“You gonna show up for practice today?” Landon asks. He’s already standing outside my door and I don’t even remember pulling into the parking lot of the school, much less turning off the car. I nod, but fail to make eye contact with him. I’d been so lost inside my own thoughts during the drive over, I didn’t even think to prod him for information.
I’ve been hung up on the fact that I didn’t wake up with memories. I was hoping Charlie was right—that we would wake up and everything would be back to normal. But we didn’t and it’s not.
Or at least I didn’t wake up with memories. I haven’t spoken to Charlie since last night, and her text this morning revealed nothing.
I didn’t even open the text. It flashed on my lock screen and I read enough of the first sentence to know I didn’t like how it made me feel. My thoughts immediately wandered to who might be picking her up and if she was okay with it.
My protective instincts kick in whenever it comes to her, and I don’t know if it’s always been that way or if it’s because she’s the only one I can relate to right now.
I get out of the car, determined to find her. Make sure she’s okay, even though I know she more than likely is. I don’t have to know any more about her to know that she doesn’t really need me to take care of her. She’s fiercely independent.
That doesn’t mean I won’t still try.
When I enter the school, it occurs to me that I don’t know where to begin searching for her. Neither of us can remember which lockers are ours, and considering this happened to us both during fourth period yesterday, we have no idea where our first, second or third period classes are.
I decide to walk to the administration office and see about getting a new copy of my schedule. Hopefully Charlie thought to do the same, because I doubt they’ll give me hers.
The secretary is unfamiliar, but she smiles knowingly at me. “Here to see Ms. Ashley, Silas?”
Ms. Ashley.
I start to shake my head no, but she’s already pointing me in the direction of an open office door. Whoever Ms. Ashley is, I must visit her enough that my presence in the office isn’t unusual.
Before I make it to the open office door, a woman steps out. She’s tall, attractive and appears extremely young to be an employee. Whatever she does here, she hasn’t been doing it long. She barely looks old enough to be out of college.
“Mr. Nash,” she says with a vague smile, flicking her blonde hair back over her shoulder. “Do you have an appointment?”
I pause and stop my advancement toward her. I glance back at the secretary right when Ms. Ashley waves it off. “It’s fine, I have a few minutes. Come inside.”
I move gingerly past her, taking in the nameplate on the door as I enter her office.
AVRIL ASHLEY, GUIDANCE COUNSELOR.
She closes the door behind me and I look around the office, which is decorated in motivational quotes and typical posters portraying positive messages. I suddenly feel uncomfortable. Trapped. I should have said I didn’t need to see her, but I’m hoping this counselor—one I apparently visited regularly—will know a few things about my past that may be of help to Charlie and me.
I turn, just as Ms. Ashley’s hand slides down the door and reaches the lock. She turns it and then begins to saunter toward me. Her hands meet my chest and right before her mouth connects with mine, I stumble backward and catch myself on a filing cabinet.
Whoa.
What the hell?
She looks offended that I just shook off her advance. This must not be unusual behavior with us.
I’m sleeping with the guidance counselor?
I immediately think of Charlie and, based on our obvious non-commitment to one another, I question what kind of relationship we had. Why were we even together?
“Is something wrong?” Ms. Ashley says.
I turn slightly and take a few steps away from her, toward the window. “Not feeling very well today.” I look her in the eyes and force a smile. “Don’t want to get you sick.”
My words put her at ease and she closes the space between us again, this time leaning in and pressing her lips against my neck. “Poor thing,” she purrs. “Want me to make you feel better?”
My eyes are wide, darting around the room, mapping out my escape route. My attention falls to the computer on her desk, and then a printer behind her chair. “Ms. Ashley,” I say, gently pushing her away from my neck.
This is wrong on so many levels.
She laughs. “You never call me that when we’re alone. It’s weird.”
She’s too comfortable with me. I need to get out of here.
“Avril,” I say, smiling at her again. “I need a favor. Can you print a copy of mine and Charlie’s schedules?”
She immediately straightens up, her smile whisked away at the mention of Charlie’s name. Point of contention, apparently.
“I’m thinking about switching a couple of my classes so I won’t have to be around her as much.” Couldn’t be further from the truth.
Ms. Ashley—Avril—slides her fingers down my chest, the smile reappearing on her face. “Well, it’s about time. Finally decided to take the counselor’s advice, I see.”
Her voice drips with sex. I can see how things must have started up with her, but it makes me feel shallow. It makes me hate who I was.
I shift on my feet as she works her way to her seat and begins clicking at her keyboard.
