Forgotten

Luke does his homework here. Luke watches TV there. Luke plays video games here. Luke eats dinner there.

Upstairs, there are four bedrooms bordering a U-shaped balcony that overlooks the main entryway. In one corner is the master bedroom; closest to it is the twins’ bedroom. Next is the guest bedroom.

And then, we approach Luke’s room.

My heart races a bit as I take in the dark wood and deep blue walls, which stand in stark contrast to the lightness of the rest of the house. I can see a well-worn guitar leaning against a low chair in the corner. A massive oil painting of a girl’s ear rests against the wall. It’s strange and beautiful at the same time, and I can’t help but wonder who the ear belongs to. Does Luke want to paint my ear?

The covers are thrown in a modest attempt at making the bed, and I find myself wanting to run over and smell the pillows.

Somehow, I manage not to act like a total stalker.

We’re tight on time, so I don’t get much farther than the doorway, and too soon, Luke is gently guiding me away from the only place I care to be at this second.

“We should go,” he says softly, placing his hand on my back. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

I reluctantly agree, but as we make our way back down the grand staircase and out to the minivan, I feel an unmistakable pull from his bedroom.

There is just so much Luke in that room. I want more of it.

We drive back to school in comfortable silence and walk inside hand in hand. Just before parting ways in the middle of the commons, Luke turns to face me.

“Want to go out on Saturday night?”

“Yes,” I say, maybe before he’s even finished his question. I grin at him and he laughs at me.

And then he moves closer.

I hold my breath, considering that Luke might kiss me right here in the middle of the commons. Just as I’m deciding whether or not I can kiss with an audience, Luke, staring intently into my eyes, raises a hand toward my face. Slowly, softly, he rubs his thumb along my jawbone. I’m hypnotized by the most perfect kind of touch. Oddly, it feels even more intimate than a kiss.

“Talk to you later,” Luke whispers, before breaking the trance and heading off in the direction of his next class.

“Bye,” I breathe after him.

I stand still, relishing the moment. Then, just before I turn to float to History, a familiar outfit catches my eye. At the other end of the vast common area, Jamie stands in front of the soda machine, staring at me.

I wave and she waves back, but there is something missing in her simple gesture. I consider going over and talking to her. But before my feet can move, Jamie turns and leaves.

14

“Jamie?”

“Hi! Why are you answering like that?”

“I’m just surprised that you’re calling, I guess,” I admit.

“Why?” Jamie plays dumb.

“You seemed upset today,” I say softly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I imagine the guilty look on her face on the other end of the phone. I can hear it in her voice, and that’s enough for me. I’m moving on.

“So what’s up?”

“Not much,” she says. “Had dinner, watched some TV.”

“Me, too.”

“Did you say anything to your mom about the stuff you found?”