“Gia, I know you,”
I looked behind at someone who was calling me ‘Gia’. That wasn’t my name. Or was it? I pang of fear hit me. When you can’t remember your name, then something is going on that you should be worried about.
Behind me was a guy, probably fourteen of fifteen. He had short brown hair and he was tall. He had broad shoulders and blue eyes. “You know me?” I asked. Maybe he could help me. He seemed trustworthy.
“Yes. You’re Gia Hampton,”
“How do you know that? How do you know who I am? I don’t even know you,” I wanted to tell him I didn’t even know myself, but I didn’t want to seem vulnerable and out there.
“Sounds like amnesia…,” he mumbled.
“What?” I asked.
“You have amnesia,”
“What’s that?”
“Exactly,” the guy said. He paused then said, “I am Michael Di Angelo. We’ve been dating since sixth grade. You are Gianna Hampton, but people call you Gia, for short. You are fifteen, and so am I. Your parents are dead. They died during the accident. You somehow lived, unscarred, but you have amnesia. Your favorite band is Coldplay and you hate pecans. You think Paris is overrated and you still sleep with a security blanket that smells like grape juice because you spilled a gallon of it on the blanket when you were six. See? I know you.”
I felt bad. I didn’t know who he was referring to. Me? I didn’t feel like my name was Gianna, or even had a nickname, Gia.“What was the accident?” I asked
“Car accident,” he whispered. I realized he was starting to cry. It seemed very wrong for him to cry. After all, he was helping me. “Don’t cry,” I told him.
“You don’t understand,” Michael said. His tears disappeared, “I love you,”
I didn’t know what to say. I just met him! Well, at least that was what I had been thinking. There was a long pause. “C’mon,” he said, easily collecting himself, “Let’s get you to the hospital,”