"Your mind may forget, but your heart will forever remember."
This was what that kid named Sebastian told me as he gave me a small clip. "Guard it with your life," he told me.
"Why?" I asked. "It's just a cheap clip." Sebastian laughed. "Look, I don't care if it's a million bucks or one cent worth. I'll be leaving this town in less than a week, and what else will I give you?"
"You're rich."
He smiled. I couldn't help but laugh too. "Okay, I'm sorry. Why do you have to leave?"
He didn't respond. "Stop that," I whined. "You're my best friend. I love you. And you're leaving."
All he said was, "That's a very expensive clip, Santana. It's a forget-me-not clip. So don't forget me."
"You're weird!" Santana screamed. She was 17, and she really liked Sebastian, though they'd only known each other for a few months. She furiously ran away.
She didn't look left and right before crossing the street. All she remembered that day was how fast her heartbeat was when a huge van was coming for her. Instead of trying to escape, she instead stopped walking. She was too scared. She froze.
"You idiot, run!" Sebastian shouted and jumped at her. She was safe, but Sebastian wasn't. He got hit.
After that, neither of them remembered anything - or each other.
Santana shivered. Therapy. She didn't need it, she hated it. Therapy kept reminding her of something terrible, though she couldn't remember anything except the sound of a horn honking crazily.
Mrs. Fabray sat on the seat next to Santana. "Leave me alone, you crazy hobbit."
She sighed. "It's okay, dear. I'm just here to -" "To what, to listen?" Santana snapped. "You're just forcing me to speak about how I 'feel.' I have nightmares, okay. But I don't need your help. I don't need to remember that I nearly killed Sebastian."
"See, you remember," the therapist cheerily said. "I mean... that's horrible." "What's horrible?" Santana asked. Mrs. Fabray sighed. "Stop trying to forget it. The more you deny, the more the situation worsens."
Santana's brain would forget, because her heart tried to erase the horrible memory. But she knew honestly that she was just punishing herself. She wasn't ready to forgive herself yet.
After an hour, her therapist gave up. Santana stood up and approached her daughter Quinn Fabray. "What are you doing here, Q?" "Just checking up on you."
"Don't we have like, Cheerio practices or what?" "Coach Sylvester said we were free because one of us needed a much-needed trip to the mental department," Quinn explained. "I'm sure she'll spread the news sooner or later." "That doesn't make me feel better at all," Santana muttered. Quinn shrugged. "I don't even know what their biz is. I'm not crazy, Q." "I know."
Suddenly, they heard some music. A group of boys were singing some boybandish songs outside McKinley. "The Warblers!" Becky Jackson squealed. "The Whatblers?" Santana asked. She took a peek. Some guy with gelled hair. A group of robots stiffly dancing behind him.
Quinn wanted to leave, but Santana didn't. "Let's just stay for a little bit."
The singing stopped, and all of a sudden, one of them stretched his hand to Santana. She stuttered. "W-what?" "Donations?" He then winked. "I'm Sebastian." He's just trying to get money from you, she thought. "Sorry, I'm broke." She then turned around. "Let's go, Q."
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