I took a deep breath and began trekking to one end of the high school parking lot. Connor said he’d be driving his dad’s rusty pick-up truck, so it should be easy to spot. My eyes glided over the cars in the honor student parking lot. I walked casually in between the school buses starting at the tennis courts, and made my way to the opposite end being careful to scan each truck for rust and the sign of a tall, dark-haired college student. Students filed out of the school, chattering and laughing and living in a world far apart from my own. I walked back along the length of the parking lot as they wandered past; no one noticed me, and no one said anything.

When I was finally out of sight of a group of about a dozen seniors, my search became more frantic. The buses had just pulled away, and the rusty pick-up truck was still nowhere to be found. Did he forget? Was he coming?

No one ever comes, the voice told me. They always forget. Why do you still wait? Why do you still believe?

I rolled my eyes at how dramatic the voice could be. So what if he was a few minutes late? It’s not as if he just decided to ditch me or anything.

You’ll see, the voice simply said. It always happens this way. Try not to get your hopes up.

My mind began to wander. I drifted away to the same place I always went to when I was forgotten: spelling bee practice. I was eleven years old and a member of the middle school spelling bee team. Practices always took place after school until three o’clock. Fortunately, my parents never had a problem with this. My mother picked me up once a week behind the school at exactly three o’clock. Then one day, she just forgot.

It was something I had never experienced before. The other kids from the spelling bee were picked up one by one, and I was left standing there, pacing back and forth across the blacktop behind the middle school, just as I now paced the high school parking lot.

I pushed the memory from my mind. I didn’t want to remember that day. I didn’t want to remember wandering into the main office and, in a trembling voice, asking to use the phone. When the secretary asked me what was wrong, I managed to hold back my tears. I told her there was nothing wrong and called my mother, who apologized profusely. Somehow, that only made me feel worse. My mother’s memory didn’t improve after that; everything went downhill, really. I never knew when she would finally show up, and I was left standing behind the middle school and the junior high school on enough occasions to make me fear the end-of-the-day school bell far more than was healthy for a normal child. My mother always apologized, and I said I forgave her. The fear never really went away.

But he’s different, I reasoned. Connor is very loyal, very dedicated, and never forgets any plans we make.

The voice was unconvinced. Then where is he?

Two girls who I knew from my English class wandered past me discussing Chaucer. When they looked back at me, confused, I realized that I’d stopped traversing the parking lot, and was standing stock-still staring out into space.

“Do you need a ride, Emma?” The shorter one, Amanda, asked.

I felt my stomach clench. There was nothing worse than those pitying, concerned eyes. That’s why I always tried to keep moving, to make it seem as if I was headed towards my imaginary car. The offers always made the situation come to life; there was no way I could deny that I’d been forgotten if it was so noticeable to everyone else.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled politely. “No, thanks. My friend’s coming to get me.”

They nodded and picked up their conversation where it left off without take a single look back. I sighed, relieved that my voice hadn’t gone funny and given away my distress.

There’s nothing to be worried about, I assured myself. Forgetting is mom’s department, remember? She’s the one who never comes.

No, the voice replied. No one ever comes.

…I got my license when I turned sixteen, but I didn’t have a car until nearly a year after that. All my transportation needs depended upon my parents and my best friend, Kelly. Since my mother could only be counted on to show up fifty percent of the time, I rode with Kelly to school in the morning and tried to forget about being left behind. Unfortunately, teenagers can be just as fickle as middle-aged mothers.

Kelly didn’t go to school if she was more than five minutes late. She didn’t go to school if she was too tired, or it was too cold outside, or she just didn’t feel like it. At first she called me when she wouldn’t be coming, but after a while it didn’t seem to really matter anymore.

So in the dusky blue early morning, I found myself sinking into the couch, the collar of my thick, fur winter coat resting lightly against my lips. The house was dark and silent. I barely blinked as I started at the wall across from me, waiting for a pair of headlights to stream across the deep-green wallpaper signaling that Kelly’s car had finally pulled into the driveway. Often, the lights never came. I could never get back to sleep on those days.

I was always able to forgive Kelly for not being there; she was my best friend, how could I not? But on the days when Kelly was at home and I actually made it to school, I went back to dreading the end of the day. I felt cold fear clench onto me whenever I walked out of those thick double doors and my mother’s red mini-van was nowhere in sight. Sometimes, my sister Chelsea would be with me, and we’d give each other knowing looks. She’s late again, our faces would say, and we would talk and laugh and let the uneasiness wash away because this time we weren’t alone. Who knows what next time could bring?

My parents divorced when I was sixteen. My father started dating before the final papers were even signed. Suddenly, I had a new twenty-year-old mom living in my house. Her name was Jessica, and I was slow to trust her with anything, especially with rides after school. She started picking me up almost every day and was never late. I allowed myself to believe that she wouldn’t forget, that she wasn’t like my mother.

