Remember to Forget, Revised and Expanded (28 page)

“I-I did-didn't understand h-half the st-stuff you said,” Mitchell tells me, laughing
as we head outside.

“Because of my accent?” I ask him.

He nods. “W-What's a-a ch-cheese toastie?” It takes him awhile to say the words
cheese
toastie
, like they're stuck on his tongue. That happens a lot. He has to think hard
about what he's saying.

I laugh. Mitchell had been talking about some pizza place he went to, and I had said
all I had for lunch was a cheese toastie. “It's what you call a grilled cheese.”

“O-Oh. I like those.”

We walk in silence for a little. Mitchell always seems sad; I wish I could see him
a little happier. I know what it's like to be sad, and I don't want anyone else to
go through that. I wonder if that's how people feel when they're around me. Or used
to anyway, now that I'm getting better.

“Do you wanna come over to my house tonight? I'm hanging out with Aiden and Delilah—you
know them, right?” I ask him.

He looks over at me with wide eyes and nods.

“So is that a yes?” I ask.

He takes a few seconds to think and then shrugs. “I-I'm not really g-good with new
p-people.”

“That's okay, they're nice. If you don't want to, I understand. I just thought I'd
ask.”

“I-I don't w-wanna intrude.”

“You won't. We're probably just gonna have pizza and watch a movie or something.
Even though you had pizza for lunch.”

“I-I like p-pizza.”

I wait for Mitchell to say whether or not he wants to come, because it looks like
he's thinking.

“I-I guess I'll come. A-Are you sure th-they won't mind?”

“I'm positive.”

“I-I'll come.” He runs his hands through his now red hair and pulls a little at the
ends.

“Great!”

My dad drives Mitchell and me home. He tries to talk to Mitchell, but I'm not sure
my dad could understand a lot of what he said. It took me awhile to understand Mitchell,
but now I don't even notice his stutter most of the time.

When we get home, Aiden and Delilah tell me they'll be a few minutes late. Mitchell
and I sit on the couch and wait for them.

“I-I like the Ch-Christmas tree,” Mitchell says, poking one of the ornaments.

“Thanks! Delilah and I decorated it a few days ago. I can't believe Christmas is
in five days!”

“I kn-know. D-Do you h-have plans?”

I shrug. “I guess my dad and I will do something. What about you?”

Mitchell shrugs. “We don't do m-much on Christmas.”

“Oh.”

We talk for a little longer, until Delilah and Aiden show up.

“Hey! We're here!” Aiden yells, running up the stairs. “We have the pizzas!”

Aiden throws the pizza boxes onto the table and opens one up instantly. He takes
out a slice and shoves it into his mouth.

“Did you know that— Hey, who's this?” Aiden says, talking with his mouth full.

“That's Mitchell. Remember him from school?” Delilah says, sitting down beside me.

Aiden shrugs. “I don't pay attention to school. I'm Aiden. You have cool hair, dude.”

“Th-Thanks.”

“Did you invite him here?” Delilah whispers to me.

I nod.

Her face lights up. “That was really nice of you!” She twines her fingers in mine
and leans her head on my shoulder. I smile and feel instantly happier.

Aiden raises his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes.

“Watch this,” I whisper to Delilah. “Aiden's gonna freak.”

Delilah squeezes my hand and moves slightly on the couch.

“Aiden, wanna bring me over a slice of pizza?” I ask.

I haven't seen Aiden for a while, so this is the first thing I've said to him.

“What do I look like— Wait, what? Who just said that? Levi, that wasn't you, was
it?”

“It was me,” I say, laughing. Delilah and Mitchell laugh too.

“Since when do you talk?! Why has no one told me this? No one ever tells me anything!
This is the greatest news I've heard in forever! It's a Christmas miracle!”

“Oh, shut up,” Delilah says. “We tell you everything—you just don't pay attention.”

“Don't say that,” I whisper to Delilah.

“Say what?”

“You know . . .” I say, not wanting to actually say it.

“Shut up?”

