“Your name is Juliet?” I asked her.

She nodded. “That’s right. It’s just spelt a little different from your name. My one has an extra ‘te’ at the end, if you still remember. But I guess you haven’t seen me for a while so you forgot about me.”

I looked at her, confused. “We’ve met before?”

She nodded again and glanced down at her phone. “Oh, I’m late. I got to go now. See you later!”

She waved and ran into the distance, leaving me with many questions. Why does she kind of look like me? Who exactly is she? How come I can’t recognise her when she can recognise me?

“You know her, Julie?” Kat interrupted my thoughts as she questioned me from behind.

I stood there for a moment, still lost in my series of questions.

“No.” I finally replied, “I seriously don’t know her.”

Kat stood there wondering. “Are you sure? Because it seems that she knows you quite well.”

I just stood there stunned.

“Maybe you met her when you were younger?” Kat paused. “Since you can’t remember anything about your childhood anymore.”

I slightly nodded to Kat’s theory. “That has a high possibility.”

I ended up walking to Kat’s house and she said that she might have some kind of transportation for me. In the end, she lent me her brother’s skateboard. Though I never heard her mentioned that she had siblings before, I wondered why she didn’t tell beforehand.

Anyhow, the good thing was that I still had my skateboarding skills. I remembered that when I was twelve, I used to skateboard all the time. But because I kept scratching my legs every time I fell down, Mum told me to use a bike instead.

She said that having scars wouldn’t be nice for a girl, since girls tend to wear skirts and dresses. But in reality, I didn’t really care about that. What’s wrong if girls wearing trousers and pants? I think they’re fine, especially in the winter as well.

However, Mum never stopped lecturing me about it, so I ended up using a bike to stop her lectures about skirts and dresses. What a relief!

By the time I got home, it was four thirty. Usually, it takes me about twenty minutes from Kat’s house by a bike. And I guess the skateboard took forty minutes, which is double the usual time. But I think it was much better than walking home like the first day of school.

I steered the skateboard to the front of my house and got off. Instead of lowering down to pick the board up, I stood there and did a skateboard reflex that allowed the board to flip upwards, twirling in mid-air, before I caught it in my hands. I grinned, knowing that I still have my skateboarding tricks.

Entering through the front door, I threw my keys into my bag and climbed up the stairs, still holding onto the skateboard with my other hand. I really could have just placed the skateboard near the front door, but my mum would probably see it and go suspicious since I promised her that I wouldn’t skate anymore.

I opened the door to my room and surprisingly, I heard a racket. Well, it wasn’t exactly a racket, to be precise it was a violin’s melody. From that moment, I knew that Ice Pack Stealer was playing his violin somewhere in his room.

I quickly hid the skateboard under my bed and moved towards the window. Staring at the window to find the lock, I wondered why I didn’t close my window in the morning. If I had done so, I wouldn’t even need to hear Ice Pack Stealer’s violin practice now. I didn’t hate violins or classical music—I just hated Pack Stealer.

Stretching my arms to the frame of the large window, I finally found where the lock was. Pulling it horizontally, I forced myself to drag the window panel as fast as I could, not wanting to hear any more of Ice Pack Stealer’s music.

The good thing was, I finally closed my window with a small thud and locked it. I reached for the curtains and was about to pull it until I noticed something about Ice Pack Stealer’s gesture. The way he was playing the violin, somehow looked familiar and suddenly a small boy appeared in my head. A small boy with a small violin.

The way the little boy swayed with his violin was similar to how Ice Pack Stealer was doing it right now. Who was this small boy? And what does it have to do with Ice Pack Stealer?

I stood there shocked, trying my best to put these pieces of lost puzzles together. Could it be that…

The moment I started thinking my head felt fuzzy and I closed my eyes for a few minutes to calm the tingling feeling in my mind. When I opened my eyes again, Ice Pack Stealer was no longer playing his violin. Instead, I found him looking straight into my room and he was staring right at me.

I glanced back, and usually I would give him a death stare or at least glare, but I didn’t have the energy to do it. I was just feeling tired, probably because I was skateboarding instead of cycling.

In the end, I showed him my neutral face and pulled the curtains until my room was in complete darkness. I landed my face into my pillow and rested there. Then turning my body to make myself feel comfortable, I narrowed my eyes thinking why my headaches always return when I see something unknown to me.

Could it be that my lost memories are coming back?

“Sweetie,” I heard a fainted voice, “are you feeling alright?”

I flickered my eyes open and found Mum next to me. “I’m fine.”

She looked at me worriedly. “You don’t look so well,” she replied as she placed her right hand on my forehead and the other hand over her forehead. Comparing the temperatures of our foreheads, she shrugged. “You don’t seem to have a fever. But you look quite pale for some reason. Are you having your period at the moment?”

I shook my head and answered quietly, “No, I don’t think so.”

