Forgotten Self (Forgotten Self #1) (7 page)

There's a loud crack of a tree branch and I am up off the ground in a flash, heart pounding in my ears. I stand as still as I
am able, waiting for another sound to tip me off that someone's actually here. But after a few minutes of quiet I relax and let myself breathe. Holy crap. That was freaking scary.

I look down at Kelly's grave and the realization that I've been talking to m
y dead cousin for the last two minutes makes me shake my head. If I need someone to talk to I should go to my living, breathing best friend.

Without another glance or word, I get into my car and leave.

7

The rest of the wee
kend goes by without incident, other than some nightmares about what I'd seen Friday night. Looming figures behind closet doors, hidden faces, that sort of thing. It's strange, because I rarely have nightmares. Like, I've had maybe two in my life. It's usu
ally all light and laughing and unicorns, or whatever. Apparently my subconscious is telling me to be more worried than I am about everything.

My parents arrive home on Saturday but I tell them nothing about what's going on.

“
We heard
about the storm, hon
ey,” my mother tells me when they walk in. “I'm sorry we weren't able to call and make sure everything was okay. Everything was okay, right? My goodness, the communication down there is so unreliable. Even the news is two days late...”

I spend the rest of
Saturday and Sunday alone in my room.

On Monday morning I sit down at the dining room table to eat breakfast with my parents. My dad is reading the newspaper and my mom is dishing the plates up. Finally, when everyone settles down and starts to eat, my da
d speaks up.

“
So, Abby, there's been a change of plans.”

I crunch on some toast. “Oh yeah?”

He looks at my mother, who clanks her tea cup down and says, “Our break is not as long as we'd thought it would be.”

The piece of toast is slowly disappearing. “Ok
ay...” What's new.

“
We're actually leaving on Wednesday,” she adds.

My father folds the newspaper. “An emergency has come up in Algeria. Cholera. They're requesting we return to assist in the recovery effort.”

“
Abigail, we just wanted to make sure you're o
kay with this. I know we're gone a lot, but with the neighbors watching out for you and your aunt being in town...” My mother trails off.

“
Yep. It's all good. I know how much they need you down there.”

They both smile, relieved. My mom starts to chatter. “
Well, good. I'm glad to hear that. Don't let me forget to show you the clothes I bought for you...”

Just another typical morning with the parents.
Here
again, gone again. It's old news.

After the deflating breakfast I go to Kelly's and my spot instead of
school. I lay on my hood, thinking about everything. Just being here where the accident – did it really, actually happen? – occurred gives me an inexplicable feeling. Whatever it is, I don't like it.

The sun is covered by clouds. There is a slight breeze
, and while it's warmer than yesterday, I wish I'd worn a heavier jacket. I close my eyes. Maybe I've made all of this craziness up in my head, but that explanation doesn't feel right. This feels bigger than me. Down in my bones I know it's something more.
That glow, I need to figure it out. It sure seems real, but the accident...that I don't understand.
There are
too many holes in the story, and even though I'm leaning on the “this is real” side of the fence, I haven't fallen. Everything is still too tenuo
us. Jonathan, though, could remedy that. That's who I need to talk to.

I get to school right in the middle of third hour, when I'm supposed to be aiding for Mr. Lehman. He hasn't been in his room the last week, attending faculty meetings or something, and
usually just leaves a pile of papers to grade on his desk. I scurry in, hoping it'll be the same today. But,
of course
, it's not.

“
Abigail.” Mr. Lehman peers at me over the rims of his reading glasses.

The door shuts softly behind me. “Hi, Mr. Lehman. So
rry I'm late.” I don't offer anything more. No explanation.

He nods and looks back at his notepad. “There are some essay quizzes over on that desk.” He points at a student desk next to the chalkboard.

“
Cool.”

Mr. Lehman and I have known each other a long
time. He's helped me through a lot of academic problems, like the time I was flunking Algebra Two. He's unbelievably smart and endlessly patient. He's also been the subject of some rumors involving female students. It's not unexpected, he is sexy, but I've
never gotten that creepy vibe from him. In fact, he treats me like an equal –  never pries, never questions me about what's going on or how I am. He waits for me to tell him what I want to tell him.

Dropping my bag on the floor, I grab a pen and start per
using an essay, marking off points for spelling and punctuation. I check for technicalities; Mr. Lehman checks for content. It's a time saver.

Meanwhile, a gnawing feeling chomps away at my insides. I twist the pen endlessly, marking my hands with dashes o
f blue ink. The fragments and gerund phrases swirl around until I'm reading gibberish. Quiet moments like this allow my brain to focus intently on anxiety-producing problems.

I finally set my pen down with a quiet tap. Maybe I can talk to him.

“
Jonah?” S
ometimes when we're alone, I use his first name. It feels weird every time.

Mr. Lehman looks up. “Yes, Abigail?” Something about his expression seems...hopeful? Relieved? I'm not sure, but for some reason it makes me feel uneasy. So I hastily cover.

“
Um, d
o we mark down for using an apostrophe in a possessive 'its'?”

He frowns, frozen for a moment. Then he replies, “Of course. You know that.”

I flash him an affirming smile and look back down at my papers, breaking his gaze.

He's not done. “Is something on y
our mind?” I don't look up when I shake my head. He persists, his tone becoming somewhat more stern.

“
Are you sure you don't want to tell me something?”

