Remember (3 page)

chapter five

I
pushed the food around on my plate. The idea of eating made me nauseated. It wasn’t the pasta; my mom’s roasted red pepper and ricotta ravioli was one of my favorites. She made the noodles from scratch. I had no doubt this was a bribe to get me to eat. The past two weeks the house had been full of my favorite things: mint chocolate chip ice cream, fresh bagels from Bagel Oasis, and bags of SunChips. My mom wasn’t part of the food police, but she was big on eating healthy. She’d never met a meal that wasn’t improved by adding quinoa, broccoli, or flaxseed. Our house was normally a processed food/white bread–free zone. The fact that she’d bought a bunch of snacks was a sign that she was worried about me.

I was worried about myself. I couldn’t focus on anything. I’d catch myself staring into space and realize that I had no
idea what was going on in class or on TV. It was like I was in my own bubble, which didn’t connect with the real world. The worst part was I couldn’t sleep.

That wasn’t completely true. I didn’t
want
to sleep. I had nightmares. At least I guessed they were nightmares: I didn’t remember a thing about them, but I would jolt awake in the middle of the night, sweating, with a racing heart. I was afraid, terrified, but didn’t know why. The dream would vanish the instant I woke up, but I could feel it lurking inside me, waiting to come back as soon as my eyes closed. I would stay up as long as possible, hoping that if I was tired enough, the dream would give me a break. Sometimes it did, sometimes not.

“Can I be excused?” I asked. Both of my parents looked down at my almost-full plate. “I’m not hungry,” I said.

Dad sighed. “Sit down, pumpkin.” He pushed his plate away, and I could see him mentally organizing his thoughts into something that would be helpful. “I hope you’re aware that if you want to talk, or if you need anything, you just have to ask. I know how hard it’s been for you to lose your horse.”

I wondered if he was going to tell me that Harry would want me to go on with my life and be happy.

“Harper, is there anything else?” Mom leaned forward on the table. “Is something bothering you besides Harry? You aren’t yourself.”

I felt a flicker of annoyance. Wasn’t Harry enough? Win was the only one who came close to understanding how I felt.
Even Josh didn’t get it. It was like he and my parents felt there was a reasonable amount of grief I should feel over the whole thing and I was acting unseemly by still going on about it. “No,” I said. “It’s just Harry.”

“Maybe you need to get back to riding,” she suggested. “Laura said you could ride Dallas anytime.”

“Or you could take up something new,” Dad said. “You liked sailing when we went last summer. There’s a sailing club in Ballard. Summer’s coming—we could take it up together.”

If I didn’t say something soon, I would come home tomorrow and discover a giant sailboat parked on a trailer in our driveway and matching life jackets for the whole family with our names embroidered on the back in navy blue.

“I don’t want to start sailing. Or play guitar, or learn Bollywood dancing.” I tried to find a way to explain it. “It isn’t that I need something to do; I’m just sad.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. I felt like I could cry again. It was like I was trying to keep my head above water, but each time I tried to take a breath, a wave of crushing sadness would push me down again. I was exhausted. I wouldn’t be able to keep fighting much longer. I wanted to feel like myself again. “There is something I’ve been thinking about that would help.”

Both of my parents nodded, their faces serious. We didn’t always get along, but I never doubted that they loved me. They were ready to do whatever I needed, from buying me a small dog that came with an entire designer wardrobe to flying out
some pet psychic who could help me connect with Harry in the great beyond. “I want to go in and have the Memtex treatment.”

My dad pulled back, shocked.

“Oh, Harper, I don’t know,” Mom hedged. “It’s a medical procedure. You should give yourself more time before you do anything drastic.”

“I don’t want to spend any more time feeling like this. That’s why Memtex exists, isn’t it? To keep these kinds of things from making your life miserable? I’m not asking for special treatment. I can ask Dr. Cale to make a referral.”

“Absolutely not,” my dad barked.

My mom and I both spun our heads to look at him, surprised at his vehemence. He was acting like I’d asked for permission to run off and join the circus.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Isn’t it enough that I said no? You don’t need the treatment. You’ll get over this. I forbid it.” He tossed his napkin down on the table.

Forbid?
I looked at Mom, waiting for her to back me up, but she was staring at her plate as if the pasta sauce were going to spell out an answer.

