There’s a plastic purple ring and the white backing of a picture. Why are these in my bed? And why do I remember hiding them?
I drop the mattress and then sit on it, setting the ring aside as I flip the picture over. When I do, shock floods my body.
It’s a picture of Brady—possibly just before he died, but I don’t remember. And next to him . . . Next to him with his arm around him is James. James from my math class is standing with my dead brother. Smiling.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FROM THE DOORWAY OF OUR NEAR-EMPTY CLASSROOM I see James sitting at his desk, his notebook open as he appears to be drawing. I turn and look at my handler. “I forgot my book,” I say, having left it in my locker on purpose. “Any chance you could grab it for me? I don’t want to be late.”
I walk purposely toward my seat in the front, pausing there as if reminding Kevin that he’s already taken care of my problem of oversocialization. He nods and says he’ll be right back. But the minute he’s through the door, I stomp over to James’s desk. He doesn’t look up, just continues to shade in the picture of a figure with long, curly hair that he’s been drawing in his notebook.
I pull the picture of him and Brady from my pocket and slam it down on his open page, startling him.
He sits back in his chair, staring up at me. “What the hell?”
“How did you know my brother?” I ask, poking hard at his image on the picture. James’s blue eyes are confused, and when he looks down at the picture of him and Brady, he pales considerably.
James pulls the picture from under my hand and examines it. “I’ve never seen this before,” he says.
“And my brother?”
James swallows hard. “I don’t know him.”
“Then why are you at the river together? Why is your arm over his shoulder? My God, were you friends with him?”
James continues to study the picture and then hands it to me, rubbing roughly at his face. “Go back to your seat before the handler comes in,” he says, no emotion in his voice.
“I need to know if you—”
“Later,” he snaps. “Now go.” James’s face is hard, and I know he’s not going to tell me anything more right now. Our teacher enters the room, and I stuff the picture into my pocket and hurry toward the front, angry that I’ll have to wait for answers.
Just as I slide into my chair, Kevin walks back in and lays the book on my desk. He goes to the back to stand watch, making sure no one interferes with me. But I feel like I’ve already started to unravel.
• • •
I haven’t told Lacey about the picture, intent on confronting James first. Could that be why he’s really been talking to me? Did he have something to do with my brother’s death? I feel deceived, and I’m not even completely convinced I should—not if James doesn’t know the answer either. But more than anything, it’s almost like I can get part of my brother back. I just need James to fill in the gaps in my memory.
I barely pick at my food and nod at Lacey at all the right times. I wait for James to sit at his table, but he doesn’t come to lunch again. I want to scream and run out looking for him. Glancing over at Kevin, I see him chatting with a teacher, and I take out my phone. I scroll through to find James’s last message and hit reply.
I WANT TO TALK. NOW.
I hold my breath, setting my phone on the table as I wait for him to respond. I glance at the clock and see there are only ten minutes left of lunch. My fingers are actually trembling. The phone vibrates, and I nearly knock over my Diet Coke trying to get to it.
“Holy hell, Sloane,” Lacey says. “You doing okay?”
“Fine,” I tell her, and pull up the message.
BASEMENT. NEAR STORAGE ROOM.
Oh, yeah. That sounds like a fantastic idea. I wonder if he wants to get caught. I take another cautious look at Kevin.
“What’s going on?” Lacey asks seriously, leaning toward me. “You’re doing something devious. I can see it in your eyes.”
“I need to get out of here,” I whisper.
“Tell me about it.”
“No, I mean, I need to get out right now. Do you think I can?”
“Oh!” She peeks over her shoulder, finding my handler still talking with the teacher. Lacey nods her chin to the back stairwell. “There,” she says. “If you move quickly he won’t notice the door open.”
I bite my lip, not sure if I can get away with this. Wondering how long it’ll take Kevin to find me. But then I decide that I have to take the chance. “Hey,” I tell her, smiling weakly. “If I get dragged away, try and remember me okay?”
“You got it. Now go.”
I back out of my chair, walking slowly and calmly toward the exit. When I’m close, I look at Kevin. His back is to me. My heart racing, I escape the cafeteria.
• • •
The storage room door is heavy, and it creaks when it opens. It’s freaky, and I debate whether I should be in here at all. It’s dark.
“Over here.” James’s voice comes from the corner, desks and old boxes stacked around him. I can’t see him well, but I keep moving. When his hands touch my upper arms, I jump, making a soft sound. “Sorry,” he says. “I can’t find the light.”
I stare until his outline starts to come into focus; the place so dark it’s like we’re the only people in the world. God, I’m an idiot for being here. I cross my arms over my chest, even though he can’t see me. Just then the room fills with light, and I find James near the wall with his hand on the switch. When he looks at me, my expression is deadly serious.
“How do you know Brady?” I ask.
“I told you that I don’t. I’ve never seen him before. Did you ask him?”
His words sting, and I step back, the air pushed from my lungs.
“Well, did you?” he asks.
“James,” I say, the tears thick in my voice. “My brother is dead.” And the fact that he doesn’t know him—that my brother is gone from his memory—makes me break down. Seeing the picture has stirred up the pain, the grief I must have felt but don’t remember. I put my face in my hands, and then suddenly James pulls me to him as I quietly sob into his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I had no idea. I’m an ass**le, okay?”
“You are,” I agree, but don’t move away. I’d wanted James to know Brady. I wanted him to tell me about him. And now it’s like I’ve lost my brother all over again.