Free Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time by Dani Irons

she’ll tell me who that might be.
    But she doesn’t. “So...you don’t know your name or anything?”
    “My name is Olivia.”
    She nods. “But you don’t actually
know
that, do you? I mean, your name could be Princess Nutella or something. We should’ve told you that’s what it is. That would’ve been hilarious!” Her smile is huge.
    “That would’ve been a lie.” I watch as her face falls with my words. I feel bad so I add, “Nutella?” The word sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place what it is.
    “Ohmygod. It’s this chocolate hazelnut spread stuff that you dip carrots in or spread on bread. SO good.”
    “I’ll have to try it sometime,” I say dismissively, slipping carefully back under the covers. My ribs are wrapped in this thick gauze stuff that is supposed to help hold them in or something, but it’s starting to smell and it’s tight and twisted. I’ll add it to my list of worries:
Pain management for ribs
Figuring out who I am
Sleep
Memory improvement
Figuring out that dream with the boy
Living with strangers
Having a dorky boyfriend
Broken arm
Headache
Twisty, smelly gauze thing
    Actually, my number one To Do would be to figure out who the hell I am, but as of now, the pain takes precedence. My eyelids flutter closed when Natalie says, “You don’t eat stuff like that.”
    I try to recall the last few minutes of conversation, but I’m too tired. “Stuff...like...what?” My words are so heavy, I think they’ll pull me through the bed and onto the floor.
    “Nutella. You told me you’d never touch the stuff. That it’s junk. One time you told me I should watch my intake of sugars and carbs. Bread, sugar and chocolate should all be eaten in moderation.”
    The words she uses sound too big for her; she might be repeating something I’ve said before. “Well...that doesn’t sound like much...fun.” I sigh, hoping the medication will take over soon. Each word is like a knife cutting into my lungs.
    “No, I guess not,” she says. “Not really. But we do other fun things.”
    “Oh?” Like playing Barbies? That doesn’t sound like much fun either. Especially if we’re not making them talk. I can’t see myself silently dressing dolls for hours on end.
    “You love to read me books and do the underdog when I’m on the swings. You bought me a little toy karaoke machine one year for Christmas and we sang every single Mandy Christine and Evan Blaine song.”
    I crack an eye. “Mandy Christine and Evan Blaine?” I know these names. They are famous Top 40 singers. Mandy Christine was even one of the celebrities I identified in that magazine Dr. Olafson showed me. But I can’t remember anything by them.
    “They’re my favorite singers.”
    “And I knew all those songs?”
    Natalie opens her mouth, but then she must notice something in my expression. “Well, maybe not
every
song. I helped you out a lot. Actually, you were more like my background singer.”
    If I wasn’t exhausted and in pain, I would laugh at that. But I force a smile and it lights up her face. “You’ll have to play them for me sometime,” I tell her, tucking the blanket underneath my chin. I’m so cold, but sweat drips down the back of my neck.
    “Now?” She hops up and down a couple of times.
    “No, not now. Some other time. Right now I should be resting. You should too. I don’t know what time it is, but—”
    “It’s past midnight,” she whispers. “I’ve never been up this late before.” I realize she’s been standing by my bed since she turned on the lamp. She never did sit back down. Is she waiting for something? For me to spring out of my bed, perhaps, and take her to the park? I feel bad that I’m not the sister she remembers. Old Olivia would probably stage a midnight Barbie-dressing session.
    “Listen,” I say. “I’m going to be out in a few more minutes. Don’t take this the wrong way but I don’t want to have dreams of you staring at me.”
    She sits on my bed as if she