Eight Weeks (Unfrozen Four Book 2)
Eight Weeks: Chapter 6

“met a lot of people but nobody feels like you”—It’s You by Ali Gatie

“Tell me one more thing about him!” Miles begs as his friend Kya pulls up in front of my aunt’s house.

I shrug. “Wouldn’t know what to tell you.”

I never thought that on my first day back in New City, I would walk right into my childhood crush, then replace out he’s somewhat popular and far more good-looking than I had remembered. I also didn’t think I would end up in a bar that night or get a ride home from a friend of said childhood crush’s friend.

“Tell me embarrassing stories about Aaron. I have to have something against him.”

I truly wish I could tell Miles more, but I don’t know that much about Aaron. He’s all grown up now. He’s still into hockey, that much I figured. But aside from that… nothing. I doubt he still plays with Hot Wheels or his sister’s Barbie’s because he’s being forced to occupy her. I don’t think Aaron still goes out every Monday to pick a flower off the ground and give it to his mother. I also don’t think he still sings along to “Too Little, Too Late” by JoJo while brushing his teeth.

There is nothing I can tell Miles. And the little things I know from when we were younger, I will gatekeep them forever.

“I haven’t spoken to him in thirteen years. Even if I wanted to tell you more, there is nothing to say.” Except for the fact that we both have one half to a necklace. But he isn’t wearing it anymore.

It doesn’t surprise me. He’s probably had ten girlfriends by now. Plus, a promise made at the age of eight cannot last. Especially not when you’re worlds apart from the other.

“You done? I promised Eira I would be there at six. We still got an hour and a half to drive, Miles,” Kya says. Kya seems to be all okay. I haven’t been talking to her, but she was kind enough to give me a ride home, even though Wesley Hills is in the other direction from New York City.

“Who’s Eira?” I ask, my mouth being faster than my brain. I shouldn’t ask because this is none of my business.

“Colin Carter’s sister. I tutor her because she can’t attend school anymore. Not a clue why it has to be at six in the morning on a Sunday, but I suppose it’s better than never seeing her again.” Giving me a quick smile, she turns to look at Miles again. I get the feeling she’s kind, but not to everyone. Like, for some unknown reasons she just hates me even though she doesn’t know me at all. “What are you doing in New York this early anyway?”

I hop out of the car before I could hear his answer. I’m not here to make friends. It’s only eight more months until graduation. I am here to study, get my degree and be done with school shit for the rest of my life. Plus, I swore to stay away from the hockey crowd shortly after I left for Germany oh so many years ago.

I’ve gotten my heart broken by one hockey player, and I wasn’t going to risk that happening ever again. Not by friends of said heartbreaker anyway.

You guys were eight. Just get over it already.

I unlock the front door of my aunt’s house. She said I could keep the spare key as long as I’m staying here, so at least I don’t have to ring the doorbell all the time.

As I enter, I am greeted by a cloud of smoke. The living room lights are turned on, yet all I really see is—surprise—smoke. Not a fire kind of smoke. Cigarette smoke.

“Nicole?” I call out, but as she doesn’t respond, I know this can only be Hugo, my uncle. Well, technically he’s not my uncle as my aunt isn’t married to him. I have absolutely no idea how Nicole can keep him around.

I haven’t even been here for a day, and I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze tightly.

“Germany, is that you?” Hugo asks from the living room at the same time as another wave of smoke rushes through the air. “Come here, pretty face. Say hello to your uncle.”

I don’t bother going anywhere near that smoked-up living room. “Sorry, I’m really tired!” As fast as I can, I rush up the stairs, into my provisionally bedroom, locking the door right behind me.

It’s one thing to live with people that are basically strangers to you by now, and another when one of these strangers is a pedophilic asshole.

I believe my mother has tried getting rid of Hugo more often than Nicole has.

When we used to live here and Nicole stopped by for a visit, accompanied by her “picture perfect” boyfriend Hugo, my mother would tell my sister and me to change into clothes that don’t show too much skin.

Imagine having to worry about your sister’s man looking at children in a way he definitely shouldn’t. Nuh-uh.

If my mother knew he is still around, she would book the next flight to New City and drag my ass out of this house faster than I could blink.

As I open my suitcase to replace some more comfortable clothes to wear, I notice a carton box right under the bed with the inscription: “Sofia”

It’s my handwriting, well, the one I had when I was seven. I must have written it shortly before we moved. One of the few boxes my parents decided not to take with us as they were “unnecessary”.

In a matter of seconds, I’m changed into a big shirt and shorts. My hair is just thrown up into a bun that definitely won’t survive the next thirty minutes, but who even cares.

Reaching underneath the bed, I pull out the box, almost choking on the wave of dust that comes my way when I blow it off as much as possible.

You know the feeling, when you investigate and replace out some information you could have lived without?

Opening this box is one of those moments for me.

This box contains all of my old pictures with Lily, Aaron, and me. Even a picture of the three of us when Aaron had just bought us matching frog stuffed animals. He got them for us as a friendship present. Well, his father bought them, but Aaron made him do it, okay?

I remember looking for that thing the entire day before I moved away, and as I couldn’t replace it, Aaron gave me his.

He said, “keep it so you will never forget me, Icicle.”

Oh how could I ever forget him? Even without having the frog sitting on my bed daily, I would have never been able to forget him.

I pick up one of the pictures, the one that was taken just before I left the Marsh’s house for the last time.