(Don't You) Forget About Me (5 page)

“Hey, are you going away already?”

“It's just the heat.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “But it'd be nice if you got to your point sometime this year.”

“Okay.” Jonathan nods, and then, as if he's made some sort of big decision, he blurts out, “I heard you ran into my sister yesterday. Or, well, she ran into you.”

“Your sister,” I repeat, trying to grab hold of the memory that Jonathan's words conjure up. It wavers before me as insubstantial as smoke.

“Yeah, my sister. LuAnn. She threw herself at Elton's car yesterday.” He stares at me, as if he can force me to remember, but the memory recedes even further.

“Sorry.” I shrug helplessly. “I don't recall any Lulu from yesterday.”

“LuAnn!” Jonathan barks the name at me.

“Yeah sure,” I agree genially, suddenly feeling happy and carefree for no reason at all.

Jonathan growls something else, but it's becoming difficult to concentrate. Through half-closed eyes, I watch as he removes a piece of paper from his pocket and begins to carefully fold it.

A moment later—or maybe longer than that—I feel something being pushed into the front pocket of my shorts. I shove the person away, or try to, but my arms move so slowly that my fingers only swish the air in front of me.

Cold water splashes in my face. I scrub it away with the back of my hand and glare at . . . Jonathan. “What the hell?”

“Listen, this is important. I put a note in your pocket. Don't let anybody else read it. Don't even touch it until after you're . . .” He twirls a finger near his temple.

I squint at him, forcing him to stay in focus. “What does it say? What do you want from me? And why wait until I took a pill to ask for it?”

“Damn, ain't it clear? I'm asking for your help, Sky. And I'm hoping that we'll both be able to forget I ever did.”

There doesn't seem to be much I can say in response to that, and it's way past time for me to leave. I turn to the door and am halfway out when one last thing occurs to me. I look over my shoulder at Jonathan. “Give me my twenty back.”

He shrugs in response, and then his mouth moves, but the words come out garbled—at least to my ears. All I hear is, “Sdfhwuiojlcj sjdfuoiwue hope gldljou stuck-up bitch slkjoiu owe you.”

I nod like a bobblehead doll with blank eyes. My hand is held out, but I can't remember why. Maybe I was waving good-bye? It's possible. Wiggling my fingers at what's-his-face, I clumsily pivot and walk out the door. As it snaps closed behind me, I automatically reach for my pills, pop one into my mouth, and swallow it dry. “Good stuff,” I mumble through numb lips.

Then at last I begin my slow descent down the bleacher steps. They clang as I clomp on dead feet. At the bottom I cross paths with one of the football players. I stare at him, trying to remember his name. But the pill is taking over completely. For the first hour or two, everything slips away. At its worst I can't even remember how to talk.

My cell beeps with a text. I pull it from my pocket. It's a bare-bones model or else I probably would've traded it for more pills. I have a message from someone named “O” that says:
News 4 u. Library Rm. 210
.

Somewhere at the back of my mind an ember of remembrance flares up. O is connected to Piper. I have a feeling it's not a good idea to meet him in this state, but my feet have already turned toward the school, and I am drifting through the front doors.

Clutching my phone as a constant reminder of my final destination, I stumble down the deserted halls and peer into empty classrooms. In the fall I will begin my fourth year here, and yet I cannot remember where the library is. I am having a difficult time even remembering to look for a place with lots of books.

I worry that it might be upstairs, but when I try to climb the steps, I'm turned away.

“Labs are closed,” a girl tells me. “Go to the double-wide if you want pills.”

Of course they're closed. I knew that. Because the things are up there doing that thing they do when it's that day that it is today.

I blunder on, the lockers blending one into another, when large block letters appear on the door in front of me. I hold my phone up, matching the word on the screen to the one on the door.
LIBRARY
. Pulling the heavy door open, I search again, this time through stacks of books. A long row ends at a wall, and I lean against it, feeling so incredibly tired. Still leaning, I make my feet move.

I don't remember who I am. Or where I am. Or why. I start to giggle, and look around for someone to share the joke with. But I am alone. The giggle turns into a sniffle. No tears come though. I've forgotten how to cry.

