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She must know me.
“Hi,” I try and make myself smile back, but there’s no point. There’s too much going on inside my head, and honestly, I’m not happy enough right now to muster up even the tiniest of smiles, and faking it just isn’t cutting it anymore.
“I’m guessing we knew each other, and that’s how you know my name?” I try not to sound annoyed, because truly I’m not, but this memory loss thing is starting to weigh on me, among other things.
“Yes, we are friends, or at least I hope we still are,” she raises an eyebrow as if she’s awaiting a response.
“Maybe… I guess we have to start all over again. My brains a little like scrambled eggs right now.”
“I’m up for that,” she smiles and extends her hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Caroline, it’s nice to meet you.”
Taking hold of her hand, I give it a gentle squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
“I’m so glad that you’re okay, minus the memory issues and all.” She smiles again, and I wonder how she does that, appears to be happy all the time.
“Hi, Harlow,” another girl says, as she saunters up to our table. Looking up at her, I realize she’s the Tiffany chick from the pictures that Shelby showed me the other night. My mood sours even further then.
I don’t need this reminder of how I was treated and how the Bishops played me. Without greeting her, I pull out my textbook, and open it up, pretending to find some imaginary page I’m looking for. Anything is more interesting at this point than reliving the hell of something I can’t remember.
“What’s the matter? Too good to say hi now?” Tiffany huffs, leaning against the table, the bracelets on her wrist clanking loudly against the wood. “Seems like you remember me just fine. So I’m guessing the whole losing your memory thing is just a scam to get attention? Do you think that’s how you’ll get the Bishops to notice you?”
“Don’t talk to her,” Caroline snaps back.
“Well, look at you, growing a backbone, and shit.” The muscles in my jaw tighten, my teeth grinding together so harshly I can hear the sound of them clashing together in my ears.
“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Caroline wrinkles her nose, “and honestly, you don’t even deserve to be in her presence. You’re nothing but a big bully.”
Tiffany narrows her eyes and leans even further across the table, and I have half a mind to shove her arms back and watch her fall face-first against the wooden surface.
“That’s rich, as if the Bishop brothers had nothing to do with it? Who do you think told me to do it? You think the banner was my idea? Think again.”
“I’m sure you had to be talked into it,” Caroline glares, her eyes burning like molten lava. “That you didn’t enjoy even one second of it.”
Scoffing Tiffany fires right back, “As if she wasn’t enjoying all the attention, too bad it wasn’t enough to hold the Bishops’ interest. At the end of the day, they come to my bed.”
“Tiffany, please find a seat.” The professor shouts from the front of the classroom, his voice ringing through the space, drawing excess attention to the three of us.
“You’re lucky, both of you,” Tiffany practically spits the words, before turning on her heeled feet to find an empty seat. As soon as she’s gone, I all but melt into my chair.
Well, that was enjoyable, not.
The professor tells us to open our books to page seventy-five and starts talking about something from last week’s class. I try and focus on the board and on the notes, but every time I look toward the board, I see Tiffany’s stupid blonde head.
Caroline leans over and whispers, “I’m sorry you had to see that, and that we talked as if you weren’t here. She just makes me so angry. Always playing the victim.” Fire still flickers in her eyes, and I know her intentions are pure. She’s just trying to be a friend.
The rest of the class goes by in a flash, that is, once I forget about the blonde skank sitting a few feet away. With the memory of her fading, I actually start to enjoy myself. That is right up until it’s time for the hands-on experiment to take place.
Nervously, I look over at Caroline, “Do you know anything about this chemistry stuff?”
“You’re looking at a straight-A student,” she winks, and I watch her turn on the burner before reorganizing all the beakers and test tubes. “You just sit there and look pretty, and let me do all the tough stuff,” she giggles and cracks her knuckles.
She starts mixing some of the liquids together and sets them over the flame, while I watch half curious, half wary of what may happen next. When the liquid starts boiling, she turns the knob for the burner down, but the flame gets bigger instead of smaller. Distress signals start to go off in my brain like bright red traffic signs.
