Remember Me: Remember, #1

By Vida Li Sik

Can young love stand the test of time and family interference?

Emma waited two years for Marc to see her as more than just a friend. Impatient, she let the school's star rugby player side-track her with empty promises. Now free from that disastrous relationship, she has Marc's full attention. One person stands in their way: her mother opposes their relationship. Now, she must make a choice that will bring her heartache no matter what she decides.

 

Marc let Emma slip out of his hands once before. He's determined that won't happen again. Even though he's from the wrong side of town, they click on every level. She's the one for him. The end of their final school year edges closer. Every minute they spend together is precious. But time is not on their side.

One decision. Will their love survive?

 

If you like sweet, YA second-chance romances, then this book is for you. Check it out and click the buy button.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vida Li Sik
• Release date: Jan 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393732679

Vida Li Sik

Vida Li Sik is a wife, mother, award-winning journalist and multi-genre author. She grew up in a small town, Nigel, in sunny South Africa. Together with her family, she is actively involved in a youth and family ministry in Johannesburg, the City of Gold. She has no pets and has yet to find a weird and wonderful hobby. In the meantime, she loves to write about people, real ones and imagined.  For updates, contact Vida through her website: https://www.vidalisik.com/ or on social media. She would love to hear from you. Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/vidalswriter Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/vidalisik Twitter: https://twitter.com/vidalisik

Book preview

Cover Photo: (courtesy of www.DepositPhotos.com)

Cover Art: Francine Beaton

(British spelling is used throughout the book)

Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Glossary

Afrikaans – a Germanic language similar to Dutch

Ag-shame – an expression of pity and sorrow, depending on the context

Bokke – nickname for the Springboks, the national rugby team

Braaied – barbecued

Bro – a close male friend

Dof – stupid, slow to understand

Howzit/howzat – a contraction of how’s it, but rather used as an informal greeting

Joburg – abbreviated name for Johannesburg

Madiba – clan name for the late Nelson Mandela

Matric dance – Prom

Protection order – Restraining order

Serviette – napkin

Shucks – An expression of surprise.

Spruit – a small often dry tributary stream in southern Africa

Takkies – rubber-soled canvas sports shoe

Chapter One

Emma

Ladies and gentlemen. The intercom crackled before the pilot’s deep voice filtered through the plane. An Airbus had to make an emergency stop on the main runway, and we must wait until they remove it. We apologise for the delay.

Oh. My. Gosh! His words made my ears throb; they were three simple sentences that could change the course of my life. A collective groan reverberated through the cabin. My fingers tightened on the armrests—the knuckles turned white with the pressure. I brushed my raven curls away from my forehead and glanced at my watch. Oh, no! I’ll be late. There’s no way I’d make it to Sandton Square before 10am. To hold back my tears, I focused on the checkered pattern of the seat in front of me. Please. Not now.

Some passengers grumbled while others fidgeted in their seats. My neighbour across the aisle halted one of the harassed-looking crew members who rushed by.

My nerves overpowered my need to be polite as I blurted, H-how long before we can land? My voice quavered, and I held my breath as I waited for her answer.

It’s hard to say. At least thirty minutes. Could be more.

My neighbour’s face turned crimson. He snapped in a tight voice, Miss, I have a connecting flight to Cape Town. I can’t miss it.

The well-coiffed hostess offered a reassuring smile and replied in a calm voice. Don’t worry, Sir, you’ll make it. None of the planes can take off until they’ve cleared the runway.

I bent down and jammed the mangled set of earphones into the seat pocket in front of me. Blood roared in my ears and my fingertips flew to my head to drown out the sound. I boarded the plane in Melbourne confident I’d reach South Africa on time. Now this trip might be in vain.

A hand touched my shoulder and a familiar gravelly voice asked, Are you okay?

With a jerk, I turned to the young guy at the window seat—Jason—he’d volunteered his name earlier. The dark circles around his obsidian eyes complemented his effortless grunge look—dressed in black from head to toe. Our limited conversations during the flight centred on polite requests for me to move so he could pass.

