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“No, I can't.”

Why is he asking me it like that?

Does he not believe me?

Why would I make that up?

Crooking his jaw, his eyes bounced around my face. “And you're sure of that? Nothing? Not one thing?” His questions came out more like an accusation, like he thought I was holding back, and my claims weren't real.

That wasn't true. I was trying like hell to force it out, but there was nothing there for me to grab.

“Yes, I'm sure. Do you think I'm lying?” Angling my head, I traced the rim of the glass with the tip of my finger. I was angry that he was asking me that way, that his tone insinuated he didn't trust what I was saying, and I was full of shit.

“No, I don't think you're lying, it's just. . .” Pausing, he pulled his eyes away, staring at anything that wasn't my face. “It's just strange, that's all.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, like he had so many more words to give me. But he didn't, he stopped there, hanging his head and braiding his fingers together.

“How old are you?” I asked, taking another drink from the cup.

“Fifteen.”

I was close.

We both sat quietly for a few seconds, but that silence was uncomfortable. I wanted to talk and learn, with the hopes that conversation was the key to my memories coming back. I could feel it, I could feel that my past was there, but it felt like it was on mute.

“How old do you think I am?”

Shrugging his shoulder, he lifted his head. “I don't know, about my age.”

“Hm, maybe.”

He could be right, it felt like that was the right answer, but I didn't know for sure.

“I've never seen you around here before, so I don't think you live here.” Popping his eyes open wide, his mouth dropped into his chest. “I've got an idea, we could look through my yearbook, maybe you're a little older than me.”

That's perfect!

“Yeah, let's do that. Can you go get it?”

Birch jumped from the seat and ran out of the room. He wasn't gone long, only a minute or two before he returned with a big book under his arm. “We can go through tenth grade. I'm in ninth, so I know you're not in my grade.”

“Ninth?”

“Yeah, my parents kept me back in kindergarten. My dad said he didn't think I was ready to move up. It is what it is, I didn't have a say in it. Like everything else around here, it's not up to me.” His eyes flickered, pupils dancing in the sockets as he looked at me.

I was tempted to ask him what he meant, why he had said it with such disdain for his father. Wasn't that how it worked? Weren't your parents the ones who made all the decisions?

Angling my head, I parted my lips, ready to question him. But I stopped myself. It didn't really matter what his relationship was like with his parents. I needed to find out who I was, I needed to go home, to my parents.

“Do you think I'm in there?” I asked, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“I don't know, let's find out.” Pulling out the seat next to me, he flipped through the pages until he found the section he was looking for. Folding the yearbook open on the table, we both started scanning the pictures.

Throwing out my finger, I pointed at a young girl. “That kind of looks like me.” She had the same hair, same small round nose. The resemblance was so close, my heart started to beat faster as I leaned in closer. Thinning my lips with disappointment, I shook my head. “No, no it's not. Keep going.”

We went through every single picture, and nothing. I wasn't in there. I came from another place, a different school or city all together. It was deflating to not find my image in that book. I was really hoping that it would have been that easy.

I was praying that I had just been out for a walk and hit my head, and that my parents were only a few blocks away. Or that I had gotten lost and disoriented, and in a panic my brain had shut down completely, erasing everything I had once known.