Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) Read online

  And obviously, I couldn’t tell him!

  So I said, “Won’t come true if I tell, right?” which was the expected response anyway, so no one pressed me on it.

  I watched as Rymer shotgunned his Budweiser and I asked, “Hey, don’t you guys have a game tomorrow?”

  Rymer tossed the empty can over his shoulder before responding. “Yep. But Coach won’t allow us to get laid during football season. Drinking’s all we got.”

  I looked wide-eyed at Cooper and Sargento for confirmation. They were both nodding their heads, Coop saying, “It’s true.”

  “Get out of here!” I said, appalled. “How can he- why would you even agree to that?”

  Before Coop could even answer me, Pick piped in with, “That’s why I play basketball!” and Trip added, “And that’s why I play hockey!” the two of them high-fiving above my head and laughing hysterically.

  “Holy crap, I can’t even imagine,” I said, realizing a second too late how that must have sounded. I didn’t mean I couldn’t imagine having to abstain from sex for four whole months- I meant I couldn’t imagine letting anyone lord that much control over my life.

  But Trip grabbed hold of the setup I provided. He raised his eyebrows at me and said, “You know I play hockey, right?” which just set everyone off on a laughing fit.

  I knew he was just joking around, but having Trip flirt with me even a little bit helped to make my seventeenth the Best. Birthday. Ever.

  Chapter 13

  ROMEO.JULIET

  Over the following weeks, I spent so much time with Trip Wilmington that it was ridiculous. At Totally Videos, our schedules lined up so that we were together two out of the three days a week that I worked there. Even though I had passed my driving test and gotten my license, I still didn’t have a car yet, so Trip offered me a ride to and from work every Monday and Friday.

  In school, I saw him every day in between; hanging out at lunch, walking with him through the halls and then sitting near him during English class.

  On the weekends, we’d normally bump into each other at parties, and sometimes, Lisa, Pickford and I would carpool with him to go to the football games on Saturday mornings.

  On top of all that, I had him all to myself every Tuesday afternoon while we worked on our English project. It was my favorite day of the week, because for all the time that we spent together, the Shakespeare thing was always just the two of us.

  It’s not as though I could report some romantic version of our film collaboration. I wish I could tell you about the passion-filled hours spent rehearsing the balcony scene between Romeo and Juliet, or, better yet, the “morning after” scene where they’re all spoony and basking in the glow of Romeo’s proposal having just spent the night screwing like a couple of bunnies.

  No. The fact of the matter is that our assigned scene was Act 3, Scene 3. Which, if it’s been a while since you’ve brushed up on your Shakespeare, means Trip got to play the charming, dashing, lovesick and romantic hero, Romeo. I, on the other hand, was cast in the role of... the nurse. Yep. The ugly, old, obnoxious nurse, who was nothing more to the story than a third wheel, the comic relief, and eclipsed in every scene by the beautiful object of Romeo’s affections. Basically, that’s how I felt anywhere in the vicinity of Trip’s girlfriend, so let’s hear it for method acting!

  Tess wasn’t making too many appearances, but I knew that they had to still be dating. At least I assumed they were. It sounds weird, but for all the talking that we did- and we talked a lot- we never really discussed it.

  Preferably, I would have bypassed some of that riveting conversation for a little more making out, as it would have been nice to be more to him than just a “buddy”.

  But the way I saw it, I was happy enough that Trip and I kind of had this unspoken thing. I don’t mean like boyfriend/girlfriend, but when we were together, we were just... us. He was a different guy with me than the one he was at school or at parties, and I knew I was the only one to see that side of him. And he knew that I knew.

  But even barring any romantic inclinations, our relationship was pretty great. I think the Tess thing was always there in the background, keeping us just friends. It didn’t stop me from looking for hidden meaning in the fact that he never discussed her with me, however. It had to mean something that he never wanted to ruin us by bringing up her.

