Monday morning is a welcomed relief. My father stuck around the house all day yesterday and it took me some serious strategic planning to avoid him. Dinner was awkward. I wanted to ask if I could invite Grant to dinner next Sunday, but the moment never felt right. I doubt there will ever come a time when it will.

Libby is waiting by my locker for me, bouncing on her heels in anticipation as I approach. I give her a curious look, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s waving at me to hurry up. I didn’t sleep well so I’m not moving any faster, no matter how much she may want me to.

“I want to know everything,” Libby screams as soon as I’m within earshot. People start to turn, wanting to know who she’s talking to. I used to get embarrassed when everyone would look at me, intrigued by Libby’s shouts. I’m over that now. They can look at me as curiously as they like.

“What does everything entail?” I ask as I struggle to open my locker.

“I want a full play by play of the entire weekend. We didn’t get enough time to talk on Saturday before Chester showed up. I need to know everything.” Her enthusiasm is a bit overwhelming.

“Why don’t you start by telling me more about Chester?” For the first time ever, I’m able to change the subject on Libby without her noticing.

She tells me as much as she can in five minutes while we walk to my classroom. With a promise to finish her story at lunch, a promise I know she’ll make good on, Libby sprints down the hall to attempt to get to her class before the tardy bell rings. Grateful for the reprieve at least for a few hours, I wave to Libby before she disappears around the corner. I’m going to need more coffee if I’m going to make it through the day.

I’m caught zoning out in my first two classes. I keep thinking about Grant and how comfortable I am around him. I replay our first kiss over and over again in my mind, and each time is just as good as the first. When my teachers call on me, I’m clueless as to what’s actually going on. I’m honest with them and tell them that I zoned out, apologize, and promise to focus. They shake their heads or roll their eyes and I pray that they don’t call on me again to see if I’m actually paying attention.

Libby finishes her story about Chester at lunch as Megan, Angie, and I listen intently. They are “official” according to Libby. When I give her an “I told you so” smile, she scrunches up her nose and throws a potato chip at me. I dodge it only to find a second chip already mid-flight that I’m unable to avoid.

“I was right, just admit it.”

“Okay, Mads. You were right. Are you happy now?” Libby sticks her tongue out, the fact that she had to admit it is obviously a sore spot for her.

“I am, thank you. The best part, though is that you are happy.” This causes a smile to form on her face, her cheeks turning crimson.

“So, tell me about Grant. You owe me details. I saw how you two were looking at each other at the concert. Just because I was focused on me doesn’t mean that I didn’t notice.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Megan’s head whip around. She was in the middle of a conversation with Angie when Libby’s voice caught her attention. I wonder if she knows Grant. Either way, the look on her face makes me less than enthusiastic to talk about him in front of her.

“I’ll talk to you about it later,” I say to Libby, motioning toward Megan with my eyes. Libby glances over my shoulder to where Megan is sitting and shoots me a look of understanding. “I’m going to sit outside and enjoy the sunshine before lunch is over. Want to come with me?”

“Sure. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Libby avoids eye contact with me as I gather my things and leave the table.

Waiting for her outside the cafeteria doors, Libby joins me a few minutes later, a look of satisfaction on her face. She smiles at me as she walks past, continuing down the hall and out the doors to the garden area. She picks the most secluded bench and takes a seat, dropping her bag on the ground by her feet.

“Want to tell me what the hell that was all about. If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now. What does Megan have against Grant?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“Nothing. Except the fact that he continually turned her down every time she asked him out. He always told her that there was someone else, but since he’s been here, he’s never dated anyone. Megan still wants him, even though they have nothing in common. She’s just after his body, literally.”

“That, I didn’t need to know. Although, I can’t blame her. Is she going to act weird around me now?”

If I’m going to sit with her every day at lunch, I don’t want there to be tension. I’m not interested in being part of the drama. I’ve avoided it so far, and I’d like to continue to avoid it for as long as possible.

