Page 13 of You Again

I told the principal at Sierra View that I wouldn’t be back. Why couldn’t she have accepted my resignation and told everyone about it? Along with—and never ever speak to Rosalie again. But my principal told no one to stay away from me, and she insisted I take my medical leave and think about staying on. My job—that I don’t see how I’m qualified for—is still available to me. Dr. Strouse says my training is still there. The whole semantic memory, episodic memory thing. He says that I am still qualified to be an elementary school teacher. But my brain cannot wrap around such things. I just need to make my resignation final. But that would require talking to Principal Shew again.

How did I end up in elementary school anyway? I was a history secondary education major. And yet I was teaching second grade.

How?

I could ask my family or Fran—they’d tell me, as long as I’m asking. But it’s not worth risking another panic attack.

And Dr. Strouse has no idea. He wasn’t around for that part of my life either. However, my checkup went well. I suppose. He said that while my memory has made no progress, my CT scan looks healthy. I suppose that’s good, but then he skimmed over the none-of-my-memories-have-returned part pretty quick.

Holy yes, I am in major need of a dirty Dr Pepper. I’m not getting diet as originally planned. And a gas station fountain isn’t going to cut it. Nope. I need it fully leaded, extra dirty, and professionally mixed.

It feels somewhat like the stars have aligned and the planets are all in order just to make my life miserable when I pull into the Soda Shack to see the large sign on their front window: DRIVE-THROUGH CLOSED, PLEASE COME INSIDE.

“Inside?” I say aloud, and then I groan, dramatic and obnoxious, but I already had to deal with what’s-her-name from the elementary school. Still, my cry is so loud that the man walking into the little soda shop peers back at me still sitting inside my car.

I was never upset about going into places before. Seeing humans didn’t bother me. Speaking to strangers wasn’t a big deal. That was then. Those days are long gone. I pull in a sharp breath. “I can be friendly. I can be cordial. I can give a little grace where it’s needed.” Grace: “The poor soda shack has a broken drive-through. That sucks for them.”

Except, you know what sucks more?

Rosalie going inside that soda shack simply to get her well-deserved, fully leaded, extra, extra dirty Dr Pepper.

“Ugh.” I groan a very non-grace-giving groan. Again. “Fine! I’ll go in. Because I am in dire need of caffeine. Because I deserve it. Because a broken drive-through doesn’t scare me!” Except that it does. “I can be a grown up. A twenty-six-year-old grown up. Who needs twenty-one to twenty-five anyway? Not me. I can go in and get my drink—maybe I’ll get two. Because don’t I deserve two? I’ll drink them both before I get back to Tesoro, and then guess what? I’m getting another at the gas station by our house! Dr Pepper for dinner, Universe. What do you think of that?”

My throat hurts from yelling, and I’m out of breath. Thanks a lot, Soda Shack!

So much for grace.

Before I can chicken out, I swing my car door open, snatch up my purse, and exit the Corolla I bought sometime in the last six years. I slam the door closed and storm inside, so pissed off at the world, I almost feel bad for the clerk behind the counter.

Pissed is better than panicked.

However, my fire fizzles out the minute I enter the shop. Because the man who peered back at me when I was in the privacy of my vehicle groaning wasn’t just a man—but freaking Robert Pattinson. As in the engineer, not the vampire. As in my boyfriend—err, as in my ex-boyfriend.

I assume he’s an engineer by now. In my mind, he’s one year away.

I should leave. I should turn and walk out of this shop and never look back.

I should do all that.

However, I don’t. I can’t. I’m looking at Robert and I’m not panicking. Tall, dark, perfectly white-teethed Robert. Robert who loved taking me to museums. Robert who nibbled on my ear every chance he got. Robert who still owns a piece of my heart.

His hair is longer, and he now has a beard. A beard! It’s so full, I can’t help the bubble of laughter that leaves my lips.

I slap a hand over my mouth just as he turns his head to see me.

“Rosalie?” he says, facing me.

I drop my hand to my side and hiccup.

Nice, Rosalie.

My heart patters and patters, but not in a way that makes me want to run, more like I’m worried it may leap from my chest and right into Robert’s arms. “Hello, Robert.”

“Wow,” he says, his eyes roving over me. “You look great.”

My cheeks tickle with a smile that I can’t stop, and I peer down at my plain gray T-shirt, whitewash jeans, and white tennis shoes. Oh yeah, I look amazing. I’ve topped off this not-so-stylish look with zero make-up and a ponytail.

“Thanks,” I say, attempting to remember my manners. “So do you.” I clear my throat. “Look great, I mean.” And mamma mia, he does. Gray suit, blue tie, and that short, well-groomed beard. My fingers prick, wanting to feel the bristles of that beard.