She pulls freshly printed pages from the printer and walks them over to me. I attempt to take the schedules from her hand, but she pulls them away with a grin. “Uh-uh,” she says, shaking her head slowly. “These are gonna cost you.” She leans against her desk and lays the sheets of paper beside her, face down. She brings her eyes back to mine and I can see I’m not leaving without appeasing her, which is the last thing I want to do right now.
I take two slow steps toward her and rest my hands on either side of her. I lean in to her neck and can hear her gasp when I begin to speak. “Avril, I only have five minutes left before I have to be in class. There’s no way I can do all the things I want to do to you in just five minutes.”
I slip my hand to the schedules lying on her desk and I back away with them. She’s tugging on her bottom lip, staring up at me with heated eyes. “Come back during lunch,” she whispers. “Will an hour be sufficient, Mr. Nash?”
I wink at her. “I guess it’ll have to do,” I say as I head out the door. I don’t pause until I’m down the hallway and around the corner, out of her line of sight.
The eighteen-year-old irresponsible side of me wants to high five myself for having apparently snagged the school counselor, but the reasonable side of me wants to punch myself for doing something like that to Charlie.
Charlie is obviously the better choice, and I hate knowing that I was putting that relationship at risk.
But then again, so was Charlie.
Luckily, the schedules list our locker numbers and combinations. Hers is 543 and mine is 544. I’m guessing that was intentional.
I open my locker first, and find three textbooks stacked inside. There’s a half empty coffee in front of the books and an empty Cinnamon roll wrapper. There are two pictures taped to the inside of the locker: one of Charlie and me, the other just of Charlie.
I pull the picture of her down and stare at it. Why, if we weren’t happy together, do I have pictures of her in my locker? Especially this one. I obviously took it, as it’s similar in style to the pictures hanging around my room.
She’s sitting cross-legged on a couch. Her head is tilted slightly and she’s staring directly at the camera.
Her eyes are intense—looking into the camera as if she’s looking into me. She’s both confident and comfortable, and although she isn’t smiling or laughing in the photo, I can tell she’s happy. Whenever this was taken, it was a good day for her. For us. Her eyes are screaming a thousand things in this photo, but the loudest is, “I love you, Silas!”
I stare at it a while longer and then place the photo back inside the locker. I check my phone to see if she’s texted. She hasn’t. I look around, just as Landon approaches from down the hall. He tosses words over his shoulder as he passes me. “Looks like Brian isn’t quite out of the picture yet, brother.”
The bell rings.
I look in the direction Landon came from and see a heavier crowd of students at that end of the hallway. People seem to be stalling, glancing over their shoulders. Some are looking at me, some are fixated on whatever is at the end of the hallway. I begin to walk in that direction and everyone’s attention falls on me as I pass.
A break in the crowd begins to shape and that’s when I see her. She’s standing against a row of lockers, hugging herself with her arms. Brian is leaning against one of the lockers, looking at her intently. He looks deep in conversation, whereas she just appears guarded. He spots me almost immediately and his posture stiffens along with his expression. Charlie follows his gaze until her eyes land on mine.
As much as I can assume she doesn’t need rescuing, relief falls over her as soon as we lock eyes. A smile tugs at her lips, and I want nothing more than to get him away from her. I spend two seconds deliberating. Should I threaten him? Should I hit him like I wanted so badly to hit him yesterday in the parking lot? Neither of these actions feels as though they’ll make the point I want to make.
“You should get to class,” I hear her say to him. Her words are quick, a warning, as if she’s afraid I’ve decided to punch him. She doesn’t have to worry. What I’m about to do will hurt Brian Finley a hell of a lot more than if I were to just hit him.
The second bell rings. No one moves. There are no students rushing to class to avoid being late. No one around me shuffles down the hall at the sound of the bell.
They’re all waiting. Watching. Expecting me to start a fight. I wonder if that’s what the old Silas would do? I wonder if that’s what the new Silas should do?
I ignore everyone but Charlie and walk confidently toward her, keeping my eyes trained on her the entire time. As soon as Brian sees me approaching, he takes two steps away from her. I look directly at him while I stretch out my hand toward her, giving her the choice to take it and go with me or remain where she is.
I feel her fingers slide between mine and she grips my hand tightly. I pull her away from the lockers, away from Brian, away from the crowd of students. As soon as we round the corner, she drops my hand and stops walking.
“That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” she says.
I turn to face her. Her eyes are narrowed, but her mouth could pass for smiling. I can’t tell if she’s amused or angry.
