The Memory Jar by Elissa Janine Hoole Read Free Book Online

I had actually broken up with him, I’d still love him. It’s not like a person can spend every waking thought on another person for two years without a deep emotional connection. I lean closer to the bed, put my hand back on Scott’s arm. He feels weird, animate and yet not, somehow, like a couch cushion in the shape of my boyfriend, his muscles strangely tense. “Scott.” I speak up. “I love you, okay? I don’t know what your idiot brother has against me, but I’ve been telling how you fell in love with me, and I think you should wake up and tell the other side. Tell Joey how I fell in love with you.”
    Joey makes a show of staring at Scott’s still form for a good ten-count. “Looks like the jury’s still out on that one,” he says, standing up. “Anyway, idiot brother wants a hamburger.”
    I feel heat rush to my face. “Sorry, I—”
    â€œHungry? Café on the third floor?” The hat still obscures his eyes, but he jerks his head toward the door.
    I remember the dill pickle potato chips. That was the last time I ate without feeling the nausea. The sudden thought of a thick cheeseburger with the grease running into the toasted edge of the bun … “Are you asking me to lunch?” I give Scott’s cushiony arm another squeeze and stand up.
    Joey scowls and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t like you in here alone with him, that’s all,” he says. “For all I know, you’ll try to smother him with a pillow.” He tries to keep his voice all growly and tough, but beneath it all I hear a quiet wavering, like the beginning of tears or laughter. Maybe both.

Then
(To Joey)
    It was true, you know. I was preoccupied with my ACT scores. Dani and I weren’t in the Ivy League Club, so we had to make damn sure we could at least get into the Scholarship-to-a-state-school Club. My mom didn’t go to college, and that’s her own complicated story; I wasn’t going to let her interfere with mine. I was applying to all the same places Dani did because we were best friends and we were going to have so much fun in college, you have no idea.
    I had a hard time deciding what I wanted to be. I mean, I really wanted to be both a poet and a doctor. “Oh, like a pediatrician?” asked my guidance counselor. She smiled sweetly at me, like she knew I was too dumb for such a thing but would humor me for a while before letting me know about this great nursing aide program that would be “a great place to start out, and then you could work your way up!” But I sort of wanted to be a cardiologist. I liked the idea of fixing people’s broken hearts—it seemed like the perfect blend of poetry and medicine. Dani would do art or art history or history or women’s studies, she wasn’t sure, and I was balancing the idea of double majoring pre-med and English. In any case, I was applying to St. Cloud, the U, and Mankato State, but the only way I’d be able to go is if my test scores were good enough to qualify me for the academic scholarships.
    â€œI don’t know why you’re thinking of going somewhere other than St. Cloud,” Scott said. He stirred a French fry into some disgusting blend of condiments and pouted.
    â€œI don’t know why I would choose my education based on proximity to a boy,” I said, and I was only partly serious. It’s not that I didn’t want to go to the same school as him, but we were talking about almost a whole year away and a lot of things could happen.
    â€œI don’t know, you didn’t seem to mind my proximity earlier.” He kissed my cheek to keep it from sounding too slimy. That was the night it happened, I guess—was it homecoming weekend? In the stupid truck with most of our clothes on because it was too cold.
    â€œGross.” I pushed Scott away, him smelling of mayo and ketchup or whatever. We always went to