My sister and I happened to walk out of the high school one day towards the end of the school year. She was being picked up by my mother; and I, by Jessica. As usual, my mother was nowhere to be seen. What was unusual about the day, was that Jessica also seemed to be missing.

Upon coming to this conclusion, I was immediately enveloped in a suffocating cloud of dread, embarrassment, guilt, panic, and pain thick as water. My head swiveled as I searched the parking lot frantically for Jessica’s small, dark green Chrysler, but to no avail. My sister was suddenly next to me. She didn’t trust Jessica. I was constantly defending her to my sister, saying she was reliable, that she wasn’t all bad. This was just the thing she needed to smash my point to bits.

It seems the members of my family all think alike, because after she realized that I could not find my ride, my sister smirked triumphantly and said the words that I had, up until that point, squeezed deep into the back of my mind.

“Ha! See? Jessica is just like Mom.”

It was something I couldn’t have possibly responded to. There was no excuse, no justification I could find for Jessica’s absence. I smiled as best I could and shrugged off the comment. Luckily, my sister was oblivious to my distress.

Jessica showed up only a few moments later, long before my mother arrived to get Chelsea. Jessica had been held up a few minutes at a stop in the middle of town. She apologized, and I said it was no big deal.

I’d never cried about being forgotten. I always told myself that it was silly, no big deal, and not worth shedding tears over. When we got home, I went into my room, stuffed my face in my pillow, and cried. Later, I felt guilty that it was Jessica who got my tears instead of my real mother….

Nearly ten minutes had passed since school let out, and there was still no sign of Connor. I sighed, took my watch off, and shoved it into my pocket.

This is stupid, I told myself. It’s only been ten minutes. So he’s late, so what? Why are you getting all worked up? It’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Shouldn’t you be used to this?

I didn’t want to be used to it.

The voice taunted me: You could have asked Kelly to wait with you, just in case. You should have expected this. They always forget.

So he forgot, so what? It’s just one time.

You trusted him too easily. They never come. No one ever comes.

The words echoed in my mind. “No one ever comes. No one ever comes. They never come.” I knew it wasn’t true. There were people out there I could rely on. My older brother, Chris, never once let me down when I asked him to pick me up after play practice in ninth grade. My father had never been late picking me up for anything. I silently cursed Kelly for her laziness, I cursed Jessica for the traffic she couldn’t control, and I cursed my mother for simply being who she was.

There was little traffic coming out of the school now. Ten or fifteen cars scattered the parking lot at random, and every so often someone would roll in to pick up a stray student. I finally gave up pretending to search for my car; the only kids left would probably notice that I was only walking back and forth along the lot. I dropped my backpack onto the sidewalk and sat down heavily upon the bottom step in front of one of the side entrances. I’d spent a lot of time on that step. In fact, nearly an entire hour of my life took place in that very spot only a few months before.

It was the week that I was let out early. Two college classes were offered in the high school, and the second semester didn’t start until a week after normal classes started. So after the first half of my day was over, I was allowed to leave. Kelly didn’t take college classes, so my only way option was to ask my mother to pick me up. It was only two days, a Monday and a Wednesday. I’d just have to remind her as much as I could the night before.

On the first day, I waited outside the school for twenty minutes before I gave up and walked home. It was the middle of winter. My mp3 player didn’t work in the cold. It was painful, being forgotten and forced to trudge home in the snow with no comforting distractions to the accusations cursing through my mind.

You knew this would happen, said the voice, and you still asked for a ride. You still trusted her. You gave her another chance, and now you are paying for it. Now you are being punished for it.

I had no defense against the voice.

My mother found me when I was two-thirds of the way to my house. I’d been walking for about only thirty minutes, but between the biting cold of the air and the biting words of the voice, I was mentally and physically exhausted. My mother’s immediately reaction was anger: “Where were you? Why were you walking home? Why didn’t you wait for me?” She told me that she’d walked all over the school. She talked to my friend Katelyn, who worked in the attendance office. At this I cringed, knowing that Katelyn would ask me about it tomorrow, and that I would tell her the whole story. I never could help spilling a story when it was requested of me. Fortunately, I was easily able to twist this one into an annoying comedy; add a person here, change a few words there, and suddenly my mother spent the afternoon following me around town trying to get my attention, while I was having too much fun walking and listening to my mp3 player to notice her. I never told anyone about my mp3 player’s little disability.

The Monday didn’t go very well, so I called my mother Tuesday night to remind her to pick me up the next day. When I didn’t immediately see my mother’s mini-van, I kept in mind that she chewed me out the day before for waiting only twenty minutes. So, once again, it was just the step and I, sitting chilled against the cold wind. I memorized every intricate detail of the face of my watch during that time, and finally gave up after about fifty minutes of waiting. I used the office phone to call my mother’s house, then to call my house to see if Jessica was home yet. No luck. So I began my second trek of the week.

