Forget Me Read Free Page A

“Nothing that cheesy. We can start with something simple like . . .” She chewed on the ends of her sandy-blond hair for a moment. “Upload a pic of him to FriendShare with a good-bye message or something.”
    â€œHow is that any form of closure?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s public. It’s showing your friends—who are worried about you, by the way—that you’re starting to heal and move on. Having the balls to say something publicly makes it mean more.”
    â€œI don’t have balls. I have girly parts.”
    She threw a Dorito at me, but it wasn’t very aerodynamic and landed on the floor halfway between us. “Take this seriously, please.”
    â€œFlynn hated FriendShare,” I pointed out.
    â€œNo offense, hon, but that boy hated everything except you.”
    I shrugged. “He was just private. People have the right to be private.”
    Toni placed a finger in her open mouth and pretended to gag. “He refused to talk about himself. He never invited you to his house.”
    â€œHe had family issues,” I said.
    â€œHe had issues, all right.”
    I didn’t want to get into this. I had always known Toni didn’t like Flynn. And he hadn’t exactly made an effort to be likable to her, either. I’d found his private nature mysterious and sexy. She’d found it “douchey.” But she never told me to break up with him and hardly ever complained. If the roles had been reversed and she’d been dating a boy I hated, I would’ve nagged her a lot more.
    I searched her dark eyes. This small act of closure seemed important to her. And what did I have to lose? Maybe it would make me feel a little better.
    â€œFine,” I said, giving in. “I’ll do it.”
    She clapped and beamed like the proud parent of a child who’d made the right choice.
    I logged in to FriendShare. My profile picture came up, a photo of Toni and me taken last year. We had our arms around each other’s shoulders, which was a little awkward since I was so much taller than her. I glanced in the mirror resting on my desk and then back at the picture. It’s amazing how a photo can tell you so much about a person in one quick glance. In the picture, my blue eyes were brighter, my black hair shinier. I glowed. Everything about me in the mirror now seemed dulled in comparison.
    This was the right thing to do. I had to get on the “path of healing” (to quote one of Toni’s well-meaning speeches).
    I paused with my hands over the keys, then typed:
Gone, but not forgotten.
    â€œGood,” Toni said from over my shoulder. “That’s good.”
    Then I clicked to upload the only picture I had of Flynn. One that he hadn’t even known I’d taken. I took it the first day I met him, in King’s Fantasy World. I went into the park to get shots for my portfolio and stumbled upon this mysterious boy, all alone, and it was like my camera had a mind of its own.
    The icon in the center of the application swirled for a moment as the photo loaded. Then Flynn’s face filled the screen. My chest squeezed as I fought off the urge to cry. Even in this innocuous photo, he seemed like a tragic figure. Leaning against the wall of the fun house, full lips slightly parted, his face tilted just a degree as his steely gray eyes searched for the source of the sound in the abandoned park. The sound had been me.
    The outline of a box opened around his head as FriendShare’s facial recognition software attempted to tag him with a name. It was a handy application if you were uploading a big group picture or a bunch of photos that you wanted done quickly. But I knew it was a waste of time for this picture. Flynn had never been on FriendShare. He thought it was “weird” and “intrusive.” Which was an observation I found poignant and smart, and Toni again found douchey.
    But the operation ended and a message