The Problem With Forever

The morning air was warm, but the moment I stepped into the near-frigid school, I was grateful for the thin cardigan I’d carefully paired with my tank top and jeans.

From the entrance, everyone spread out in different directions. Smaller students who were roughly around my height, but were definitely much younger, speed-walked over the red-and-blue Viking painted on the floor, their book bags thumping off their backs as they dodged taller and broader bodies. Others walked like zombies, gaits slow and seemingly aimless. I was somewhere in the middle, moving at what appeared to be a normal pace, but was actually one I’d practiced.

And there were some who raced toward others, hugging them and laughing. I guessed they were friends who hadn’t seen each other over the summer break, or maybe they were just really excitable people. Either way, I stared at them as I walked. Seeing them reminded me of my friend Ainsley. Like me, she’d been homeschooled—still was—but if she wasn’t, I imagined we’d be like these kids right now, hopping toward one another, grinning and animated. Normal.

Ainsley was probably still in bed.

Not because she got to goof off all day, but because our mutual instructor did summer break a little differently. She was still on break, but once her year got going again, her homeschooling hours would be as strict and grueling as mine had been.

Shaking myself from my reverie, I took the stairwell at the end of the wide hall, near the entrance to the cafeteria. Even being close to the lunchroom had my pulse spiking, causing my stomach to twist with nausea.

Lunch.

Oh, God, what was I going to do about lunch? I didn’t know anyone, not a single person, and I would—

I cut myself off, unable to really think about that right now. If I did, there was a good chance I might turn around and run back to the safety of my car.

My locker was on the second floor, middle of the hall, number two-three-four. I found it with no problem, and bonus, it opened on the first try. Twisting at the waist, I pulled out a binder I was using for my afternoon classes and dropped it on the top shelf, knowing that I was going to be collecting massive textbooks today.

The locker beside mine slammed shut, causing me to jump and tense. My chin jerked up. A tall girl with dark skin and tiny braids all over her head flashed a quick smile in my direction. “Hey.”

My tongue tied right up and I couldn’t get that one, stupid little word out before the girl with the short hair spun and walked off.

Fail.

Feeling about ten kinds of stupid, I rolled my eyes and closed my locker door. Turning around, my gaze landed on the back of a guy heading in the opposite direction. My muscles tensed again as I stared at him.

I didn’t even know why or how I ended up looking at him. Maybe it was because he was a good head taller than anyone around him. Like a total creeper, I couldn’t pull my eyes away. He had wavy hair, somewhere between brown and black, and it was cut short against the nape of his bronzed neck, but was longer on the top. I wondered if it flopped on his forehead, and there was an unsteady tug at my chest as I remembered a boy I used to know years ago, whose hair always did that—fell forward no matter how many times he pushed it out of his face. A boy it kind of hurt my chest to think about.

His shoulders were broad under a black T-shirt, biceps defined in a way that made me think of someone who either played sports or did a lot of manual labor. His jeans were faded, but not in the expensive way. I knew the difference between name-brand jeans that were designed to look well-worn and jeans that were simply old and on their last wear. He carried a single notebook in his hand, and even from where I stood, the notebook looked about as old as his pants did.

Something weird moved through me, a feeling of familiarity, and as I stood in front of my locker, I found myself thinking of the one bright thing in a past full of shadows and darkness.

I thought about the boy who made my chest hurt, the one who’d promised forever.

It had been four years since I’d seen him or even heard him speak. Four years of trying to erase everything that had to do with that portion of my childhood, but I remembered him. I wondered about him.

How could I not? I always would.

He had been the sole reason I survived the house we’d grown up in.

Chapter 2 (#ud65d43ad-343b-5da6-b0b1-0606b03bd957)

One thing I quickly learned after my first period was that the row of seats in the back of the classroom was prime real estate. Close enough to see the chalkboard, but far enough away that there was a good chance the teacher wouldn’t call on you.

I got to each of my AP classes before anyone else and snagged a desk in the back, blending in before I was even seen. No one talked to me. Not until just before lunch, at the start of English, when a dark brown–skinned girl with sloe-colored eyes sat in the empty seat next to me.

