FORGET YOU LAUREN

CHAPTER 22

At that time: 17 years
Lauren POV
DEAR CAMILA,

(This is another truce message)

Your painting, I Hate Him, won first place at the state art fair over the weekend. (I thought you said that you were done painting me with knives in my chest?)

I was already there since I won the essay contest, so I told them I lived next door to you, and they let me accept the blue ribbon and cash prize on your behalf. I don't want to put it in your mailbox, so I'll keep it on my desk.

Let me know when you want me to bring it over.

Forget You,

Lauren

***
DEAR CAMILA ,

I'm sorry about the passing of your mother.

Sincerely,
Lauren

***
I CRUMPLED MY LETTER and tossed it through Camila's window. It landed on her desk, right on top of all the other letters I'd thrown.

When her mom was diagnosed with stage four cancer months ago,Camila refused to believe it. She stormed out of her house and up to my room whenever her mother started to say things like, "When I'm gone, make sure you..." or "When it's you and your dad, don't forget to..."

She was too convinced that her mom would beat it, and she didn't want to listen.

Even though my parents (and a lot of other people in the neighborhood) wanted to be hopeful, they braced for the worst.

Camila was the only one who didn't.

Ever since the funeral, she'd sat on her bedroom floor, crying.

Her extended family paraded casseroles and flowers through her front door for the first couple of weeks—waving at me as I looked on, but they eventually stopped coming by.

I tossed tons of letters through her window, telling her how sorry I was, asking her if she needed anything, but she never tossed one back to me.

The few friends she had at school (Well, "classmates" since she didn't have any real friends), never stopped by her house to see if she was okay, and from what I could tell, they never called or sent letters either. When I confronted one of her art club-mates, to see when she was planning to visit, she said, "Why can't Camila visit me? I mean, she's a pretty tough girl. I'm sure she's not crying about something like this for all this time, right?"

Standing up from my desk, I decided it was time to stop waiting on Camila to write me back. The sympathy flowers on her porch were dying, and she and her father hadn't left the house in forever.

I made a few calls to places in town and changed clothes. Then I picked up a bouquet of lilies from her mother's favorite floral shop, and parked my car in her driveway.

I rang her doorbell, but there was no answer.

I rang the doorbell again.

Still no answer.

Knocking as hard as I could, I waited five minutes before walking to the edge of her porch. I lifted up the fourth flower pot and picked up her spare key.

Stepping inside, I noticed Mr. Cabello sitting in the living room. He was staring at the television, and tears were falling down his face.

"Do you, Alejandro Cabello , take Sinuhe Estrabao to be your lawfully wedded wife?" A deep voice came through the speakers.

Mr. Cabello nodded and sobbed as he continued to watch his wedding video.

I walked through the dining room and headed upstairs, but Camila wasn't there. I checked all the other rooms, and made my way down to the kitchen.