Forgotten

by Sarah J. Pepper

  “Winnie! Jace!” Mrs. Briggs said, stopping her lecture to spotlight our improper behavior. “Sit down and be quiet.”

  He slowly lowered me, like it took no effort to man-handle me. I held back a squeal. Placing my hand on the table in front of my usual spot, I reached for the chair. Jace side-stepped behind me and pulled out the seat in front of him. I was about to sit when he kicked my leg to the side. I fell clumsily into the chair that he conveniently pushed out next to my spot. Sliding me over, he sat down in the vacant chair my backside had been aiming for all along.

  Mrs. Briggs continued with her lecture and left us to achieve whatever it was we were supposed to be accomplishing with the clay. I crossed my arms, seething about how I was going to counter-attack. Not just because Jace stole my chair but because he somehow made a mess of my intentions.

  “You just declared war, Jace,” Ryker warned.

  “You know nothing of war, do you, Gwyneth?” Jace said. When I couldn’t think of anything to say or do, he continued. “No, you’re just a little girl, mad at the world.”

  “Little girl now?” I asked smugly. Reaching for my old ball of clay, I re-formed the edges so it began to resemble a bowl. “Not your dearest anymore? Have you gotten the hint that you shouldn’t be gunning for the role of my boyfriend? Because, you’re definitely not my type.”

  Despite everything that just happened, Jace grinned. I don’t know how I knew he was smirking at me, I just did. “In all the years I’ve searched for a lady like you, there’s one thing I’ve learned. The ones who fight the hardest are worth the chase.”

  With everything that just happened, I wanted him to read the flashing neon sign flickering above my head that read ‘NOT INTERESTED’ rather than misinterpreting my actions.

  “Riddle me this, Jace. Why go through this whole charade to get my chair if you don’t want a war between us?”

  “It’s closer to the door.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That he’s got a fast escape route,” Ryker chimed.

  “You’re not a part of this conversation, Ryker,” I said, wishing Bree would get a clue and ditch Ryker so he wouldn’t find a reason to be around me all the time.

  I glared up at Jace. He didn’t even pretend to work with his assignment. That he put that much effort, just so I couldn’t have my spot, didn’t make sense. If he was interested in me, stealing my chair wasn’t the smartest move to win me over. Therefore, he wanted nothing to do with me at all. Perhaps he was simply trying to make some other girl jealous. The whole “dearest” bit was surely an act.

  “Why bother stealing my spot, only to act like you can’t stand me? I’m sure a vacant spot would open up next to the cheerleaders.”

  “Cheerleaders?” Jace asked, and looked in the general direction I nodded. Jace let out a long, lazy breath. “You wouldn’t like it if I hung out with them.”

  Before I could comment, his white silhouette blazed brighter; my mouth went dry when he leaned close to me. I swallowed – hard. He took a slow, deep breath and said that I didn’t have a chance.

  “A chance of what?”

  “Of not falling for me,” he said as if I’d broadcasted my feelings. “I’ve spiked your interest. You want me – need me.”

  “Let’s set some ground rules, I do not want you,” I hissed. “You’d better learn fast, that I take care of myself.”

  “If only,” Jace muttered, losing himself in his thoughts. A heavy sigh escaped. “If only…”

  ***

  Leaning against the brick wall outside McKesson High stood Jace’s oversized friend. Every so often he’d twitch. A steady stream of students walked passed me as I held onto the cold metal railing and watched him. The afternoon sun shimmered against his figure enough that I knew that even if he wasn’t very strong, he had enough sheer body weight to throw around. He was the type of guy who probably had a few fights under his belt. Closing my eyes, I looked in the general direction of where he stood. I saw nothing until I started to open my eyes. His silver outline dissolved into nothing.

  “Why do you close your eyes when you look at us?” Jace asked, standing a couple steps above me.

  Stalk much?

  Even though Jace was a gigantic pain in my backside, and refused to get a clue and move onto his next conquest, he had to have the sexiest voice on Earth. I had to give him that. Taking in a deep breath, I took in his otherworldly scent blowing in the breeze, when a vision ripped me from reality.

  The black water hid everything under its surface. Nothing showed through, except for the faint outline of a calloused hand. Just when I was about to look away, a single blue flame sparked just below a ripple of water. The flame danced and flickered in the water like it would have in the wind.

  “What happened just now, Gwyneth?” Jace asked. Concern clung to his question.

  Shaking my head, I opened my eyes and walked away without replying. He reached for me. I missed my footing when his hand grazed my jacket, just above my hips. I gradually faced him, keeping a hand on the rail. If my balance faltered, he might not notice. His brilliant outline offset the sea of dark shadows passing by.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about because I wasn’t looking at anyone in particular. I like to feel the sun on my skin, and I was trying to enjoy the first seconds of freedom before –”

  He silenced me unexpectedly. Not by clenching my arm, arguing with me, or making me sick. He gently tucked my hair behind my ear, being careful not to actually touch my skin.

