I’m stunned. She’s forgotten me so quickly.
Maybe it’s okay that she can’t remember me, I think as I try to calm myself. It’s not like Mercy or Sarah or Harlin. It’s not the same. I should focus my energy on keeping them from forgetting.
Once I’m in the hall and the door behind me closes loudly, I try to take a deep breath. But when I reach up to scratch my nose, I see something that changes everything. There’s a big patch of skin missing from my hand.
I sit alone at a table, the sleeve of my sweater pulled down to hide my right hand. With the left I’m picking through my tater tots, filling an insatiable hunger. Our usual lunch crowd is buzzing with whispers that I know are about us—Sarah’s latest poor judgment and my in-class freak-out. But I don’t have time for petty drama today. I need to keep building memories with the people I care about, people who love me. It’s the only thing that’ll keep me real.
Sarah flops down across from me, her eyes bloodshot and the tip of her nose a little red. Her freckles dot her face now that her makeup has rubbed off. She won’t meet my eyes, and my heart sinks.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” She opens up her backpack to take out a Ziploc baggie full of celery. After a minute of silence, she starts talking in a low voice. “We’re going to have fun tonight. Just us.”
“Hell yes.” I don’t feel all that energetic, but I can see Sarah’s sadness and I’m here for her. Just like I was when her grandmother passed away last year, or when her father puts her down and makes her hate herself. I want to always be here.
I try to think of something inspiring to say. “Hey, remember that time when Rod Crowell called me fat in eighth grade?”
Sarah slowly raises her eyes, meeting mine. “You were never fat.”
“I know, but he was mad that I beat him in the gym relay. Do you remember what you said to him?”
Sarah pulls her brows together, thinking hard. “No idea what you’re talking about, Charlotte.”
An empty feeling rolls over me. Normally, Sarah would remember that she kicked him in the leg so hard that his parents threatened to sue her father.
She’d remember telling me that no matter what anyone says to me, my opinion of myself is the only one that matters. She’s brilliant sometimes. She’d remember that.
“You really are my best friend,” I say quietly, reaching out to cover her hand with mine.
She laughs and pulls back. “You’re so patronizing. Of course I’m your best friend. And by the end of the day everyone’s probably going to be calling you my girlfriend.”
I try to smile. So what if she forgets little details of our relationship? She knows me and that’s what matters. We’ll just build new details. At least I’m still here with her.
I pick up a tater tot and throw it at her. “Who cares?” I say. “It’s not like we have some stellar reputations to lose. The rich BJ queen and the fashion-challenged scholarship kid? We sound like a great couple.”
“Imagine when the nuns call Daddy about that one.”
I grin. “Oh, he’ll flip. You’re supposed to marry a prince or something, right?”
She sighs. “I’d almost make out with you just to spite my father.”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Charlotte.” She picks the tater out of her lap. “If you were my girlfriend, you’d have much bigger boobs.”
“Hey!”
“No worries.” She waves her hand. “I’m pretty sure I can’t compete with Harlin.”
“No,” I say. “You definitely can’t.”
“He’s good. I just know it.”
“Shut up!”
“We’re going to have fun tonight,” she says, mostly to herself. Then she goes back to crunching her celery. But I can still see that whatever went down with Seth is bothering her. She’s sad. And so am I.
Chapter 15
W hen I get back to the apartment after school, I rush to my bedroom. I rummage through my drawers until I find a pair of black gloves. Slipping them on, I look on my bed for the journal. I need to find out more about Onika.
I stare at the rumpled comforter, confused. Where is it? I left it right here. I begin yanking off the sheets, checking under the bed. But it’s not here. It’s gone.
I spin around, looking from the side table to the dresser, but nothing. Where is it?
“Alex?” I call out. A few seconds later he appears in my doorway, a sandwich in his hand.
“You rang?” he mocks, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“Did you see a journal on my bed?”
He laughs. “Since when do you keep a diary? I would have certainly read it by now.”
“Did you see it or not?”
“Nope.”
My heart is pounding. I hadn’t finished reading it.
“Do you think Mercy would take it?” I ask.
Alex takes a big bite of his sandwich and talks through the food. “Probably. But when I got home she was walking out with Monroe.”
I freeze. “What?”
“You know, the superhero Doctor Swift? He was here when I got home. Then he left with Mercy.”
“Why?”
“Charlotte.” He waggles his food at me. “Do you think I know? Holy hell.” Alex exhales and turns to go back down the hall toward the living room.
I stand there, thinking this over. Monroe. He must have seen the journal and taken it back. Is he mad that I stole it from him? Quickly I check my phone to see if I have any missed calls, but I don’t. Not from him or anyone else.
Just then the doorbell rings. I think it’s Monroe and swallow hard, smoothing down my hair (because that would help?) before walking toward the door.
Alex is on the couch flipping through the stations as I walk past to the door. I brace myself for a fight with Monroe, but when I open the door and see who’s standing there, a whole new feeling comes over me. Harlin.
“Hey,” he says quietly. Folded over his arm is a gray cover on a hanger, holding his suit. His face is clean-shaven. His normally shaggy hair is combed smooth, sleek. Sexy.
“Hi.”
In his other hand, Harlin’s holding a white paper bag and holds it up for me. “It’s from Frankie’s. Thought maybe you’d be hungry?”
“You read my mind.”
“I’m hungry too,” Alex says from the couch, poking his head over the side. Harlin nods at him and reaches in the bag, pulling out a wrapped burger.