It wasn’t as cold that day, but it was still winter. I took the back streets through town: the last thing I wanted now was to have my mother pick me up again. I didn’t mind her chewing me out for not waiting. It was the apologizing I couldn’t stand. While I always forgave her out loud, I could never bring myself to forget it in my mind. My throat tightened and tears stung my eyes whenever she finally showed up. I never knew why, but the feeling, the painful clenching of my stomach and fear that she would find out how upset I was…I was so afraid of it, of her finding out. My biggest fear in life was disappointing and being disappointed.

Taking the back roads through town took much longer than the straight shot, so when I got to Main Street I stopped in the public library to warm up my body and cool down my mind.

The library was small, but there was always an open table in the back waiting for me. I sat down and was soon listening to Muse on my mp3 player and reading my latest book purchase, My Name is Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok. Nothing cooled down my head like a good rock song and a good book.

It wasn’t five minutes since I’d started reading when I heard a disturbance coming from the front of the library. I pulled down my headphones and immediately recognized my mother’s voice. In the next instant, I was at the front of the building.

“Where were you!” my mother cried, flailing her arms around. She stood next to the desk, eyes wide, dark dry hair shaking with her angry head. The two librarians behind the desk were staring at her as if she’d just written love notes in all of their books. I did a quick double take and recognized one of the librarians as Amanda, the girl from my English class. I felt my ears going red.

My mother took hold of my shoulders and forced my attention back to her. “Honey,” she continued, “you can’t just leave like that. I didn’t know where you were! I checked the offices, and Katelyn didn’t know where you were. What was I supposed to do? You can’t do that to me.”

A million thoughts ran through my mind at once. I can’t do this to you? What have you done to me? Why can’t you see what you’ve done to me?

My eyes slid over her shoulder to Jennifer, who still stood behind the desk, watching our little scene with interest. The interest turned to guilt when she caught me looking at her.

“What am I going to do with you?” my mother was saying. I didn’t realize how painful her grip on my shoulders was until she let go.

“Mom, I’m seventeen,” I told her. “It’s not that big of a deal if I walk home, it’s not that far.”

She didn’t seem to have heard me. “Why didn’t you call me? You should have called and reminded me!”

I lowered my voice to nearly a whisper in an attempt to get her to quiet down. “I did call you. Nobody answered.”

“I was sleeping!” Her anger and frustration turned to guilt in the blink of an eye. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry!” I was wrapped in an unexpected bear hug. Jennifer had resumed watching our show. My ears felt like they would fall off. I hated when she apologized. Why couldn’t she just be on time? Why couldn’t I just walk home every day and never have to worry about this pain, embarrassment, fear, this burning in the backs of my eyes ever again? I would never see another concerned face, interested onlooker, pitying glance, and never again hear the mocking question, “Do you need a ride or something?”

I felt myself push my mother’s large body away from me. She stumbled back and I pitched myself forward and out the door, looking back only once to see Jennifer’s face, her confused, pitying, thoroughly entertained face.

I walked the rest of the way home.

It had now been fifteen minutes since school let out. I couldn’t help but pull my watch out of my pocket to check the time. Maybe I would set a new waiting record?

What does it matter if he shows up anyway? I asked myself. It will just be another story to add to my collection. Maybe I could turn it into a romance: I could just tell everyone that I was waiting again for my mother, and that Connor, my knight in shining armor just happened to dash up proudly and pull me up onto his steed.

Please, the voice said, who would believe that? You all ready told Kelly that Connor was picking you up after school. You’d better start walking, or you’ll be here all day. What if someone you know comes by and sees you? What if Katelyn sees and offers you a ride home. What if she gives you the look? What if you accidentally tell the truth this time?

I rose off of the step and gazed slowly at the entirety of the parking lot. The track team was practicing across the street. There was no one else standing by the doors anymore, and there were only five cars left in the lot. I was just making my way along the sidewalk towards the road, when an old rusty pick-up truck rattled into the parking lot.

I froze.

The truck pulled into a spot nearby. A tall, dark-haired teenager hopped out of the driver’s side door and bounded across the pavement towards me.

“Hey!” he called out of breath when he reached the steps. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I thought you were in the other parking lot.”

I stood, steadying my gaze on Connor’s deep green eyes. All of my fears, doubts, and memories faded into the background leaving a chilling cold in the pit of my stomach. Connor grinned apologetically as he waited for my response, and I shot him what I hoped was a convincing smile.

“You spent almost fifteen minutes circling the teachers’ parking lot?” I asked, urging the chill away. I wished for a moment that he hadn’t shown up at all.

He shrugged and looked at his watch. “Only ten according to this thing. Were you waiting long?”

I shook my head, took a deep breath, and made my way to his truck. The track students across the way were headed back toward the school.

See that? I asked the voice, forcing myself to calm completely. Sometimes they come. I smiled at Connor when he opened the door for me.

The voice didn’t reply for a moment. Connor started the truck, and we pulled out of the parking lot.

But will he be here next time?