Don't Look Back(16)

We stopped to get coffee because we apparently weren’t running that late and Scott felt as if he was going to pass out behind the wheel and pull a “Samantha.” Carson ordered straight black, Scott was over at the counter, adding more milk than coffee in his plastic cup, and I stood there, hands twitching at my sides, staring at the menu. The middle-aged woman behind the counter sighed loudly.

Chewing on my lip, I read the entire menu three times. Coffee—my choice of coffee— should be simple, but it wasn’t. I felt...lost.

“Hey,” Carson said from behind me, his breath warm on my cheek, causing me to jump. “You doing okay?”

Feeling my cheeks burn, I nodded.

A man behind me sighed, muttering. I heard the words stupid and rich tossed about. My mortification level soared to new heights.

Carson pulled me out of line, shooting the guy a dark look of warning. “What’s your deal?” he asked.

I glanced down at where his hand wrapped around mine. How could such a simple touch feel sweet as sin? Probably not the best thing to be thinking about given I couldn’t place an order for coffee.

“Sam,” he said, impatient.

Lifting my gaze, I was horrified to feel tears building. “I don’t know what to order.” My voice cracked. “I don’t know . . . what I like.”

Understanding softened his jaw, and he nodded. “You usually drink a latte—vanilla.” He paused, dropping his hand. “I’ve seen you drink them. Stay here and I’ll order.”

I waited off to the side while he placed the order. People were staring at me. I felt like a child, unable to complete the simplest task. I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere. There was no doubt in my mind that Carson thought I was an idiot.

When he returned with my drink, he popped the lid on the cup. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“Thank you.” I wrapped my hands around it, welcoming the warmth slipping through the java sleeve.

I didn’t talk the rest of the way to school but took in the unfamiliar scenery. A lot of rolling hills, old estates, and very few subdivisions smack dab in the middle of signs for the old Battlefield. The town was old, and there was a lot of old money by the looks of it.

There was no spark of recognition when I laid eyes on Gettysburg High. It was a large brick building that reminded me of several dorms strung together, surrounded by trees and a sprawling pavilion.

With my heart in my throat, I followed the guys across the parking lot. There was a maroon-and-white banner hanging over the front entrance. home of the battlers. It had a picture of a demented-looking Easter bunny on it.

The hallways weren’t too crowded yet, but everyone stopped when they saw me. Just stopped and stared. Within seconds, the whispers started. Tipping my head down, I let my hair fall forward and shield my face, but I could still feel them. Eyes filled with curiosity and morbid fascination.

My heart pounded and I clutched the coffee cup. I couldn’t do this. Not when everyone was staring. It would only get worse. Did they know I didn’t remember anything? Maybe Mom was right. I should’ve waited.

Scott fell in step beside me, his back stiff. When I peeked at him, he was shooting death glares at everyone. Kids promptly turned away, but it didn’t stop them from talking. On my other side, Carson kept watch quietly. I had no idea what he was thinking. Was he embarrassed to be seen with me? I couldn’t blame him.

They dropped me off in a lobby surrounded by glass windows. The plump secretary’s smile was full of pity as she ordered me to sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs. Each time I glanced over my shoulder, it seemed as if the group of kids gathering outside the room grew. I was like this gruesome car accident, and everyone had to stop and look.

A neatly dressed woman appeared in the narrow hallway, finally ending my torment. She straightened her glasses. “Miss Franco, are you ready?”

Standing, I grabbed my bag and followed her back to a cramped office. The first thing I did when I sat was search for her name. Judith Messer, counselor extraordinaire.

She took off her glasses, folded them and placed them aside. The light from the lamp on her desk reflected off her diamondencrusted wedding band. “How are you feeling, Samantha?”

That seemed like an incredibly stupid question. “Good.”

Mrs. Messer smiled. “I’ll admit we’re a little surprised that you’re joining us so soon. We thought you’d take some time to ... recover from everything.”

My grip tightened on the cup, and I was ready for this to be over. “I feel perfectly fine.”

“I’m sure you do physically, but emotionally and mentally you have gone through a terribly traumatic experience, and adding that on top of the memory loss, this has to be hard on you.”

“Well, it hasn’t been easy.” I glanced up, finding her studying me closely. I sighed. “Okay, it sucks. I couldn’t even order coffee this morning, but I need to get back to doing things. I can’t hide in my house forever.”

She tilted her head to the side. “When the principal informed me you were coming back today, I spoke with a fellow colleague who works with people suffering from amnesia. He did tell me that it’s best that you surround yourself with things that are familiar. Coming back to school isn’t a bad idea, but emotionally, the cost may be too high.”

“And what happens if it is?”