“Nope. I already put a stop to that.” The satisfaction in her voice matches the look she gave me a few minutes ago.

“What did you say, Libby?”

“Nothing mean, I promise. I just told her to get over it and move on. It’s been years. She’s been waiting for him to ‘come around’ as she puts it. It wasn’t going to happen before, and the fact that he’s dating you just put the nail in the coffin.”

“We’re not dating.”

“Sure you’re not. What would you call it?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

“Maybe you should then.”

She has a point. We should probably clarify what we are to each other. I’m sure Megan isn’t the only girl that’s interested in Grant. If we’re going to be hanging out or whatever, I should probably ask him not to see other people.

I think about it for the rest of the afternoon as I attempt to focus in class. It’s no use. Until I talk to Grant, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. I almost sent him a text but can’t decide how to phrase it. I don’t want to sound clingy. I’m not sure I have a right to be clingy at this point. That’s when I decided that it would be better to talk about it face to face.

Now to figure out what to say to him. How do I even bring it up? He’s going to think I’m crazy.

I need to talk to Grandma. I didn’t get the chance to tell her about Grant on Saturday because he showed up. There’s so much that’s happened that I want to tell her about, and as each day passes, more and more things are added to the list. I’m going to need to visit her on a regular basis at this rate. Maybe daily.

I drive straight to the park after school. There are a few people roaming around, so I grab my school bag and head to the gazebo to get some homework done while I wait for the place to clear out a little. I’m having a hard time focusing on my work because I’m thinking more about what I want to tell Grandma. Thankfully it doesn’t take long for people to gather their things and leave. The only person left in sight is an older man fishing and he’s far enough away that he won’t hear me talking.

“Hey, Grams. I just wanted to come down and check in with you. I hope you’re having a good time doing whatever it is you’re doing up there. I have a lot of stuff I want to tell you. Good and bad, of course, so I’m going to start with the bad. My father is out of control. He found a way to take the house from me. I hope he keeps it, but I have a feeling that he’s going to try and sell it. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Mr. Finch to see if there’s anything I can do to stop him, but he hasn’t returned my calls. He’s driving me crazy on top of that. He caught me hanging out with a guy, his name is Grant. He flipped out on me a little. I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks, yet he still wants to treat me like I’m a little girl.” I pause and take a deep breath. Talking to Grandma feels good, but I can also feel my emotion creeping in. I miss her. I feel like I’m alone in this world without her.

“Besides my father acting like a militant, everything else is pretty good. Grant is fantastic. You would like him. He’s sweet and funny. He makes me feel special. I’ve told him things that I’ve never told anyone else before. I don’t know what to call him, but I’m hoping that eventually, I can call him my boyfriend. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow and ask him what we are. It feels like we’re dating, but I’ve never dated anyone before so I’m not sure.

“Not knowing and having to ask makes me look stupid, I know. It’s not my fault, though. I blame my father. He’s kept me locked away my whole life. I’m sheltered. You know I’m right. I’m just hoping that this is the only aspect of my life that he’s sheltered me in or else I’m in for a big surprise when I leave for college.”

A woman passes by the gazebo, jogging down the sidewalk. It looks like she’s listening to music, but I pause just in case. I steal a peek at my phone to see that it’s getting close to dinner time. There’s so much more that I want to tell Grandma, but it’s going to have to wait until another day.

“I have to get going. I’ll be back soon, I promise. I love you, Grams.” I blow a kiss up to the sky before I pack up my bag and head home. I feel a little lighter after talking to Grandma, but there’s still a weight on my heart that I can’t explain.

My phone rings as I’m pulling in the driveway. A local number that I don’t recognize is on my display. I contemplate sending the caller to voicemail but decide against it just in case it’s important.

“Hello?”

“Is this Madison Thompson?” a male voice asks.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Ms. Thompson, this is Mr. Finch. My secretary left me a note to call you today. Is this a good time to talk?”

