The Problem with Forever

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  I took my seat in speech with no memory of how I’d gotten there. As if through a tunnel, I saw Paige come in. She’d been out yesterday, as was Rider and obviously Hector.

  I took out my paper and smoothed my hands over it as I focused on taking deep and even breaths so I didn’t pass out.

  There was a good chance I was going to pass out.

  Just as the tardy bell rang, Rider strode into class and my heart lurched in my chest. I wasn’t expecting him to be here.

  Oh my word, I was so not expecting him to be here for this.

  My hands trembled as I dropped them into my lap. Paige’s eyes followed him as he headed toward the seat between us. Her smile was sad, and I didn’t know if he returned the gesture, but then he sat and looked over at me. He’d shaved and his clothing wasn’t wrinkled. His hair was a mess, though, like always.

  I hadn’t seen him since the funeral on Saturday.

  I hadn’t heard from him.

  And I couldn’t think about that right now.

  Rider’s gaze trekked over my face. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I whispered.

  His lashes lowered as his shoulders tensed. “Do you think—”

  “All right, class.” Mr. Santos clapped his hands, cutting us off. “We’ve got a lot of speeches to get through today, so we need to get started. So, welcome to speech number three—The Person Most Important to Me, one of my favorite of the year. I hope that in writing about someone who’s influenced you, you’ve learned a little something about who you are. And I hope by delivering your speech here today, you’ll remember to cherish the person you’re telling us about. Because as we were reminded of recently...” His gaze flickered briefly to Hector’s empty seat. “Life can be all too brief.”

  Whatever Rider was about to say to me faded to the background as Mr. Santos called the first student to the front of the class. Then the next student went up. Then Keira, who gave her speech clutching the podium. By that point I’d scooted to the edge of my seat, prepared to either make a mad dash for the door or fall out of my chair.

  On her way to her desk, she threw me a thumbs-up. I tried to smile, happy that she’d gotten through it, but I was currently doing everything to keep myself from running from the class. Next to me, Rider was braced on the edge of his own seat, his posture a strange mirror of mine.

  “Leon Washington, the floor is yours,” Mr. Santos said. “I’m sure we’re all dying to know about the influences that have molded you.”

  I didn’t hear a single thing Leon said. People were laughing, though, and Mr. Santos looked like he was considering early retirement, so I wished I’d been able to pay attention.

  “Mallory Dodge?” Mr. Santos called from his perch on the edge of his desk. His eyes were kind as they met mine, as kind as they’d been when I’d come to him at lunch yesterday with my odd request. “You’re up.”

  I heard Paige’s sharp laugh of surprise.

  I didn’t remember standing, but I saw the shock on Rider’s face as I stepped around my desk. Halfway there I realized I didn’t have my paper, and I had to go back and get it. My face was hot. Someone, a guy, chuckled. He sat in front of Paige.

  Paige kicked the back of his seat.

  Perhaps I had passed out and hit my head, because I couldn’t believe she’d done that, but no one else laughed—or if they did, I didn’t hear them over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears. I made it to the front of the room and turned, standing before the chalkboard and behind the podium.

  My gaze roamed over the class. Half weren’t even looking at me. They were staring into their laps or at their desks. Or their eyes were closed. That left the other half. Who were definitely looking at me.

  I glanced at Keira and she grinned, sticking up her thumb again.

  “Anytime you want to start,” Mr. Santos said.

  Nodding, I tried to swallow. I saw a sea of faces staring back at me. The seal started forming in the back of my throat.

  Someone coughed.

  This was...this was horrifying. Tears started to clog my throat. I looked to Mr. Santos for...for I don’t know what, and then I was staring at the class again.

  Out of all the faces, my gaze landed on Rider’s, and he...he nodded. I could practically hear his voice in my head. You can do this. And then it became my voice. He was right. I was right. I could. It would be painful and probably embarrassing—no, not embarrassing, because only I controlled whether or not I was embarrassed. And I could do this. And I wouldn’t be embarrassed. Even if I was, just a little, it didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. This speech wasn’t forever. Being embarrassed was not forever. None of this was forever.

  But trying was.

  Living was.

  My gaze fell to my paper and the seal slipped down my throat.

  Some people have one person who’s important to them. Who’s influenced them more than anyone else. Our assignment was to write about that one person, but as I wrote this speech I realized that I couldn’t pick just one. And when my story ends I hope you’ll understand why, but for my story to make sense, I need to start all the way at the beginning.

