Free Girl, Stolen by April Henry

and went to work.
    Two hours later, the dishes were drying in the rack and the kitchen floor had been mopped until it shone. Griffin had a sudden appreciation for what it must have been like for his mom. No wonder she had left. Two hours of work, and he knew it could all be undone in a few minutes. Still, he had a feeling of satisfaction. The mail, old newspapers, and random auto parts that had covered the dining room table had been either sorted into neat piles on the sideboard, taken out to the burn barrel, or put away in the barn. Whenever Griffin went outside, TJ and Jimbo didn’t seem to be working much, just leaning on half-dismantled cars, their breath clouding the air, talking and gesturing toward the house. They shut up whenever he got near enough to hear what they were saying.
    Before he turned his attention to the living room, he softly opened the door to check on Cheyenne, as he already had a half-dozen times. This time she was awake and sitting up.
    “It’s ten to five,” she said. He wondered how she knew that, then saw her click the face of her watch closed. “Please – can we watch the local news? I want to see if it says anything about me.” She looked better, but her voice was still hoarse.
    “See?” he echoed. “Is it okay to say that around you?”
    Something like a smile twisted her mouth. “People get too hung up on that. It’s not like if they don’t use it I’m going to forget that I’m blind. My dad even tries not to say he’s going to see me later. I keep telling him that
see
is just a word. Everyone uses it. I use it all the time.” She paused, and then said in a rush, “I remember what it was like to see. Sometimes I still think I can. When I first wake up in the morning, part of me thinks that when I open my eyes I’ll see my room, you know, or what’s outside my window. And I still imagine what everything looks like.”
    Cheyenne’s face, although still pale, was animated. Griffin kind of liked that he could watch her for as long as he wanted and that she wouldn’t mind. But whenever her gaze – or what seemed to be her gaze – touched his, he noticed that he still looked away, just as if she
could
see.
    Suddenly bold, he asked, “What do I look like, then?”
    “You?”
    He flushed and was glad she couldn’t see him. “Never mind.”
    She continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “Let’s see. You’re about five foot eleven, one hundred seventy pounds. Strong. I think your hair must be dark. You just
sound
like you have dark hair. And for some reason I think you must have a big nose. I mean, it’s not a little nubbin, it’s not a girly nose.”
    He stared in surprise. She was right – right about everything she had said, anyway. The height and weight shouldn’t have been too hard to get, not after he had wrestled with her twice today. Maybe she had even bumped into his nose. He remembered her scratching his face. It was weird, but as she described him, Griffin had expected her to mention the ugly red ribbon of scar that wrapped around his neck.
    “What about me?” Cheyenne asked. “What do I look like?”
    He was taken aback. “Um, don’t you know?”
    She shrugged. “I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for three years. I don’t have any idea what I look like anymore. The last time I saw myself I was thirteen.”
    Was she flirting with him? Cheyenne’s face was open and innocent. Of course, she had worn the same expression when she claimed she had to go to the bathroom. He looked at her dark curls, her olive skin, her heart-shaped face.
    “You’re pretty,” he said in a voice that didn’t invite any questions. “You’re pretty, okay?” He realized he was clenching his fists.
    For a second, Cheyenne looked surprised, and then she wiped all expression from her face. “The news should be starting on TV now,” she said. “Please, can we watch it?”
    Griffin wondered if this was a trick on her part. Maybe she just wanted to be in another part of