Page 85 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Yeah, Jessica said she saw her with Brody this morning.” Emily snorts. “Maybe she’s gonna take after her dad and become a skank herself.”

“Oh, come on. You know she’s been in love with Truett since grade school.”

“Oh my God, you’re right! How fucked up is that! Now they’re practically related.”

Katelyn shifts into view, rolling her eyes. “That’s not how genetics work, but all right.” She loops her purse back onto her shoulder and collects her books.

“But, like, imagine if Mr. Ridgefield and Mrs. Parker get married. Then Truett will be Delilah’s brother.”

They both make mock vomiting sounds. It’s almost enough to send me back to the floor, if I had anything in my stomach left to lose.

“Do you think they will?” Katelyn asks.

The door opens, and any response is lost in the crowd as the bell rings, signaling one minute to class.

One minute to English class. Which Lucy Parker teaches.

Surely she called in a sub, right? Dad did. And in a town this small, God knows what’ll happen in a few days when word gets around to the other teachers. The principal. Hell, the fucking superintendent’s daughter is a freshman this year. Is Dad even going to have a job when all this is over?

I loop my backpack over my shoulder and exit the stall. I try to focus on the hot water rushing over my hands instead of my spiraling thoughts, but it doesn’t work. All I can think about is what Emily said. Are my parents going to get a divorce? If they do, is Dad going to marry Lucy?

Once my hands are dry, I fire off another message to Truett.

Me

I need to talk to you. Right now.

Either he’s truly ignoring all my messages, or he’s turned off read receipts for the first time in the history of our friendship. They show delivered, sure, but he’s not opening them. I growl in frustration, my hands balling into fists. I never understood in movies when people punched holes in walls, but suddenly I’m tempted to slam my fist against this splotchy mirror and watch it shatter. My next breath is more hiccup than inhale. My eyes are red, face ghostly white. I choke on a sob, and that’s the last straw. Tears pour down my cheeks. Snot pools in the valley of my cupid’s bow. I draw in breath after ragged breath, scraping my throat with the effort of it.

The final bell rings, signaling I’m late to class. My hands are trembling when I retrieve my phone from the counter. I send another message, this time to Alicia, letting her know which bathroom I’m in and to come quickly. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this all alone.

Alicia

Can’t, I’m in class.

Alicia

I’m sorry about what happened with your parents.

Alicia

My mom doesn’t really want me talking to you right now. I’ll get in trouble if she even sees these messages. Sorry, Delilah. I wish I could help.

Me

To me? Why? I didn’t do anything wrong!

My normally blue message bubble comes up green. Like she’s turned her phone off. Or blocked me.

I turn the water on cold and gather a handful, splashing it against my face. It dribbles down the curve of my neck, dampening the front of my shirt. I’m no better for it. My face is still mottled. My breaths still come in short gasps. Now I’m panicking and wet. Perfect.

The hallway is empty save for Mr. Pugh pushing his wide dust broom down one side of the corridor. I move in the opposite direction. Away from the janitor, away from Lucy’s classroom. I turn down the science wing and find the classroom at the end of the hall, my hand landing on its cool metallic doorknob before I think better of it and loosen my grip.

I glance in the window, a tall, narrow pane with black latticework disturbing the view. Even so, I find the desk I’m looking for. Truett is slumped in his seat, a camel-colored Carhartt hoodie covering his messy hair. Mr. Graves must know what’s happened, because he hasn’t forced Truett to put his hood down, and Mr. Graves never tolerates hoods or hats in class.

I’m considering barging in, no matter how crazy it would look, when Truett glances up. Our eyes meet. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised, as though he could sense I was here before he even looked. The way I have always been able to feel him entering my orbit.

My eyes widen, and I do my best to look as desperate as I feel. After years spent masking my emotions around him, trying to cover the fact that I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember, it’s difficult to let the mask slip. But I force it down because I need him. I need my best friend. The only person in the world who understands how I feel right now.

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