could say was, I told you, it’s not us. The smile left his face, then he leaned forward, and he goes, I’m telling you that all these videos were traced to John’s website, and I cut him off. I said, Cam’s website is down—I checked. And Foley goes, Maybe it was. But it’s not anymore, and then he turned the computer toward him and he goes: See for yourself, and before I could say no, Foley pressed a key, pulling up Cam’s homepage. And then he pressed another key, and pulled up the same videos that were on YouTube. Foley stared, waiting, and all I could do was stand and say, Can I go now? Or do you want to watch it again? I pushed the chair in, and he goes, Theadora, please sit down , and there was something so hard and cold in his voice, I did.
    I go, Anyone could’ve hacked into his account, and Foley goes, Agreed. But it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think? That he goes missing, and then these videos appear? I go, I seriously doubt Cam ran away so he could post sex tapes on the Internet, and Foley goes, Theadora, do you know Cam’s IQ? I said, No, and he goes, One hundred sixty-nine, like it was three separate words. Smart, I said. Genius, actually, he said. As a matter of fact, and I don’t mean to be rude here, Theadora, but what do you think John—Cam, sorry—what do you think Cam saw in you? I go, I’m sorry, but what part of that isn’t rude? He goes, WhatI’m asking is, what do you two have in common, Theadora? I go, Why don’t you ask him that? When you find him, I said, and he smiled, and he goes, I’ll do that, and I looked away.
    Now, he said, trying to act all pleasant again, given your age and the sensitivity of this case, we contacted YouTube. We told them to take the video down, and they have not yet complied. That’s one of the reasons we need to speak to your mother, as well, he said, and so many thoughts started rushing through my head. Your mother should be here any minute, he said, and I was just like, Ohmygod . I go, No, please. Please—please don’t tell my mom! I’m so sorry, he said, looking up, a second before there was a knock at the door. I just looked at him, pleading, and then he goes, Come in, and he stood up, smiling, and I just hid my face in my hands: Why me? Why is this happening to me?
    When my mom walked in, I couldn’t even look at her, while Foley held out his hand, saying, Hello, Mrs. Denny, asking her to sit down, so she did, right beside me. Then he showed her my drawings and the videos. With me, sitting right there, and then, finally, Mom held up her hand, blocking the screen: That’s enough, she said, and she turned to me. I was staring at my hands, trying not to cry, but I could feel her looking at me, expecting some sort of explanation, but all I could say was, It’s not me, and she goes, Thea , and I go, It’s not me! And out of the corner