“They expected a certain reaction from me. What’d you want me to do, tap him on the shoulder and ask politely if I could cut in?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “What makes you think I needed you to do anything?”
I don’t understand her hostility. It seemed like we left on good terms last night, so I’m confused as to why she seems so angry with me.
She rubs her hands up and down her arms and then her eyes fall to the floor. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I just…” She looks up at the ceiling and groans. “I was just prodding him for information. That’s the only reason I was with him in the hallway just now. I wasn’t flirting.”
Her response catches me off guard. I don’t like the look of guilt in her expression. That’s not why I pulled her away from him, but I realize now that she thinks I really am upset with her for being with him. I could tell she didn’t want to be there, but maybe she doesn’t realize how well I’ve learned to read her.
I take a step toward her. When she lifts her eyes to meet mine, I smile. “Would it make you feel better to know I was cheating on you with the guidance counselor?”
She sucks in a quick rush of air and shock registers on her face.
“You weren’t the only one who wasn’t committed to us, Charlie. Apparently we both had issues we needed to work out, so don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Relief probably isn’t the reaction a girl should have to finding out her boyfriend has been cheating on her, but it’s definitely what Charlie feels right now. I can see it in her eyes and I can hear it in the pent up breath she releases.
“Wow…,” she says, her hands falling to her hips. “So technically, we’re tied?”
Tied? I shake my head. “This isn’t a game I want to win, Charlie. If anything, I’d say we both lost.”
Her lips spread into a ghostly grin, and then she looks over her shoulder. “We should figure out where our classes are.”
I remember the schedules and pull hers out of my back pocket. “We’re not together until fourth period History. You have English first. It’s back in the other hallway,” I say, motioning toward her first period classroom.
She nods appreciatively and unfolds the schedule. “Smart thinking,” she says, glancing it over. She looks back up at me with a wicked smile. “I guess you got these from your guidance counselor mistress?”
Her words make me wince, even though I shouldn’t really feel remorse for whatever happened before yesterday.
“Ex-guidance counselor mistress,” I clarify with a grin. She laughs, and it’s a laugh of solidarity. As screwed up as our situation is, and as confusing as the new information about our relationship is, the fact that we can laugh about it proves that we at least share in the absurdity of it all. And the only thought I have as I walk away from her is how much I wish Brian Finley could choke on her laugh.
The first three classes of the day felt foreign. No one in them and nothing discussed seemed familiar to me. I felt like an imposter, out of place.
But the instant I walked into fourth period and took a seat next to Charlie, my mood changed. She’s familiar. My only familiar thing in a world of inconsistency and confusion.
We stole a few glances at each other, but we never spoke during class. We aren’t even speaking now as we enter the cafeteria together. I glance at our table and everyone from yesterday is already seated, save our two empty seats.
I nudge my head toward the lunch line. “Let’s get our food first.”
She glances up at me, briefly, before looking back at the table. “I’m not really hungry,” she says. “I’ll just wait for you at the table.” She heads in the direction of our group and I head toward the cafeteria line.
After grabbing my tray and a Pepsi, I walk over to the table and take a seat. Charlie is looking down at her phone, excluding herself from the surrounding conversation.
The guy to my right—Andrew, I think—elbows me. “Silas,” he says, jabbing me repeatedly. “Tell him how much I benched Monday.”
I look up at the guy sitting across from us. He rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his soda before slamming it on the table. “Come on, Andrew. You think I’m stupid enough to believe your best friend wouldn’t lie for you?”
Best friend.
Andrew is my best friend, yet I wasn’t even sure of his name thirty seconds ago.
My attention moves from the two of them to the food in front of me. I open my soda and take a sip, just as Charlie clenches her waist. It’s loud in the cafeteria, but I still hear the rumble of her stomach. She’s hungry.
If she’s hungry, why isn’t she eating?
“Charlie?” I lean in close to her. “Why aren’t you eating?” She dismisses my question with a shrug. I lower my voice even more. “Do you have money?”
Her eyes dart up to mine as if I just revealed a huge secret to the entire room. She swallows and then looks away, embarrassed. “No,” she says quietly. “I gave my last few dollars to Janette this morning. I’ll be fine until I get home.”
I set my drink down on the table and push my tray in front of her. “Here. I’ll go get another one.”
I stand and go back to the line and get another tray. When I return to the table, she’s taken a few bites of the food. She doesn’t tell me thank you, and I feel relieved. Making sure she has food to eat isn’t a favor I want to be thanked for. It’s something I hope she would expect from me.
