By the time Monday morning rolls around, I’m ready for some human interaction. Eloise had the weekend off to visit with her grandkids, and my father, thankfully, spent most of the weekend on base. The house was quiet, too quiet. After my long talk with Grandma on Saturday afternoon, I was feeling lonely. I called Libby, hoping that she might want to come over and hang out, but she was working all weekend and getting caught up on homework. I should have been focused on the same, but my mind was on other things.

First, I couldn’t stop thinking about Grant. I’m pretty sure I had a dream about him, but when I woke up yesterday morning, I couldn’t remember anything. I knew it was about him, there was no doubt in my mind. My heart was aching and he was the first person I thought of. I went to the gazebo yesterday and hung out just in case he might show up. We’d met there twice on accident, so I thought it couldn’t hurt. I spent hours sitting there, pretending to read my book, but there was no sight of him.

Pulling into the school parking lot, I look around but I don’t spot Libby. I head inside, knowing that she’ll find me eventually. I’m not surprised when she shows her face only seconds after I start stuffing my locker with books.

“How as your weekend?” I ask as I close my locker.

“Fun. I wish you could have come on Friday night.” She’s a bit too energetic for me this morning. She’s almost bouncing off the walls with excitement.

“Me too. I don’t think I’m cut out to socialize with people twice my age. They tend to bore me.” I close my locker and turn to walk toward class, Libby falling in step with me.

“Those stuffy events are always boring. Just remember that you have four years of ‘real’ parties before you have to host any stuffy events of your own. Or, you could shake things up and surprise everyone if you wanted.”

Her statement catches me off guard. I stop walking and turn toward her to find that she’s wiggling her eyebrows at me. “What do you mean?” Does she know that I’m taking over the Foundation when I graduate?

“I just mean that once you graduate from college, you can spice those parties up a bit if you want.”

She definitely knows, but how? I never mentioned it to her and I never planned to. I didn’t plan to tell anyone. People will look at me differently. I don’t want people to think the job has been handed to me because of my last name. I want to earn it. I want to prove to everyone that I’m capable of leading the organization the way my grandmother would have wanted me to.

“Who told you?”

“My parents were there. They said your father was speaking highly of you and the fact your grandmother left you the Foundation, that you’re her legacy.”

Really? My father was talking me up? That surprises me. He had to have an ulterior motive for that. Either way, I’m glad it came from him and not from someone within the organization. The last thing I want is for people to harbor ill feelings toward me because I’ll be taking over. In five years. A lot of things can change in the next five years.

Libby and I part ways until lunch. By the time we meet back up, our earlier conversation is long forgotten. I struggle through the rest of my day with thoughts of how to address Ms. Fisher when I get to the Foundation today. I have no idea what her expectations will be of me. Will she want me to play an active role as soon as I turn eighteen next month? I’d rather not. I want to know what I’m doing before I start making decisions.

* * *

Walking up to the Foundation, my stomach starts to do flips. Not the kind that make you light-headed and happy, but the kind that make you feel like you might throw up at any moment and cause you to want to run far, far away. I don’t have that option. I have committed to do this and this feeling will not go away until I cross that threshold for the first time. In fact, it might feel like this for a while. Who knows? Maybe my stomach will calm down after I’m in the building, or in my office, or in the bathroom which I am currently running toward.

I splash water on my face and wipe the sweat from my brow. My bangs are clumped together, so I do the best I can to comb through them with my fingers, but it’s not working. As I stare in the mirror, I give myself a much-needed pep talk, trying my best to channel Grandma, her wisdom, and her words. She had enough faith in me to leave me the Foundation. I can do this.

There’s an upbeat, middle-aged man sitting at the receptionist desk when I approach. He smiles at me brightly and welcomes me to the Thompson Foundation. I feel at home already, and I’m barely in the door.

“Hi. I’m here to speak with Ms. Fisher.” My voice cracks as I speak, giving away the fact that I’m nervous.

“Of course, Miss Thompson. She’s been expecting you. I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.” He knows who I am. I can’t decide if that’s impressive or scary.

Taking a seat near the window, I stare past the garden and out at the water. The Foundation has a beautiful view of the river, one that rivals the view from my backyard, but nothing can compare to the view from the park, from the gazebo. That view will always be my favorite.

“Madison.” I turn to find a tall, statuesque blonde standing next to me, her hand extended to shake mine. “I’m Lucy, Lucy Fisher.”

I stand and shake her hand. Finding my manners, I introduce myself on shaky legs. “Madison Thompson, Celia’s granddaughter.”

“Why don’t I show you to your office and we can talk in there.” Lucy turns on her heels and begins walking away. My legs follow her as if on autopilot. I’m headed to my office. An office that I’m assuming used to belong to my grandma. An office that is probably still full of her belongings.

Turning the corner, I know exactly where we’re headed before Lucy motions for me to head through the door. My name is on a plaque on the wall next to the door. It’s official, at least it feels that way. The Foundation is welcoming me with open arms, my grandmother’s final wishes.