  I liked to think that Trip really liked me a lot, and maybe under different circumstances he would have even made me his girlfriend. But it was understandable that he wasn’t about to trade in a Tess Valletti for a Layla Warren.

  I still found my knees going weak sometimes (okay, always) whenever I was near him. But it wasn’t like some all-consuming anxiety for me anymore. The more time I spent with him and got to know him as an actual person (you know, as opposed to a Greek God), the more comfortable it was to be around him. Funny thing was, we actually made really great friends.

  Lisa chastised me for accepting a “consolation prize”, but truth be told, it turned out I really liked the guy. And not just “like” liked, but genuinely was able to get past the pretty face- somewhat- to see the great person behind it.

  Here’s why:

  For one thing, he was funny. And I don’t mean he was funny, like some annoying comedian, always on, always delivering a punchline. He was funny in the way you can drink too much Kool-Aid as a kid and get “drunk” and giggly and silly with your best friend across the kitchen table on a random rainy Thursday. He was funny in the way you can crack up watching your little brother try to win a battle with a bag of gumballs, seeing how many he can fit in his mouth, laughing while grey gum juice runs down his chin. He was funny like that. Unexpectedly goofy. And silly. And dare I say it, even a little dorky. Not Anthony Michael Hall, geeky dorky... More like Rob Lowe guest-hosting Saturday Night Live pretending to be dorky. You know, dorky... but still incredibly hot.

  Secondly, he was smart. For all his talk about not understanding Shakespeare, he actually seemed to grasp it almost better than I did. Which was impressive, but also a little unsettling. After all, he was the one to come to me for help. I was supposedly the straight-A student (well, in Mason’s class, anyway) who had already consumed our entire year’s suggested reading list in the first month of school. A fact that Trip found fascinating, given that I went to school, had a job, and yet I still managed to get out of the house every weekend.

  “When do you find the time?” he’d asked one day during a break from filming.

  I had answered back, “I don’t know. I was always a big reader. I guess I just make the time.”

  Truth was, I only became a big reader after my mother left. I mean, I always liked to read, but after Kate flew the coop, I started to consume books. Two or three entire novels over a weekend, bleary-eyed and exhausted, bypassing sleep in order to just finish one more chapter, and then break down and read just one more after that.

  Fiction, autobiographies, true crime... it didn’t matter. As long as I had something in my hands, something that would grab me, suck me in and hold my attentions for a few hours.

  I had always kept a book in my purse. Still do, even to this very day. You never know when you’re going to find yourself in a traffic jam or a waiting room or something. Back in Junior High, however, there was always an indoor recess or crappy TV night where I could devour a few dozen pages.

  Our family counselor at the time- a horrid, tiny woman who smelled like chicken soup- had said that I was simply looking for an escape from my reality. Well, DUH. What teenage girl doesn’t want to escape from her reality? Combine that analysis with my borderline OCD and you’ve got an existential dual diagnosis dilemma on your hands. (Did I mention I read Freud at thirteen?)

  All in all, I’d have to say that becoming an avid reader was probably the healthiest thing I could have done, given the circumstances. My father seemed to think so, too. It wasn’t long after Dr. Chickensoup’s contemptuous assessment of such “troubling obsessive behavior” that Dad decided we’d had enou
gh therapy. He told Bruce and me in no uncertain terms that we were going to be just fine and we believed him. I’ve worked hard to prove him right every day since.

  I mean, jeez, it could have been worse. I could have channeled all of that hurt and anger and obsessive behavior into drugs or violence or sex. The fact is, I had only ever tried pot a few times, gotten into one fistfight in my life (with Bruce) and let’s just not get into my complete lack of experience with that third thing there.

  Speaking of sex, however...

  Lisa and Pickford had been going pretty hot and heavy all through the fall. Part of the reason I had so much free time to spend with Trip was because Lisa was spending most of her free time with her new boyfriend. I knew it was only a matter of time before her virginity status became a thing of the past. I’d started to feel like she and I had been travelling toward the same destination, but that she had found a short cut. Truth be told, I envied her for that.

