Free When the World was Flat (and we were in love) by Ingrid Jonach

O’Lantern,” Jo said after I recounted our conversation.
    â€œHe probably came back to Green Grove for revenge,” Sylv said. “Like in that horror movie where that pumpkin goes bad-ass and kills all those kids.” She clicked her fingers as she tried to remember the name of what sounded like a forgettable film.
    â€œYou said you wanted to sleep with him two minutes ago,” Jo said.
    â€œI do.” Sylv threw a grape and Jo batted it back. Her hand-eye coordination was second to none. Me, on the other hand, I could have missed a beach ball.
    â€œWhere are you going on your date?” Jo asked.
    I shrugged, ignoring her use of the word “date.” “He wants it to be a surprise,” I explained, which of course made it sound even more like a date.
    â€œIf he takes you to an abandoned farmhouse, slaughterhouse, warehouse,” Sylv ticked them off her fingers, “nuthouse, trainhouse–”
    â€œTrainhouse?” Jo and I asked in sync.
    Sylv grimaced. “I would have said train station, but I was going for a theme.”
    â€œHaunted house?” I offered.
    â€œBingo! Anyway, if he takes you anywhere that ends in ‘house’ you need to–” She frowned. “Dammit. How did they kill the bad-ass pumpkin?”
    â€œThey turned him into soup?” Jo suggested.
    I guffawed.
    Sylv shrugged. “You can thank me when he turns out to be a serial killer. Or worse.”
    â€œWhat could be worse than a serial killer?” Jo asked.
    â€œA virgin?” Sylv suggested with a smirk.
    But my mind went to the man in the balaclava. Woman, I corrected myself, remembering her hands. I shook my head, snapping myself out of my daydream. “This is non-negotiable,” I told the girls. “We have an assignment. Do you want me to flunk art studies?”
    â€œWhen will you girls understand that grades are not life and death?” Sylv asked.
    â€œTell us that when your dad cuts up your credit card,” Jo said.
    Jackson was walking across the quad. He waved and I waved back, but like a moth to a flame, my eyes moved to Tom, who was leaning against brickwork of the main building. I was surprised to find him looking at me with an intensity that made me blush. He straightened and for one heart-stopping moment I thought he was going to walk over and strike up a conversation, but then he turned and disappeared inside.
    â€œI remember now,” Jo said suddenly. “We played cards during detention. You, me and Jack O’Lantern. I mean, Jackson. I think it was Snap. Or Uno?”
    I squinted as if my memory went hand-in-hand with my eyesight and then shook my head. “Not coming to me, sorry.” It was like my brain had become a sieve and my memories had fallen through the holes, hanging on like strings of spaghetti. Like my inability to remember how I knew Tom; how I knew his scar.
    I guess I was in good company. They say Einstein had a bad memory. He had once forgotten where he lived and had to phone Princeton University for his address. It was the one piece of trivia that I knew about him BT – Before Tom. Now I also know that they say he had schizophrenia, that his mother thought him deformed when he was born and that he had been expelled from high school. He must have had a principal like Turnip.
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    When I went to sleep that night I thought I would have another date with death, but instead I found myself with Tom.
    We were surrounded by lilies; tiger lilies, oriental lilies, asiatic lilies. They sprouted from pots at our feet or hung in baskets above our heads and I realized we were in a greenhouse.
    I followed Tom to the edge of a small pond. It was also filled with lilies – water lilies. The sunlight filtered through the glass walls and ceiling, making the surface of the pond sparkle.
    I watched a goldfish swim between the lily pads, as Tom sat on the concrete wall that circled the pond. He dipped a hand into the