“Do you want a ride home today?” I ask her, just as we’re finishing up our meal.
“Dude, you can’t miss practice again,” Andrew shoots in my direction. “Coach won’t let you play tomorrow night if you do.”
I rub a palm down my face, and then I reach in my pocket and retrieve my keys. “Here,” I tell her, placing them in her hand. “Drive your sister home after school. Pick me up when practice is over.”
She tries to hand the keys back to me, but I won’t take them. “Keep them,” I tell her. “You might need a car today and I won’t be using it.”
Andrew interrupts. “You’re letting her drive your car? Are you kidding me? You’ve never even let me sit behind the damn wheel!”
I look over at Andrew and shrug. “You aren’t the one I’m in love with.”
Charlie spits out her drink with a burst of laughter. I glance over at her, and her smile is huge. It lights up her entire face, somehow even making the brown of her eyes seem less dark. I may not remember anything about her, but I would bet her smile was my favorite part of her.
This day has been exhausting. It feels like I’ve been on a stage for hours, acting out scenes I have no script for. The only thing that appeals to me right now is either being in my bed or being with Charlie. Or maybe a combination of both.
However, Charlie and I both still have a goal, and that’s to figure out what the hell happened to us yesterday. Despite the fact that neither of us really wanted to bother with school today, we knew school could lead to an answer. After all, this did happen in the middle of the school day yesterday, so the answer could be related somehow.
Football practice may be of some help. I’ll be around people I haven’t spent much time with in the last twenty-four hours. I might learn something about myself or about Charlie that I didn’t know before. Something that could shed some light on our situation.
I’m relieved to find all the lockers have names on them, so it isn’t hard to locate my gear. What is hard is trying to figure out how to put it on. I struggle with the pants, all the while trying to look like I know what I’m doing. The locker room slowly empties out as all the guys make their way to the field until I’m the only one left.
When I think I’ve got everything situated, I grab my jersey off the top shelf of the locker to pull it on over my head. A box catches my eye, located in the back of the top shelf of my locker. I pull it toward me and take a seat on the bench. It’s a red box, much larger than a box that would just contain a piece of jewelry. I pull the lid off and find a few pictures at the very top.
There aren’t any people in the pictures. They seem to be of places. I flip through them and come to a picture of a swing set. It’s raining, and the ground beneath the swing is covered in water. I flip it over, and written on the back, it says, Our first kiss.
The next picture is of a backseat, but the view is from the floorboard, looking up. I flip it over. Our first fight.
Third is a picture of what looks like a church, but it’s only the picture of the doors. Where we met.
I flip through all the pictures until finally I get to a letter, folded at the bottom of the box. I pick it up and unfold it. It’s a short letter in my handwriting, addressed to Charlie. I begin to read it, but my phone buzzes, so I reach over and unlock it.
Charlie: What time is your practice over?
Me: Not sure. I found a box of stuff in the locker room. Don’t know if it’ll help, but there’s a letter in it.
Charlie: What does it say?
“Silas!” someone yells from behind me. I spin around and drop two of the pictures in my hands. There’s a man standing at the door with an angry look on his face. “Get on the field!”
I nod and he continues on down the hall. I put the pictures back in the box and set it back inside my locker. I take a deep, calming breath and make my way out to the practice field.
Two lines are formed on the field, both rows of guys hunched forward and staring at the guy in front of them. There’s an obvious opening, so I jog toward the empty spot and copy what the other players are doing.
“For shit’s sake, Nash! Why are you not wearing your shoulder pads?” Someone yells.
Shoulder pads. Crap.
I skip out of line and run back to the locker room. This is going to be the longest hour of my life. It’s odd I can’t remember the rules of football. Can’t be that hard, though. Just run back and forth a few times and practice will be over.
I locate pads behind the row of lockers. Luckily, they’re easy to put on. I rush back out onto the field and everyone is scattering, running around like ants. I hesitate before walking onto the field. When a whistle blows, someone shoves me from behind. “Go!” he yells, frustrated.
The lines, the numbers, the goal posts. They mean nothing to me as I stand on the field amongst the other guys. One of the coaches shouts an order and before I know it, the ball is being thrown in my direction. I catch it.
What now?
Run. I should probably run.
I make it three feet before my face meets the astroturf. A whistle blows. A man yells.
I stand up, just as one of the coaches stalks in my direction. “What the hell was that? Get your damn head in the play!”
