Keep Me in Mind Read online

  “Don’t you guys have dates?” I turned around to face the girls in the backseat.

  “No way! We playas can’t be tied down. We like to keep our options open. It’s you who decided to settle down, Mrs. McPherson,” Trish teased.

  I scoffed. “Please don’t call me that.”

  “Ooh, trouble in paradise? Is married life not going like you hoped?”

  “Shut up, Trish,” Kendra chastised. “I think it’s sweet that you found your soul mate, Ellia. I always thought you had to be old for that kind of thing, but I guess not. Kinda like arthritis. And death.” She whispered the word as if the Grim Reaper would hop onto the windshield.

  I glanced at Stacey behind the wheel, silently pleading for some backup. She quirked the side of her mouth and kept her eyes on the road. It was best that she focused on her stunt car maneuvering since stop signs were just a suggestion for her.

  After she parked the car in front of my house, I climbed out and wished the girls good luck. In return, they promised they would definitely fill me in on the events tonight, and we would totally hang out later, and they absolutely would call to set things up and other adverbs, which implied that no such thing would happen. And I was completely cool with that. These girls were a trip and a half, each playing a key role in the wildest chapters in my life. Though I wasn’t equipped to delve into the story just yet, I mentally bookmarked the pages to revisit at a later date.

  “By the way … ” Kendra poked her head out the window and said with theatrical flair, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

  That was random. “Um … thank you?”

  “It’s Maya Angelou. See, the last thing you say to someone is important, and what I told you before your accident was pretty weak. So now I have to think of something deep so you can remember, because who knows if I’ll ever see you again.”

  “Kendra, she isn’t going to die,” Nina chided.

  “You never know, though,” Kendra insisted.

  Nina pushed Kendra aside and climbed into the front seat. “I never understood why your head is so big. I mean, there is nothing in there.”

  “Hating me won’t make you pretty,” Kendra said.

  “And talking won’t make you any smarter,” Nina shot back without missing a beat, which told me this bickering was something they did often.

  “Oh my god, someone put a muzzle on them, please!” Stacey yelled.

  “On it.” Trish, who was still in the backseat, took out a tissue and stuffed it in Kendra’s mouth.

  “Later, El.” Stacey blew me a kiss and burned rubber to the next block. I stared mystified as the compact car turned the corner, while laughter and screams of joy echoed into the night. How that girl got her license was a true act of witchcraft.

  I reached the porch, unlocked the front door, and then paused at the sound of jingling. I had more junk on my keychain than actual keys—miniature toys and plastic tags with silly slogans printed on either side. I noticed that a particular item was missing: a brown dog collar with two metal tags in the shape of paw prints.

  A cold snout, big brown eyes, and reddish fur flooded my senses with a rush that made me sway. For a moment, I saw it as a sign that my memories were returning, but my cocker spaniel, Babette, had died when I was in middle school, way before the memory gap. It amazed me how little things can trigger dormant memories, and I wondered what became of the dog collar.

  I walked inside and bristled at the house’s cold emptiness. No music, no TV, and my footsteps against the marbled foyer left a hollow echo as if entering a museum. Everything was showcase perfect and either pristine white or gold, and it was a mortal sin to step into the living room, much less sit on the imported leather couch. I was a pampered child raised in a mausoleum, surrounded by beautiful things that weren’t alive.

  I found Mom in the kitchen, playing with her new toy: the food processor. I glanced at the closed door off the side of the kitchen. The band of light underneath the door let me know that Dad’s location hadn’t changed. He’d been locked in his office all day working on a development project and likely wouldn’t resurface until morning.

  Mom dumped something into the juicer that had no business being liquefied. Big curls fell past her shoulders and framed a skillfully painted face that showed no emotion. The woman made poise look effortless and exhausting at the same time.

  “You missed dinner,” she said without looking up.

  Oh, that was a real shame. “That’s fine. I ate at Stacey’s.”

  “Here. Drink this.” She shoved a glass of something green and thick in my face.

  I sniffed the contents for toxins. “What is it?”

