Chapter 5

Hartley

“In the flesh.” The blonde tiptoes gingerly over to peer at the IV bag. “Hmm. Morphine. You’re at least getting decent drugs.”

Felicity Worthington is a girl I know more by reputation—like a celebrity of sorts—which explains why I remember her but not any specific interactions with her. The Worthingtons are big names in Bayview. They live in a huge house along the shore, drive expensive cars, and the kids throw massive parties that show up on everyone’s Instagram feed and inspire the worst FOMO ever.

I can’t envision a circumstance in which Felicity and I became friends, let alone close enough that she would sit in the hospital waiting to see me.

“I can’t believe I’m the first one to see you,” she says as she flips a curtain of blonde hair over one shoulder.

“Same.” There’s something vaguely unsettling about her.

She arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I heard you lost some of your memories. Is that true?”

I’d like to deny it, but I have a feeling I’d be found out right away. “Yes.”

She stretches out her arm and flicks a fingernail adorned with crystals against my IV line. “And your doctor told us that we shouldn’t fill in your memory gaps because that would be too confusing for you.”

“Also true.”

“But you’re dying to know, aren’t you? Why I’m here? How we became friends? What’s happened in your life? Those blank spaces need filling up, don’t they?” She circles to the base of the bed and I watch her as carefully as I’d watch a snake.

“Why are you here?” Because I have this sense that we aren’t friends at all. I think it’s because of the way Felicity looks at me—as if I’m more science experiment or lab specimen than person.

“My grandmother is having hip surgery. She’s in recovery two doors down.” She gestures toward the door.

That makes sense. “I’m sorry. I hope she feels better soon.”

“I’ll pass on your well wishes,” Felicity responds. She eyes me as if waiting for more questions.

I nearly bite my tongue through to keep them from coming out. I have a flood of them I want to ask, but I don’t feel like Felicity’s the right one to be giving me the answers.

She cracks first. “Don’t you have anything you want to know?”

Yes. Lots. I sort through my questions to find a safe one.

“Where’s Kayleen?” I crane my neck around gingerly, ignoring the shard of pain that spikes at each movement.

“Kayleen who?” Genuine confusion creases her brow.

“Kayleen O’Grady. Small redhead. Plays the cello.” At Felicity’s continued blank look, I add, “She’s my best friend. We take lessons with Mr. Hayes over at the Bayview Performing Arts Center.” It seems like I’m not the only one with memory loss.

“O’Grady? Mr. Hayes? What century are you in? That pedo got run out of town two years ago, around the same time the O’Gradys moved to Georgia.”

“What?” I blink in shock. “Kayleen lives next door to me.”

A strange look passes over Felicity’s face, and something I can’t decipher sends a spider of apprehension skittering down my spine.

“How old are you, Hartley?” she asks, leaning over the footboard with something akin to glee sparkling in her golden-brown eyes.

“I—I…” The number fourteen pops into my head, but I feel older than that. How do I not know how old I am? “I’m fifte—seventeen,” I hurriedly change my answer as Felicity’s eyes widen.

She claps a hand over her mouth and then drops it. “You don’t know how old you are? This is amazing.” She whips out her phone and starts tapping. The screen looks new, but then Felicity always had the latest gadgets, designer clothes, expensive purses.

“Who are you texting?” I demand. It’s rude but so is she.

“Everyone,” she says, giving me a look that implies that my brain sustained more damage than the doctor has diagnosed.

I pick up the nurse alert button. “You can leave,” I inform the girl. “I’m tired and I don’t need to be treated like this.” I can’t believe the nerve of this girl to come into my room and then make fun of me because I injured my head. Tears of anger prick at the backs of my eyes and I blink rapidly to keep any from falling. I’m not showing an ounce of weakness in front of Felicity Worthington. She might have more money than me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to some damned decency.

The coldness in my tone must have caught her attention. She lowers her phone, and pouts. “I’m trying to be helpful. I’m telling our friends that we’re going to have to be extra careful with you.”

I highly doubt that. I point to the door. “You can be helpful outside.”

“Sure. I’ll send your boyfriend in then.”

“My what?” I half shout.

A malicious smile spreads across her face. In the distance, a warning bell rings, but I pay it little attention.

“My what?” I repeat, quieter this time.

“Your boyfriend. Kyle Hudson. You remember him, don’t you? From the moment you laid eyes on each other, it was like a Disney romance.” She clasps her hands to her chest. “You were all over each other. The PDA was disgusting, but then that happened.”