"Are you okay?" I ask, wondering whether there's something wrong with him. Is this kid going to freak out on me? Is that why I don't remember him?

Gripping my bag like a security blanket, I take a step to the right to try to move around him, but he anticipates my move and blocks me again. He bends slightly and looks directly into my eyes before speaking.

"No, London, I'm not okay. We have one fight and that's it? You won't return my calls. You weren't home yesterday when I came by. We need to talk about this."

When he finishes, he straightens slightly but doesn't stop with the eye contact. I don't know what to do, so I opt for honesty.

"I'm really sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about. I don't even know you." I smile weakly as if to console a friend.

It's like a lightbulb turns on in the boy's head. He stands completely straight and his eyes narrow. He shakes his head and then looks at me with even more venom.

"Real mature, London. Thanks a lot," the boy hisses. He turns and strides down the main hall in the direction I need to go.

The girl with the locker next to mine giggles as she passes; she's heard the whole conversation. "I'll take him if you don't want him."

I wait until there's no sign of the boy before I weave my way to study hall. As I move, I review what happened and end up just as confused. I open the massive library doors and walk through the metal detectors, happy to have one whole class period to ponder the situation.

And, oh yeah, do my Anatomy homework.

But then, as I approach the bank of tables reserved for study hall, I realize my bad fortune.

The brooding boy sits alone at the only table with any free seats.

Of course he does.

Surprisingly, the gorgeous freak is otherwise engaged all period long, so I manage to finish my homework with time to spare. Even so, I can't help but notice the huffs and snorts coming from the boy as he writes furiously in his notebook. Angry much?

Now, as I sit packed and ready to leave the moment the bell rings in forty-four... forty-three... forty-two seconds, the boy is still writing. I can't help but watch the muscles on his toned left forearm flex as he moves the pen across the page. His worn T-shirt looks baby-soft and hangs perfectly across his shoulders and chest. I find myself wanting to touch the waved lock of hair that peeks out from behind his right ear....

"What?" the boy snaps as he looks right at me. Several other clock-watching students turn in our direction.

"Nothing," I whisper, looking back to the industrial wall-mounted clock that tells me I'll be free from this uncomfortable situation in twenty... nineteen... eighteen... seconds.

I hear the boy rip the pages he's been working on from his notebook, which strikes me as odd, since I'd think he'd want to keep them safe until class.

Finally, the bell rings, and I stand so quickly to leave that I practically knock my chair back.

"Wait," he says in a softer tone. Instead of running, I turn to face him.

"Please read this," he says, offering me what I realize now is a letter. It's folded in half, with my name written on the outside.

"Okay," I say as he brushes past me, leaving me confused and alone in a barren library with a warm and oddly familiar scent lingering behind him.

I skip the trip to my locker before math, opting instead to arrive early and see what on earth this boy could be so mad at me about.

Minutes later, I realize that being early was a good choice.

Dear London, First off, let me just say that I love you. Keep that in mind as you read on....

My name is Luke Henry and I've been your boyfriend since I started at Meridan in October. You don't remember me in your future for some reason we haven't sorted out yet, but I'd like the chance to find out why.

You're really mad at me right now, and rightly so. I never told you that we'd met, but we had. When we were younger, we went to camp together. I was fascinated by you and how, every day, you'd befriend me again even though you didn't remember me from the day before. You were my first real crush, and now you're my first real love.

After the Winter Formal on Saturday night, I found the notes that you used to remember me and I told you the truth. You were right when you said that I'd been lying to you for all this time. I'm so sorry, London, and all I want is the chance to redeem myself. I have no idea why I did it. Maybe I thought you'd think I was a stalker. Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd ever wake up and know who I was.

You didn't.

But, London, we're good together. I don't want to lose you. I made a huge mistake, but I hope that you can consider forgiving me. Because like I said in the beginning, I love you, London Lane.

Always.

Luke * * *

After school, a floral hatbox sits before me with its innards exposed. Luke's apology letter in one hand and a photo of a happy couple in the other, I feel like my innards are exposed, too.

My mom didn't seem surprised when I asked her about him. She led me right to the hatbox, with a look that bordered on patronizing.

"Well, that didn't take long," she said.

"It's not over yet," I replied, grabbing the hatbox and taking refuge in my room.

Now, in a word, I'm thrown.

I started at the beginning, and after reading about the first few times Luke and I spoke, I was ready to dial his number and accept his apology right then and there.

But then I read on, with his betrayal in mind. Every seemingly pleasant moment filtered through this new lens of lies became darker-dirtier. He was keeping a secret from me the whole time, never letting me know the real Luke.

Then again, I was keeping a secret from him, too.

In a way, we were both at fault.

Still, his lie was worse.

Wasn't it?

My cell phone rings beside me and I know that it's him, even though the number isn't stored in my phone. I consider ignoring the call, but can't help but answer.

"Hello?" I say quietly.

"Hi." A smooth voice breathes into the phone, sending chills down my spine. Why did he lie? If I wasn't mad at him, I could be staring into his blue eyes right now.

"Hi," I say back.

"I know you said that you needed time, but I had to call," Luke begins.

"You're not exactly giving me space," I say, determined not to be charmed so easily. Gorgeous or not, he hurt me.

"I know," he says softly, sounding helpless. "What can I do?"

"You can't do anything," I say firmly. "I said I needed space to figure this out, and if you really care about me, you'll respect that."

I wince and think he might have, too, although I can't be sure. He's silent for a few seconds.

