From What I Remember

Copyright © 2012 by Stacy Kramer and Valerie Thomas

All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

ISBN 978-1-4231-5948-3

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Table of Contents

• Prologue
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-one
  
• Chapter Twenty-two
  
• Chapter Twenty-three
  
• Chapter Twenty-four
  
• Chapter Twenty-five
  
• Chapter Twenty-six
  
• Chapter Twenty-seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-eight
  
• Chapter Twenty-nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  
• Chapter Thirty-one
  
• Chapter Thirty-two
  
• Chapter Thirty-three
  
• Chapter Thirty-four
  
• Chapter Thirty-five
  
• Chapter Thirty-six
  
• Chapter Thirty-seven
  
• Chapter Thirty-eight
  
• Chapter Thirty-nine
  
• Chapter Forty
  
• Chapter Forty-one
  
• Chapter Forty-two
  
• Chapter Forty-three
  
• Chapter Forty-four
  
• Chapter Forty-five
  
• Chapter Forty-six
  
• Chapter Forty-seven
  
• Chapter Forty-eight
  
• Chapter Forty-nine
  
• Chapter Fifty
  
• Chapter Fifty-one
  
• Chapter Fifty-two
  
• Chapter Fifty-three
  
• Chapter Fifty-four
  
• Chapter Fifty-five
  
• Chapter Fifty-six
  
• Chapter Fifty-seven
  
• Chapter Fifty-eight
  
• Chapter Fifty-nine
  
• Chapter Sixty
  
• Chapter Sixty-one
  
• Chapter Sixty-two
  
• Chapter Sixty-three
  
• Chapter Sixty-four
  
• Chapter Sixty-five
  
• Chapter Sixty-six
  
• Chapter Sixty-seven
  
• Acknowledgments
  

To David and Henry... for everything

am jolted awake by sunlight flooding the room.

What time is it? Where am I?

Disoriented, I attempt to open my eyes. The light is stabbing. My head is throbbing, my throat is raw, and my stomach is roiling. Is this what a hangover feels like?

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had one. Until now.

I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and lie still, trying to get my bearings. Last night was one of the greatest nights of my life. I think. But then again, it could have turned into one of the worst. I don’t remember much past a certain point.

I can hear kids’ voices a few rooms away. The smell of bacon wafts into the room, a distinct reminder that I’m not home, in my bed, where I should be. My mother grew up in a kosher, Jewish home. Even though she’s more agnostic than Jewish these days, old habits die hard; she’d never cook bacon.

I give it another go, allowing my eyes another peek at the world. Slowly, gradually, without making any sudden moves, I glance around, taking in my surroundings. A partial view of an unfamiliar bedroom comes into focus. There’s a dresser in the corner, where a mess of snow globes, stuffed animals, and Barbie dolls fight for space. A poster of a fuzzy white kitten with a huge purple bow around its neck is taped to the wall, between two windows. One window has a shade pulled halfway down, the other has no shade at all. Light pours in mercilessly. Is it always this sunny in the morning?

I turn my head to avert my eyes, and that’s when I see him. The gorgeous, half-naked boy lying next to me. Asleep.

Oh. My. God. Max.

I am now wide awake, and it’s all rushing back at me.

I’m in Ensenada. Mexico. With Max Langston. At Manuel’s house.

I’m not at all sure how I got here last night. And I’m not at all where I should be, at home, in my bed, preparing for my valedictorian speech, this afternoon. This is so not the ideal scenario for the morning of graduation.

The final throes of last night appear in spiky flashes. Glimpses of scenes flicker in and out, staccato and in no particular order. It’s like watching a movie trailer, except, instead of Kate Hudson or Kristen Stewart, I’m the star. Swimming in the ocean with Max. Drinking (
lots
of drinking) on the dock.

And kissing (
lots
of kissing). Then…the screen goes black.

I try to sit up, but the effort makes me woozy, and I lie back down. Why on earth would anyone drink if this is what it feels like the morning after? Maybe because the night before felt pretty damn great. That much I remember.

To say I’m not the kind of girl who normally finds herself in a situation like this is an enormous understatement. I play by the rules even when there aren’t any. I listen. I do as I’m told. In four years of high school, I haven’t dated, drank, or partied—though I seem to have done all three with wild abandon last night. To prove the point, I’m lying here, next to a boy I barely know, in a strange house, in a foreign city. I’m pretty sure this kind of thing doesn’t end well. At least not for girls like me.

Oh God, what was I thinking? I suppose I wasn’t. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to unplug. Utterly and totally. I went way off the rails. It was exhilarating. Addictive. But not the best idea on the day before graduation.

I look at my watch. It’s nearly seven o’clock. Graduation is in five hours, in La Jolla, California, which is a good two hours away. And that’s without border traffic.
Think
, I tell myself. But my brain isn’t cooperating. I’m getting very little except the low, dull sounds of static. Much of the blame for this mess falls squarely on my shoulders. If only I hadn’t chased after the guy on the bike, or climbed into that truck, or lost Will, or drank so damn much tequila…