Page 19 of Forgotten
For months, we meet at Sydney’s house, then at Darshi’s house, then at the park by my house because Mom says that I cannot invite people to our house.
One Friday evening Sydney’s mom agrees to drive us to the cinema and Mom insists I bring along the twins.
I reply, “Fuck no,” and then Daddy pushes me against the wall.
“You will not be using that language in this house, Ashley,” Daddy spits and he bends my arm until it hurts.
I tell him to stop, to let me go, but he doesn’t until I agree: the twins can come to the cinema, too.
Martin and Edwin throw popcorn and kick the seats. They talk during the film and annoy me until I yell that I hate them, I hate them both, I wish they were never born and would just leave me alone. “I wish I didn’t have any brothers,” I tell them and I go hide in the bathroom. I miss half the film.
When we get home, the twins tell Daddy what I said and he shoves me into the door. I cry so hard I cannot breathe anymore. I hide my face in my pillow and think about Ford; think about Gregory Hale and his soft hugs.
I know it’s too late to go to his house and we haven’t spoken in months but I miss him. I miss him every day.I think about him the entire weekend and I barely leave my room.
???
When I go back to school on Monday it is November already and Sydney and Darshi treat me as if nothing has happened. They ask about my weekend and they ask me if I liked going to the cinema and they don’t mention the twins or the yelling.
I say yes, because it is quick and because I cannot tell them about Daddy or else they would stop being my friends. When lunch comes, I do not join them. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I wish I could just disappear today.
So I disappear to the library.
I have something that I need to return and even though there is more than a week left, I go anyway. I hurry down the corridor grasping the book in my hands. When I finally enter, I stop with my back against the library door. My heartbeat is loud in my ears and I’m panting for air, but here everything is quiet. Everything smells like sweet vanilla and unread pages.
I slowly count to ten and then look around, already decided to take a seat and hang out here for a while. I walk through the tall bookcases, passing the Classics section, the Crime section, the Fantasy section and the Language section, searching for the most comfortable chair. Finally, I spot Science. It’s a shorter shelf, with books of every size piled on it. I know there’s a chairbecause I have been here before. When I see it, I see him as well.
“Ford. What are you doing here?”
Without seeing me, Ford recognises my voice. He’s sitting with feet propped up, knees pressed against his chest and his head is resting on his knees. The look in his eyes is sad. “Hiding.”
That makes no sense to me. Ford is always out there having lunch with his friends, his friends who are loud and sporty and laugh all the time. I see Ford out there with them every day—himself loud, sporty and laughing. Right?
“What do you mean? Why are you hiding?”
He sounds so sad. Ford never sounds sad. “I don’t want to be out there.”
“Why?” I ask him again.
“I failed science.”
I notice a book that is open in front of him. It is one of the textbooks I have seen other students carry, one that combines all science topics for the lowest classes. What is Ford doing with a book like that? In the highest class, where Sydney and I are, science is separated into three classes and we have a different volume for each ofthem.
“You failed combined science?” I wonder, because Ford is so smart and so cool and his family is perfect.
It’s the wrong question. His neck snaps up and his curls drop down his forehead messily. “I’m not smart like you, Ash.”
Ford’s voice is broken and it breaks me, too.
“What do you mean?”
This time, Ford sounds defensive when he replies, “I scored in the lowest for most of my classes, Ash. What don’t you understand? And now I even failed the test for stupid combined science. I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Ford, stop. Please.” I walk closer to him, closing the textbook before him then dropping mine on top of it. Ford doesn’t look at me, his eyes scanning another bookshelf instead. I push him to the side and wait until he frees a bit of space on the chair—just enough for me to squeeze next to him. “You are smart, though. Science is stupid. You remember when you had to explain to me the difference between rugby and American football?”
That brings a smile to his face, but it doesn’t last long. “You still don’t know the difference.”
“I don’t,” I confirm somewhat proudly, nudging his shoulder. I also don’t care, but I don’t tell him that.
