She sits next to Daniel, and he kicks his backpack under the chair to make space for hers on the floor between them. He runs his hands over the curls sticking up around his face, like he’s worried about impressing her. I don’t blame him.
Sofia is beautiful, inside and out. Two clips hold back her curly hair, exposing the brutal scars on her face and neck. The fearless way Sofia allows the world to see what most people would hide makes me uncomfortable. I’d never willingly reveal the scars from my past to anyone. My own mind won’t even let me remember them.
Today everyone settles down easily, but there’s less chatter and more whispering.
When most of the kids in my after-school group filter out around six thirty, the whispers increase. Kumiko moves her book closer to my table—and Sofia, Daniel, and Carlos.
“Frankie, can I ask you something?” Kumiko shifts in her seat.
“Sure.” Please don’t let it be about birth control.
“We heard some stuff at school and want to know if it’s true.”
“What kind of stuff?” I ask, dreading the answer.
Kumiko squirms a little more. “The guy from the Heights who got killed last June … he was your boyfriend, right?”
I’m never prepared when people ask about Noah’s death. Usually, I see the question coming, which gives me time to deflect it. But Kumiko caught me off guard. Worse, there’s nowhere to run. And what does it say about me if I dodge their questions?
Sofia watches me from across the table. If she’s brave enough to let the world see her scars, I can answer their questions about Noah.
“Yeah. He was.” I fight to keep my voice steady.
The kids exchange glances, and Daniel clears his throat. I guess he’s up next. “Is it true you were there but you can’t remember what happened?”
“I remember some things, but not others.” Like the face of the guy who killed my boyfriend.
“At least you don’t have amnesia.” Kumiko tosses her glossy black hair over her shoulder and turns her attention back to her homework.
“That’s true.” I force a weak smile.
In the days that followed Noah’s death, I would have given anything to forget. Now all I want to do is remember. I owe it to Noah.
We grew up together, and our friendship always mattered more to me than dating him. It’s hard to admit now that he’s gone. People expect me to pretend Noah and I were soul mates, destined to walk down the aisle five minutes after college graduation. But we didn’t have a forever, I-can’t-live-without-you kind of love. It was more like the I’ll-never-forget-you kind.
The kind of love you have for a boy who said you were beautiful before it was actually true. A boy who knew you couldn’t ride a bike until seventh grade but never told anyone. It’s a love born from knowing someone for so long that most of your memories include him.
Admitting that Noah was anything less than my dream guy makes me feel like an awful person. But I’m determined to do something more than idealize our relationship.
I’m going to figure out who killed him—one memory at a time.
*
Sofia and I are the only ones in the room again when Marco shows up to get her.
“Hey.” He smiles at me, and my stomach flips a little.
“Hi.” I dig through my backpack to avoid looking at him. Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
Sofia gathers her stuff. “Marco? Do you have any money for the vending machine?”
He takes a worn leather wallet out of his back pocket and hands her a five. “Don’t buy too much junk.”
“Deal.” Sofia ducks under his arm and bounds down the hall. “Bye, Frankie.”
“Bye.” I wave, but she’s already gone.
Marco lingers by the door for a moment. “I’ll see you around, Angel.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Does it bother you?” He cracks a half smile, and a dimple presses into his cheek. My eyes drift to his lips—full and wide.
Look somewhere else.
“That’s not the point.” I stuff the chemistry textbook in my backpack. Anything to keep from staring at his mouth. “I have a name.”
“I know.” Marco holds my gaze a second too long, and my cheeks warm.
Does he ever blink?
When he closes the door and disappears down the hall, I switch off the lights and finally let myself exhale. Pretending Marco doesn’t affect me is harder than I expected.
A minute later Marco passes the window. He’s carrying a plastic milk bottle from the vending machine, and he leaves through the emergency exit. Where is he going? There’s nothing behind the building except a bunch of run-down playground equipment that Miss Lorraine won’t let the kids near.
It’s a borderline stalker move, but I follow him.
I crack the door and peek outside. Streetlights illuminate a rotted play structure and the sidewalk at the end of the parking lot, leaving the back of the building, where I’m standing, in darkness.
A flash of brown and white darts through a pale circle of light. Cyclops, the one-eyed cat, slinks toward a yellow slide attached to the play structure.
“Hey, Cyclops. Brought you dinner.” Marco stands near the perimeter of the playground and sets a red plastic ashtray on the ground.