"Okay, London," he says finally, with a sadness that breaks my heart a little. "I'll leave you alone."

Instead of telling him "never mind," like I desperately want to, I simply say, "Thank you, Luke," and disconnect before I make any promises I might not be able to keep.

Leaning against my bed with the gutted hatbox before me and chronicles of our relationship littering the floor, I can't help but cry. I don't want to be sensible. I don't want to think about things. I don't want to have to forgive him.

I don't want him to have lied in the first place.

I shove the debris off my legs and climb up onto my bed, lying facedown in my pillow and sobbing for who knows how long. I don't hear her come in but my mom appears, smoothing my hair and patting my back and telling me it'll all be okay.

No, it won't, I think to myself.

It won't be okay at all.

29.

Life blindsided me this morning.

It's barely past seven o'clock on a Wednesday, and already I'm tired. It seems everything is wrong, so I focus on something small.

Page Thomas.

Yesterday's note says that she served as a captain in gym class. When I was the last person on the bench, Page told Ms. Martinez and the class that she'd rather play one person short than have me on her team.

Nice.

I moved on to reading about Luke, but then something in a note from four months ago caught my attention. It was around the time Luke moved to town: Bring yoga pants, T-shirt for gym (had to borrow clothes from Page Fri.) Yesterday, Page wouldn't have lent me a square of toilet paper, let alone a shirt. I remember her tomorrow and there's no way she'd lend me anything then, either. Curious, I spend the next hour searching through notes for entries about her. And what I realize is this: I saved Page Thomas.

Okay, sure, it wasn't from a forty-story building sent up in flames or anything. But, looking back now, I see clearly there was a time when I remembered Brad breaking Page's heart. Demolishing it, actually.

But this morning, when I think of Page and Brad, I remember them together until I can't remember them at all. I'll hear at the senior party that they're going to college together; that's the last they'll be in my life.

As far as I can tell from notes, things changed when I lied about Brad not liking girls. Page was forced to find another way into Brad's arms, and it seems to have made all the difference.

So, yes, I am friendless. And, yes, I've been wronged by an apparently gorgeous and wonderful guy. I'm living with a mom I can't trust and dreading the worst kind of heartbreak imaginable in the form of a dead child.

My life is screwed up, to say the least.

But the tiny smidgen of a tidbit of a crumb of a shaving of sunshine on this bleak Wednesday morning is that I saved Page Thomas from heartbreak. With one simple decision months ago, I changed something for the better.

And if I can help her, surely I can help myself.

I have the metal door positioned in a way that allows me to keep watch on Jamie Connor's locker across the hall without being obvious about it. I'm staring into the magnetic vanity mirror, waiting. Of course, I look like I'm in love with myself, but no one is paying attention to me anyway.

Because I can see what's behind me, I know that the boy I'm assuming is Luke, thanks to photos in my bedroom this morning, walked by earlier, slowly, hesitantly, like he wanted to stop.

But he didn't.

He's waiting; that's good.

Finally, a familiar blunt blonde haircut catches my eye, and I turn to confirm that Jamie has arrived. She's in too-tight faded jeans and a hot-pink top that seems innocent enough from the back but which I know, without having to look, is low-cut in the front.

I slam the metal door so that the lock catches securely and ease my way across two lanes of students, eyes on Jamie's back the whole time. Once I reach her, I have to clear my throat before she notices me standing at her side.

"Hi, J," I say brightly.

"Hi," she mutters, turning back to her locker.

"How are you?" I ask.

"Do you care?" she says, not turning around.

"Of course I care, Jamie, you're my best friend!" She glances at me, then back to the locker.

"Am I?" she says. "Or am I too much of a slut to be your friend anymore?"

"Jamie, that's not fair!" I say. Jamie slams her locker door and turns to face me. Her eyes are cold, vacant.

"No, London. No, it isn't," she says bitterly, before walking off toward her first class.

My face flushes, and I'm so mad that I want to chase after her and shake her and tell her everything I know that she doesn't. But just then, the bell signaling the start of the period rings, and chasing down Jamie might mean detention with her boyfriend, I mean Mr. Rice. So instead, I rush to the library.

Ms. Mason glares at me for being late, and Luke sits up expectantly when I fall into the chair opposite him, but something about my body language tells them both to back off. I work on Spanish homework the whole period and leave quickly when the bell sounds. I can feel Luke's disappointment, and guilt creeps through me until I remember this morning's notes. This is the guy who lied to me for four months. Four months. He deserves a little indecision. He deserves to sweat it out a bit.

Skipping the trip to my locker, I settle into my seat in Spanish and watch the door. I'm ready to confront Jamie before class, but the seconds tick by and her desk remains empty. The bell rings, and there's no Jamie.

Ten minutes later, she's still not here.

When I've decided that she's ditched class, gone home sick, or left for a doctor's appointment, I face the fact that there will be no confrontation today. Jamie had the last word, and it was a nasty one. My anger subsides because it has to, and it's replaced by sadness. I can't help but feel that my best friend has abandoned me.

And I get it, at least a little. I know she's upset. I know she's jealous of Luke. I know she wishes I didn't disapprove of her boyfriend, if you want to call Mr. Rice that.

But getting it doesn't make it stop hurting.

Forever, I will share my thoughts and feelings with Jamie. Forever, except for right now. And right now, I really need her.

She should be here to exchange notes about whether or not to forgive Luke. She should be here to whisper with me about my dad. She should calm me-just by being nearby-about things too awful to know. She should willingly partner with me for stupid pronunciation drills.