High School Romance ✓

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

"Let's get you home now," Taylor said.

"Okay," Courtney said. She followed Taylor to her house, the house she hadn't been to in three weeks.

"They don't know that you don't remember them."

"Okay. One question: who do I live with?"

"Your mother and father."

"Okay," she said for the third time. She took a deep breath and walked into the house.

"Courtney!" her parents said at the same time.

"She lost her memory. She doesn't remember anything," Taylor said.

"How's Blake taking it?" her mother asked.

"Not well. He blames himself since the whole thing was his idea."

Courtney looked out the window and saw Blake there. She excused herself and went out to meet him. "Don't blame yourself. I couldn't stand it if you did that any longer," she said.

"I-I," he said.

"No," she said, "I don't care how you think this is all your fault, it's not!"

"O-okay," Blake said, stunned by her words.

"Sorry, that was a little harsher than I intended."

"It's all right." He sighed. He wasn't looking at her.

"I'm sorry I don't remember. I really, truly wish I did."

"It's all right," he repeated.

"No, it's not. I am so sorry, Blake," she whispered to him.

She went back inside the house then, leaving him standing there.

When Courtney went inside, Taylor went out. She went outside to talk to her brother. "Blake, she'll come around," she said.

"I don't know about that," he said. "The doctors don't think there's hope for her."

"They said she wouldn't wake up, and she did that. They're wrong again; she will remember, entirely. You can't just give up on her! Remember how you didn't even leave her room? Don't let her go now. If you do that she'll never remember."

"Okay," he nodded, thinking about it.

"Now, where is her wedding dress?"

"In her guest room, back closet. Why?"

"No reason," Taylor grinned. "Fine, I have a plan, okay?"

"Fine," Blake said.

Taylor went back in the house and retrieved the dress. Blake went to his house, up to his room. Taylor found a note, stuck in the back of the closet. It was in Courtney's handwriting, from almost four years ago. It said,

What I think? You are just perfect.

Could it be, that I am worth it? Is

this thing an open door, walk right

through to something more? I love you.

-Courtney.

It had been crumpled up and thrown. Taylor put it back and took the dress out.

She went to Courtney's room and placed it on her bed. Then she went and got Courtney. The two of them went to her room. "This is such a pretty dress, isn't it?" Taylor asked.

"It is," Courtney said. She moved closer, carefully touching the fabric of her wedding dress. Neither of them said anything more. Courtney closed her eyes as a memory came back to her. She remembered pointing the dress out to Blake. Next came the memory of receiving the dress, then when Taylor told her the price of it. Tears streamed down her face and she rushed out of the room, now having her memory back.

She threw the door of Blake's house open and ran up the stairs. "Sullivan!" she called, throwing the door to his room open as well. When she spotted him, she tackled him to the ground and gave him a kiss.

"You remember?" he asked, breathless.

"What gave you your first clue?" she asked, half teasing. She rolled off of him, allowing both of them to sit up.

"Well, let's see here, you knew where I lived, you barged in without knocking, you yelled in the house, you called me, 'Sullivan,' you tackled me, and you kissed me," he listed them off. "The last one is my favorite," he said.

"Mine too," she grinned.

"I missed you," he said.

"I don't miss not remembering, but I do miss having a super amazing stalker." Blake blushed.

"You knew about that?" he asked.

"Why are you still even asking that? Of course I did!"

"I don't know." He smoothed his hair.

"You are really quite adorable when you do that, you know," she smiled. "I love you."

"I'll love you forever," he replied.

"I was thinking November 15," she said.

"What for?" Blake asked.

"For our wedding. What do you think?"

"I think that's perfect," he said.

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