She turns in my direction and hesitates. Just as I think she’s going to come talk to me, she turns on her heels and walks off down the hall. When she’s gone, I slam my own locker shut and follow her, twenty paces behind, wishing all the way we were arm in arm.
Jamie is eyeing me suspiciously across our desk island. We’re supposed to be working together to create a fictitious travel itinerary for a two-week vacation in Mexico. It’s busywork, and normally I’d be all for it.
Later in life, I’ll do a lot of traveling. But today, I’m not interested.
“What?” I hiss at her. I’m not in the mood.
“Nothing,” she says, taken aback by my atypically harsh response.
I pull the Mexico travel guide toward me and randomly open it to the section on Isla de Mujeres. I can’t help but laugh. I remember being there. With Jamie. A slightly more weathered but still gorgeous Jamie.
Flipping through the hotels section, I come across photos that give me the sense of déjà vu. A hotel on a private island, surrounded by the clearest, bluest ocean imaginable.
It reminds me of Luke’s eyes, staring into me this morning in study hall.
I can’t help but smile more broadly.
“What’s so funny?” Jamie asks bitingly.
“Nothing, this hotel just looks nice,” I say, turning the book to show her.
I wonder whether right now I’m planting our getaway idea deep in my subconscious. I wonder whether somehow a little piece of me will remember today when Jamie and I finally do plan the trip.
“I guess.” Jamie is shrugging, looking at the glorious hotel. “I’ve seen better.”
I take back the book and start working on our assignment. Jamie sits quietly for a few seconds, then surprises me with a question.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I look up at her.
“I’m fine, why?”
“You look like you’ve been crying,” she practically whispers, checking to make sure no one else is eavesdropping. I like that she’s concerned about embarrassing me.
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging myself this time. “I’ve had some stuff going on.”
“Oh,” Jamie says, looking down at her lap. For a moment, I think my memory is wrong, that it won’t take another few weeks for us to make up. But then, as quick as it was there, Jamie’s compassion is gone.
“The period is halfway over. Give me that. I’ll do it,” she says, grabbing the book from me. Immediately, she goes to work on a faux itinerary for a trip that she doesn’t know she’ll eventually take… with me.
As I watch my best friend work on our joint assignment alone, I feel strangely invigorated. I know she wants to ask me what’s wrong. I know she cares that I’m upset. I know she misses me.
And knowing all that motivates me.
I’ll get my best friend back.
But first, I’ll break up the relationship that will do nothing but cause her heartache.
38
“Where are we going?” Luke asks.
“Just drive,” I say. “Turn left at the light.”
Luke does as I instruct, and then protests. “I thought you wanted to hang out after school. Not go on a stakeout.”
“Funny,” I say. I point as I command, “Turn right and then slow down. I need to look for the house number.”
Written on a scrap of paper is 1553 Mountain Street. It’s amazing what you can find in the phone book.
“There it is,” I say, reflexively ducking down in my seat. “The white one on the right. The one with the black shutters. Pass it and park down the street.”
Luke shakes his head but does as I ask. He pulls the van into a spot and puts it in park. I reach over and turn down the radio, even though it’s already low. Then I turn it off.
“They’d have to have bionic ears to have heard that, you know,” Luke laughs.
“Shhh,” I say to him, craning my neck to see the house behind us.
“Here, try this,” Luke says, flipping down the passenger-side visor and revealing a mirror. I adjust it and see the house without turning my head.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Sure,” he says, looking at me curiously. “So, what now? What are we doing?”
“Watching the house,” I say.
“For what?” Luke asks.
“The Messenger,” I reply.
“The Messenger,” he repeats flatly, leaning back in his seat and staring out the window at nothing.
A car pulls into a driveway a few houses in front of us, and a woman struggles to carry two armfuls of bags inside. The wind doesn’t want her to make it. It blinds her with her own hair and presses against her shoulders.
