39
Following detailed instructions from this morning’s note, I shove the folded paper into Gabby Stein’s locker seconds before students start arriving to dress down for gym. Without being too obvious about it, I watch Gabby find the note, read it, and blush.
In that moment, I know that domino number one will fall: Gabby will go to the Driver’s Ed. room at lunch looking for Christopher. Unless there is some uncontrollable coincidence, he obviously won’t be there. But I know from notes that Jamie and Mr. Rice will be.
That’s gossip too rich for Gabby to keep to herself.
Five periods later, I arrive early to Brit. Lit., anxiously awaiting the arrival of Gabby and my next domino, the evil Alex Morgan.
Gabby shows first, and I know by looking at her that she saw them. She’s practically bursting with her newfound secret. I try to hide my excitement as Gabby furiously whispers to Alex the second she arrives. Then, before the bell—before Ms. Jenkins can remind her about the “no texting in class” rule—Alex types and sends a message on her cell phone that I can only hope is meant for Carley.
>“Who is Jesse Henson?” Luke asks, totally missing the point.
“Just a girl in my math class next year,” I say, annoyed. “She’ll sit next to me. She’s chatty.”
“So, what, you want to find out who Mrs. Rice tutors now so you can tell that kid about her husband?” Luke asks, finally seeing the light.
I nod once.
“But won’t the person just tell Mrs. Rice it was you who told?” Luke asks, confused.
“Not if I’m smart,” I say.
“I see,” he says, and I wonder whether he means it. Luke strums his hands on the steering wheel like he’s bored.
Nothing is happening at the Rice house, and I’m growing less and less excited about my mission by the second.
Sighing, I change the subject.
“What do you think of hypnotism?” I ask.
“Honestly, I don’t think about it,” Luke says, looking at me now with his soft blue eyes.
“Well, do for a minute. Do you think that I could be hypnotized to remember more?”
“More what? Past or future?”
“Either one,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. Remembering the future feels normal to me. The one past memory in my brain is like a splinter. It doesn’t belong.
“Maybe a hypnotist could jog your memory about me,” Luke mutters, looking back to the street.
“Maybe,” I say, focusing again on the house behind me. “Wouldn’t it be nice to date someone who remembers you every morning?”
“Sure,” Luke says. “Then again, maybe you’d get bored with me.”
“No way,” I reply. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it’s up to you,” Luke answers. His noncommittal comment bugs me. I glance his way to roll my eyes at him, and then I look back at the house.
Still nothing.
“I want whatever you want, as far as your brain is concerned. I love you no matter what,” Luke says, and when I turn to face him, our eyes lock.
I wonder whether my heart keeps time even when my head doesn’t. Maybe that’s why I feel so much for Luke right now, even though I technically just met him this morning in study hall.
Something catches my eye and ruins the moment. A white car zips past us, and I can only assume that it’s being driven by someone who can’t see the future dangers of reckless driving.
It turns without slowing into the driveway in front of the white house with the black shutters: 1553 Mountain Street.