Don't Look Back

Mrs. Messer smiled. “I’ll admit we’re a little surprised that you’re joining us so soon. We thought you’d take some time to…recover from everything.”

My grip tightened on the cup, and I was ready for this to be over. “I feel perfectly fine.”

“I’m sure you do physically, but emotionally and mentally you have gone through a terribly traumatic experience, and adding that on top of the memory loss, this has to be hard on you.”

“Well, it hasn’t been easy.” I glanced up, finding her studying me closely. I sighed. “Okay, it sucks. I couldn’t even order coffee this morning, but I need to get back to doing things. I can’t hide in my house forever.”

She tilted her head to the side. “When the principal informed me you were coming back today, I spoke with a colleague who works with people suffering from amnesia. He did tell me that it’s best that you surround yourself with things that are familiar. Coming back to school isn’t a bad idea, but emotionally, the cost may be too high.”

“And what happens if it is?”

Her smile tightened, and she didn’t elaborate, which irked me. “I don’t think your classwork will suffer. Dissociative amnesia rarely affects that sort of thing, but we’ll be monitoring your progress to make sure that the general curriculum is still the right avenue to take.”

My teeth gnashed together at the unspoken warning. If my grades sucked, I was out of school. Nice. No pressure or anything with my fragile emotional state.

“Have you been able to remember anything?” She leaned back, crossing her legs.

I considered lying, but that wouldn’t help. “Sometimes I have these thoughts or feelings that feel familiar, but they don’t make sense.” When she nodded, I took a deep breath. “A few times I’ve seen things, flashes, but…those don’t make any sense, either.”

She nodded. “Your memory could come back in disjointed images or all at once. All it takes is something to trigger it.”

The Internet already told me that. I thought about the note, but I was afraid she’d tell my parents. “I haven’t really remembered anything else. It’s like I’m a…blank slate. When I met my friends, my boyfriend, I didn’t…feel anything for them, like I didn’t care at all.” I felt bad for saying that, but a little of the pressure lifted off my chest. “That’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not terrible. Right now, you have no bonds formed with them.” She smiled reassuringly. “Don’t be shocked if you find yourself making new friends or trying things that surprise those around you. It’s almost like being born again, but with the necessary survival skills already in place.”

Nice way of looking at it. Mrs. Messer asked a few more questions, and then she briefly touched on the subject of Cassie. “How are you handling that? Knowing that a friend of yours is missing?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s weird. I don’t remember her at all, and from what everyone is telling me, we weren’t the greatest of friends, but if she was with me, then I feel responsible. Like I need to remember so that people can find her, but no one really wants to talk about her.”

She nodded again. “You do understand that even if you never gain your memories, finding her isn’t your responsibility.”

The guilt chewing on my stomach told me differently. If I could just get my brain to work, then I’d bet I could lead everyone right to her.

Mrs. Messer slid a slip of paper toward me. My locker number and combination were on it. Our little counseling session was over, and it took me freaking forever to find my locker. I had to refer to my schedule to figure out which books to shove into my bag while ignoring the stares and whispers of the people around me. Closing my locker door, I took a deep breath and faced a crowded hallway filled with kids going to first period.

A wave of strange faces greeted me. Not a single one looked familiar. Squeezing the strap on my bag, I pushed through the throng of people. It could be worse, this whole memory thing. I could still be missing.

Or you could be dead, a voice whispered in the back of my mind.

Chapter six

In each class, I had to wait for the teacher to tell me where to sit. Once everyone got over the initial shock of seeing my face, they made small talk with me. Asking questions like, “How are you?” and saying things like, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Only half of them sounded sincere.

School didn’t turn out to be a problem. It took me a couple of minutes to figure out where we were in each class, but the material wasn’t outside the realm of my understanding. Veronica was in my English class, and she tugged me into the seat beside her.

Leaning across the tiny aisle, she plucked at the sleeve on my cardigan. “Did you wake up late this morning?”

“No. Why?”

Her eyes drifted over me. “It’s just what you’re wearing isn’t really…”

“Cute,” suggested Candy, tossing her bleached hair over one shoulder. “I mean, it’s great for the weekend, but I know for a fact you have cuter clothes in your closet.”

“We totally covet your closet, actually.” Veronica giggled as she rapped her nails on her desk. “Okay, we also covet Del.”

“Oh, girl, don’t we ever.” Candy fanned her cheeks. “He said he was coming over yesterday. Did he?”

“Yeah, he stopped over.” I dug out my necklace, showing them. “He gave this back to me. I left it at his house.”

Veronica’s lips twitched before she plastered a huge smile on her face. “Was it hard? Seeing him when you…don’t remember him?”

I nodded. “It was different, but we got…caught up.”

Candy glanced at Veronica knowingly. “I bet you guys did.”

My brows shot up. “Not in that way. Jeez, he’s kind of like a stranger to me.”

Veronica didn’t miss a beat. “I was talking to Trey this morning, and he said Del was pretty happy after seeing you. That’s good news, right?”

“Yeah, about…Trey, how is he doing?”

Like a switch being thrown, both girls’ faces went blank. “What do you mean?” asked Veronica.

“He’s dating Cassie, right? Is he doing okay?”

Two seats ahead, a boy with black hair snorted and twisted around. His face was ghastly pale. Thick black eyeliner curved around slanted eyes. “Trey is doing great. He practically had his tongue down her throat in homeroom.” He pointed at Candy with one nail coated in black fingernail polish. “That must be his coping mechanism.”