A quick scan of the driveway tells me that my father isn’t home yet. “Yes. I have a few questions to ask, about the house and about my trust fund. Is there any way we can meet in person?”

“If you’d like to come down to my office tomorrow, I have some time in the morning. Does that work for you?”

“What time?”

“How about ten o’clock? Will your father be okay if you miss school?”

“I have class at the college tomorrow morning so it’s not a problem.” I can miss class this once. It’s for a good reason, but I’ll have to text Grant and let him know that I won’t be there so he doesn’t worry. I was hoping to talk to him tomorrow. Now it looks like it will have to wait.

After hanging up with Mr. Finch, I send a quick text to Grant and then head inside. Eloise has dinner waiting for me in the kitchen so I leave my bag on the stairs. I want to eat and disappear into my room to make a plan for tomorrow before my father comes home. I’ve never been good at hiding things from him. He’ll take one look at me and know that I’m up to something. I don’t want him to see this coming or I’m sure he’ll find a way to stop it before it can happen.

* * *

Mr. Finch is waiting for me when I arrive. First, I’m surprised to learn that my father lied about stealing the house. Apparently, he’s made several attempts to get the house but no one will support him. After that, we spend an hour in his office talking things out. I tell him my plan and he promises to help me make it a reality as soon as he can. As far as filing for emancipation, he says he knows a judge that won’t have a problem with it as long as I prove that I can take care of myself. With less than three weeks until my birthday, if I want to make it happen, I have to move fast. I have a few things I need to get accomplished in the next few days.

I need to find a place to live. Thinking about that last night I figured I would talk to Libby’s parents about the loft above the thrift store if it’s still available. I’m sure they would rent it to me as long as I can prove that I can afford it.

Also, I need to talk to Lucy about providing documentation that I am employed at the Foundation. That shouldn’t be hard since I have my own office. They may need to put me on the payroll, though, and I’m not sure if that will be a problem or not.

Mr. Finch also asked me to bring in a bank statement that shows the amounts in both my checking and savings accounts. He has all the paperwork showing the amounts available to me in my trust fund.

If all goes well, I should be on my own come Friday. If that’s the case, I’ll be spending my weekend moving into my new place. First, I need to talk to Libby’s parents and get that squared away.

Mrs. McKellan, Libby’s mom, is the only one working the thrift store that morning. I recognized her from the fundraiser last month, but I don’t remember talking to her that night so I introduce myself and extend my hand. She pulls me in for a hug and squeezes me tight. We talk for a few minutes, and as soon as I mention what I’m about to embark on, she smiles a knowing smile at me and excuses herself for a minute. When she returns, she hands me a set of keys and asks if I want to see the loft.

Since it’s not necessary, I pull out my purse and write her a deposit check for first and last month’s rent. After only thirty minutes, I’m out the door and on my way to school just in time to catch the end of lunch.

Libby started to blow up my phone with text messages ten minutes ago when I wasn’t at my locker. I fill her in on everything that’s going on. She’s giddy with excitement at the prospect of having some place to hang out on the weekends that’s close to work—I have a feeling I’m going to have a roommate whether I want one or not.

That night, as I lie down to sleep, I feel restless. My heart is heavy at the thought of going behind my father’s back and filing for emancipation. I know it’s the right decision for me, but I also know that he’s going to be angry. I’m hoping I’m able to avoid him this weekend when I start moving my things out. I can only imagine the fight I’ll have on my hands once he realizes what’s going on.

Once I finally fall asleep, I dream of Grandma. We’re in the gazebo as we often were when she was alive. I’m telling her about my decision, and she holds me, telling me that she fully supports me. I watch as a much younger version of myself is running around in the grass. I walk out of the gazebo and run with her.