I wish she was here to see this, to welcome me to the Foundation herself. This isn’t the way I wanted to become a part of this. I wanted to do this with her, side by side. I wanted Grandma to show me the ins and outs, how the Foundation operates.

“This is your office when you’re here. I know you won’t be around much until after you graduate at the end of the year, but I just want you to know you are always welcome here. Your grandmother would be proud of you. She was always telling us about you, about your adventures with your father as she liked to call them. I knew this day would come, but I always thought she would be here to share it with you.” Lucy pauses, her emotions overwhelming her for a brief moment before she collects herself and clears her throat. “If it can’t be her, I’m glad it’s me. Your grandmother meant the world to me. I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for her. I owe her my life and I’ll forever be in her debt, in your debt. So, if there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Her words rip my heart open. My grandma has helped so many over the years. I’m sure I’ll hear similar statements as I begin to get settled. “Thank you. She was an amazing woman.”

“She really was,” Lucy replies with a weak smile on her face.

“What is it that I need to do today again? Sign cards or something?”

“Yes, I’ll get them for you. They’re thank you cards for those that attended the fundraiser on Friday night. Why don’t you grab yourself something to drink and I’ll bring them in.” Lucy disappears before I can ask any more questions.

I go in search of a break room or vending machine. I don’t find either, but I do find the front door and at the desk is the same man that greeted me earlier.

“Can you tell me where I might find a vending machine so that I can get something to drink?”

“What would you like, Miss Thompson? I’d be happy to get it for you and bring it to your office.”

“It’s Madison, please, and that’s not necessary.”

“Well then, head back to your office and it’s the room just to your left.”

Of course it is, because how convenient is that?

“Thank you …” I let my voice trail off realizing that I never asked him his name.

“Harold, miss.”

“Thank you, Harold. You’ve been very helpful.” Harold nods at me before I make my way back toward my office in search of a refreshing beverage.

My office is in sight and there is a door on either side. Harold said the door on the left, but did he mean my left as I’m facing the office or take a left out of my office? Crap. I guess I’ll check them both and figure it out. I open the first door and a soft light flickers to life. Bathroom. A very nice bathroom. Good to know, but not what I was looking for.

Opening the other door, I find what I was in search of. Two vending machines, one filled with junk food and one with beverages, a microwave, table and chairs, refrigerator, and best of all, a coffee maker. Grandma thought of everything when she designed this place.

Lucy returns to my office, knocking softly on the open door before entering. “Here are the cards, Madison.” The box is much bigger than I thought it would be. I thought I’d be signing a few dozen cards, not a few hundred. “When you’re finished, you can leave them in here and I’ll pick them up in the morning. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave for the day?”

“No, thank you,” I reply, blowing my flattened bangs out of my face.

“Madison!” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but I hear her say my name from across the room.

I look up to see that Lucy has a look of concern on her face. It takes me only a few seconds to realize why. I brush my bangs back into place before responding. “I’m fine, Lucy. It happened a long time ago. Nothing to be concerned about.”

I watch as she thinks it over. Then, she finally asks, like everyone usually does. Curiosity is a powerful emotion. “May I ask what happened?”

I haven’t told this story in a long time, but what is there really to say? I don’t remember anything from that day.

“I was in a car accident with my grandma when I was twelve. I don’t remember anything about the accident, or much leading up to it. There are a few weeks of my life that are completely gone from my memory. I always thought they would come back eventually, but it’s been five years and I still can’t remember anything.” As if I’m reading from the pages of a notebook, the words flow out, emotionless as always.

“Physically you’re okay, though?” I hear genuine concern in Lucy’s voice. That’s a first. Most people fake it.

“Yeah. I had a concussion and was out cold for about five days after the accident. I hit my head on the windshield. Grandma had a broken leg and a few broken ribs. Other than that, we were perfectly fine.”

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I remember your grandma was gone for a while, on bed rest, but no one said why. I don’t think she told anyone.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. She wouldn’t have wanted to worry anyone, and I’m sure she worked from her bed until she was able to get around again.”

Lucy gives me a sympathetic smile, similar to one that I often receive when people realize that my mother died when I was younger. It must be a common reaction people have when they have no idea what else to say.

“Well, I’ll let you get started. If you need anything, my cell phone number is programmed into your phone,” she says, gesturing to the office phone sitting on the corner of my desk. “I’m really glad you’re all right, Madison, and I’m glad that you’re here. Your grandma would be proud of you for taking this on with your head held high.”

After Lucy leaves, I take a seat behind the desk, my desk. Pulling out a small stack of cards, I get to signing them one by one. An hour later, my hand is cramping, my coffee is cold, and only half of the box has been signed. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

I wake up the next morning, drenched in sweat. My heart is pounding in my chest and I’m breathing heavily. The dream. I knew it would come. It always does after I talk about the accident. A dream filled with blackness and tragedy.

When I woke up in the hospital, I was beyond confused. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t remember the accident. My last memory was of my mother’s funeral. Why couldn’t I forget that? Grandma once told me that my memories would come back to me when I was ready for them to. I wanted them back when I woke up. I didn’t like knowing that an entire part of my life was missing. A week at the beach with Grandma, our first trip together, was lost forever. Why did I have to remember the bad times and forget the good?