“Because you said no?” I stared at him in disbelief. He never pulled the because-I’m-the-dad-and-what-I-say-goes card. Ever. Even when I was little and did things like jamming Legos up my nose, he would take the time to explain how the nasal system
worked while I sat there with a blue building brick sticking out of one nostril. “You’re always talking about how great Memtex is, how it’s changing the world, and you won’t let your own daughter do it? Why? Are you afraid it isn’t safe?”

His face flushed red, matching the pasta sauce. “Don’t even say that. Do you know how much that group of protestors would like to hear you talking about how you don’t trust Memtex? That’s all I need at this point.”

Mom put her hand on his, clearly trying to get him to calm down, but he yanked his hand back and pointed at me across the table.

“The procedure is one hundred percent safe. I don’t want you to have it because there are plenty of people who would jump all over that fact. They’d say I was doing it for promotion. They’d point out what perfect timing it is that Neurotech is moving into the teen market just when my own daughter happens to need the treatment.” He shook his head as if I had argued with him and he couldn’t believe the things I was saying. “That would play great in the press. That stupid reporter is already sniffing around, looking for any possible negative thing to say. Imagine how she would spin this—Dr. Bryne treats his own kid like a lab rat.”

“No one would have to know,” I said. I thought it went without saying that I hadn’t planned on sending out a press release or appearing in a commercial.

Dad pushed away from the table, his chair squealing its
protest on the hardwood. “Don’t be naive, Harper. Ever since Neurotech went public, we’ve had the press all over us like ticks on a dog. You’re not going in for the treatment. That’s it. End of discussion.” He walked out of the dining room without looking back at either of us.

Tears ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away with a swipe of my hand. I felt the return of the headache I’d had for days from crying too much and not getting enough sleep.

Mom passed me a clean napkin so I could blow my nose. “He’s not mad at you. He’s grumpy and frustrated. Things at the office are complicated.” Mom fidgeted with her fork. “He’s used to being the golden boy, the new Einstein. He’s finding all this criticism hard to take.”

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” I said.

Mom took a sip of her wine. “That reporter is leading the charge, trying to dig up stories where the treatment has gone badly. Your dad thinks she’s trying to push the FDA into doing an investigation. That could take years, knowing the government.”

What she didn’t say was that if Neurotech couldn’t offer the treatment, it would put them in a huge financial bind. Neurotech did a few other things, but there was no doubt that Memtex was what paid the bills and kept the company afloat.

“I had no idea,” I said.

Mom stood and grabbed some dishes and motioned for me to help. “Everything will be fine. Your dad wouldn’t want you
to worry about his work. We don’t want you to worry about anything if we can help it.”

I scraped the food off the plates into the disposal and tried not to think of starving kids in some third-world country. I had enough guilt already without picturing them with their distended stomachs. I told myself they could be lactose intolerant and cheese ravioli wouldn’t be their thing anyway. “Have there been cases where the treatment went bad? Is that what’s bothering him?”

She took the plates out of my hands. “No. Or, to be more precise, there have been a few cases where people have had issues after the treatment, but there’s no research to back up the idea that the treatment had anything to do with what happened to them.” She filled the sink and pulled out the bright yellow rubber gloves she wore when she did the dishes so her manicure would last. “The problem is that there’s nothing journalists like more than a fanciful theory—gives them lots to talk and write about. Scandal sells.”

I wiped down the black granite counters with the organic cleaner my mom got at Whole Foods. Mom leaned over and kissed my cheek. “It’ll all work out. He’s not upset with you. You’ve got to make a leap of faith and know we’re doing what we think is best. We know you’re going to be okay; give yourself some time. I’ll finish up tonight. Consider yourself dish-duty paroled.”

“Thanks.” I felt bad that my dad was having a hard time, but the thing was, I was having a hard time too.

chapter six

Y
ou’re unnaturally attached to that key card.” Win motioned to Josh’s hip, where he had the card hooked on a lanyard that clipped to his jeans. “You realize wearing that thing makes you look like a janitor.”

Josh spun the card around like it was a watch on the end of chain. “Don’t hate me because I’m fabulous.”

“Your boyfriend is delusional.” Win wove through the crowd in the cafeteria and sat at our usual table. She nodded to a couple of our other friends who were deep in a conversation about some band.

“Delusional, huh?” Josh put his bagged lunch on the table. “Guess that means you aren’t interested in the conversation I had with Kyle Vais in history class.”

Win froze. “Did he ask about me?” She looked around to
see if anyone else was paying attention to what we were talking about.

