Free Consider by Kristy Acevedo Page B

forgetting? There’s something else. I know there’s something. Something. Something. If I forget it, something bad will happen. Something really bad. And I won’t be able to fix it.
    STOP IT.
    The loop continues. I dig through my dirty laundry, then open and close every drawer in my room, searching and double checking for something to remind me what I could be forgetting. My body sweats as I spin in circles.
    STOP IT. Everything’s fine.
    But what if it’s not fine? What if I left an iron plugged in? What if I start a fire? What if I go fishing and then come back and the house is burned down? What if my parents and Benji are burnt to a crisp and they have to use their dental records to identify the bodies? What if the police think I did it on purpose? What if . . .
    I take a pill and wait for it to rescue me.
    Dominick and I walk along the wide cement pier that extends from New Bedford’s Fort Taber into the Atlantic. A metal barrier protects us from falling into the water. Old-fashioned light posts line the left side of the walkway. Even at the early hour, the ocean air is cool but thick with late-August humidity. The wind restores the emptiness inside me from panicking earlier. My old counselor used to tell me that spending more time outside would help my anxiety. Maybe I should’ve listened. As we reach the end of the pier, the wide ocean stretches out for us in full panoramic glory. The Butler Flats lighthouse sits proudly in the water. Sailboats drift past on the horizon. Across the harbor, I can see my town, Fairhaven, marked by two wind turbines in the distance. I can see why the pier was a favorite place for Dominick and his father.
    The air at the end of the pier, however, reeks like moldy cat food mixed with fish armpit. If they had armpits. There are always certain summer days when the ocean seems to ripen, and the wind carries the rotten stench of decaying beach life. Growing up here, you would think I would’ve adjusted. Impossible.
    Dominick bought a bucket of live green crabs for bait. Brownish-green bodies the size of quarters huddle on top of one another.
    “Aw, do you have to?” I complain as he grabs one for the line. “It’s cute.”
    “It’s eat or be eaten,” he says. “Nature’s way.” He jabs the underbelly of the crab with the hook. I cringe.
    “Can’t we be above nature?” I ask.
    He gives me that look, the one that says to stop pretending I’m a philosopher to hide that I’m being a wimp. I hate that look.
    “Let’s get you fishing,” he says.
    Moving behind me, Dominick wraps his arms around my arms and places his hands over my hands to show me how to cast the line. My body moves with his body, and I soak in his strength and confidence.
    “Do you think the other planet has fishing?” I ask.
    “Don’t know. Probably if they have oceans, they have fish. But I read that scientists believe oceans on other planets might not be made of water.”
    “What then? Milk?” I tease.
    “More like liquid hydrogen. But then the planet wouldn’t be habitable for people. Or fish.”
    I look out at the water. “Imagine if there were alien fish that could survive. They’d be some weird fish.”
    “The rain would be killer,” he jokes. “Literally. Fireballs.”
    We laugh together and banter under the morning sun. The briny air releases the heaviness in my chest. I reel the line in slowly to tease the fish, but nothing bites. By the third time, I bait and cast the line without Dominick’s help.
    “You bored?” he asks.
    “No, it’s nice, actually. Calming.”
    “I thought you might like it. I hear it’s good for anxiety.”
    It’s like he’s stuck me with a pin and deflated me.
    “Stop treating me like Anxiety Girl.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
    “You never do.”
    He looks away, and I feel bad for wrecking the moment. I laugh nervously. “Anxiety Girl. That’s like the worst superhero name ever.”
    He grins. “I’m sure we can think up