Yes, I replied. No! I stumbled on the words, tripped up by an inability to form coherent sentences. I’m meeting someone at Nelson Mandela Square. If I’m not there in time, he’ll think I’ve changed my mind.

Jason brushed his stringy copper hair away from his eyes. Can’t you call to say you’ll be late? He frowned when I shook my head.

I don’t have his number. Long story.

My words sounded stupid, proved by the hard stare he gave me. He must’ve thought I’m an idiot not to have a contingency plan. I was reluctant to explain my life story to someone I’ve only met fifteen hours ago.

He jiggled his eyebrow ring with his fingertip, and then his pensive face lit up. Hmm! The Gautrain stops in Sandton, right next to the square. Fifteen minutes tops. Do you have a card?

It appeared Jason wanted to make up for our lack of actual communication during the flight. When I shook my head again, he nudged my arm and smiled. You can use mine if you like.

Thank you.

I expelled a deep breath, and concentrated on the puffy clouds that dotted the familiar azure sky over Joburg. My hand caressed the smooth stainless steel lock and key pendant around my neck. Renewed hope blossomed in my heart. Memories flooded my mind—of the young man who gave it as a gift for my eighteenth birthday.

Three years ago, when my hair was a lot shorter and my curves less developed, a meeting in the distant future didn’t seem foolish or naïve. It had made perfect sense to two teenagers blinded by love. I’d found Marc—with the curly dark hair, greenstone eyes and dimples that I loved—at our secret place by the river that ran through Senderwood.

Three years is a long time, Marc. But, if we still feel the way we do today, let’s meet at 10am on the last Saturday in November. On the square, at Madiba’s statue. Will you remember?

He’d sat rooted to a weather-beaten rock, his red-rimmed eyes mirrored mine. We were in numbed shock at how we’d arrived at this unimaginable crossroad. We were two youngsters on the brink of adulthood–crazy in love–and yet torn apart by the stroke of a magistrate’s pen. At that stage, we foolishly never imagined my mother would go to such great lengths to keep us apart.

A cough from behind jerked me out of my remembrances. I smiled. Three years later and I loved him still. The anticipation grew stronger with each day I marked off on the calendar above my study desk. Yet, our future... I gulped. Did we even have a future together? My optimistic side screamed in protest. Yes! Only this delayed plane might derail that certainty. Fate, it seemed, once again conspired with my meddlesome mother.

Chapter Two

Marc

If one of us doesn’t turn up, then it’s because we don’t want to.

Emma’s words echoed in my head. I stared at the car key in my hand and hit the steering wheel in sheer frustration as I sat parked in the garage. What a day to have engine trouble. The battery was dead. I still drove my old GTI, my first set of wheels, and built to last. Yeah, right! Except on days when you needed it most.

My brother Beau and sister Raven, eighteen-year-old twins, and who many described as hotties, paused next to my mum’s SUV. Beau, with his dark curls and classic good looks, and Raven with a model’s figure and red highlights in her long hair, was off to an event at their high school.

Mum agreed to drop them off on her way to the shops and waited next to the driver’s door. Her auburn hair has grown into lustrous shoulder-length curls in the years since her chemo treatment ended. But her usual sweet smile soured as she tapped her foot at their tardiness. She hurried them along. Let’s go, guys.

They rolled their eyes and gave me the thumbs-up sign as they jumped in and slammed the doors.

Dude! You’ve got this, Beau winked at me from the front passenger seat; it didn’t take long before he shifted to the phone in his hand. My brother had a short attention span.

Good luck! Raven yelled through the window as my mother backed into the driveway. My anxious eyes locked on the heart she formed with her thumbs and forefingers. I needed every bit of encouragement I could get.

Three years of expectations and dreams boiled to the surface. I ran into the TV room and startled my father, Robert Fortune, who raised his bushy eyebrows and glanced up in annoyance. His hawkish nose and concrete jaw were cast from the George Clooney mould, and only the touch of grey at his temples showed he nudged closer to the mid-forties.

He appeared comfy in his Lazy Boy seat, ready to watch a Super Rugby match down under. Green eyes, exactly like mine, narrowed. Wisps of steam rose as he placed his mug of coffee on the table next to him.

Can you help me jump my car?

I raised my