Something scrapes my cheek. I stop and push back from the wall just far enough to see. 205. A number on a door. It seems important. I try the knob, and the door opens to a tiny dark room. Closing the door, I turn to see more doors. A whole line of them going down the wall. 206. 207. 208. 209. I try every one, and find the same exact empty room every time. Like the lockers, and the books, these rooms could go on forever.

210.

I stop again. There is something heavy and beeping in my hand. Shoving it into my pocket, I ignore it. This door doesn't open. I rattle the knob and then knock. Too loudly. The sound vibrates through me and the whole room. The door swings open. A boy is on the other side. Something wells up inside me when I see him. A feeling I don't have a name for.

And then he is kissing me. And I am letting him. Sort of. He doesn't seem to notice that my mouth is slack beneath his own.

Disappointment. That is the feeling. For some reason I'd thought it would be Piper here. Or hoped.

I jerk away, trying to remember how I know him. If I even know him at all.

He asks me what took so long. He holds my face between his hands, and I can feel his sweaty palms against my cheeks.

“You're all fucked up, aren't you?” It's mean the way he says it, and he laughs and his hands are under my shirt and I remember the word
no
and mumble it as I pull away from his grasping paws.

“C'mon, Sky,” he says, his breath hot and whining. “Doncha want to hear about how I finally got a look inside the locked room? You know, the one I figured they've been keeping her in?” He tugs a chunk of hair, demanding my attention. “I finally got in, and guess who I saw in there?” He smirks. “I'm thinking that type of information might be worth a little extra something.”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “Piper,” I whisper. Her name brings everything into sharp focus. “Tell me.”

“It was a lucky break. Simms dropped his keys in the john. I grabbed them before he even knew they were missing and hightailed it to that room. It took me a few minutes to find the right key, but then I finally got in and . . .”

His mouth keeps moving, but there are too many words and I cannot process them. I close my eyes, thinking it will help me focus.

Someone is shaking me. I drag my eyes open.

“Whah-hut?”

The boy's face tightens, like this is a betrayal of him somehow. “Never mind.” He pulls me closer, jerking my body against his. “Looks like fun first, talk later.”

There is a loud banging. His eyes widen as he stares at the shaking door. I look at it too. Now the doorknob is rattling.

“Open up,” a voice demands.

He turns to me, his mouth a wide O of surprise. The hands pressed against my back have gone slack and still.

Then he is grabbing hold of my shoulders, and steering me to the back of the tiny room. “Who did you tell?” He hisses the words at me.

My eyelids are heavy and I blink at him slowly.

His hand comes then, hard against my cheek. “You're not getting away that easily.”

He's wrong. The pain brings him back into focus for the briefest of instants, but in the next he's blurred to almost nothing.

I hear a crash. He whirls away from me. The door opens, and then . . .

Nothing.

PEOPLE ARE STRANGE

Seven Years Ago

THE TEACHERS GATHERED IN THE HALLWAY,
huddled tightly together. They closed the doors behind them so we couldn't hear them. We could only watch them through the glass and wonder what had happened. The whispers would begin soon. Usually someone had been in the principal's office or coming out of the bathroom just in time to have heard some tiny bit of information. Enough to give us something to think about as we sat there and wondered if this time it was someone we knew.

I looked away from the teachers and out the windows to the clear blue sky. February had finally melted into March, and even though the weather was still cold, I could smell spring trying to push its way up through the muddy fields that ran behind the school.

The classroom door opened with a jingle. I glanced over, ready for Mrs. Wright's tight smile and encouragement to “stay calm.”

Instead I saw you, confidently striding across the classroom. Immediately I stood, and you took my hand and led me out into the hallway.

“Skylar!” Mrs. Wright's voice was shrill as she moved in front of us, blocking the way. “Where do you think you're going?”

You didn't answer; you just gave Mrs. Wright and the rest of the teachers a look.

After a moment Mrs. Wright stepped aside, mumbling apologies, saying that she'd meant to let me leave early today. But she frowned, because her head was telling her one thing and her gut was saying something else.

Holding tight to each other's hands, we ran together, feeling invincible. We didn't stop until the school was out of view. Then finally we separated and slowed, needing to catch our breath.

The sun peeked out from the heavy blanket of clouds in the sky, and birds chirped. You whistled back, mimicking them perfectly. The day felt like an unexpected holiday, a gift, and we hugged it to ourselves for a moment.