  “It’s a fruit smoothie loaded with vitamin D, omega-3, and antioxidants to help with brainpower.”

  I took a timid sip. It wasn’t so bad once you got past the chewing. “Thanks, Mom.”

  I pulled out my phone and saw that I had two voice mails from Liam. I deleted both without listening to them. Then I erased all five of his “I’m sorry, please call me” texts. I watched Mom wipe down the countertop and remove all evidence of the slaughtered, innocent produce.

  “How come Liam doesn’t come over?” I asked.

  Mom dropped her dish towel and turned to me. “My guess would be guilt or respect for your need for space. Can’t say I’m at all disappointed.”

  “Why?” I asked. “The doctors said that he was the one who found me on the beach.”

  “Yes, and it was a miracle that he found you when he did, but that’s not to say that the boy doesn’t have problems.”

  This was news to me. “What kind of problems?”

  “From what you told me, he didn’t have a very happy home life. His parents had recently divorced and I supposed he was lashing out in rebellion. And his father … well, he’s a piece of work.”

  Tell me about it, I thought.

  “I’m not one to talk ill of people, but that boy is not exactly who I would’ve chosen for you,” she said, and continued cleaning. “He’s smart and charming, but he’s also troubled and doesn’t seem to have any vision for himself. He’d already influenced your behavior, causing you to have trouble in school and stay out late. I was concerned about his attachment; it was a bit extreme.”

  The word rebellion swirled around my tongue before I swallowed it down. Maybe Liam used me to get back at his dad. What better way to stick it to your parents than to date someone they didn’t approve of? That rule also applied to me, and going by what I learned tonight, I wasn’t exactly Miss Goody Two-Shoes, either.

  I thought of all the pictures of us on my phone and computer that I was tempted to get rid of, but couldn’t bring myself to delete. Most were candid, unscripted moments of smiles and adoring glances. Two years was a long time to fake a relationship. No matter the motive in the beginning, genuine feelings had to have developed over time, enough to cause Mom concern.

  I wished I kept a diary or a blog so I could know for sure. I couldn’t get an accurate story from anyone and every new piece of information had to be processed and vetted for authenticity.

  “Why do you ask? Did you see him today while you were out?” Mom asked.

  “Um … nope.” I finished the last of the smoothie then set the glass in the sink. “I’m just getting a head count of all my friends from school. It’s hard keeping track of them all.”

  Mom dropped her dish towel on the counter and placed her hands on my shoulders. “I know this is tough on you, but look at this as a new chapter in your life with new opportunities. A chance to start over without having to backtrack or regret past mistakes. A clean slate.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  I went to my room with too many questions and a growing migraine. As I chased two painkillers with a glass of water, I surveyed the area. I felt like a convict in my own home—no pardon, no plea bargain. Sixteen years of imagination crammed within thirty square feet and four walls, boxing me in to what I should know and what was expected of me.

&nbs
p; I had friends fan-girling over my criminal past, a dude stalking my house, classmates blowing up my timeline with foolery I couldn’t remember, and girls looking up deep-sounding quotes and asking themselves, “What is life?” That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid with head trauma.

  I had to give Stacey props—she may be a maniac driver, but she never took her eyes off the road or got distracted by the craziness in the car. Right now, I envied that kind of focus, because I kept looking back and reaching behind me for something I couldn’t even hold. Time moved in one direction: forward. It might be a good idea for me to do the same.

  Foul was not the proper word to describe my mood. Livid didn’t really sum it up, either.

  I barely spoke to Dad all weekend, lest I give in to the temptation to murder him in his sleep. Dad was a gruff man who didn’t do diplomacy well, but the way he treated Ellia crossed the “rude” line and dove deep into are-you-kidding-me? territory. I tried calling her and got her voice mail all weekend. There was no guesswork involved this time—she was flat-out avoiding me.

  By Monday, my mood hadn’t improved. I drove to school in a manner that could be called outrun-the-cops driving. Wade sat in the passenger seat, struggling not to choke on his breakfast burrito through the turbulence. His hands braced the door, ready to jump out in case I chose this moment to go through with my murder-suicide pact.