“Hi,” she said, smacking a thick notebook on the flat surface attached to the chair. “I hear Mr. Newberry is a real jerk. Take a look at the pictures.”

My gaze flickered to the front of the classroom. Our teacher hadn’t arrived yet, but the chalkboard was lined with photos of famous authors. Shakespeare, Voltaire, Hemingway, Emerson and Thoreau were a few I recognized, though I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I didn’t have endless time on my hands.

“All dudes, right?” she continued, and when I looked back at her, the tight black curls bounced as she shook her head. “My sister had him two years ago. She warned me that he basically thinks you need a dick to produce anything of literary value.”

My eyes went wide.

“So I’m thinking this class should be a lot of fun.” She grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “By the way, I’m Keira Hart. I don’t remember you from last year. Not that I know everyone, but I think I would’ve at least seen you around.”

Sweat covered my palms as she continued to stare at me. The question she was throwing out was simple. The answer was easy. My throat dried and I could feel heat creeping up my neck as the seconds ticked by.

Use your words.

My toes curled against the soft leather soles of my flip-flops and my throat felt scratchy as I forced the words out. “I’m... I’m new.”

There! I did it. I spoke.

Take that, everyone! Words were totally my bitch.

All right, perhaps I was exaggerating my accomplishment since I technically only spoke two words and repeated one. But I was not going to rain on my own wow, because talking to new people was hard for me. Like as hard as it would be for someone to walk naked into the class.

Keira didn’t seem to notice my internal dumbassery. “That’s what I thought.” And then she waited, and for a moment I didn’t get why she was looking at me so expectantly. Then I did.

My name. She was waiting for my name. Air hissed in between my teeth. “I’m Mallory...Mallory Dodge.”

“Cool.” She nodded as she rocked her curvy shoulders against the back of the chair. “Oh. Here he comes.”

We didn’t talk again, but I was feeling pretty good about the sum total of seven words spoken, and I was totally going to count the repeat ones. Rosa and Carl would.

Mr. Newberry spoke with an air of pretentiousness that even a newbie like me could pick up on, but it didn’t bother me. I was floating on a major accomplishment high.

Then came lunch.

Walking into the large, loud room was like having an out-of-body experience. My brain was screaming at me to find a quieter, easier—safer—place to go, but I forced myself forward, one foot in front of the other.

Nerves had twisted my stomach into knots as I made it through the lunch line. All I grabbed was a banana and a bottle of water. There were so many people around me and so much noise—laughter, shouting and a constant low hum of conversation. I was completely out of my element. Everyone was at the long square tables, huddled in groups. No one was really sitting alone from what I could see, and I knew no one. I would be the only person sitting by myself.

Horrified by the realization, I felt my fingers spasm around the banana I clenched. The smell of disinfectant and burnt food overwhelmed me. Pressure clamped down on my chest, tightening my throat. I sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to inflate my lungs. A series of shivers danced along the base of my skull.

I couldn’t do this.

There was too much noise and too many people in what now felt like a small, confined area. It was never this loud at home. Never. My gaze darted all over, not really seeing any detail. My hand shook so badly I was afraid I’d drop the banana. Instinct kicked in, and my feet started moving.

I hurried out into the somewhat quieter hall and kept going, passing a few kids lingering against the lockers and the faint scent of cigarettes that surrounded them. I dragged in deep, calming breaths that really didn’t calm me. Getting farther away from the cafeteria was what calmed me, not the stupid breaths. I rounded the corner and jerked to a stop, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a boy not much taller than me.

He stumbled to the side, bloodshot eyes widening in surprise. A scent clung to him that at first I thought was smoke, but when I inhaled, it was something richer, earthy and thick.

“Sorry, chula,” he murmured, and his eyes did a slow glide from the tips of my toes right back up to mine. He started to grin.

At the end of the hall, a taller boy picked up his pace. “Jayden, where in the fuck you running off to, bro? We need to talk.”