I can feel the afternoon sun warming my skin. The grass brushing against my toes causes them to tickle. Everything around me is in bloom, colors radiating as far as the eye can see. The blue of the water blends together with the green of the trees. I’m entranced by my surroundings. When the girl disappears, I look back to where I left Grandma and she’s gone.

Looking around, I’m at the house, in the backyard. I’m skipping stones on the river with a boy. He’s watching me intently and then he asks me something. I’m too far away to hear what it is. Walking closer, I still can’t hear what he’s saying. Then I hear Grandma call me, and when I turn around to look at her, I’m back at the gazebo.

I’m kissing the boy, in the gazebo. I don’t remember this. Is this real? When was this?

I blink and we’re at the end of Grandma’s driveway. He’s holding my hand and asking me if I have to leave. His voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I focus on his words for a moment before my own cause me to gasp. The beach. I was headed to the beach.

I wake up feeling panicked, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. I blink, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness. What just happened? What did I just dream? I remember Grandma and a boy and something about the beach. Everything else is fuzzy, and as much as I try and remember, details of the dream begin to fade away as my racing heart begins to calm.

After I splash water on my face and change my clothes, I crawl back in bed. My eyelids are heavy, but sleep doesn’t come easily. I fight to remember the dream, the boy, and my trip to the beach with Grandma. I think back and focus on the events that led up to the accident. The blackness that’s hidden those weeks of my life slowly start to fade as I fall back asleep. My last thoughts are of the woman and her son, standing in the foyer, as Grandma and I arrived home.

The sound of my alarm causes me to bolt upright. The woman, I know her. It’s Lucy. It has to be. Her hair is different and she’s aged slightly, but it’s her. I know it. The boy was her son.

Grandma always said that my memories would return when I was ready for them. She was right. A small part of the missing two weeks made itself known last night and hopefully more memories will start coming back to me soon. I’m hoping that Lucy will be able to shed some light on that day, the boy, and what happened next. There has to be a reason that she didn’t mention it when she asked about my scar.

The entire school day is a waste. I can’t focus on anything other than what I want to ask Lucy. So many questions run through my head, but I’m not certain that she’ll be able to answer any of them. I’m not sure how much she knows or how much she remembers from that day. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.

As I pull up to the Foundation, my nerves kick into high gear. What if she won’t talk to me? What if there are no answers to my questions? If she was there for help, she may not be able to tell me anything. It’s a chance I have to take. Some information is better than none. Maybe what she is able to share with me, no matter how little it may be, will help me remember the rest on my own.

Wiping the sweat from my hands down the front of my jeans, I spot Lucy enjoying the afternoon sunshine on a bench in the garden. I change direction and head away from the front entrance of the Foundation and toward where she is. I’m about to enter the garden when I realize that she’s not alone. There’s a boy sitting next to her. His face is shielded by Lucy’s body, but his voice carries across the breeze.

Grant.

And he just called her mom.

The memories of that day come rushing back full force, overwhelming me with emotion. Rushing back to my car, I take off down the road as fast as I can. Reminding myself to breathe, I slow down and head to the gazebo in search of comfort. It’s the only place I can think of to go right now.

Once I’m safely inside, I lean back and close my eyes. Focusing on Grant’s face, it slowly morphs into the boy from my dream. There are few similarities. He’s grown into a handsome man, losing the chubby cheeks, growing five or six inches, and thinning out. The one thing that hasn’t changed are his eyes. They are still the same hazel beauties that I fell for all those years ago. How could I forget about him? How could I block such an amazing memory from my life?

It doesn’t make sense. I have no memory of my first kiss. No memory of us talking that day. No memory of meeting him or his mother. These are things that I shouldn’t have been able to forget. Things I should have wanted to remember. Why didn’t Grandma remind me about them? Why didn’t she help me to remember the missing weeks before she died?

Grant’s comment from the other day comes rushing back to me, an answer to all my questions. His father. They’re here because they’re hiding from his father. Grant isn’t who I thought he was. I even don’t remember his real name.