I jump in the shower, the water as cold as I can stand it, and stay there until my heart calms down and I can’t feel my toes. By the time I get out, I have to rush to get dressed for class.

I’m walking briskly, almost running, by the time my classroom is in sight. Class starts in less than five minutes and I don’t want to be late. I watch as a crowd of people head into the classroom and stop dead in my tracks when I realize who’s left standing outside.

Grant.

He’s waiting for me. At least, I think he is. He’s staring in my direction with a smile on his face.

I want to run up to him and throw my arms around his neck. Knowing that he’s all right lightens my heart. It also infuriates me. I worried about him all weekend, and there he stands, perfectly fine, looking as handsome as always, grinning at me from ear to ear. I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Madison,” he says as I walk past him. He follows me to the back of the class and takes the seat on my right when I don’t answer him. I hear him clear his throat to say something when the professor walks in. Saved by the bell. No, that’s not right.

Moments later, I feel something hit my hand, and I look down to see a note sitting on top of my open book. I glance over at Grant and he’s facing forward, looking innocent. There’s no one else it could have come from, so he’s not fooling me.

I pick up the note and slowly unfold it.

I’m sorry I wasn’t here the other day. Family stuff.

Should I write him back? I guess I don’t have a choice.

I was a little worried.

I’m sorry.

I want to ask him to exchange numbers, but I don’t know how without sounding like I’m hitting on him.

I hope everything is okay now.

It is. Thanks. Lunch?

Sure. But I have an appointment that I need to get to, so it’ll have to be quick.

I still don’t want to admit to him that I’m in high school, so I make up an excuse to leave lunch earlier than last time. I detest lying. I know it’s wrong. I’ll tell him, I just want to wait until I’m eighteen. Only a few more weeks.

Our professor gives us an assignment that’s due next week and excuses us a little early. I pack up and find Grant waiting for me in the hallway. As I approach, I take a moment to appreciate his beauty as he talks to another one of the guys from our class.

He looks a little rugged today. He got his hair cut, but it’s still falling in his eyes. I watch as he runs his fingers through it, attempting to brush it away. It falls right back where it was and I can’t help but laugh to myself.

Grant’s eyes cut to me as soon as his friend walks away. This boy is going to be trouble. My heart flutters every time he looks at me. I can’t imagine if he held my hand or, eventually, kissed me. I might explode. Yep, I’m in big trouble. I sure hope I can handle it for the next few weeks. Then, my decisions are my own.

Lunch was moving along so nice. We were having a great conversation about everything and nothing all at the same time. When I asked him about our assignment, his eyes went cold. I wasn’t trying to pry, I just wanted to know what he was going to write about.

“I don’t talk to my father, so I’ll probably make something up or not do the assignment.” There’s anger or hatred in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago.

“I try not to talk to mine, but unfortunately, I still live with him,” I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Yeah. So, I’m gonna go. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

I don’t even get the chance to ask if he’s okay before he’s walking away. I don’t get it. Everything was fine a few minutes ago. I didn’t say anything wrong, I don’t think.

I feel my emotions getting the best of me. Before the tears start to fall, I pack up my things and head to my car. I need to be alone. This boy has me so confused.

By the time I make it to school, I’m late for lunch and my face is a mess. I find Libby waiting for me at by my locker as she normally is. She notices right away that something is wrong. I want to tell her, I do, but I don’t have the words. I’m afraid if I talk about it, about him, that I’ll fall apart completely.

We were connecting. Things were great. He’s sweet, caring, and funny. Not to mention easy on the eyes. He’s the perfect guy. His only flaw is that he’s not good at communicating. He could have told me what I said wrong and I would have apologized and never said it again. No. Instead, he walked, or rather ran, away from me.

That’s it. I don’t need this. There are plenty of guys out there that would be interested in dating me, I’m sure. I just need to find one. I don’t need Grant or the emotional roller-coaster that he’s causing my heart to ride. I’m over it. I’m moving on. Done.

To keep my mind off of Grant as much as possible, I invite Libby over to study for a test that night. She gets super excited, practically bouncing off the walls and singing at the top of her lungs. I couldn’t help but laugh at her the entire way to lunch that day, my dark mood lightening a little.

Of course, we don’t study much. Instead, we talk about Grant and his weird ways. Libby points out that he may have figured out that I was still in high school when I mentioned that I lived with my father. I slap myself on the forehead, realizing that his mood changed as soon as I mentioned that little fact.

It doesn’t matter. It was a big deal to me that I was still in high school because my father still controls my life and my “social” activities. He has a strict no dating rule. That rule goes out the window as soon as I turn eighteen years old. I didn’t want to have to turn Grant down if he asked me out. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

It’s my feelings that I should have been worried about.

Libby and I decide that I’ll ignore him, move on. Ignoring him should be easy, but I’m almost certain that I won’t be able to move on. He’s under my skin.