I try to explain the situation to Luke.
“I need to figure out who Mr. Rice’s wife tutors,” I say.
“How do you know she’s a tutor?” Luke asks.
I roll my eyes at him and reply, “Because I do. Jesse Henson will tell me next year that Mrs. Rice is a better math tutor than Ms. Hanover is a teacher.”
“Who is Jesse Henson?” Luke asks, totally missing the point.
“Just a girl in my math class next year,” I say, annoyed. “She’ll sit next to me. She’s chatty.”
“So, what, you want to find out who Mrs. Rice tutors now so you can tell that kid about her husband?” Luke asks, finally seeing the light.
I nod once.
“But won’t the person just tell Mrs. Rice it was you who told?” Luke asks, confused.
“Not if I’m smart,” I say.
“I see,” he says, and I wonder whether he means it. Luke strums his hands on the steering wheel like he’s bored.
Nothing is happening at the Rice house, and I’m growing less and less excited about my mission by the second.
Sighing, I change the subject.
“What do you think of hypnotism?” I ask.
“Honestly, I don’t think about it,” Luke says, looking at me now with his soft blue eyes.
“Well, do for a minute. Do you think that I could be hypnotized to remember more?”
“More what? Past or future?”
“Either one,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. Remembering the future feels normal to me. The one past memory in my brain is like a splinter. It doesn’t belong.
“Maybe a hypnotist could jog your memory about me,” Luke mutters, looking back to the street.
“Maybe,” I say, focusing again on the house behind me. “Wouldn’t it be nice to date someone who remembers you every morning?”
“Sure,” Luke says. “Then again, maybe you’d get bored with me.”
“No way,” I reply. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it’s up to you,” Luke answers. His noncommittal comment bugs me. I glance his way to roll my eyes at him, and then I look back at the house.
Still nothing.
“I want whatever you want, as far as your brain is concerned. I love you no matter what,” Luke says, and when I turn to face him, our eyes lock.
I wonder whether my heart keeps time even when my head doesn’t. Maybe that’s why I feel so much for Luke right now, even though I technically just met him this morning in study hall.
Something catches my eye and ruins the moment. A white car zips past us, and I can only assume that it’s being driven by someone who can’t see the future dangers of reckless driving.
It turns without slowing into the driveway in front of the white house with the black shutters: 1553 Mountain Street.
The Messenger has arrived.
I wait excitedly as the person turns off the car, gets organized, and opens the door. Forgoing the mirror, I turn in my seat to get a better look just as long blonde hair appears from the car.
I focus and then groan.
The Messenger is Carley Lynch, making things a touch more complicated. Originally, I was just going to “encourage” the Messenger to stumble upon Jamie and Mr. Rice. Now, with Carley involved, I need to modify the plan.
C
arley Lynch would never take a suggestion from me.
“What are you going to do?” Luke asks an hour later, tossing a small decorative pillow up in the air and catching it over and over again. I want to grab the pillow and throw it out the window.
“I don’t know,” I say, remembering plenty of instances when Carley will make her feelings known, ranging from times she’ll merely scowl at me to those special occasions when she’ll bitingly comment on my clothes, walk, or general existence.
“Can’t you just remember what you’ll do and do that?” Luke presses, still tossing the stupid pillow.
“Luke!” I shout at him. “Do you think I’d be worrying about this if I remembered how to solve it? My memories of Jamie and Mr. Rice end much later, and very badly. What I’m trying to do now is change all that. I’m flying blind here, buddy. Perhaps you could help me out a little instead of playing catch with that stupid pillow.”
Just then, Luke’s most recent toss lands in his hands, and instead of releasing it again, he sets the pillow aside.
“Sorry,” he says, sitting up and looking right at me. “Come sit down.”
“I don’t want to,” I say, like a mad little girl. But somehow, Luke’s sweet eyes and gentle smile sand off my rough edges. Soon enough, I’m lounging with him on my bed, brainstorming the path that will lead to the premature demise of Jamie’s affair.
