Forgotten

Page 25

The words are weighty, but I mean them, and I think Luke does, too. And, strangely, for their heaviness, I feel light. This feels easy.
We lie here, Luke and I, inhaling each other’s breath and listening to the ticktock of the clock, when a very unpleasant gurgling growl erupts from the depths of me.
“Was that your stomach?” Luke asks, looking down at my abdomen.
“Yes!” I blurt out, before launching into a fresh wave of delirium. “I… told… you… I… was… hungry!” I manage to say between gasps for breath. He shakes his head at me and then slowly stands up. The sight of him towering above me in all his gorgeousness steals my giggles.
“Let’s get you a grilled cheese,” he says, offering me his hands.
“Finally!” I say back, allowing him to pull me from the floor. Once I’m standing, I shiver: the cold from the tile beneath the rug made it through me.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Yep. I’m going to go grab a sweatshirt. You make yourself comfortable in the kitchen.”
I run up the stairs and search my bedroom for something fuzzy and warm. Nothing in plain view, I hit the closet light and start pulling folded items from the shelf. I evaluate my options and settle on a tan hoodie that I know from my notes is Luke’s.
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I decide to take the extra minute to pull my hair back into a ponytail. As I wrap the hair tie once, twice, then three times, my eyes scan the room, seeing it as Luke might.
If I let him come up here tonight.
The bed is beautifully made: Mom must have tidied up after we left for the dance. The throw pillows are lined up just so.
There is a photo of Luke and me in a dark wooden frame on the desk. I don’t remember when it was taken.
In the corner, the hamper is empty.
On the nightstand are the lamp and an empty coaster where a used tea mug sat earlier. My mom really must have cleaned….
Wait.
For a blink, I look back to the nightstand in the mirror. Then I turn around on the stool to see it firsthand.
It looks so… bare.
Because it is.
Because it is!
My pulse quickens as I quiz myself.
Where are my notes?
Did Mom move them? Did she put them away?
No, she wouldn’t do that. Or would she? I stand and rush across the room. I check the nightstand drawer and the desk drawers, too.
I chew my pointer fingernail, thinking. I turn slowly around the room, scanning every surface.
Did I take them somewhere?
Where would I take them?
Where did I have them last?
My breath sucks in almost before I fully realize what’s happened.
I know where my notes are.
They’re right where I left them.
Right where I was reading them before Luke picked me up tonight.
Right where I sent Luke to hang out.
They’re in the kitchen.
“Luke!” I shout, running out of my bedroom and down the stairs, as if it will make any difference. “Luke!” I shout again in vain.
I know even before I’m down the stairs that he’s already seen them.
No answer comes from the direction of the kitchen. I quicken my pace and nearly slip on the polished hardwood while rounding the corner to the kitchen.
“Luke,” I say again, to his back. He faces the table and doesn’t speak.
“Luke?” I try a gazillionth time.
He turns, holding a single letter in his hands.
I stand, frozen, staring at him.
Finally, he speaks.
“I wondered how you did it,” he says.
Still frozen, I’m confused.
“Did what?” I ask.
“How you remembered me this time,” he says. “I mean, I’ve caught you a few times, forgetting things. But most of the time, you seem… normal. You seem to recognize me each day.”
My furrowed eyebrows rise as my eyes widen with the shocking confirmation that he knows.
Luke knows. For a moment, it’s almost a relief. I don’t have to work so hard. I don’t have to…
Wait, Luke knows?
Then, I realize. For four months now, the boy before me has been lying to me.
He’s as bad as my mother.
Is there anyone in my life who isn’t deceiving me?
The relief is gone; the anger is here. My shoulders fall and my arms draw close, as if to protect myself from the world. Blood rushes to my face and my ears pound. My heart races.
I find it difficult to speak. But finally I’m able.
“You knew?” I ask, boiling.
“Yes, London, I knew,” he says, smiling hesitantly, as if he doesn’t know whether he should.
The smile sends me over the edge. My hands tighten into fists, and I feel the urge to scream at the top of my lungs.
“For how long?” I hiss, putting a hand on the counter to steady myself. I think of the cards from my father. The betrayal from my mother. And now this.
“Since we were eleven,” Luke says matter-of-factly, fueling the fire that’s already raging in my veins.
“Luke, what the hell are you talking about?” I shout. I stare at him, feeling wronged. I want him to leave. But I want him to explain first.
“Okay,” he begins. “Do you remember…” He sweeps his hand over the pile of papers. “Do you remember me mentioning that I spent a few summers with my aunt and uncle?”
Glad that I took the time to study my notes today, I mutter, “Yes.”
“And do you also remember that you went to day camp at the YMCA when you were younger?”
“No.”
“Well, you did. And so did I. My aunt and uncle live here, London. Or at least my aunt does. They’re going through a divorce. One of the reasons we moved here was so my mom could be closer to her sister.”
I exhale loudly. I’m still gripping the counter with one hand; the fingernails on the other are about to draw blood from my palm. Jaw clenched, I imagine myself biting through my own molars. Luke reads my body language and gets the hint.
“All that’s beside the point,” he says. “The point is that we went to the same camp for a summer. We were friends. You were my only friend. And I’m pretty sure I was your only friend back then, too.”
Luke pauses to make sure that the information is settling in. I stare sharply at him, and he takes my silence as a cue to go on.
“None of the other kids gave me the time of day, because I didn’t live here. And of course, there was the dodgeball incident.”
I raise my eyebrows slightly without speaking a word. I am livid, but also curious.
Luke shrugs like it was no big deal. “We were all playing dodgeball and one of the bigger kids purposely hurled the ball at my face when the counselor wasn’t looking. My nose broke, but I have a high tolerance for pain, so I picked a fight with the kid and smiled as he pummeled me. I thought it would make me look cool. Instead, everyone thought I was a freak. Everyone except you.”
I roll my eyes at the compliment. I’m not giving in that easily.
“I noticed you the first day of camp. I watched you reading alone in the corner, keeping to yourself. I wanted to talk to you but I was chicken. And I seriously wanted to touch your hair back then, too. I wasn’t kidding about that earlier.”
Remembering our conversation on the rug, I experience a different kind of heat for an instant. Then I remember that, just like my mother, my boyfriend is a liar.