Somehow, Grayson was awake before me. I had gotten a healthy amount of sleep, yet still I dragged myself tiredly down to the kitchen. Grayson couldn't have slept more than few hours, but was as energetic as usual, shoving a plate of waffles in front of me the moment I dropped into my chair.

     "Good morning." He beamed, hair freshly showered and already in his day clothes.

     Of course, he was a morning person. Accepting the bottle of syrup, I grunted in returned greeting.

     Despite having already finished his breakfast, to my dismay he took the seat that faced mine. "I've got the calendar all planned out," he revealed excitedly.

     Too early for his enthusiasm, I nodded in acknowledgement and forced a small smile of gratitude.

     "Actually..." I started, looking down at the pyjamas that I had borrowed from Claire. I had been told that someone would bring over my belongings from the Collins, but I didn't think there was anything I would want to keep. I wouldn't be able to look at any of my old things without thinking of them. "Did we ever happen to take a trip to the mall?"

     With attentive furrowed brows, Grayson nodded.

     "It's just that I need new clothes," I said timidly, gaze strained restlessly towards my plate. "I don't want to wear what they bought for me."

     Instantly he understood. "I will make room for a trip to the mall."

     Eagerly rising from his chair, he strode out the kitchen without another word. Fork frozen to my lips, I watched him dart away with crinkled brows. I didn't bother asking questions.

     He returned few minutes later, practically skipping. Dropping in his earlier seat, he sprawled a large handmade calendar across the table. Scribbling madly in various blocks, rearranging the squared days with arrows, he mumbled incoherently.

     Eventually dropping the pen with a loud hurrah, he met my crazed eyes with a grin.

     "All done," he said. "Will you be ready to leave in a half-hour?"

     "For school?" I glanced at the clock. I was already dreading returning to classes. I had no desire to go any earlier than necessary.

     "Of course, not." He smiled. "We're going shopping."

     I had forgotten that I hated shopping. I tried to grab what I needed and leave, but Grayson had other plans. He dragged me through every shop, pushing me towards the dressing rooms with piles of clothes that he had chosen.

     "What?" I snapped in response to the excessive knocking, impatiently pulling on my third long sleeve.

     "I want to see," Grayson whined with the maturity level of a pre-schooler.

     "It fits fine." I twisted my torso in front of the greasy door mirror to inspect the polyester sweater.

     "Is it the purple one? I really liked the purple one..."

     Ultimately, I swung the door open just to shut him up.

     Studiously glancing me over, he told me what I already knew; that it fit properly. His input was useless but still he insisted on seeing every outfit. It was exasperating, and the twirls and strolls he prodded out of me were humiliating, but the embarrassment was better than fighting him on the matter. One of the first things I learned about Grayson Ryder was that he was impossibly stubborn.

     Heading for the food court, hands full of bags, I nearly ran into Grayson when he stopped abruptly.

     "Oh no!" he exclaimed.

     I almost dropped my bags in surprise. Recovering myself, I groaned miserably when I realised that his outburst had gained many shoppers' attention.

     "What are you doing?" I hissed under my breath.

     "You've broken your leg!" he announced dramatically.

     Eyes drifting to my legs as if I had suddenly injured myself without realising, I watched Grayson as though he was mad. I really thought he might be.

     "You sprained your ankle last week," he explained. "Now, you can't walk."

     "Huh?"

     Sighing he took the bags from my hands and deposited them on the floor. "It was third grade," he started. "You sprained your ankle playing soccer at recess. The sprain wasn't that bad, but you refused to use crutches even if just for a few days. You decided it was better to walk crookedly, but because of the limp you fell off our bus stairs and broke your leg."

     Blinking slowly, the explanation failed to reduce my bewilderment. My furrowed brows remained fixed his way.

     "That's an interesting story," I finally responded. "But I still don't understand why you needed to demand the entire mall's attention to tell it."

     "If you refused the crutches, you certainly refused the chair. I had to carry you everywhere for the few days it took your ankle to heal. Eventually you gave in to the crutches. You couldn't rely on me to carry you around for months," he said. "The point is: I carried you then, I'll carry you now."

     "You will not."

     "Alexa—"

     "There's no point!" I huffed. "My legs are fine now. You told me about it. Memory complete."