We’re still on my bed when my mom knocks once and comes into my room at 9:45. She’s home late, and, frankly, I’d forgotten about her. I’d forgotten about dinner and time and everything else.
“Oh, Luke!” Mom says. She looks at him splayed out on top of the covers.
“We’re hatching a plan,” I explain when she shoots a warning glance my way. It’s not much of an explanation, but it’s all I’ve got.
“That’s nice, but why don’t you continue this tomorrow? It’s getting late,” she says.
“What time is it?” Luke asks, leaning over so that he can see the clock on the nightstand.
“Almost ten,” Mom answers.
Quickly, Luke scoots to the edge of the bed and throws on his shoes.
“I gotta go,” he says. “My mom’s going to freak.”
Luke stands and then squats down in front of me and kisses me on the lips right in front of my mom.
Gutsy. I like it.
Then he throws on his jacket, waves good-bye to both of us, and hurries out of the room. I hear him bound down the stairs and out the door, closing it with a slam behind him.
“Sorry,” I say to my mom when we’re alone. “I didn’t realize how late it got.”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she says, smoothing my hair. “Luke is a good guy.”
“Yeah, I really like him,” I say. “I think I love him.”
I wonder whether my mom is going to give me a lecture on young love and chastity and all that humiliating stuff, but she doesn’t. Instead, she surprises me by saying simply, “I know you do.”
After a hug, she leaves me alone in my room feeling happy about the day and wishing that I could hold on to it forever.
Instead, I get to work. Without Luke’s hotness to distract me, and with the help of my notes, I brainstorm. In the end, it’s crystal clear: I’ll make the gossip superhighway work for me.
With the unwitting assistance of Gabby Stein, future valedictorian Christopher Osborne, Alex Morgan, and, ultimately, Carley Lynch, I’ll save Jamie.
That is, if all the dominoes fall as they should.
39
Following detailed instructions from this morning’s note, I shove the folded paper into Gabby Stein’s locker seconds before students start arriving to dress down for gym. Without being too obvious about it, I watch Gabby find the note, read it, and blush.
In that moment, I know that domino number one will fall: Gabby will go to the Driver’s Ed. room at lunch looking for Christopher. Unless there is some uncontrollable coincidence, he obviously won’t be there. But I know from notes that Jamie and Mr. Rice will be.
That’s gossip too rich for Gabby to keep to herself.
Five periods later, I arrive early to Brit. Lit., anxiously awaiting the arrival of Gabby and my next domino, the evil Alex Morgan.
Gabby shows first, and I know by looking at her that she saw them. She’s practically bursting with her newfound secret. I try to hide my excitement as Gabby furiously whispers to Alex the second she arrives. Then, before the bell—before Ms. Jenkins can remind her about the “no texting in class” rule—Alex types and sends a message on her cell phone that I can only hope is meant for Carley.
After school, I ask Luke to drive me to an address from this morning’s note.
“Again?” he asks.
“Guess so.” I shrug.
Luke drives but doesn’t seem happy about it. When we arrive, he pulls into a space down the block and points to the house in question. In minutes, a white car zips into the driveway. Carley Lynch gets out.
“What are you looking for this time?” Luke asks.
I squint to be sure, and then I answer.
“That,” I say, pointing.
“What? Carley?”
“Not Carley. Her expression. Her posture. She looks worried.”
“So?” Luke asks. “You think that means she knows?”
I take a deep breath and let it out, relieved. It’s a small victory.
“Yes,” I tell my boyfriend. “She knows.”
“Now what?” he asks.
I look him in the eyes, so glad to have him in my life.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“That’s it? That’s all we came for? To see Carley’s expression?”
“Yep,” I say.
“You aren’t going to do anything else?”
“Nope. Don’t have to.”
Luke shakes his head at me as he starts the ignition and pulls out of the parking space.