I was the first to let it go, to remember real life and the whispering teachers and the something awful that must be occurring at this very moment.

“Are we going home? Is it something very bad then?”

“When did you get so serious, Pollywog?” You laughed and ruffled my hair. “It's only a first year, and everyone knows that'll hardly ever kill you.”

I was more annoyed than reassured. You knew I hated it when you called me Pollywog and treated me like a baby. “What is it then?”

You smiled. “That's for me to know, and you to find out.”

“Piper!” I cried, but it was too late. You had taken off again and were running far ahead of me.

“C'mon, Pollywog, try to keep up this time.”

I chased after you, sometimes losing sight as you took a turn, but never getting so far behind that I was tempted to give up. You finally let me catch you in the middle of Gardner Park. You leaned way over the railing of the big bridge, staring down at the trickle of water flowing below, and I came to a stop beside you.

“Look,” you said in a soft voice.

I thought of stomping my feet and refusing. But I was too curious to pout, and so I peered down to see the little tadpoles wriggling in the shallow water. We watched them quietly for several long moments, while the wind whistled through nearby trees, chilling our fingers and toes.

“Cool, right?” you asked.

I nodded. “It's amazing.”

You poked me with your elbow. “Not that amazing. Anybody anywhere in the world with a little stream or swamp or whatever can see something exactly like this. It's cool, but it's not that special.”

You jumped back from the railing, pulling me with you. “Now do you want to see something truly amazing? That nobody else in the world will ever see?”

It was a rhetorical question and you didn't wait for an answer. You'd already started walking across the bridge and over to the tiny forest of trees at the edge of the park. I, once again, was left to follow.

The sun had gone back behind the clouds and it was cold and quiet and dark between the trees. If you began running again, I wasn't certain that I'd follow this time for fear of losing you and being left there alone. But you walked slowly and deliberately until we reached the small clearing where a ramshackle fort had been built and rebuilt by constantly changing carpenters.

I tried to peer between the various cracks in the walls to see inside, certain that this was where the something extraordinary was, but an elbow in the ribs and a jerk of your head directed my attention to the opposite edge of the clearing. At first all I could see were the treetops swinging wildly. But then I realized only four of the trees were in motion. I moved closer, trying to get a better look. Without the fort blocking my view, I finally understood why you had brought me to this place.

Four trees that were unlike any trees I'd ever seen before moved—not according to the whims of the wind, but rather in response to the pirouettes and leaps of a dark-haired girl in a pink leotard and matching tutu. When she spun to the left, the uprooted trees shimmied sideways with her, following the movement. As she elevated onto her tiptoes, with her arms overhead creating a beautiful arch, the four trees did the same, their bare branches spare and elegant. The beautiful and bizarre dance performance made my throat ache.

“They're the girls from Miss Shelley's Ballet Academy,” you whispered into my ear. “Word is little miss diva got the lead for their recital and it went to her head.”

“And she turned the other girls into trees,” I whispered back, as I detected impressions of their scared faces etched into the bark.

“Yes,” you sighed. “Amazing dancing trees.”

“Maybe not so amazing for them.”

I felt your shoulder shrug against my own. “Angela Young was turned into a cheetah a few years before I was born. You can hardly tell now.”

This was not exactly true. Angela was a cashier at Al's Grocery, so I had seen her plenty, and every time I had to remind myself not to stare. Even on the hottest days Angela favored turtlenecks, but they still couldn't hide the brown circles covering her hands and wrists and her entire face. When she bent her head to count out my change, the circles were visible through the part in her hair. Someone once told me that it had been worse. For the first two years after the initial incident, Angela had also had fur.

I sighed, while the trees creaked as they attempted to follow the girl in a low, toe-touching dip. “They'll close Miss Shelley's Ballet Academy,” I whispered.

This was what happened after these types of things. The town board reacted by taking away whatever they thought caused the problem, whether that was putting down all the dogs in town after one kid turned his corgi into a ravenous killer, or shutting down dance classes that only a handful of girls attended anyway.

If I thought Piper would care, I should've known better. My comment earned nothing more than another shrug. “Well, I doubt any of these girls will want to dance again after this.”

That was probably true, but it didn't provide any comfort as we watched the strange ballet and waited for its inevitable ending.