  Mouth dry, I didn’t look up at the class as I started again with the hardest three sentences I’d ever written or had to speak out loud.

  When I was a little girl, I used to hide in my closet. The space was dust-covered and dark, and it smelled like mothballs. But it was my sanctuary from the monsters outside. When I got older and I would have to hide, I used to fantasize that I lived in a house where the closets trapped all the monsters and where I would be safe in my bed. That I lived in a house with parents I could look up to and admire, and one day they would become the subjects of a speech I wrote about how they changed my life for the better. I didn’t live in that kind of house. But the monsters I hid from shaped who I’ve become by teaching me that kindness and love are things that should be given freely. They taught me who I never want to be. That’s why they’re important to me today.

  Two people adopted me when I was almost thirteen. They didn’t see a frightened child who didn’t speak. They saw a daughter, their daughter. They dedicated every spare moment to erasing the bad memories and beating back the nightmares. They opened up doors that had never been available to me before, and believed in me. They proved that love and kindness can be given freely and without expectation. They taught me to trust and that I no longer need to be afraid.

  When I was homeschooled I met a girl who had never had a problem speaking or meeting new people. At first I was envious of her openness and friendliness. Meeting people and making friends was something I wasn’t good at. We were polar opposites, and I never expected that one day she would become my best friend. She proved that you can find your best friend when you least expect it. And recently, she has influenced me by not taking what I have for granted.

  The really tough parts were coming up, so I took a brief pause and inhaled slowly before continuing.

  Just a few months ago, I met a boy who was kind to me even though he didn’t know me. He always had a smile, and charm to spare. I didn’t know this boy well, but his influence is possibly one of the greatest, because he has taught me to take nothing for granted, but most important, to have a smile for a stranger. He offered kindness when I needed it most, and I hope to do the same for others.

  The last important person in my life has been there since I can remember. He lived in the house where the monsters roamed the hall. He kept me safe when they got too close. He read to me when I was too scared to sleep. Because of him and all that he sacrificed to make sure I was safe, I’m able to get up every morning in my own bed. Because of him, I have a second chance at life.

  Stopping, I took another deep breath and glanced up, half expecting most of the class to be asleep. Some were. Only a few. The rest of the class stared, their faces a blur. I saw Paige. Shock was etched into her pretty face. I saw Rider, and he... His lips were parted and he was sitting rigidly in his seat, his arms limp at his sides.


  I forced myself to continue.

  But the reason why he is important to me is that he proved that helping those who need it, even if they think they don’t want help, was worth the risk. He has shaped who I am today because he was the first person to recognize that I had a voice worth listening to.

  Some people have one person who influenced them more than anyone else. I learned while writing this speech how glad I am to have many. That it’s a series of people and events that shape who you become. I learned that even monsters could have a positive impact. I learned that there are people out there that will open their homes and hearts for nothing in return. I learned that strangers could be tolerant and kind. I learned that those who are always helping others help themselves last. Most important, because of all of them, I learned that I could do what I thought was impossible—that I can stand here today.

  The room was quiet, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

  Mr. Santos cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mallory.”

  Gazes followed me as I walked back to my seat. Keira looked like she was seconds away from crying as she shot me a huge grin. Even Paige stared as I sat.

  I looked over at Rider.

  His face held the same expression he’d worn the entire time he sat through my speech, knowing what no one else other than maybe Paige realized—that it was about him. He looked thunderstruck.

  And I...I could’ve floated right up to the ceiling.

  I’d done it.

  Pressing my lips together to hide a stupid smile, I faced the front of the class. I’d done it. Holy crap, I’d really gotten up in front of the class and given a speech. I’d stumbled over words and there had been a lot of awkward pauses, but I’d done it. Tears, the good kind of tears, burned the back of my throat. I wanted to dance and shout. It took everything I had to sit there through Laura Kaye’s speech without jumping out of my seat and screaming.

  Mr. Santos called on me when the bell rang. I dared a quick peek in Rider’s direction as I gathered up my stuff and walked to the front of the class.

  Mr. Santos smiled as he clamped his hand on my shoulder. “You did really good, Mallory.”

  My heart was pounding. “I...I did.”

  He nodded. “I just want to let you know that I know how hard that was for you, especially with such personal subject matter. I’m proud of you.”

  I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

  “Now I expect you to be up here for every speech,” he said. “Do you think you can handle that?”

  Could I? I didn’t know, but I did know I would try. I nodded.

  “Good.” He patted my shoulder. “Have a good evening.”