Mum stood there wondering a little longer, “Could it be that you’re hungry?”

I sat up and crossed my legs, “Now that you mentioned it.” I paused. “I am a little hungry.”

She giggled, “I’ll go down and make something for you to eat then.”

“Thank you, Mum.”

She beamed at me and when she was about turn towards the door, I asked her something.

“Um… Mum?” I sat there asking her in the dark. “What happened when I lost all my memories?”

She paused for a long moment before turning to answer my question. “Well, sweetie,” Mum smiled. “Like your father and I had told you many times before, you were up climbing a tree in the park, accidentally slipped and hit your head quite heavily.”

I reached for the scar near my left temple, somewhere hidden behind my hair. The scar wasn’t too large, thanks to the advanced medicine and treatment from the hospital. But as much as I wanted to hide it forever, my hair wouldn’t grow on the scar. And this just means that I have this small thin line underneath my hair.

Mum went on explaining how long it took me to recover and that my fall was quite serious compared to what had happened to the other kids. I nodded to Mum’s answer and smiled knowing that she’ll always be there for me, no matter what happens.

Even though I’m the only child and felt quite lonely sometimes, I’m glad that Mum and Dad always had an eye on me. Well, Dad can be a bit overprotective sometimes and it makes me feel like I couldn’t do anything. But he’s just doing his best to be a responsible parent.

I know that most of the time, I complain and argue back with my parents. I still don’t know why I do that, but my parents never really took it into heart. Probably because they think that my brain still has some side-effects from the fall. But it has been nine years now, almost decade, and I’m pretty sure that my brain is perfectly fine. Though it makes me wonder…

“So don’t worry, about it okay, Juliet?” Mum continued, “The doctors said that one day your memories will come back for sure.”

Mum wrapped her arms around me and patted my head. I felt like a little vulnerable girl again—a girl who could never come out of her parents’ embrace.

After a few more moments, Mum released me and smiled. “Okay then, I’m going to get something for you to eat now. So be a good girl and shower before Dad gets home. We’re going out to eat tonight.”

By the time Dad got home, Mum and I were ready for tonight’s outing. Dad quickly got changed into something a bit nicer than his work clothes and off we went. I was sitting in the back of the car, trying my best not to fall asleep again. I distracted myself by looking down at my dress, the one that Mum ended up deciding for me. I felt itchy and wanted to scratch everywhere around myself. It was as though I was allergic to dresses or something.

Every time I wore something that looks like a dress or feels like one, my skin just feels itchy all around. So much itch that I didn’t even know where to scratch. Mum said that maybe it was because I wasn’t comfortable wearing them and she suggested that I should wear them more often.

I bet it wouldn’t work. I also bet that I would start growing a hatred towards dresses, like the hatred I have for pink, if I started to wear them more often.

I glanced over at Mum, who was in the front seat with Dad. Mum always had an elegant shine to her. Her light make-up, seriously made her look younger—sometimes to the point that people thought that she was my older sister. For Dad, he always looked good in a suit. Even though he can be clumsy at times, in which Mum always said that it was something she loved about him, Dad looked quite smart in formal clothes.

I, on the other hand, never really inherited these genes. Okay, may I inherited Dad’s clumsy genes. But other than that I looked normal in this light purple dress. The thing that was bothering me, even more, was that I never really knew how to relate my parents other than by blood. I always felt so different from them. Especially, my ‘short-tempered patience’—quoted from Dad. Comparing myself to them, I never had their type of patience. I always, and when I meant always I really meant every time I wasn’t pranking, never think before I act.

“Are we there yet?” I asked.

Mum turned to look at me, “We’re almost there, sweetie.”

Dad smiled and glanced at his rear mirror. “Juliet, you need to be more patient.” He chuckled to himself.

Mum raised her eyebrows and laughed, “Very true. Maybe I’ll ask Stephanie for some advice since she’s a psychologist.”

I rolled my eyes to myself, Here we go again. When Mum meant Stephanie, she meant Mrs Jones, Romeo’s mum.

Like I mentioned before, I didn’t hate the Mr and Mrs Jones. I just didn’t want to see their son, Ice Pack Stealer. And since we’re in a prank war, we’re officially enemies and shouldn’t even talk to each other. Every time I see him, I just get all moody and annoyed.

Mum and Dad started discussing the camping trip to Grey Stones Forest—the one where they have been planning for the last two weeks. The schedule was to go in about a month’s time. Apparently, there’s going to be a public holiday on Friday, so their plan was to take a family trip with the Joneses to Grey Stones Forest and do some camping activities. If you’re asking me if I’m excited, I’m not, especially knowing that Ice Pack Stealer would be there as well.

Dad finally parked his car and turned off the engine. Mum and I got out of the car and we started to head for the four-star restaurant that was in front of us. Standing there and seeing the sparkly lights, I saw the sign ‘Escalus’ Feast’, in a cursive font. Honestly, if Dad didn’t tell me that this was a restaurant’s name, I would think that it was some kind of indoor festival. The name was definitely unique.