I nod. “You wouldn't want him to actually stop talking.”

She sobers. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize.”

“It's fine.”

After some more ranting on why no one told him I'm talking, Aiden finally brings
us all some pizza. We chat about random stuff, but Mitchell stays pretty quiet. Aiden
then goes on and on
again
about how he can't believe I'm finally talking and how
my voice sounds. Delilah gets Mitchell into the conversation every once and awhile,
but I can tell he's nervous. His stutter is a little worse than usual.

Last week, Mitchell explained to me why he stutters. He said it's genetic, which
is pretty rare. Doctors think one of his relatives in an earlier generation probably
stuttered. He said his nerves make it worse, but his stutter makes him nervous, so
it's a vicious cycle for him. His brain doesn't process words the same way other
people's do, which is what causes him to stutter. He's recently started speech therapy
to help him. There's a small chance it will ever fully disappear, but he can work
on making it better.

I feel bad for Mitchell, but he's a really nice guy. I want to help him as much as
I can.

Delilah ends up laying her head down in my lap while we all talk, and I can see Aiden
continuously staring down at her.

“Levi, can I talk to you?” he asks. I nod and Delilah sits back up, allowing me to
stand. Aiden and I head into the kitchen.

“So, is there a thing going on between you guys now?” Aiden asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not that I know of. We're just friends.”

“But you told me you thought you liked her.”

I shrug.

“Levi . . .”

“Okay, fine. I do like Delilah. But there's nothing going on between us.”

Aiden rolls his eyes. “It's obvious that you both like each other. I just think you
should start to like
yourself
more before you get into a relationship.”

I did not expect Aiden to say something like that. I think for a few seconds before
speaking.

“Delilah helps me like myself more,” I whisper.

Chapter Forty

LEVI

T
omorrow's your last day of school before break,” I tell Delilah as she sits at
her kitchen table, focusing on her homework. “I'll get to annoy you every day for
two weeks!”

“I can't wait,” she mumbles, erasing something on her paper. She's been struggling
for the past few minutes. It's cute the way she sticks out her tongue when she concentrates.
I move from the couch and sit down in one of the chairs beside her.

“Need help?” I ask, leaning my head on top of her shoulder so I can see her worksheet.

“No,” she says, trying to nudge me off her shoulder.

“C'mon. Take a break—you're working too hard.”

“I don't understand it.”

“Well, the answer to the problem is seventy-two,” I say, pointing to the maths problem
that's been erased multiple times.

“How'd you know that?” she whispers, finally looking up from her homework.

I shrug. “My mum's a maths teacher.”

“Math.”

“No, maths. You Americans say weird things. It's plural. Mathsssss,” I say, trying
not to laugh.

“Says the person who was yelling Australian slang at their phone the other day.”

“Okay, Siri wasn't understanding me.”

Delilah laughs and scribbles down the answer after I explain how I figured it out.

“You said you failed math,” she tells me.

“I lied. I just didn't want you to do your homework that day.” I feel my cheeks heat
up.

She slaps my arm. “Seriously, Levi?”

I rub my arm, pretending like it hurt.

Delilah's phone starts to ring, and it's a call from Aiden. She sighs and picks it
up, tapping her pencil against the table while she talks.

“Yes, Aiden?” she says. “No, I'm not . . . Because I don't want to . . . No, he doesn't
know . . . It's tomorrow, it's too late anyway . . .”

She rolls her eyes while she continues to talk, then finally hangs up.

“What was that about?” I ask.

“Snow Ball.”

“Oh, cool . . . What's that?” I ask.

“A winter dance tomorrow night. It's no big deal.”

“Why aren't you going?” I ask, scrunching my eyebrows in confusion.

She shrugs.

“You should go.”

“But I have no one to go with.”

“Oh.”

I look down at my hands and awkwardly twiddle my thumbs.

“I mean, I wanna go with you, obviously. But you don't like that kind of stuff,”
Delilah whispers. “I didn't ask you because you don't like parties or crowded spaces.
I thought you wouldn't wanna go,” she says, twirling her pencil between her fingers.