  We’d still drive to school together every day, but we weren’t hanging out as much as we usually did. Even when we’d hit a party together, she’d spend the whole night wrapped up with Pickford. More often than not, I’d bypass the ride as third wheel in the backseat and just find someone else to drive me home.

  A lot of times, that “someone else” was Trip. It was purely innocent- most of the time we’d do nothing more scandalous than hit the King Neptune Diner before he dropped me off- but people did start to talk. Well, Lisa did, anyway.

  * * *

  We were scheduled to give our Big Report on the day before Thanksgiving. Trip had been an absolute nervous wreck leading up to it, spending the last days beforehand adjusting the color and sound obsessively and reediting parts that I thought we’d already finalized. We stayed up late on that last Tuesday “fixing” our film, finally wrapping it up at midnight in order to get some sleep for the next day’s presentation. I didn’t know why he was making himself- and let’s face it, me- so crazy about the thing. It was just an English report. Because we were last on the schedule, we’d seen all of the other presentations in the class already and knew we were the only ones to have made a film. That right there would have insured us a good grade, if for no other reason than that we’d shown some originality. Creativity went a long way in Mason’s class.

  I walked into the classroom that Wednesday to find Trip already sitting at his desk, chewing on a thumbnail and bouncing his knees. He looked like a heroin addict and I told him as much.

  “How the hell can you be so calm about this?” he asked.

  I shrugged and answered, “I’m not, really. I don’t want anyone to laugh at us for our terrible acting, but other than that, I know we’ll get a good grade. Mason’ll see how hard we-”

  “Who cares about the grade, Layla? What if everyone thinks it sucks? What if we put ourselves out there and it turns out to be absolute shit? What if-”

  “Trip! Chill. It’s not going to suck. You made sure of that. I would have been happy enough just to turn in something passable. You’re the one that treated it like Citizen Kane for godsakes. It’s gonna be great, you’ll see.”

  He took a deep breath, gave me a high five and said, “Okay, okay. You’re right. Where the hell is Vreeland with the damned TV?”

  Soon enough, Roger showed up with the Audio-visual cart and I popped the tape into the VCR.

  ...And that’s how only a handful of people know that Trip’s first film was actually an amateur adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, opening to mixed reviews in the fall of 1990 during Mrs. Mason’s fifth period English Lit class at St. Nicetius Parochial High School in Norman, New Jersey.

  Chapter 14

  REVERSAL OF FORTUNE

  Thanksgiving was at my Aunt Eleanor’s, as usual. I always had a good time with my cousins, even though all four of them were way older (like, in their twenties) and all of them were boys. Lisa always had the worst crush on my cousin Sean, but then again, so did a lot of girls. My aunt must have had the patience of a saint, dealing with the constant stream of girls coming and going through her sons’ lives.

  Aunt Eleanor was my mother’s sister, but the two of them were complete opposites in practically every way; from their hair color to their personalities to their commitment to their family.

  Needless to say, I thought the world of Aunt Eleanor.

  I always thought it was pretty spectacular that my father had been able to maintain a relationship with her after my mother had left. I can’t imagine it was easy for either of them to have to face one another; their one, big, shared grief hanging over them like a cloud. It’s not like we all got together every day or anything, but we’d always try to celebrate the big holidays in one way or another, and we’d manage to see each other a few additional, random times throughout the year.

  After dinner, I sacked out on the couch with my cousin Jack, the two of us groaning about how much we’d overeaten. I thanked God that I didn’t have to go to work that night, grateful that the store had been closed for the holiday.

  The next night, however, was my Friday shift with Trip.

  We were almost through with our night, breaking down boxes in the freezing storeroom, when he pulled out a miniature bottle of champagne from his jacket pocket. He’d swiped it from his parents’ liquor cabinet, assuming they wouldn’t miss the party favor from “Bebe and Eric’s Wedding Extravaganza”, the gold and white label informing us of the bottle’s origins.

