Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) (13 page)

   My mother was gone.

   She wasn’t coming back.

   I could either let that destroy me or I could learn to live my life without her.

   That same day, Lisa paid me a visit. She walked in with a handful of hydrangea for me, and I actually laughed when she told me that she’d stolen them from Mrs. Kopinsky’s front yard.

   I knew she had to be a little freaked out by the completely mental fit I’d thrown on her front lawn, and I started to try and explain.

   She put her hand up in a halt. “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Layla. If you want to talk- about anything- I’m here for you. But please don’t feel like you need to explain. Ever. Okay?”

   I was touched that Lisa had let me off the hook so easily. She was really the best friend in the world to me at the lowest point in my young life. She came over every day, nudging me back toward my old self a little more each time. She was the one who eventually got me swimming again. That first day back in the pool was like a baptism, cleansing and renewing. It became the one place I could count on to always make me feel somewhat normal.

   For all the time Lisa spent that summer nursing me back to life, she never made me feel as though I should be committed to a rubber room. That was a blessing, because I’d spent enough time thinking that for the both of us.

   The way I figured it was that my mother must obviously have had something wrong in her head to have left her husband and two young children behind. Over the years, I’d done some research on manic-depression, because that became the most reasonable diagnosis I could give to the mother who abandoned us.

   After that, there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t worry over the state of
my
mental health, thinking that maybe my mother’s crazy gene had been passed down to me.

   Even though I still tended to be a little obsessive about some things- my compulsion toward reading, my neatness streak and my superstitious tree-mauling, for examples- The Live-Aid Incident was the only time I’d ever actually gone balls-out, cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs crazy. As more time went by, I was able to write the whole scene off as a one-time episode. Even Dr. Chickensoup felt that my tantrum that day was most likely an isolated occurrence, due to the immediate stress of my mother leaving me at such an impressionable age. She actually told my father that it was practically a good thing, the catharsis of experiencing a loss so soon and so completely.

   I’d relayed the highlights from that therapy session to Lisa, who took the information in stride. In the years since, Lisa never once brought up the subject of my breakdown as though it were a major personality flaw. She’s never told another soul about it and had never treated it as though it were some recurring condition, waiting to jump out unexpectedly one day from under the bed.

   Until now.

   I sat there on Lisa’s bed, gaping at her. I couldn’t believe she was comparing The Live-Aid Incident to my relationship with Trip. “Are you
serious
? This is nothing like that!”

   Lisa sat back down. “Layla, yes, it is. I know you. I know you’re not just hanging around with Trip because you enjoy his friendship so damn much. You’re hoping that if you just hang in there long enough, eventually he’ll come around. I’m telling you, when it finally hits you that
you’re caught in The Friend Zone... you’re going to lose it. You’re going to implode.”

   Talk about going for the jugular.

   “Who the
HELL
do you think you are?” I seethed at her, before jolting off the bed, cutting her off before she could say another word. “What kind of a thing is that to say to me?
WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU GET OFF
?”

   Lisa opened her mouth to respond, but I stormed out of her room before she could see the tears starting to gather at my eyes. I stomped home, went right up to my bedroom and put my stereo on full blast until my father, one floor below me, started banging on the ceiling to turn it down.

Chapter 16

HOME ALONE

   I didn’t spend too many Saturday nights at home. I’d originally had tentative plans to attend the homecoming dance that night, but after my fight with Lisa, I wasn’t feeling up to it.

   By eight o’clock, Dad had already left the house, taking Bruce to pick up his date on their way to the school. He’d come into my room before leaving, supposedly to check on me, but more to try and convince me to go to the dance. I briefly explained that Lisa and I had gotten in a stupid argument, but I assured him that I was fine and that he shouldn’t cancel poker night just because I was being a big mope. That made him smile before he kissed me and headed out the door.

   It was pretty cool to have the house all to myself on a Saturday night. I didn’t quite know what to do with myself, however.

   I considered snooping around my father’s closet, but with The Live-Aid memory fresh in my mind, I didn’t have the strength to confront any of my mother’s belongings.

   I thought about reading a book, but I’d already read everything in the house. It was early enough that I could have hit the Barnes and Noble at the mall before closing, but Dad had taken the car. Even if Lisa and I weren’t fighting, I couldn’t have asked her to drive me. There was no way she would have missed out on one of the most important nights of our senior year of high school just to cart my ass to the mall.

   I’d finally resigned myself to the prospect of watching the movie I’d liberated from work weeks before. Lisa had begged me to bring it home for her but we hadn’t been able to coordinate a two-hour block of time to be in the same room together to watch it. I decided that I’d made every effort to try and find something else to do and screw her anyway I’m not waiting.

   I made a huge bowl of popcorn slathered with extra butter and salt, twisted my hair into a knot on my head, threw on some sweats and hit the sofa.

   If anyone else had been in the room, I would have probably spent my time watching
Pretty Woman
by completely tearing it to shreds for being a great, big, steaming pile of crap.

   But by myself, I hadn’t realized how mesmerized I’d been by the flipping movie until I was suddenly startled by a tapping noise outside. It had stopped raining hours before and it was still too early for Dad or Bruce to be home, and besides, I would have heard the car pulling into the driveway and the rattle of the garage door opening.

   I grabbed the remote and hit mute so I could better listen. Sitting there in the silence of my empty house was pretty spooky. I could actually hear the sound of my own breathing and was acutely aware of my thumping heartbeat.