This time, I look. Mr. Lehman's staring intently at me, glasses off and in his hand. He seems to be lo
oking past me, around me. And he's twice now asked a question he never asks.

Unsettling would be a good adjective for this moment.

“
I don't have anything to tell you, Mr. Lehman.”

When lunchtime rolls around, I grab a soda and head to my usual table. Jon
athan's already there. Like he's waiting for me.

“
What's up?” I ask casually, sliding onto the bench across from him.

He breaks a baby carrot in half. “Nothing, you?”

“
Just here to hang out, enjoy lunch, you know.” I narrow my eyes and continue in my fals
ely-cheerful tone. “Maybe later I'll ask you what the hell's going on.” Okay, more like sarcastic tone.

Another carrot snaps. “What are you talking about, Abby?” Jonathan's voice is steady, calm. His light blue eyes catch my gaze and break it, over and ove
r. He looks tired.

“
Maybe if I get in another car accident we'll get a chance to tell secrets, yeah?”

His eyes widen but before another word comes out of either of our mouths, the crew arrives. Danielle, Madison, April, Mary, and Jesse. Jesse hadn't been a
round for the first week of school – mono.

As soon as they all settle in, the banter starts.

Unloading her lunch bag, Danielle casually drops, “I know you kiss a lot of girls, Jesse, but...” We all groan as she starts in on him.

“
Can't you give him a few h
ours to settle in, D? You know, re-acclimate?”

“
You're very sweet, Abigail, but I'm sure Jesse wants to own up just as much as we want to hear it.” She looks away from me and back at her victim. “So, who was it? Tara, Megan, Hailey...?”

Jesse grins good-na
turedly and pops his soda can. “I'm a gentleman, as
you
know, Danielle.” He
winks and continues, “And a gentleman never tells.”

“
Anyway,” Madison pipes up, “Jesse was dating Brianna over the summer.”

“
Still dating,” Jesse corrects.

“
Another one off the mar
ket,” I sigh dramatically. “It must be so hard for Danielle to take.”

Everyone but Jonathan laughs.

After smacking me on the hand, Danielle turns to Jonathan. “What's wrong with you?”

He shakes his head and seems to come out of whatever contemplative tranc
e he was in. “Nothing, sweetie. I was just thinking that
I'm
still available. Wear my ring?” Beaming, he offers a paper band he's been folding in between his fingers.

After a round of cheers and one attempted rendition of “Danielle and Jonathan Sitting in
a Tree,” the rest of them quiet down. During this moment of peace, while everyone munches and chats, I reach into my backpack and pull out a piece of paper. I scribble, “Meet me at my car after school,” and shove it at Jonathan. He puts it in his pocket w
ithout reading it.

If he doesn't show up, I'm going to find him and make him give me the answers I want.

I don't see him or Lucas the rest of the day. After school, when thirty minutes pass and Jonathan still hasn't shown, I'm pissed, obviously. I make so
me obscene comment and leave. His cell phone is turned off and he's absent the next day at school. Weirdly, so is Lucas. I am angry and anxious all day and I barely sleep that night. Danielle and I don't know what to say about it, so we don't talk about it
.

On Wednesday, I get home after school and another day of the boys being absent. I slump in and dump my stuff in a chair – and find Jonathan sitting in my living room. My parents had left the country this morning, so we are alone. It's probably a good th
ing. Calmly, I sit across from him.

Instead of asking how the hell he got in here I start with, “Waiting for me?”

He has a rigid, serious expression on his face. “It's time, I suppose. I would've waited indefinitely, but it's become dangerous now.”

“
Time
for what.” Somehow my question is not a question. I feel something big is coming. Some knowledge that once I've obtained I will want to make disappear. But I need to hear it. Hanging suspended between knowing and not knowing – about whatever this is – is u
nbearable.

Jonathan twists his hands. “This is hard to broach, this subject. It's difficult to explain without the back story, which you don't remember.”

I'm silent.

“
You...are not you.” He rubs his face in frustration. “And I'm not who you know me to be.”

“
Obviously.”

“
No. I mean you and I aren't human.” And the ball drops. Like a twenty thousand ton ball.

But it's ridiculous.

I laugh too loudly. “Jon, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. And you know my parents.” He doesn't move; he doesn't speak. M
y grin disappears. Something deep inside of me uneasily acknowledges the truth of this. Something supernatural would explain everything. My mind, however, is not so compliant. “If you actually believe this nonsense, then prove it,” I challenge.

Not breaki
ng his gaze for one instant, Jonathan's...being...begins to glow.
That
glow. Brighter than Kelly, just as bright as Lucas.

I gasp and make some sort of choking sound. I don't know what to think. How is this happening? I try to formulate some question like,
why haven't I seen this before, and then I burst into tears.

“
No. No. This isn't happening. I can't...” I run out of my living room, out of my house. Everything seems to be breaking. This boy, who has been one of my best friends for years and years, is –
I don't even know what he is. But I feel betrayed.

I jump into the car and pull out onto the street. My car seems to fly down the road as I drive
away from my house, toward anywhere but there. “Jesus,” I keep repeating, and I make a few hard turns as I fu
mble for my phone. Soon I pass out of the suburb into the farm area behind it. Who to call? Where to go? My fingers seem to hit all the wrong buttons and then Jonathan is sitting next to me.