Page 22 of 16 Forever

“You know what he means, Carter,” Mom says.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, laying out my case like a TV lawyer. “That first week of school after my birthday was awful. Like, it really blew. And, I mean, I’ll probably be right back here in a year, with no memory of any of this. So I can do school then. ’Cause what’s the point of going right now? Maybe this can be a pass year.A gap year! Isn’t that what they call it?”

Mom and Dad look at each other, squirming in their seats because they know there’s merit to what I’m saying. Lincoln chugs from his water glass.

“Look, Carter,” Mom says. “You know I’d be the first to say you and Lincoln should both just stay here and never leave. I love this. I love being home with you boys. But it’s not realistic.”

“Right,” Dad says, employing his stricter tone.

“Did you talk about any of this with Soren?” Mom asks.

“Kinda.” I had my first appointment with my therapist a few days ago. He’s a white guy with glasses and a mustache, younger than my parents but not by that much. Talking with him was fine but also annoying. Soren knew a ton about me even though, from my perspective, he’s some random dude I just met. After I vented for a while about everything, how I wish this wasn’t happening, how I want to find a way back to a life where I remember stuff and age like everyone else and people don’t feel bad for me all the time, he said, “Thank you for that. Would you like to hear my take on all this?”

I wanted to say,Not really,but I nodded.

“So much of this is about acceptance,” he said. “You shouldn’t worry about trying to solve this or unstick yourself. You’re only going to make yourself miserable, adding a layer of extra suffering onto an already-difficult situation. Instead, you can be present and look for the opportunities inherent in each day. Does that make sense?”

It did and it didn’t. I was relieved when our time was up.

“Well, you should,” Mom says. “Soren has been very helpful to you over the years. We understand that this can all feel pointless,Carter, but... in past years, once you’ve gone to school for around a month, it starts to get better. You make friends, you find your people.”

“And even though you’ve never been into doing extracurriculars—” Dad says.

“Got that right,” I interrupt. “Not my thing.”

“You joined yearbook this year,” Dad continues, “and you were really into it. You take incredible photographs. Like, professional-level stuff. Did you know that?”

My brain flips around in that way I’m starting to get used to. “Of course I didn’t know that,” I say. “How would I? And what am I supposed to do with that information?”

“It’s...” Dad is a little flustered. “You’re supposed to... feel confident knowing there is a place for you at this school, even though it might not feel like that in this moment.”

Mom looks at Dad, like,Well said, honey, and I’m tempted to overturn the table, watch with glee as all its contents smash against the floor.

“Okay,” I say instead. “So I have a place. I make some friends. Then what? Because I don’t remember those friends now! Who are they?Whereare they? And being on yearbook—I mean, all right, I see the value of documenting experiences so I can at least show my future self and be like,Bruh, look! You once watched a school football game!But I’m not convinced that’s enough to justify me going to school instead of playing video games with my brother who I really love and who has gotten much better at gaming since he was thirteen two weeks ago. The games are very competitive now, and that’s really good for me because it pushes me to be better and—”

“It has been super fun,” Lincoln agrees.

“Yes! See? It’s been super fun, and I am a boy with a messed-up mystery disorder, and I deserve this!”

Mom and Dad have no response to this, so the next minute is filled with nothing but chewing and the gentle clatter of forks and knives on plates.

“We’ll make you a deal,” Mom says finally.

A spark of hope lights within me. A deal is good. A deal is promising.

“Yeah?”

“If you go to school for ten days straight—”

“Aw man!”

“Listen! If you go for ten days—two weeks—and you go with an open mind, and you still feel this way after that, you can take off the following two weeks for, you know, doing whatever it is you’re dreaming of. All Nintendo Switch, all day. A couple of gap weeks. If you will.”

“Gap weeks? That’s not a thing.”

“It could be,” Mom says.

I don’t like this deal. This is a bad deal.