I look around me, the sweat beginning to trickle down my forehead. Landon’s voice rings out behind me. “Dude. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I turn and look at him, just as everyone huddles around me. I follow their motions and lay my arms over the backs of the guys to my left and right. No one speaks for several seconds, and then I realize they’re all looking at me. Waiting. I think they want me to say something? I get the feeling it’s not a prayer circle.
“You gonna call a play or what?” The guy to my left says.
“Uh…,” I stutter. “You…,” I point to Landon. “Do that…thing.” Before they can question me, I pull apart and the huddle breaks.
“Coach is gonna bench him,” I hear someone mumble behind me. A whistle blows and before the sound even leaves my ears, a freight train crashes into my chest.
Or at least it feels that way.
The sky is above me, my ears are ringing, I can’t pull in a breath.
Landon is hovering over me. He grabs my helmet and shakes it. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He looks around and then back down at me. His eyes narrow. “Stay on the ground. Act sick.”
I do what he says and he jumps up to a stand. “I told him not to come to practice, Coach,” Landon says. “He’s had strep all week. I think he’s dehydrated.”
I close my eyes, relieved for my brother. I kind of like this kid.
“What the hell are you even doing here, Nash?” The coach is kneeling now. “Go to the locker room and get hydrated. We’ve got a game tomorrow night.” He stands and motions for one of the assistant coaches. “Get him a Z-pack and make sure he’s ready for the field tomorrow.”
Landon pulls me up. My ears are still ringing, but I’m able to breathe now. I make my way toward the locker rooms, relieved to be off the field. I should have never walked on in the first place. Not smart, Silas.
I make it back to the locker room and change out of my gear. As soon as I get my shoes on, I hear footsteps nearing the locker room from down the hall. I glance around and spot an exit on the far wall, so I rush to it and push it open. Luckily, it leads right out to the parking lot.
I’m immediately relieved to see my car. I rush over to it just as Charlie climbs out of the driver side, hopping onto her feet as I approach. I’m so relieved to see her—to just have someone to relate to—that I don’t even think about what I do next.
I grab her wrist and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug. My face is buried in her hair and I let out a sigh. She feels familiar. Safe. Makes me forget that I can’t even remember…
“What are you doing?”
She’s stiff against me. Her cold reaction reminds me that we don’t do things like this. Silas and Charlie did things like this.
Shit.
I clear my throat and release her, taking a quick step back. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Force of habit.”
“We have no habits.” She pushes past me and walks around my car.
“Do you think you’ve always been this mean to me?” I ask her.
She looks at me from over the hood and nods. “My money’s on yes. You’re probably a glutton for punishment.”
“More like a masochist,” I mutter.
We both climb into my car, and I have two places I plan on going tonight. The first being my house to shower, but I’m sure if I asked her if she wanted to come along, she’d say no just to spite me. Instead, I head in the direction of my house and don’t give her a choice.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks, three miles into our drive.
I didn’t realize I was. I shrug. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
I glance at her and she’s waiting for my answer with an impatient frown.
“I was wondering how the old Silas ever broke through your hard exterior.”
She laughs. “What makes you think he did?”
I would smile again, but I don’t think I’ve stopped. “You saw the video, Charlie. You loved him.” I pause for a second, then rephrase. “Me. You loved me.”
“She loved you,” Charlie says, and then smiles. “I’m not even sure if I like you yet.”
I shake my head with a soft laugh. “I don’t know myself very well, but I must have been extremely competitive. Because I just took that as a challenge.”
“Took what as a challenge? You think you can make me like you again?”
I look over at her and give my head the slightest shake. “No. I’m gonna make you fall in love with me again.”
I can see the gentle roll of her throat as she swallows, but just as fast as she let her guard down, it flies back up. “Good luck with that,” she says, facing forward again. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be the first guy to ever compete with himself over the affection of a girl.”
“Maybe so,” I say as we pull into my driveway. “But my money’s on me.”
I turn the car off and get out. She doesn’t unbuckle. “You coming? I need to take a quick shower.”
She doesn’t even look at me. “I’ll wait in the car.”
I don’t argue. I close the door and head inside to shower, thinking about the small smile I could swear was playing in the corner of her mouth.
And while winning her over again isn’t my main priority, it’s definitely the new back-up plan in case neither of us can figure out how to revert back to who we were before yesterday. Because even through all the bullshit—her cheating on me with Brian, me cheating on her with the counselor, our families in turmoil—we still obviously tried to make it work. There had to be something there, something deeper than attraction or a simple childhood bond, that made me fight to keep her.
I want to feel that again. I want to remember what it feels like to love someone like that. And not just anyone. I want to know what it feels like to love Charlie.