  “Tell me what just happened to you, Gwyneth.”

  I swallowed hard, summoning the ability to speak or think. When neither returned, I aborted my task of acting like a sensible human and simply pushed off the rail only to immediately lose myself in the crowd of students.

  Without looking back, I made my way to the nearest building with a punching bag. The smell of sweat comforted me, wrapping its glorious stench around me. KnockOuts were my home away from home. I changed out of my school uniform and slipped into some gym clothes.

  The manager pulled two leather gloves from the bin behind him. He was one of the only people who turned me down to feel his face – my way of picturing how people look. Charlie said he didn’t want to ruin the illusion of the young, athletic man I imagined him being. I’d covered up my chuckle with a cough when he told me so. The husky, wide shadow gave me the impression that he used to be fit, but over the years his waist line grew with his age. His voice was rough, and raspy from smoking too many cigarettes. Often, I caught him rubbing his face after taking off what looked like glasses. I sincerely doubted he had much for hair since it would require him taking care of that too. Even though he kept the gym in decent condition, he slid me a few bucks to clean the place when it started to turn south.

  Charlie bumped the counter with a pair of gloves before tossing them into the air. The counter bump was my warning. My depth perception was almost worthless, so I stood in defensive mode, protecting my face. One glove fell short and hit the ground a few feet from me, but the other grazed my shoulder.

  “Speed bag is reserved for you, Winnie,” Charlie hollered from the front desk.

  “Thanks, Charles.”

  He groaned, “How many times have I told you to call me Charlie? You make me sound like an old man calling me Charles!”

  “How many times have I told you I’ll punch you in the face if you call me Winnie again?”

  He chuckled until it turned into a cough. He spit a moment later. “One glove is two feet straight ahead of you and the other is about four paces over your right shoulder. Oh, Hector said that he’d be a few minutes late.”

  Following his instructions, I picked up the gloves and headed to the speed bag on the opposite side of the room from the front desk. Keeping my hand along the wall, I walked the perimeter of the room since there was a large boxing arena in the middle. My fingers traced the cracks along the cement bricks of the wall, leading me to the familiar worn leather where I’d lose time beating out my ang
er/frustration/irritation for years now. Reaching the corner, I took five steps forward. A speed bag grazed the top of my pony tail. I took a step backwards and began to punish the bag.

  Finding a rhythm, I drummed it. My mind wandered immediately to the old man in my vision who defied the laws of nature and became younger. The blood dripping from his hands was so dark it appeared black. Was blood-lust the reason he broke through my parents’ window, years ago? Had this man been a killer his entire life and that was what the vision indicated, because people just don’t grow young? He killed with a knife – that much was obvious from the vision. I shouldn’t have been able to recall so many details, because I still wore diapers. And until now, I’d only seen visions of my life when I was older. The laugh, his malevolent laugh, was so frighteningly familiar, like I heard it in another life perhaps; or was my imagination getting the best of me? Too many unanswered questions formed and my shoulders hurt badly enough that I couldn’t keep them above my head any longer.

  Even though Hector still had to show, I ditched the speed bags. Memory serving me, I counted ten paces back to where a skew of rolled up mats was stored. Flinging one in the air, I smoothed it out and laid down to get in a quick abs workout. Polishing off a series of different exercises to work the muscles, I moved into the plank position when a pair of hands pressed down on my shoulders, making the workout harder, by tenfold.

  “About time!” I yelled, collapsing to the mat.

  “You stink,” Hector said, sitting down next to me.

  “Well, I have been working out for like an hour now,” I said, stretching out my abs.

  “Not like sweat, Winnie. You smell like smoke,” he said like I was hiding something. The question was: where had he been? He ducked as I pushed off the mat to tackle him. Pinning me against the floor easily since I was at muscle failure, he laughed. I tapped out.

  “Please tell me you’re not sucking on cancer sticks,” he said.

  “I’m not that dumb,” I said. “What was so important that you blew off our workout date?”

  “If you must know, I was tying up a few loose ends at work,” Hector said. “Any particular reason why you’re in such a mood today, or is it because Martha is driving you nuts?”

  “A weird dream kept me tossing and turning last night.”

  “Was it a good one?” Hector asked slyly. The mat shifted under him. He was stretching for his workout.

  “It was a weird dream because it involved this guy I can’t stand,” I admitted. Normally, I’d only tell Bree details about any guy problems I found myself in, but she was dead set on Jace and me hooking up. Her opinion would be biased. Besides, Hector was different than other guys. He wasn’t dateable. He filled the over protective brother role. “I know this is crazy, but I just sort of get ill when he’s around.”

  “Lover’s sickness,” Hector teased, but was polite enough to hold in a chuckle when I scowled at him. “You used to get ill around me when we first started to hang out.”

  “Scratch that up to the two concussions you gave me in the ring the first year I met you,” I said.

  “Well, what do you think about him?” Hector said more seriously. “You’ve always claimed to have such good judgment in people. Do you need me to put –”

  “–Jace,” I interrupted. “Jace Eatros.”

