Chapter 23 #2
When I’ve turned into my neighborhood, I wave at a few of the old ladies who are watering their gardens or sitting on their porches, my lips turning up in a friendly smile.
Once I’m finally home, I push the door open and step into the air conditioning. “Gran?”
She doesn’t answer me, so I poke my head into the kitchen to look for her. There’s a piece of paper taped to the fridge, so I walk up and read it.
Gone to bingo, dinner’s in the fridge
Smiling, I pull open the fridge to see a plate wrapped in foil sitting on the top shelf. I ignore it for now, instead pulling out a bottle of water. Dropping my backpack on the table, I chug half the water and then leave it there as well so I can creep upstairs to my grandma’s room.
I’ve got to be able to find something. I’m sure my parents didn’t take every last thing with them when they left, and why would Gran throw any of it away?
Pushing her bedroom door open slowly, I keep my breathing quiet even though I’m home alone.
It just feels like I need to be silent as a mouse while I’m snooping through her things.
Her bedroom is tidy and smells like her, like roses and that signature scent her skin has.
It brings a smile to my lips as I walk through the room and look around, trying to decide where to start.
I choose the dresser drawers first, pulling them open one by one, seeing if they hold anything of interest. I’m disappointed when I only find neatly folded clothes, so I make sure they’re closed all the way before I go to the closet.
Her clothes hang just as neatly, her shoes lining the floor evenly underneath.
There are a few boxes in the far corner, so I drop to my knees and pull them out in front of me.
The first box is filled with childhood mementos—stuffed animals, a few trophies, old T-shirts—so I put the lid back on and move it to the side.
I lift the lid off the second box, and my heart stops when I find it filled with albums and loose photos.
I sit on my ass, crossing my legs in front of me so I can lay the first photo album open on my lap.
It’s filled with my mother’s face—at all ages.
I find family photos, showing a woman I recognize as a younger version of my gran with a man I’m assuming is my grandfather.
As I flip through the book, my mom gets older and older.
It starts with her as a baby, then moves on to her as an infant, then photos of her standing in front of the Christmas tree in my gran’s living room as a child.
Her blonde hair is identical to mine when I was little, and grief spreads through me like an infection, making tears fill my eyes. I keep flipping through, watching my mom grow up before me on the pages.
I’ve never seen either of my parents as children before, so I take my time examining every photo of my mom, memorizing every single thing about her when she was growing up.
I get to the end of the album and toss it to the side to grab the second one. My mom grows from a small child into a preteen wearing glitter tees and high-waisted denim skirts, then into a teenager with streaks through her hair and makeup on her beautiful face.
When I get to the end of this album, there’re tears running down my face and dripping onto the paper, so I try to wipe it away before I shut the book and put it to the side.
I lift the box into my lap, pulling out the loose photos that are in the bottom.
These are from when my mom was older, maybe a little younger than I am now, but definitely when she was at Blackmore University.
The first one has my dad in it too, as well as my uncle and another guy I don’t recognize.
My heart stops as I stare at my father and his twin brother, both of them on either side of my mom like they’re all the best of friends.
I study the third man, but my mind comes up blank—which isn’t weird, because why would I recognize someone my parents went to university with?
I flip over the photo, finding that it’s been written on with permanent marker. My entire body runs cold when I read the words, my lungs constricting and making me gasp for air.
ME & THE HALLOWS BOYS
My stomach turns to lead, making me feel sick. I huff a laugh.
I guess history really does repeat itself, huh?
I put the photo to the side, intent on keeping that one, then look at the next one. This one is of my mother with another girl, both of them probably around my age. I flip this one over too, finding that it’s been written on as well.
ME & M
Who the fuck is M?
I flip it back over, studying the girl’s face just in case I recognize it, but I don’t. There’s no reason for me to, though, since I’m assuming my parents left all their friends in the dust too when they left Blackmore.
Putting that one in my keep pile as well, I continue flipping through photos.
I find so many pictures of my mom with friends, my dad, my uncle, and the third Hallows Boy from their generation—I guess the founding fathers of the Games—and I keep them all.
The last photo is of ‘M’ again, with the Hallows Boys around her. Her face is twisted into a scowl, like she doesn’t want her photo taken. My dad and his friends are all laughing, and I assume it was my mother who took the photo since she isn’t in it.
I keep that one, too.
After I put all the random photos I don’t want back into the bottom of the box, I set the albums back on top of them before replacing the lid and putting the boxes back where I found them.
I leave my grandmother’s room, making my way to my bedroom to hide the pictures I’ve stolen underneath my mattress. I’m left with two thoughts as I lie down on top of my bedspread and stare up at the sky.
I need to figure out who M is and find the last Hallows Boy from their generation.