  I grabbed a couple Dixie cups from the sink in the breakroom, we did a quick perimeter check for Martin, and Trip unscrewed the bottle.

  I laughed, “You know champagne is good when there’s a screwtop.”

  He poured some into my cup and said, “Only the best for you, Miss Warren.”

  He filled his cup, clinked it against mine and I asked, “What’s the occasion?”

  He answered, “I just figured we should toast the success of our award-winning film.”

  “Yeah, Trip? We haven’t won any awards.”

  “Yet.”

  I laughed as he downed his drink in one shot, grimacing and staring at his cup as if it had offended him. I was no connoisseur, but I didn’t think it tasted that great either.

  “Oof, that’s bad.” He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the awful aftertaste. Then he poured another cup.

  “And,” he started in, and I didn’t like the tone in his voice, “I also wanted to give myself a proper sendoff.”

  Oh, God! Was he moving again already?

  “What do you mean? Where are you going?” I asked, trying to sound merely curious instead of completely devastated.

  He tried to hold back a grin and look properly humble. “Well, I made the team.”

  I knew he was referring to the travelling hockey team that he’d tried out for weeks before. He didn’t allow himself to talk about it too much, but I knew it was a really big deal for him.

  “You made the team! That’s great! Congratulations. When did you find out?

  “Wednesday night. The coach called and asked me if I was available. Can you believe that? Am I available, like I’m Wayne Gretzky or something and might not be able to fit his team into my busy schedule.”

  “Wow. That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah, yeah it is. I’m pretty psyched. Although...” and his expression turned shamefaced as he tried to break the next news to me gently, “Tonight’s my last night working here. I already talked to Martin.”

  I tried not to deflate too visibly, but damn! He was quitting! Work was going to suck without him there. I realized that things were drastically changing between us; no more Tuesday filming, no more Mondays and Fridays at Totally Videos. “Well, that sucks,” I finally stated, before throwing back the rest of my drink.

  Every last bit of my designated Trip Time was slipping away. All that was left was the last Saturday football game, because the very next day was homecoming.

  Chapter 15

  CROSSING THE LINE

  I’d started to notice Lisa’s increa
sing frustration with me over the previous weeks, but it wasn’t until the day of the homecoming game that I perceived actual disappointment on her face.

  Trip had shuttled Lisa, Pickford and me to the field that day. It was a particularly grey and drizzly afternoon, even for the end of November. As we started our walk toward the bleachers, my sneakers kept getting sucked into the mud. Rather than let me try to make the journey by tiptoe, Trip offered a passage by way of piggyback. He was doing an exaggerated slip all over the mud puddles, pretending that he was going to drop me any second. I was cracking up and threatening his life when I happened to catch the disapproving look Lisa shot my way.

  I knew something was about to go down as she was getting dropped off afterwards. Trip would normally save me for the last stop, but that day, Lisa asked me to get out at her house instead. I knew we’d been building up to some Big Conversation over the past few weeks, but I guessed she had finally decided it was going to happen right then.

  We said goodbye to Trip and made our way into the house. She didn’t say a single word to me until we were locked safely away in the sanctuary of her room. “Okay, Layla. This has really got to stop.”

  I was sitting on her bed Indian-style, picking at the chartreuse marabou pillow in my lap. “What has?”

  She rolled her eyes at me for that. “This!” she shouted, sweeping her arms in a wide arc, “This whole, stupid thing with you and Trip! What the hell is going on with you two?”

  Her abrupt words caught me off guard. “I don’t know,” I stammered, while still trying to maintain an air of smugness. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  I knew Lisa well enough to expect a full-on assault for that, but rather than the verbal tirade I was anticipating, she said, “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Pickford. But he’s my boyfriend. What’s going on between you and Trip... is just... well, it’s disturbing.”