It feels like he’s pushing pins into my chest. “That’s not why I came. I would never do that.”
“Well,” Zach says, and runs his hand over his head like he’s expecting for there to be more hair. “I’ve seen you a bunch of times since…we broke up.” He glances at me. I stare back. “And since the procedure. Usually you don’t even look at me.”
“At all?” I ask, a little incredulous. Because even if I didn’t know Zach, surely I would still notice him. That smile, those eyes. I guess maybe with the shorter hair, but…“I feel like I’d still notice.”
His cheeks get a little pinker and he laughs. “Thanks, but no. It’s been”—he searches for the right expression—“kind of a mindfuck. And now you’re…here.”
“I was in an accident almost three weeks ago,” I say. “On a bus from Raddick.”
“Oh my God,” Zach says, his eyes widening. “I heard about that. Are you okay?” I see his hands twitch like he’s tempted to reach out, but they stay put on his lap. And all his concern remains on his face.
“I’m fine,” I say. But then I tell him what happened after. About the boy on the bus who’s more than a boy on the bus now—who’shim—and his face goes ashen.
“Thatisa mindfuck,” he remarks.
I tell him about the brother I never knew I had, about how figuring out that the apparition I was seeing was a memory led me here.
“Sorry about stalking you,” I finish.
“Yeah, likewise,” Zach says, looking spooked, and we both laugh awkwardly. He seems—looks—older than the Zach I’ve been seeing, and I feel a twinge of sadness, realizing I know neither of those Zachs. It’s funny how the way I remember him is both different from and completely the same as the real him.
“All anyone keeps saying is that I was”—I pause—“like, depressed after whatever happened with us.”
Zach looks at his hands. “Yeah, I heard. I mean, Katy sent me some pretty strongly worded death threats.”
I give him a smile, but it is a small one.
“The whole thing was…I mean, I got why you did it, why you hated me. But even if things were reversed, I wouldneverwant to forget you.” His voice is deep with hurt, but insistent, like he’s wanted a chance to tell me this for a long time. “I still can’t believe you went through with it. It just seemed like such a cowardly thing to do. And I’d always thought of you as brave.”
My face is burning now with embarrassment, with anger at myself. Having no memory, no context, I can’t defend myself.
I am a coward.
Was.
Am?
“What happened?” I press after a moment. “Why did I do it?”
Zach’s expression is wary as he appraises me. “I don’t know if…I mean, I’m probably not supposed to tell you. And I’m not sure Iwantto.” His face is a deep red now.
“Zach,” I say, feeling a surge of anger rising up in me. I’m sick of people keeping things from me, lying to me—myself included.
“Did something happen?” I ask him.
“Um, yeah?” he says, like he’s not entirely sure what I’m asking.
“Was I there?”
“I…yeah, of course you were.”
“Then you don’t get to be angry with me without telling me why, without letting me understand. Tell me everything.Please.”
BEFORE
Late November
“Do you like the idea or not?” I ask Katy the day after sitting through Lindsay’s Thanksgiving production.