  When we pulled into the school parking lot, he tore out of the car, threw himself onto the ground, and kissed the concrete with religious zeal. “Land! Oh, blessed, solid land!”

  I left him to his worship and stepped through the back entrance of the school where hellos went unanswered, friends and teammates were ignored.

  And … it was Valentine’s Day.

  Paper hearts and flowers hung from strings on the ceiling. Candy hearts and lollipops were taped to lockers by secret admirers. Couples kissed in the halls and made promises of forever with a twenty-four-hour shelf life. I hated them all, and though it wasn’t Christmas, I wore the title of Grinch with pride.

  A junior girl named Casey Basset stood by her locker showing her friend the half-dozen balloons her boyfriend gave her. I unhooked a button from my backpack, straightened the fastener into a point, and stabbed two balloons as I strolled past. Onlookers jumped at the loud pop, and I heard Casey yell, “Hey!” but I didn’t break my stride.

  This chubby band kid named Blake Glover sat on a stool in the hall dressed up as Cupid and serenaded the kids with his guitar. He would be there all day between classes and at lunch, and even took requests for two dollars. I gave him ten bucks to play “She Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd and “Cry Me a River” by Justin Timberlake, which set the perfect mood to unleash my wrath upon the student body.

  Brian Matheson and Tiana Daniels, his arm candy of the week, were cuddled up by the bathrooms. I stopped and backpedaled until I was standing next to them. At first they didn’t see me. They were too busy cooing baby talk.

  “I love you,” he said as they nuzzled noses.

  “No, I love you more,” she replied.

  “No, I love—”

  “Dude, you know she’s sneaking around with your boy Travis, right?” I cut in.

  Finally realizing I was standing next to him, Brian yelled, “What?”

  “It’s not true, baby, I swear.” Tiana shook her head vehemently.

  “She’s lying. Check her phone. They’re always texting each other in Biology.”

  “Shut up, Liam!” she spat.

  “You’re hooking up with Travis?” Brian accused her.

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous,” Tiana pleaded, but Brian wasn’t convinced. The seed of doubt had been planted and my work was done.

  I walked away, looking for my next victim. As a quiet observer, I’d accumulated a load of dirty laundry and spent the entire morning airing it out for my peers. Cute and sweet, they’d call me. Shy and unassuming, they’d say, but now they were getting a glimpse of what bottled rage looked like. And it sure wasn’t cute.

  By fourth period, my streak of mayhem had reached the four corners of school. What was once laughter and good times was now a gripe fest of the brokenhearted and betrayed. It was music to my ears. If misery loved company, then I wanted to throw the party of the century. I’d promote the event with flyers that said,

  SINGLE-AWARENESS SOIRÉE

  FREE ADMISSION, NO DRESS CODE.

  BRING YOUR OWN TEARS!

  The warm weather allowed students to eat at the tables outside, and given my behavior, it wasn’t a surprise that I sat alone at lunch. My thirst for anarchy had been quenched and now I just wanted a quiet place to write. Too bad that didn’t happen.

  “Hey, nephew, what’s up?” Wade sat next to me and leaned his back against the tabletop.

  “Not much,” I returned with a smile that felt painful.

  Elbows on the table, he scanned the perimeter under dark sunglasses. “Fair warning, you might wanna steer clear of the band kids and any cheerleaders. They’re plotting revenge on you. I didn’t catch all the details, but from what I heard it’s not pretty.”

  “Bring it. There’s nothing they can do that I—AHHHH!” The sudden downpour overhead was a shock to my nervous system. My muscles locked, my back stiffened from the avalanche of ice chips sliding inside my shirt.

  I wiped my eyes to find my entire body covered in red slush. Cheers and whistles quickly followed, and I watched in frigid horror as kids stood up in applause.

  “That’ll teach you to butt in and ruin people’s dates, you jerk!” a random sophomore girl yelled behind me.