Josh shrugged and made an elaborate production of unwrapping his sandwich, smoothing out the foil. “I’m not sure I can remember; I have all these delusions . . .”

Win whipped a cherry tomato across the table, and it whacked Josh right in the center of the forehead. If she used bullets instead of veggies, it would have been a kill shot.

“Somebody has a crush,” Josh said in a singsong voice. He picked up the tomato from the floor, brushed it off, and popped it in his mouth. “Five-second rule.”

I spun around to face Win. “You’ve got a crush on Kyle?” I asked loudly. The news hit me like a slap, breaking me out of the fog I was walking around in. Win flirted madly with everyone, but she never fell for anyone.

Win glared at me, and I lowered my voice. “Sorry. You like Kyle?”

Win smoothed her braids. “He’s in my art class. We’ve talked a few times.” She feigned great interest in organizing her salad. “It’s not a big deal.”

I shared a look with Josh. Win wasn’t usually the one to get crushes; she was more commonly the object of affection. Her mom had cheated on her dad a few times, and it drove her crazy that her dad put up with it. She’d always vowed she wasn’t going to give her heart to anyone because then she didn’t risk getting it broken.

“Sort of a shame it’s no big deal,” Josh said. “Kyle was curious if you were going to the dance.”

Win leaned across the table. “Are you serious? Did he actually ask that?” Her eyes narrowed. “If you are making this up, science boy, you will find that key card you love so much in a very painful location.”

“Does Kyle know about this violent side of you?” Josh teased her. “I’m not judging. He might like it. Lots of guys are into tough women. It comes from playing all those video games.”

I smiled weakly at the two of them. I wanted to tease Win too, but my brain still felt like it was operating at a slower speed compared to real life.

“Yes, he really asked if you were going to be at the dance.” Josh poured some Cheetos in his mouth. He nudged me with his elbow. “We could all go, and then Win could accidentally-on-purpose run into him.”

“I don’t know,” I hedged. I didn’t feel like going out. All I felt like doing was crawling into bed. I was tired all the time. Everything seemed to take so much energy. By the end of the day it felt like I was dragging a thousand pounds around on my back while walking through quicksand. There were times when blinking seemed to be almost more than I could cope with; going to a dance seemed like an impossible feat.

Win grabbed my arm. “We have to go. You can be sad there, but we have to go.”

“C’mon. We have to go—young love is on the line,” Josh said with a smile.

I opened my mouth to protest.

Win held up a finger. “Don’t decide now. You’ll just say no. Think about it. We could go for a couple of hours. That hardly even counts as going to the dance; it’s more like a drive-by.” She looked at my expression. “Or even just an hour. I’m going to grab you a cookie while you think.” Win bolted up and joined the food line.

I watched her. “When did all this with Kyle happen?”

“Never thought I’d see it myself: the Mighty Win, felled by Cupid’s arrow. She started talking about him a while ago. I noticed she kept finding excuses to bring up his name, that kind of thing. The two of them have been exchanging meaningful glances for like a week or two. Maybe getting hit by that statue knocked something free.”

It felt like that statue toppling had happened in a different lifetime. It wasn’t just me who was different; Win had changed too, and I hadn’t even seen it. If Josh had noticed, then Win’s feelings must have been obvious.

Josh put a few of his grapes on my tray. “I think she really likes him.”

I leaned back in my seat. How did Josh know this and I didn’t? “I should go to the dance. Win liking someone is a big deal, but I don’t feel like doing anything.” I picked at the bread on my sandwich. “She’d go for me.”

“That’s so weird you would say that—I was just thinking how what you really needed on top of everything was an extra helping of guilt.”

I sighed.

“If you’re not up for it, you’re not up for it. Or maybe you could try and see how it goes,” Josh suggested.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to,” I said. My eyes started to fill with tears. Great. Now I could start crying in the cafeteria. “I’m trying to be normal. I told my dad I wanted to get Memtex.” I turned in my seat so we were face-to-face. “He won’t let me to do it. He actually used the word ‘forbid.’ He says people will use it against him in some kind of media propaganda war.”

“Everyone at Neurotech is hypersensitive these days about the press. I had to sign some kind of twenty-page form detailing how I won’t talk to anyone about what I see at the clinic.” He smiled. “If I’m honest, it was kinda cool. I felt like I was signing up to be a spy.”