  I murmured something along the lines of “You, too” as I turned around. Rider was already gone, and despite everything that had gone down between us, that surprised me. A lot. I’d thought he would’ve hung around to congratulate me, because he, of all people, knew what a big deal this was. But he was nowhere in sight.

  Walking out of the class, I told myself I wasn’t going to let his disappearance burst my happy bubble of accomplishment. It sucked that he wasn’t there, but...but what I’d done today was more important, and I knew just how I wanted to celebrate it.

  As soon as I got home from school that day, I went straight up to my room and dropped my bag on the floor by my bed. I opened the drawer on my desk, pulling out the supplies. I picked up the half-complete butterfly and took it over to the window seat. Sitting down, I finally finished the carving.

  It was fully transformed with delicate wings spanning out on either side of its small body. I’d even added a tiny smile below the indents for eyes.

  I placed it back on my desk, just below the last sketch Rider had done of me, and then picked up my history text. I had an exam to study for.

  * * *

  “Mallory?” Carl called. “Can you come downstairs?”

  Shoving the index card into my history text to mark my spot, I flipped the book closed and scooted off the bed. My sock-covered feet hit the floor. It was too early for dinner that night, so I had no idea why I was being summoned.

  I tucked a loose strand of hair back behind my ear as I went down the steps. Carl was standing just inside the living room. Rosa was standing beside him, but my gaze was glued to what he held in his hands. It was a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper.

  My steps slowed. “What is that?”

  “It’s for you.” He held out the package.

  I stared at it for a moment before reaching out to take it. “Um, why?”

  Rosa leaned into Carl. “It’s not from us, honey.”

  “Oh.” I turned the light package over. There was no writing on it, and the brown paper reminded me of a shopping bag. “Who’s it from?”

  “Why don’t you just open the package?” Carl advised.

  Huh. Good idea. I slipped my finger under the edges and peeled off the tape. The paper came right off and the moment I saw what was underneath, my heart leaped into my throat.

  It was a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit.

  Not the old copy Rider used to read to me, but a shiny new one. A blue hardcover edition with the rabbit standing up on a small, grassy mound.

  The brown packaging slipped from my fingers and fell noiselessly to the floor. There was a piece of paper sticking out of the pages. With trembling hands, I carefully opened the book. The thin slip of paper was nothing more than a torn sheet of notebook paper, but a large section of print was highlighted in blue.

  “What is REAL?” the Velveteen Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?”

  “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”

  “Does it hurt?” asked the Velveteen Rabbit.

  “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”

  “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand. But once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.”

  Rider had drawn a line from the last sentence to the margin, where he had written, It lasts for forever.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered hoarsely. Squeezing my eyes shut, I held the book to my chest. Those highlighted lines were everything. They summed up how I felt, how I’d changed. None of it happened all at once, but once it happened, it couldn’t be undone. And it happened because I was loved. By Carl and Rosa, by Ainsley and even Rider, but most important, by myself.

  Carl cleared his throat. “I think you should open the door.”

  My eyes flew open and my gaze shot to them. “What?”

  Rosa nodded at the door with a small curl of her lips. “Go on, honey.”

  I stood there for a moment and then I whirled around. Racing to the door, I turned the handle and yanked it open. My breath caught.

  Rider was on the stoop and he turned slowly. He was wearing what he had in class earlier today. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He wore an actual sweater for once, a thick wool one in navy blue.

  His gaze roamed over my face and then to the book I still held to my chest. “I’m real.”

  Those two words. I’m real. No one else might have gotten the significance of them, but I knew they meant the world. Tears clouded my eyes as I stepped back and to the side, holding the door open for him.

  Relief flickered over his face and he walked in. I closed the door, unable to speak, and not for the t
ypical reasons.

  “Keep the door open up there,” Carl advised, and then he pivoted on his heel and walked into the kitchen.

  Rosa smiled at us.

  Looking at me, Rider waited, and I nodded. He followed me up the stairs to my bedroom. I left the door open. Sort of. There was at least a one-inch gap between the door and its frame.

  Rider went to the window seat and he sat. His weary gaze followed me. I walked to the side of the bed facing him and sat on the corner. A tired smile pulled at his lips. “I don’t know where to start,” he said.

  “Anywhere,” I whispered, clutching the book as hope and wariness warred inside me.

  He lowered his chin. “I guess I’ll start with the speech. That was... It was beautiful. The words, what you said, what you meant? But the fact that you got up there and did it was the most beautiful of all those things. I mean it, Mallory.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.