Page 20 of The Forever After Bet

This rouses Ty, and he sits up. “What’s going on?”

“Ford’s leaving.” Jack tosses off his blanket and stands up.

“I was just going upstairs to grab a snack and something to drink,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder.

“And you needed to put your shoes on to do that? I deserve better than that.” Jack crosses his arms, upset.

I sigh, resigned, and come back down the stairs. “Okay, fine. Yes, I was leaving.”

“And where are you going at three in the morning?” Ty asks.

I scratch the back of my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. “To get a tattoo.”

My friends look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but I’m still going to do it.

“At three in the morning?” Ty asks again, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“Yep.” I explain the live feed and how this wild idea came about.

“Okay,” Jack says, pulling his shirt over his head and slipping on his shoes. “Let’s go.”

“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah, we’re not?” Ty looks at Jack, confused. I think he’s still half asleep.

“Nope. But we’re coming with you, and if this tattoo artist is as good as you say she is, maybe I’ll get one too.” Jack shrugs.

Ty shakes his head and stands up. “Count me in.”

11. A Kiss for Good Luck

On Monday morning, I wake up determined. I didn’t get any sleep Saturday night, and I walked around in a daze for most of Sunday, reliving what happened between Ford and me. Last night, I dreamed of his soft lips kissing mine. He whispered he loved me over and over again. I still can’t believe that happened. Time was supposed to help everything settle down and help us move on, but I’m beginning to think that’s a bunch of B.S. Things are getting more complicated, not easier. As I brush my teeth, I tilt my head, looking at the purple and red mark on my neck. I run my finger along it, and it sends tingles down my spine. I should be freaked out and angry that he gave me a hickey, but I’m not. I like that he marked me. I want to be his. I’m not sure I can wait until June to be with him. I want him so much.

Something my grandma Clark said to me Wednesday night has stuck with me. She told me not to let people stand in the way of something I want. That sometimes it’s necessary to go around them; and if they love me, they’ll understand and accept my choice. Eloping was an extreme decision, but what if Ford and I told our parents we didn’t accept their decision to make us break up and that we are going to date? If that doesn’t work, I’ll think in more extreme terms. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Ford said he loves me, but that doesn’t mean he wants to get back together.

Today my goal is to talk to Ford. Even if I only say hi. I want the silence between us to end. I don’t know if he’s ready for an actual conversation, but from what happened Saturday night, I’m going to go out on a limb and say he is.

When I get to school, I head to my locker. It’s the first time I’ve used it in two weeks. Well, technically a week because of Thanksgiving break. I hope I’ll see Ford, but I don’t even see Jack or Ty. Jack’s been getting a ride with Ty in the mornings instead of with me. I wait until the five-minute bell rings and head to class. When I get there, he’s not in his seat. He doesn’t show until calculus. He slips in as the tardy bell rings and sits in the first empty seat he sees. It’s clear on the other side of the room.

He doesn’t look sick. As a matter of fact, he looks good. His hair’s combed, and his cheeks have color. I only stole a few peeks at him during school before the break. Then, his eyes were red, his jaw tense and his shoulders slumped; but today he seems like his old self. What does that mean? Am I reading too much into it? I put my head down and focus on Mr. Nelson’s lecture and forget about my plan.

On Tuesday, I decide to try again until I turn down B hall and see Ford standing at his locker. He’s wearing dress slacks, a white long-sleeved dress shirt with suspenders, and his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Today is the first basketball game of the season, and the players dress up on game day. Ford looks just like he did the day we were supposed to get married, except today, he’s wearing a blue tie. I spin on my heel and head to English class. I can sense when Ford walks into the classroom. It’s like the air shifts or something. He sits down behind me and pulls out his books. I turn, glancing over my shoulder; and Ford freezes, looking at me.

Come on, Hannah. You can do it. Just say hi. It’s only two letters and one syllable. But nothing comes out. I give him a small smile and turn back around in my seat. I’m pathetic.

We’re still on the poem section for English. I don’t mind poems. They’re easy enough to understand and dissect the meaning, but I find it boring. Mrs. Hammond gives us an assignment to write our own poem. It can be in any form we want, but it has to make sense and mean something. Half the class groans when she assigns it. She gives us the last twenty minutes to work on it and ask her questions if we need to.

I don’t know what to write about. A haiku would be the easiest, but Mrs. Hammond might think I was being lazy. There’s a tug on my hair, and then another. I close my eyes and take a breath. Ford is playing with my hair. I’ve missed this. My entire head is tingling. If I’m not careful, I’ll fall asleep like I did Saturday night.

“Why do you always play with Clark’s hair?” Poppy Milton asks. Ford tugs at my hair, making the curl bounce, and then his hand is gone.

I grind my teeth together, annoyed, and glance at Poppy and then Ford.

“It’s fun to make the curls bounce.” He grabs another piece of my hair. “See.” He tugs on the curl, straightening it, and then lets go. It springs back into a curl.

“Why do you care, Poppy?” I ask.

She scrunches her forehead. “I don’t. I just think it’s weird that Ford plays with his ex-girlfriend’s hair.”

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