She's right, I don't like that kind of stuff. But if Delilah's with me, I might not
get as nervous.

“I'd go with you,” I tell her, nudging her shoulder.

“You would?”

“Of course.”

I nervously bite on my lip ring just thinking about it. I push the anxiety out of
my mind, though.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

“Completely serious.”

“I need a dress. You need something to wear!” she says, standing up from her chair.
“It's too late. It's tomorrow. We don't have time.”

“We can go right now,” I tell her, grabbing her hand.

“But what about Lucy? My parents aren't home.”

“She can come too. I'll go get her.”

I run to Lucy's room, where she's playing with some dolls and talking quietly.

“We're going shopping,” I tell her.

“For what?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Delilah needs a dress.”

“I don't wanna go,” she pouts.

“You can bring Barbie.”

“This is Kelly.”

“All right, you can bring Kelly.”

“I don't wanna bring Kelly.”

“Then I'll buy you a cookie. How's that sound?”

She smiles widely and jumps up. “A cookie sounds good! Can it be a rainbow M&M
one?”

“Whatever you want.”

I help Lucy get on her shoes and jacket, which as usual takes a very long time. Delilah
drives us all to the mall, which is extremely crowded because of Christmas shoppers.
I cringe just thinking about the tightly packed stores and young kids running around
everywhere.

“You sure you want to go?” Delilah asks before opening her door.

I nod. I slowly get out of the car and unbuckle Lucy from the backseat. Of course,
she asks me to carry her, so I do. She continuously pokes the pom-pom on my beanie
as we walk, almost causing it to fall off my head.

I follow Delilah to wherever the store is that we're going to, carefully weaving
through all the people. Lucy points to things she sees in the store windows, like
snowmen or giant nutcrackers.

We walk into the store, and I'm astounded by the multiple aisles of dresses. There
are long ones and short ones and tight ones and puffy ones. There are way too many
to choose from. I'm overwhelmed, and we just got here. I worry we'll be here for
hours.

I walk over to the men's section while Delilah goes through all the dresses. I find
a pair of pants and shirt that fit nicely. They aren't too fancy; they're just right.

“You like this one, Lucy?” I ask, standing in front of the giant mirrors.

Lucy nods quickly. She said she'd rather help me than Delilah, so she's sitting on
the tiny chair while I stand in front of the mirror.

I see Delilah across the store and give her a thumbs-up to see if she likes any of
the dresses in her hand. She smiles widely and gives a thumbs-up back to me, approving
of my outfit choice

I move side to side, making sure I like everything. I feel somewhat awkward standing
in front of this giant mirror dressed up so nicely. It doesn't look like me at all.

I decide I'll get the pants and shirt, as well as a tie, and go back to find Delilah.
When I get to her, she has at least eight dresses in her arms. I'm surprised she
can carry all that without dropping them.

“Want me to hold some?” I ask her.

“No, I'm gonna go try them on,” she says, running into the dressing room. I sit in
the chair in front of the giant mirror, and Lucy sits on my lap while she waits.

“I like that dress,” Lucy says, pointing to a hideous orange one.

“You do?” I bounce my knee up and down, causing Lucy to laugh.

“Yep,” she says in between her giggles.

Delilah comes out in the first dress, which is way too long.

“I don't like this one at all,” she says, laughing.

I shake my head, and she heads back.

Five dresses later, Delilah slowly walks out of the dressing room.

“I like this one a lot,” she says quietly, standing in front of the mirror. She smiles
widely and sways side to side.

It's a red lace dress that ends above her knees.

“You're beautiful,” I whisper. “I mean, the dress, it's beautiful,” I say quickly.
My cheeks are probably the same color as her dress.

“I love it!” Lucy shrieks, clapping her hands.

“Is this the one? Are you saying yes to the dress?” I ask jokingly. I had agreed
to watch the
Say Yes to the Dress
marathon with her the other day, so it felt like
the right thing to say.