The moment I stepped into the restaurant, everything was in golden lights. It had this classic look from the ceiling to the furniture. Even the utensils on the beautiful table cloths had a hint of time and honour.

The waiter guided us to a table of four seats. He then gave each of us a menu and I started skimming down the list. Caramelised pears, braised pork loin, filet mignon, roasted duck with raspberry glaze… All these food have such fancy names, I wasn’t even sure what was in it.

Mum and Dad picked out things with fancy names. Names that I couldn’t even pronounce properly and so I said to the waiter, “Lasagne, please.”

When Mum heard my voice, she raised an eyebrow. “Every time we eat out, you always choose either spaghetti or lasagne.”

Dad nodded, “Why don’t you choose something else?”

I sighed in my head, It’s because it the only two things that I felt like eating, and all the other stuff on the menu sounded weird and I couldn’t trust to eat it. But I just smiled at my parents and answered, “It’s because I like spaghetti and lasagne.”

Dad laughed.

As we were waiting for the food, Mum and Dad started talking about their work—that is their inspirations to write for their books. I wasn’t interested in their conversation so I was looking around the restaurant.

Everything that I saw was classy and modern at the same time. It was like the theme for this restaurant was a merge of classical items and modern emblems. Making the restaurant have this traditional Western feeling as well as being futuristic at the same time—I quite like it.

But my happy mood didn’t last long. I suddenly realised someone was coming through the entrance and my expression just dropped. It was Ice Pack Stealer.

As I was staring at him, he was wearing something quite formal as well. I’m not saying that it suits him or anything, but it seems like he was a bit uncomfortable wearing such tight clothes. I smiled to myself, As long as he is suffering, I’m happy.

My parents asked my opinion about their ideas for their books—in which I wasn’t tuned in to listen. They realised my silence and turned to where I was looking.

“Oh, the Joneses are here!” My mum smiled as she realised Mr and Mrs Jones were standing at the entrance with their son.

“We should have dinner with them,” Dad suggested the idea.

My eyes widened, “What? Why?”

Mum looked at me awkwardly, “What do you mean, Juliet? They’re our neighbours. Of course, we should invite them over.”

I sighed, There’s no point in raising a discussion with my parents. There’s just too many people looking at me when I raised my voice. “Fine.” I lowered my head, “You guys can do whatever you want.”

Dad asked one of the waiters to let the Joneses know that we would like to have dinner with them, and so we all settled down to a larger table.

Sitting down, I placed my eyes fixed on the table cloth. I didn’t even want to look at Ice Pack Stealer. Every time I did, I knew that my blood will start bubbling and an argument would initiate. Not a good thing to do when my parents’ reputation are famous authors.

Some people recognised my parents and were asking for their autographs. So I shouldn’t do anything weird to raise any more attention. But the thing that was bugging me, even more, was that I was sitting opposite to Ice Pack Stealer again! We were in the same sitting arrangement as the barbeque dinner. Now, it was even harder to avoid his face.

His parents and my parents were having a great conversation. It was good that they’re talking. But it felt like they were never going to stop. I, on the other hand, was having the worst time—or at least one of the worst times—of my life.

My legs felt numb as pins and needles were creeping up my leg. I knew that I need to move around a bit to get the blood flowing again. So I quietly moved my feet forward a bit and stretched. Accidentally, I touched Ice Pack Stealer’s shoes with a soft tap. I quickly withdrew my feet and acted as if nothing happened.

Ice Pack Stealer noticed the tap and glanced up to me—expecting me to say something back. I blinked a few times and realised that I should’ve whispered ‘sorry’ to him. Instead, not wanting to directly talk to him, I stood up and said, “Excuse me for a minute.”

I smiled to my parents, indicating that I need to visit the toilets. Mum looked at my direction and nodded.

Now that I had her permission, I quickly avoided Ice Pack Stealer’s eye contact and I scanned around the room to find the bathroom sign. When I spotted it, I moved away from the table and headed for the sign. As I was taking steady steps with these little heels under my feet, I realised that I was looking at my shoes wondering why it was so hard to walk with them.

Keeping my head down for quite a long time as if I was counting each and every one of my steps, I accidentally walked into someone. I was lucky enough that the waiter was just holding a small tray with things that weren't food. He only had a slip of paper with a few notes and coins on it. But as I was wondering what or who I just bumped into, the coins and notes were already flying in the air. Amazingly, the waiter caught it in time without making a huge fuss.

By the time he caught everything back onto the tray, I sighed in relief, quickly said sorry to him and headed for the bathroom hallway.

But then he said something. “Wait!”

I turned around and realised who he was.

“You’re Juliet right?” he asked.

Surprised I didn’t want to answer his question. But I knew that he had recognised me by now.