   I sat there for no more than a few seconds, when
bam!
I heard it again!

   That was all the excuse I needed to bolt up the stairs and lock myself in the relative safety of my dark room. I tried peeking outside just as the pattering sound hit again...

   ...and could just make out the dark, outlined figure of Trip throwing pebbles at Bruce’s window.

   I threw open
my
window and yelled, “You dick! You just scared the hell out of me!”

   Trip’s focus shifted from Bruce’s room to mine. “Hey there, Lay-Lay. Whatcha doin
’?”

   I clicked on my nightstand lamp. “What am I doing? I’m trying not to have a heart attack! What are
you
doing?”

   Trip dropped the handful of pebbles he was still holding into the shrubs and wiped his hands off on his pants. “Hey, did I guess the wrong window? I thought that one was your room.”

   “Hey Psycho,” I jeered, “Instead of throwing boulders at my house, why didn’t you just knock on the front door like a normal human?”

   That made a wide grin spread across his face before he answered, “Now what would be the fun in that?”

   I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. My sight was better adjusting to the dark and I could see that Trip was wearing a pair of khaki slacks and a navy blue sweater. He looked, as usual, incredibly handsome.

   “So hey
,” he started, “How come you weren’t at the dance?”

   I could have given him the whole rundown of my fight with Lisa, but then I’d have to tell him the reason behind it. Instead of getting into all that, I just said, “I wasn’t really into it. Why? Did I miss anything?”

   “I’ll say.”

  
Oooh. Gossip
.

   “Why? What happened? Trip, spill it!”

   He laughed at my inability to control myself and then said, “Well, you weren’t there to accept your crown, for one.”

   “My crown?” I asked, incredulously. I mean, there was no way he was saying what I thought he was saying. But then... rationality returned. “You are so full of shit.”

   He laughed his ass off at that and said, “Yeah, you’re right. I am. But I am also your homecoming king, so you’d better show a little more respect to me from now on.”

   That, at least, was a tad more believable. “You got king? Really?”

   He was still grinning as he said, “Nah. Not really. Jesus, Layla, you’re oh-for-two tonight. But hey- on a totally different subject- did you know that the word ‘gullible’ isn’t in the dictionary?”

   “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

   I was so relieved when it turned out that he was only joking about my winning homecoming. I would have died if it were true. It’s not like I would have been there in person to endure the indignity, but even still, that’s the kind of title that sticks with a person for their whole life, and it just wasn’t really my thing. I’ll never forget how my dad once came home from the office one day, laughing about some poor idiot who’d filled out an application to work there, actually listing “Homecoming Queen” on her resume. God. Can you imagine? Homecoming Queen. It’s just so...
perky
!

   I had a vision of head cheerleader Carolee Simcox, standing up on the stage crying, wearing her sparkly, plastic crown and princess-waving to the audience. “Hey, who really won?” I asked Trip.

   “Lisa and Pickford.”

   “Wow! No way.”

  “Yeah, well, you and I came in a close second. I swear to God about that. I’m not bullshitting you this time.”

   “What? Really? That’s weird.” It was kind of mind-boggling to find out that people had lumped Trip and me together on some ballot sheet. It’s not like we were some official couple or anything, despite my wishes to the contrary. I mean, Trip was born to be Prom King, but I couldn’t see how anyone would actually think to write down
my
name when it came time to submit their vote.

   He asked, “What’s so weird about it?” but before I could explain, he got a wicked gleam in his eye and added, “Oh, hey. Lisa gave a speech.”

   “Trip, shut up, she did not!”

   He must have been putting me on. No one actually
speaks
after being crowned, for godsakes! Lisa herself had made fun of many a cheesy high school movie for just that very thing. What the hell was she thinking? “Oh, God. I’m so embarrassed for her!”

   He laughed. “No, it wasn’t that bad. Just a quick thank you, not much else. It was fine.”

   I started to feel kind of sad that I wasn’t there to share in my friend’s big night. “Well, I’m glad she won. I’m sure it means a lot to her. She’s got to be pretty happy right about now.”

   Trip stuck his hands in his pockets and tapped his toe at one of the shrubs. “But you wouldn’t have been?”

   “What? Happy to win Homecoming Queen?” I laughed. “You’re joking, right? I mean, I’m happy for Lisa and all, but I can’t imagine getting thrilled about something so...
superficial
.”

   That made him stop fidgeting with the landscaping and stand stock still, looking up at me with an expression I can only describe as... amused shock.

   He floored me by responding, “You know that’s my favorite thing about you, right?”

   I couldn’t breathe.
Trip had a favorite thing about me?

   Somehow, I managed to squeak out, “What’s that?”

   He grinned sheepishly and looked away for a second before raising his head and conceding, “Layla, you are completely different from any other person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

   I’d have been less blown away if a bomb had been detonated right there on my front yard.

   I couldn’t speak. I was rendered defenseless, watching him standing there under my window, looking up at me with those beautiful, blue eyes filled with awe and hope as he added softly, “I
missed
you tonight. The dance wasn’t as much fun without you there. I don’t know. I thought, I mean, maybe I should’ve-”

   “Trip?” I didn’t mean to cut him off mid-sentence, but I’d finally found my voice. There was no way I was going to let him say such amazing things to me without us being together in the same room. I took a deep breath and asked, “Do you want to come in?”

   It was more of an invitation than a question, and my heart just about slammed into my stomach at having asked it aloud.