He’s pretty hot.
“Oh my god,” I say. “If we’re going to be locked in here, can you at least sing something good?”
I don’t know where that came from. I don’t even know this boy. He finishes, punctuating the last word with a really off-key eh-eh-eh-eh. It’s then that I realize that I not only recognize the song he’s singing but also know the lyrics. Things change, and suddenly I’m not the girl anymore. I’m watching the girl watch the boy.
I’m dreaming.
“I’m hungry,” she says.
He lifts his hips off the ground and digs around in his pocket. When he pulls out his hand, he’s holding a lifesaver.
“You’re such a lifesaver,” she says, taking it from him. She kicks his foot, and he grins at her.
“How come you’re not mad at me?” he asks.
“For what? Ruining our night by making us miss the concert so you could make out with me in a broom closet? Why the hell would I be mad?” She makes a show of slipping the mint between her lips. “Do you think they’ll hear us in here when the concert’s over?”
“I hope so. Or you’ll get really hangry and be mean to me all night.”
She laughs, and then they’re both smiling at each other like idiots. I can hear the music playing. It’s something slower this time. They got locked in here making out. Very cute. I feel envious.
She crawls over to him, and he lowers his legs to accommodate her. When she’s straddling him, he runs his hands up and down her back. She’s wearing a purple dress and black boots. A couple of grimy mops and a giant yellow bucket are propped next to them.
“I promise this won’t happen when we see One Direction,” he says seriously.
“You hate One Direction.”
“Yeah, but I guess I have to make this up to you. Be a good boyfriend and such.” His hands tease the exposed skin on her legs. He makes a walking motion up her thigh with his fingers. I can almost feel the goose bumps for her.
She throws back her head this time and starts to sing a One Direction song. It clashes with the music playing behind them, and she’s a worse singer than he is.
“Oh god,” he says, covering her mouth. “I love you, but no.” He pulls his hand away, and she grabs it back to kiss his palm.
“Yeah you do. I love you back.”
It’s when they kiss that I wake up. I feel intense disappointment. I lie very still, hoping to fall asleep again so I can see what happens to them. I need to know if they got out in time to see The Vamps play at least one song. Or if he kept his word and took her to One Direction. Their togetherness has made me feel so incredibly lonely that I bury my face in the pillow and cry. I liked their stuffy little room better than mine. I begin to hum out the tune of the song that was playing, and then I suddenly bolt upright in bed.
They did get out. During intermission. I can hear his laughter and see the confusion on the face of the janitor who opened the door for them. How do I know that? How can I see something that never happened? Unless…
That wasn’t a dream. It happened.
To me.
Oh my god. That girl was me.
I reach up to touch my face, smiling a little. He loved me. He was so…full of life. I lie back down, wondering what happened to him and if he’s the reason I’m here. Why hasn’t he come to find me? Can a person forget that kind of love?
And how exactly did my life go from that…to this nightmare?
Chapter 8: Silas
School has been out for over fifteen minutes. The hallway is empty, yet here I stand, still waiting for The Shrimp to show up. I’m not sure what I would even ask her if she did show up. I just got a feeling when I saw her—a feeling that she was hiding something. Maybe it’s something she doesn’t even realize she’s hiding, but I want to find out what she knows. Why she hates Charlie so much. Why she hates me so much.
My phone rings. My father again. I press ignore, but then see that I’ve somehow missed a few texts. I open them, but none are from Charlie. Not that they could be, since I have her phone. I’ve simply accepted the fact that I still have a little bit of hope that this is all a joke. That she’ll either call or text or show up to laugh about it.
The most recent text is from Landon.
Get your ass to practice. I’m not covering for you again, and we have a game in three hours.
I have no idea what move will be the most efficient use of my time. Surely practice won’t be, considering I couldn’t care less about football right now. But if practice is where I normally am at this hour, I should probably be there in case Charlie shows up. After all, everyone seems to think she’ll be at the game tonight. And since I don’t know where else to look or what else to do, I guess I’ll look for her there. Doesn’t look like The Shrimp agreed to my request, anyway.
I finally locate the locker rooms, and I’m relieved to find them empty. Everyone else is out on the field, so I use the privacy to search for the box I wrote about in the letters to myself. When I locate it at the top of the locker, I pull it down and take a seat on the bench, lifting the lid.
I flip quickly through the pictures. Our first kiss. Our first fight. Where we met. I finally get to a letter at the bottom of the box. Across the top is Charlie’s name, written in the handwriting I’ve come to recognize as my own.
I look around to ensure I still have complete privacy, and then I unfold the letter.
It’s dated last week. Just one day before we lost our memories for the first time.