     Forcing all the bags around his fingers, he shook his head. "You need to actually live it, it's better for the amnesia. Muscle memory. We agreed to recreate the memories, no retell them."

     "That's not how muscle memory works. And you can only retell most it, why do we have to relive the small rest of it?"

     "If you fancy throwing yourself off a school bus, I am more than willing to recreate it all."

     Narrowing my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest. I was not giving in.

     Fingers barely managing to hold onto the bags, Grayson crouched, pointedly nudging his head towards his back.

     "No way."

     "Alexa," he whined, elongating my name.

     "We're going to look like fools."

     "When has that ever stopped you from doing something?" he asked, making no move to stand from his crouched position. "We'll look like greater fools if you don't hop on."

     Once again noting the curious gazes shot our way, I groaned.

     Considering my options for many moments, I sent him a nasty glare before hopping on his back. Cheeks tinted red as Grayson's ungraceful wobbling caught many curious pairs of eyes, I held onto his neck a little tighter than I ought to.

     Walking to the far end of the food court, only to come back and choose a table closest to the entrance, finally he set me down. Releasing the heavy bags with a sigh of relief, he rubbed his neck, blue eyes narrowing in accusation.

     "You weren't always this mean," he complained.

     "I'm not—"

     "It's fine," he said. "I'll go get the food. That used to fix the problem."

     My lips parted to argue, to counter his belief that I was the unreasonable one, but I was admittedly hungry. "Alright."

     "Please stay here. I'll get the food. You pretend to have a broken leg."

     Nose scrunched upwards disapprovingly, I nodded, nonetheless. He turned on his feet and headed for the burger stand without another word.

     "Hey!" I called. "You didn't take my order."

     "Don't need to."

     Chair pushing outwards, prepared to join him, his squinted, forewarning eyes stopped me.

     "You said—"

     "Open mind," I finished for him, grudgingly. "I get it. Just go."

     Slumping in my chair, arms crossed over my chest, I waited for his return. Part of me hoped he would get the order wrong so I could point it out.

     Carefully examining the burger, dreadfully I concluded that the order was perfect. He had gotten everything right, even the side of pickles. Was it wrong to be angry that I couldn't be annoyed with him?

     Victoriously noting the lack of mustard, I lifted my chin proudly to inform him of his mistake. The complaint never left my lips. Meeting his knowing smirk, he tossed me the small yellow packet.

     "You're infuriating," we both said.

     "How did—" He grinned tauntingly as we spoke at the same time.

     "Grayson," we both warned.

     "Stop."

     Glaring, the grip on my fork tightened. Grayson grinned roguishly, cocked brows egging me on. "Apple!" I blurted, with him.

     Grayson sat tall, eyes glowing with confidence.

     "Poodle!" I tried again, with no success. "Turkey! Smelly feet! Annoying neighbour! Undeniably infuriating neighbour! Mr. wet his bed until he was seven!"

     Speaking every word simultaneously, Grayson never hesitated. I flung a fry at him in defeat. Sitting back in my chair, I strained my gaze to my tray, refusing to look his way.

     "Jerk," we both muttered.

     Shooting him another glare, he chuckled.

     "That's all I know," he promised. "I'm surprised you remembered."

     In a flash anger was replaced with exhilaration. Stunned, I gaped at him. He was right; part of me had remembered. I didn't recall ever speaking the words, but clearly, we had had this dispute multiple times in the past.

     "Subconscious memories," he smiled widely. "It seems there's more hope for my calendar than I had thought."

     My mood changed drastically from that moment on. With an inkling of hope that Grayson would be successful, I found myself genuinely smiling. All that morning's annoyance had vanished. I even let him carry me to the car without protest and laughed whole-heartedly when he tripped going up the stairs to the Ryder home. Tumbling off the porch, rolling in the grass and crushing the bags that had been dropped, I wasn't bothered by the grass stains on my jeans nor the bruise that I would surely find on my hip.

     That night, in newly bought pyjamas, sat around the fire in which we had burned my old clothes, I listened to Grayson's rambling of stories of my broken leg and his resulting aching back. I attempted to feign only slight interest, but I clung to his every word. Cozy in the fire's warmth and odd giggle escaping me as blue eyes bulged in extreme enthusiasm, I thought maybe, just maybe, the promised 248 days wouldn't be so bad.