Part 11 (1/2)

Blake pulls back with a little humming sound. ”Tomorrow. Breakfast. I'll pick you up, and this time, I want to go somewhere and eat at a table. Thirty whole minutes with my girlfriend. Not too much to ask, is it?”

He c.o.c.ks his head, giving me a million-dollar smile. I remind myself he is the guy I've always wanted. And if I don't resolve my crazy memory stuff, I'm going to push him away right about the time I realize how and why we ended up together.

I squeeze his hand. ”No, it's not. Breakfast sounds perfect.”

”Seven thirty.”

”I'll be ready. Promise.”

He nods and steps away, saluting me before he heads past me and out the doors. I see Adam leaning against the lockers, watching him go. Watching maybe everything that just happened.

I try to leave, but I feel frozen to the floor. Adam's eyes find mine across the hall, and there's a name for the look he's wearing. I'd call it jealous as h.e.l.l.

It wasn't easy finding Adam Reed's address. I don't know what I expected, but whatever the image I dreamed up in my head was, it wasn't this. I once told Mags that Adam was probably a spoiled little rich boy, playing the bad kid to get daddy's attention. Looking at the sad, cramped town house in front of me makes me feel cruel and stupid for saying that.

This isn't one of those sw.a.n.ky apartments you see on CW dramas-slick, modern lofts with community pools and weekly scandals. We don't have those kinds of complexes in Ridgeview. We hardly have apartments at all, and the ones we do have are the kind n.o.body wants to think about.

This row of town houses sits behind the abandoned strip mall two blocks from Maggie's house. There are no welcome mats or fitness centers. Or gra.s.s, for that matter. The entire place looks tired, from the peeling paint on the identical front doors to the rusting Buick in the corner of the parking lot.

I put my keys in my pocket and step over the cracks in the pavement on my way to his front door. I hate this place already. It pulls at the fabric of my comfort, tearing the seams until I can see slivers of a life I didn't think was possible in my cute little town.

I square my shoulders and lift my fist, knocking three times. Inside, someone hollers Adam's name. I hear a cough next, a horrible, wet rattle. Two doors down, a young mother heads for her car with a crying baby in tow.

I glance down at the cigarette b.u.t.ts on the edge of the sidewalk because I don't want to look. I feel like a spoiled, ungrateful brat who doesn't belong here.

The door swings open, and there he is, this darkly beautiful and apparently tragic boy. He doesn't look happy to see me.

”What do you want, Chloe?”

”I need to talk to you.”

”Talk to Blake,” he says.

Holy c.r.a.p, he was jealous. And I don't get it. I just don't. But I like it. Some very twisted part of me wants him to be jealous.

I want him to want me. Because some part of me clearly wants him.

”Can I come in?” I ask, my voice too high and small.

”In here?” he asks, like I'm completely crazy for asking.

”Or we could walk,” I say, though my voice trails off when I glance around at the broken bottles and total absence of pretty.

”It's cold, Chloe.”

”I know. I know that, but I really need to talk to you.”

And I do. I've got questions burning up in my throat. I can feel them wanting to bubble out of me. Questions about the list. About the study group. About me and him and this thing that is so obviously happening between us.

He slides out of the doorway, close enough that I'm forced to look up to keep my eyes on his face. He's wearing a guarded look now, tilting his head at me.

”You think Blake would really want you here, Chloe?”

I feel breathless. Like something's squeezing hard around my ribs. He looks so angry. And even guilty in a way.

I can't take seeing him like this. I have to do something.

Adam scoffs at my silence and backs up. I s.n.a.t.c.h his sleeve, pulling on him.

”Adam-”

”Let go, Chloe.”

He's shaking me off and moving back, and I feel a little frantic as his sleeve slips out of my grasp. I need him to stay here with me because I feel right with him. And I remember things with him. And I need to know why. But I don't say any of those things as he steps back into his house.

It's like my tongue is paralyzed.

”Go home,” he says, and the door shuts in my face.

”I can't remember anything!” I shout.

My breath steams in the darkness as I wait one heartbeat. Then another. And then Adam opens the door.

I feel my shoulders sag with relief. He might as well have taken a thousand pounds off me. Whoever is inside his apartment coughs again, breaking the spell, reminding me that I'm still outside. Unwelcome.

Adam closes the door behind himself when he comes out again, his dark gray sweats.h.i.+rt unzipped over an old T-s.h.i.+rt. He hasn't shaved. It lends a cold edge to his features, but he still looks like a slice of heaven to me-safe and warm and true.

”What are you talking about?” he asks.

I hesitate because I know I can't come back from this. I can't unsay these words once they're out.

”Chloe,” he says, pressing me to go on.

”I can't remember,” I say. ”I can't remember anything since May. And I know it sounds crazy, and it is crazy, but I'm not insane. Something happened to me. I fell asleep in study hall. I drifted off for a second, and then it was winter and my entire universe was different.”

My words are tumbling out so fast, I can barely catch my breath. ”Now, I'm this perfect person with these perfect grades and Blake and-and then you and me and I don't know what any of it means and how any of it happened or how I lost Maggie-”

”Slow down,” he says, cutting me off midsentence.

”I can't slow down, Adam! I'm six freaking months behind, okay? I can't remember anything that happened to me! That night in the school? When you said I called you? I don't remember calling you. I don't ever remember speaking with you until that moment.”

”You don't remember calling me,” he says, brow furrowed. ”That night at the school-you don't remember that?”

”I'm trying to tell you I don't remember anything! I have pictures that I don't even understand, and before you even ask me, yes, I've been to a doctor and my brain is just fine. Which means that the doctors and my family think I'm totally unhinged, and they don't even know how-”