I bit back that this wasn’t about him. “But my dad has to know I wouldn’t talk to anyone. It’s not like I’m going to take out a full-page ad in the paper talking about how I decided to have the treatment.”

“I’m sure it’s not that your dad doesn’t want you to go through with the procedure. It’s that he’s afraid it will cause trouble. I’m telling you, people come in every week, and when they leave, you can see the relief on their faces. He’s afraid to
risk it. He’s going to do what he thinks is best; you have to know that,” Josh said.

I didn’t want Josh to stick up for my dad. I wanted him to take my side. The point was my dad was doing what he thought was best for his company, not for me. “Too bad you aren’t really a spy. You could help me get a secret identity so I could get the procedure that way.”

Josh sat up straight. He put down his sandwich. I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“What?” I asked. He stared out the window. “What did I say?”

He tapped the key card against his thigh. “The thing is, your dad doesn’t really care if you have the procedure, right? It’s just the media attention he wants to avoid.”

“Yeah. What’s your point?”

“I think I thought of a way where you’ll want to go to the dance. Where you’ll be ready to move on, and your dad can stay out of the whole thing.” He smiled. “I’ve got a plan.”

* * *

It took a few days before we could put Josh’s plan into action. He tried to back out the next day, saying the whole thing was a big mistake, but I wasn’t giving up that easily. Win and I sat outside the Neurotech clinic, hunched down in her SUV, watching the front door while I willed my cell phone to ring.

“This is a bad idea,” Win whispered.

“You realize no one can hear us, right?”

“We’re probably on a security camera.” Win’s gaze swept across the parking lot.

“Of course we are. Do you have any idea how much equipment they have in there, not to mention the value of research?” I said. “It doesn’t matter if we’re on camera. There’s nothing wrong with being parked in the lot, no reason for anyone to flag that we were here. You’re my best friend. My dad works here. If anything they’ll be watching the protestors.” There was a small group across the street from the front door. They looked tired to me. No one was waving their signs; they milled around as if they were at a bus stop instead of trying to make some kind of political statement.

“You can say nothing will go wrong, but trust me, when the shitstorm rains down, somehow I’m going to get at least part of the blame.” Win sighed.

I jabbed her in the side with my phone. “Don’t worry. It will go fine. You can take off as soon as Josh calls.”

It was Josh’s plan, even if he wished now that he’d never told me his idea. He didn’t want to run the risk of getting in trouble. I wore him down, pointing out that the chances we would get caught were small and that all he was really doing was showing confidence in my dad’s work. Part of Josh’s internship duties included checking in patients who were there for the treatment. Every day there would be at least one or two people who wouldn’t show up for their appointment. They were either sick, decided they didn’t want it after all, or maybe forgot the
appointment altogether. Since the treatment had just opened up to teens, they made up the bulk of new patients. Josh’s idea was that we would wait for a day when a girl around my age didn’t show up for her appointment. He would check me in under her name, and I’d get the procedure. No one would have to know my real identity. My dad wouldn’t be any wiser, and I’d get over this funk.

“Someone is going to recognize you,” Win said, her finger tapping on the steering wheel.

“I doubt it. Some people in his office know me, but the medical staff doesn’t. I doubt anyone in the clinic will look at me twice. They’re not expecting to see the owner’s daughter. Even if there’s a chance they’ve been in his office and he pointed out my photo, the only picture of me that he has in there is at least five years old.”

Win rolled her eyes. “Yes, clearly you’re a master of disguise. No one would ever think, ‘Hey, I thought that was Harper, but she looked just a bit older so it couldn’t have been her.’” She reached over and touched my arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“It’s the only option. There’s no way my dad is backing down.”

“You know I’m not a keen believer in parents and rules, but he might be right. What if something goes wrong?” Win chewed her lower lip.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” I said.

Win slapped her forehead. “Of course, I’m being ridiculous—
what could go wrong? You’re simply having someone shoot lasers into your brain under an assumed name. I’m just being barmy.”

“Your craziness is irrelevant to this discussion. The point is I’ll come out of there back to my usual self. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Win snorted. “You assume that means we like the real you.”

I smiled. “You love the real me.” My phone buzzed with an incoming text. This was it. A rush of adrenaline hit my system. Whoever was supposed to check in was still late. I was going to take her spot. “Meet me in a couple of hours?” I stepped out of her truck.

“I’ll be here. Last chance—you sure you want to do this?” Win’s face was scrunched up in concern.

“Positive.”