“Seems like a waste of time,” he mutters.
“I hope it wasn’t,” I say quietly.
“For Jamie’s sake, me, too,” Luke replies. “I just can’t believe that’s all you’re going to do.”
“Well, there is one other thing,” I say.
“What’s that?” Luke asks.
“I’m going to forget this ever happened.”
40
There is a cop car in the Meridan High School roundabout this morning. It’s not something you see every day. Students are whispering; Carley Lynch’s friends are consoling her at the top of the main hall.
It’s all a bit unnerving.
When I arrive at Spanish, I find that Jamie is already there, leaning on top of her desk with her chin on her arms. She looks like she’s been crying.
“What’s the matter, J?” I ask softly as I sit down next to her.
“What do you think?” she asks, without looking at me.
I think forward to whispers about Jamie in the hallway. To a hostile courtroom. A testimony. A conviction.
I lie.
“I don’t know, Jamie, but seriously, fight or not, you can talk to me. I’m always here for you.”
Jamie looks at me with red eyes and a puffy face. The bell rings, and Ms. Garcia starts a Spanish-language movie. A few minutes in, Jamie turns to face me again.
“We got caught,” she whispers. Fresh tears well up in her eyes. “The police took him away this morning. That bitch Carley Lynch told the principal. I’m sure it’s the best news you’ve heard all day.”
I hold her gaze for a while and then whisper back.
“It’s not,” I say honestly. “I’m so sorry, Jamie.”
She looks away and doesn’t speak for a moment. Then, finally, she does.
“I don’t believe you,” Jamie whispers, so softly I barely hear. Her chin sinks back to her arms.
I remember notes telling me Jamie’s rule about sharing her future. If there will ever be a time to break the rules, it’s now.
“Jamie,” I whisper, “it’s all going to work out okay. I promise.”
&
nbsp; Luke and I hold hands as we cut across the parking lot at lunch. There’s a strange absence of wind, and it makes me feel even more unsettled than I already do. It’s too calm for the turbulent day.
“I can’t believe they got caught,” I say to Luke as we climb into his van.
“Uh-huh,” he says with a funny look on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says.
“I feel really bad for her. I mean, I read my notes; I was pretty upset about their thing. But I can’t believe he’s going to jail. And poor Jamie. She has to go to court. And everyone is going to make fun of her. I remember it.”
“There are worse things you could remember,” Luke says.
“There are worse things I do remember,” I say back, recalling the note about my brother this morning. Right now Jamie’s mistake doesn’t seem so big.
“Good thing it’s the end of the year,” I say.
“Why?” Luke asks as we pull out of the lot.
“It’ll die down by next year,” I report. “Jamie’s going to be back to normal by then. Mostly.”
I sigh the heavy sigh of knowing what’s to come.
“It’s nice out,” Luke says, changing the subject. “Would a picnic make you feel better?”
“Yes,” I say, imagining lying in the grass, staring at him all lunch period. “Yes, I think it would.”
“Want to ask Jamie to come with us?” Luke offers.
“You’re so sweet,” I say. “That’s a great idea.” I pull out my phone and text the invitation; Jamie immediately writes back. Progress.
Home for lunch; forgot a book. Thanks though. Really. It means a lot.
I smile and text back. Anytime, J.
“Is she coming?” Luke asks.
“Nope, it’s just us.”
Ten minutes later, I’m waiting for Luke in his minivan in the grocery store parking lot while he buys food.
I wish he’d hurry up.
The springtime sun beats down on me through the windshield, and the heat and the stillness slow my breathing, relax my muscles, and muddy my focus. I’m in a daze as I watch a young mother carry her baby inside the store and come out a few minutes later with a box of diapers. A tall man and a short woman rush through the automatic doors, the man checking his watch as he walks. Two children, seemingly without supervision, run through the parking lot and into the store. I wonder where their mother is as I roll my heavy head to the left.