Echoes Marissa Lete (best ereader for students .TXT) 📖

cookie dough ice cream makes me think that it wasn’t just a weird mistake. And I’d been so frazzled from the whole ordeal, I hadn’t thought about going back to talk to her. If she remembers me, even from what could be months ago, maybe she remembers Maverick, too. Maybe she can lead me to him.

I look directly at Leo, a new idea crossing my mind. “Do you want to grab some ice cream with me after school?”

Leo narrows his eyes. “If this is your way of asking me on a date, I don’t think you understand what happ—”

“Ha, ha,” I cut him off, rolling my eyes. “No. I just need to go do something. Distract myself from all this drama.”

Leo shrugs. “I mean I guess if you want to. You know I’m always down for food.”

I sigh in relief. I don’t want to end up alone downtown again, being chased by a stranger.

So half an hour after school, Leo and I push through the doors of Coffee and Cream and the deep, rich smell of coffee fills my nose. No one is in the shop beside us, but I can hear a conversation at the back of the shop mixed with the sound of a child laughing. The noise must be a few years old, however, because it’s low and so muffled that I can’t make out any of the words.

Good. Nothing to distract me from getting answers.

No one is at the counter when we get there, but after a few seconds, the door to the back room opens up. My heart speeds up when I recognize the girl walking in our direction.

“Hello,” she says, a flash of recognition crossing her face when she sees me. She looks over to Leo, then back at me. “How can I help you?” she asks, avoiding my eyes. I glance at the nametag pinned to her shirt. Elle.

“I’ll have the usual,” I say. Elle blinks at me, nods, then turns to Leo. She knows what I’m talking about. She recognizes me again, meaning it probably wasn’t a mistake the last time.

“And you?”

Leo stares at the menu for a minute. “Chocolate chip mint. Double. In a cup.”

“Sounds good,” Elle replies, then walks over to the back counter to get our order ready. When she pulls out a waffle cone and scoops cookie dough ice cream onto it, I realize how close I might be to finally getting answers. She passes my cone across the counter, then goes to scoop Leo’s.

“Come here often, then?” Leo asks me.

“I guess I do,” I reply, worried that it might be true. What happens if this girl—Elle—confirms Maverick’s existence? How do I explain my lack of memory and the fact that no one else seems to remember him either?

When Elle comes back to hand Leo his ice cream, I almost fire all of my questions that second, but I hold back, remembering that none of it will make any sense to Leo if I do it in front of him.

After we pay, I lead us to the opposite end of the shop and sit down at the table. I wait a couple of minutes before making my move. “I need to get some napkins,” I tell Leo, then stroll over to the front of the shop. Elle has already gone to the back room again, and although I can clearly see the napkin dispenser along the counter, I ring the bell. I just hope that Leo doesn’t question it.

When she comes out, I take a deep breath.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask. She eyes me suspiciously but nods. I move closer to the counter, my voice low. “Last time I was in here, you recognized me. You said that I hadn’t been here in months, right?”

Another nod.

“Here’s the deal,” I say. I’d rehearsed this story a hundred times since I came up with it at lunch, but I still hesitate before I continue. “I was in a car accident recently, and I got a bad case of amnesia.” The story almost doesn’t feel like fiction, because amnesia would explain a lot of what’s happening. “I don’t really remember much from the past… well, year of my life. And I was just hoping you could help me clear up some things since it seemed like you knew something I didn’t.”

I watch, my heart pounding in my chest, as Elle’s expression changes from confusion to shock to realization. “Oh my gosh,” she says, putting a hand to her mouth.

I wait, trying to listen over the blood rushing in my ears.

Finally, she speaks. “So you don’t remember anything? Ever coming here? With that boy?”

My heart stampedes in my chest at the word boy. “No,” I barely manage to say.

She covers her face with her hands. “This is so tragic.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I wait.

“Listen, I don’t know much, honestly. I’m probably not the best person to ask.” She shakes her head.

“I need someone to tell me. Please,” I beg. I don’t have to fake my desperation.

She sighs, nods, then starts talking. “It started last year around this time, I think. You and this guy started coming in here every week, it seemed. You’d always get a scoop of cookie dough on a waffle cone, and he’d always get a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. Even when it got hot outside.”

I blink, trying to process what she’s telling me. “Got hot outside?” is all I can say.

“Yeah. You two were, like, so in love. You’d come in here and sit down for hours, just talking. But then, maybe around June, you just stopped coming. I didn’t see you again until the last time you were here.”

A string of chills runs through my body, from my neck down to my toes. “June?”