  I turned around and saw Brian’s now ex-girlfriend and four other girls holding jumbo-size cups in their hands and high-fiving each other.

  “You tell ’em, girl!” Wade joined the chorus with three finger-snaps in a Z formation. “The no-good bum.”

  I turned to my traitorous uncle, who now sat at a safe distance from the spray. “Whose side are you on? Ow!” A plastic cup bounced off the back of my head, which brought on another round of laughter as the girls stomped away.

  “The side that keeps me dry,” he replied. “What did you expect? We don’t take kindly to bullies and party poopers ’round these parts.”

  “Right.” I swiped my tongue around and caught the wetness on the side of my cheek. Cherry flavored with a splash of cola. Nice.

  Wade handed me a napkin, though it would take a towel and a mop to clean up this mess. “So … what did we learn?” he asked in his best teacher voice.

  “Not to trust you to give me a decent heads-up.” I wiped my face and then chucked the balled-up tissue at him.

  He dodged the blow, and then began fiddling with his phone. “Listen, I get that you’re not in the Valentine’s mood, but you can’t take it out on other people. When I got dumped by the-chick-who-shall-not-be-named, did you see me trying to sabotage other people’s relationships? No.”

  “No. You just curled up in a ball, refused to shower for three days, drowned in a tub of ice cream, and stalked her online. So much healthier.” I held up my notebook and shook off the melting slush. Thankfully, only two pages had suffered flood damage.

  “Maybe so, but I’m much better now—thanks for asking. The cloud is lifting and I’m slowly coming out of my funk.”

  I did a double take at the gray T-shirt and blue jeans he wore. That ugly maroon sweatshirt he never washed was nowhere in sight and he had actually bothered to shave.

  “What made you decide to lose the hoodie?” I asked as I ripped the soggy pages from my notebook, crumbled the wad, then threw that at him, too.

  He tilted his head to the left, causing the ball to fly past his ear. “It was time to move on. Might be a good idea that you do the same,” he replied. “I can get why you’re still pining for Ellia, but you’re in a sea of eligible females. I mean, they kind of hate you right now, but … ”

  I shrugged. Even if a girl found my mood swings appealing, I wasn’t interested in a rebound, which was all it woul
d amount to anyway.

  Wade peered at my wet clothes and dripping hair. “You might want to change so you don’t attract ants.”

  I couldn’t even find the strength to care. The mess seemed to reflect my mood, which couldn’t get any worse at this point.

  “Hey, Hemingway!” Stacey called out as she approached us, her knee-high boots clacking on the pavement.

  I spoke too soon.

  That freakishly large handbag swung from the crook of her arm and whacked a boy in the face as he stood up from his table. But it would take more than a possible concussion to break her stride—she looked determined. And ticked.

  “Whoops! That’s my cue to leave.” Wade stood up and left, but not without taking a picture of me on his phone. As he chuckled and walked away, I had a sneaking suspicion that my soggy state would go viral within the hour. And he wondered why I kept certain parts of my personal life a secret. Anyway, I had bigger problems at the moment.

  That bigger problem took a seat across from me then slapped a thin stack of papers on the table. “A B-minus? Is that the best you can do?”

  I inspected the English essay that I rewrote last week and noticed the red ink scattered on the document. This report focused on feminism in Jane Eyre, which confirmed that Stacey was a closeted Brontë fan. “You said to keep it authentic. It couldn’t be perfect,” I explained.

  “Yeah, but my teacher marks off for grammar, Liam. I know how to use spell-check. I expected more from you. You don’t strike me as one who would settle for mediocre.”

  I sighed. “So how is she?” I asked.

  Stacey rolled her eyes at the familiar change in topic. “She’s fine.”

  “Come on, you can do better than that. ‘Fine’ is just so … mediocre,” I fired back.

  “She’s still trying to remember things, and asking a lot of questions. Some of them are about you.”

  That got my attention. “Really? What did she say?”

  “She asked about how you guys met and what you saw in each other. Oh, and also she thinks your dad is a racist.”