  “Jace,” Hector repeated, memorizing his name.

  “And no, you don’t need to put him in his place for me. I can handle him. I just don’t know what he wants with me.”

  “Let me know if he gets out of line,” Hector insisted, like I knew he would. “He sounds like the stalker type.”

  No, that would be the creepy, twitching giant who followed me around after school. Jace at least had the decency to make his presence known, no matter how unwanted.

  ***

  From the smell of the house, John already had the wings drowned in BBQ sauce. Martha had pop chilling in the fridge. There were enough potato chips in their pantry to feed a small country.

  I finished showering ten minutes before kickoff. Max barked eagerly as I changed into a pair of sweat pants and oversized football shirt John gave me from “the good old days” as the high school receiver. He told me it was royal blue and lined with gold edging.

  “That jersey is falling apart!” Martha exclaimed as I made my way down the stairs.

  “It’s just getting broken in,” I said, walking over to the couch.

  John chuckled and handed me a plate of hot wings. I imagined him beaming with pride to see me wearing his old clothes. I made my way to the couch and waited to eat until he brought over the chips and pops. Max groaned when he realized, not only would I not be petting him, but I would not be playing with him anytime soon. Bringing over a squeak toy, he rested on my feet and proceeded to pout in a way only dogs can.

  “I thought I threw that tattered old shirt away,” Martha said after she joined us in the living room.

  “You did, three times,” John said and scooted over next to me on the couch. “I’ve had to rescue it from the trash.”

  Two minutes before halftime, the door bell rang. Martha got up, allowing her husband to swear under his breath after North Carolina tackled Duke’s third-year quarterback for the umpteenth time. An authoritative woman at the door questioned Martha, but I couldn’t make out any of the questions. Slamming his plate down on the end table, John stated that the defensive line wouldn’t break five-hundred unless they started playing with their heads. Pop threatened to go up my nose when John growled about a bad call. Soon he grumbled about his honey-do list and stomped off to the garage.

  “She’s here!” Martha said, walking quickly into the living room. She started to ask where John was, when a power tool sounded from the garage. “Get your father.”

  My father? My mouth dropped. “John?”

  “That’s what I said,” Martha replied like I’d said something odd before she raced back to the front door.

  Absorbing what just happened, I sat there, stunned. I caught myself smiling, realizing that my place in the house had somehow changed when I wasn’t paying attention. I was happy about the impromptu welcome into the family, but I was guarded. John wasn’t my father. As much as I loved him, he couldn’t fill those shoes. I shook my head, trying to clear it forcefully. I was probably reading too much into Martha’s comment.

  I pushed off the leather couch and let Max lead me to the garage door. Instead of opening it, I knocked twice and let John know he was needed inside. After he assured me he’d be out after fixing something, I left for the front door and found myself looking down at a trembling, petite, dark shadow – a young girl, perhaps?

  I walked slow, closer to them while Martha exchanged good-nights with the case manager. Ida Jenkins was a burly old woman, and, from what she’d told me, had worked in the foster system all of her working life. Years were sneaking up on her. She only had a few good ones left in her before she’d be forced into a retirement.

  “You still like it here, Gwyneth?” she asked before leaving. She didn’t check up on me often anymore, but it was still her duty to keep tabs on me even if I wasn’t misbehaving anymore. I smiled; it was all the response Ida needed. She wasn’t going to make a fuss about nothing and was probably hoping she wouldn’t have to relocate me.

  “John makes the best wings in town,” I said and offered her one for the road.

  “Heartburn isn’t worth it,” Ida said, and then left.

  Max wagged his tail forcefully enough that his body swayed, I knew he would topple the new girl the moment I let my guard down. After telling him to sit, I kneeled down in front of the foster child. I remember being in her place eight years ago: scared, cold, and utterly alone.

  “Hello,” I said, and extended my hand. The small girl timidly took my hand and muttered that her name was Elsie Yang. Her hands were frozen and boney. I highly suspected she was nothing but knees and elbows. “Elsie’s a pretty name for an eight-year-old.”

  The girl said nothing. She looked
like she was attempting to melt into the wall behind her. How did a girl so shy manage to be a runaway threat? Nix that – I knew firsthand how she could be a runner. I smiled brightly, hoping to win her over with pleasantries, even though I knew better. Assuming she was taking in the first sights of the house, I filled the space with rattling about how great the Thompsons were to live with, if you like heaps of laundry.

  “What’s wrong with your eyes?” Elsie asked. Her voice squeaked, almost surprised she spoke in the first place.

  The soft click of the front door sounded. Elsie instantly stiffened. For all she knew, I was a mean, older kid who was just itching to lay down the rules, and the Thompsons were the people keeping her captive. John’s footsteps sounded in the kitchen. If I didn’t know better, he was waiting for Martha and me to finish introducing ourselves. Meeting everyone could be a bit overwhelming.