Level 2 (Memory Chronicles)

by Lenore Appelhans

  Julian clears his throat. “We can’t let it happen.” He gets up, his jaw set with steely resolve, and scoots his chair so it’s facing mine directly, and sits back down. We’re so close, our knees knock together.

  “You have to make a decision, Felicia. Are you ready to join this fight for real?” Julian glances at Eli and scowls slightly. “As a volunteer, not a conscript?”

  Am I? Until a few minutes ago I would have said no, mostly out of resentment for Eli’s recent behavior. But this is bigger than me now. There’s more at stake than my pride.

  If I do join the rebels, I need to be prepared to make sacrifices. Will Eli’s phase three require me to give up my chance to help Beckah and reunite with Neil? Can I put the rebels’ plans above my personal goals? I’m not sure.

  But if I don’t join the rebels, am I condemning people to a fate worse than death? Could I live with myself if I stand by and let the Morati infect people with the Phlegethon? Even if I don’t trust the rebels completely, even if I’m not sure I can really make a difference, I know we can’t let the Morati win.

  “Okay.” I grip the arms of my chair. “I’m in.”

  Mira leaps up. “We need to train you to fight,” she says excitedly. “Remember how Eli threw you across the room? You could learn to do that too.”

  “It will be another tool in your arsenal,” says Julian. He leans forward and clasps his hands in front of him as if he anticipates some sort of resistance from me. “You’re nearly weaned off the drugs. You can materialize objects. You’re even learning to find people and communicate with your mind.”

  But I don’t need them to convince me about learning to fight. I want to be able to protect myself. What I need is conviction that I’m making the right choice. I push back in my chair, scraping it across the carpet so I can get up. “I’m ready.”

  With something to focus on, Mira’s face loses the hollowness from before. She lifts both of her arms behind her head and pitches them forward, as if throwing something large and heavy. Sparks fly through the air, and a dartboard materializes on the right side of the hive, in front of all the ripped-out chambers.

  “I like to go through the physical motions of an action,” she explains to me. “I like the drama of it. But to each his own. It works without the theatrics too.”

  “Watch and learn,” says Julian, gyrating his arms in large circles a few times to warm up.

  Eli doesn’t get up but watches Julian and Mira materialize darts and throw them at the board, in his usual detached manner. He’s not the slightest bit moved by Mira’s enthusiastic showmanship, her fancy techniques with the darts—though, he does nod when they hit their marks with deadly accuracy, like an inspector checking off a list.

  “You give it a try.” Mira smiles encouragingly.

  I furrow my brow in concentration, but at first I can’t get any darts to appear in my hand, let alone hit the board.

  “Relax,” advises Mira. “Feel your energy flow through you, and then let it loose.”

  I take a deep breath and tap into the power at my core. A dart appears in my hand, and I let it fly. My aim is wide, and the dart clatters to the ground.

  It takes me several attempts, but finally I hit the edge of the board. Encouraged, I risk making a fool of myself and imagine five darts at once. I throw my head forward abruptly, and then take a peek at the board. All five darts are arranged in a tight circle around the bull’s-eye.

  Mira glides over and gives me a high five. “Classy move! Impressive, especially for a beginner.”

  Julian nods his head in appreciation of my work. “Now let’s see how good you are at deflecting darts.”

  I grit my teeth and let them put me through my paces. It reminds me of seventh-grade gym class, where I had an ambitious teacher who wanted to make sure every single kid could climb a Peg-Board and perform at least ten pull-ups before the end of term. It was excruciating then, and it’s no different now. Even when I beg for a rest break, they keep coming at me. To “toughen up” my mind. The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of slamming Eli against a wall at the end of all this.

  We run through more materialization drills and keep working on my deflection skills. During my training, Virginia comes and goes from her chamber. I feel like I’ve been at it for days, and when my body starts to convulse from the strain, Mira forces me to continue, to push through. “Mind over matter!” she always yells as a reminder, like some sort of sadistic fitness trainer.

  In the middle of a stick fight, Eli whistles loudly to get our attention. The sticks thump onto the rug.

  “Fun’s over. We need to discuss the latest reports,” he says, putting his typical humorless spin on it.

  While Eli occupies the other two, I sneak off for some R&R in a chamber. I’m exhausted, but also excited about how much I’ve learned. Since I’m still dressed in my “date” outfit, it only makes sense that I access my first date with Neil.

  Ward, Felicia. Memory #32236

  Tags: Ohio, Neil, First date, Playground

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  I spin my locker combination and pull open the door. Throwing my books on the top shelf, I catch my reflection in the small mirror, and I pause to examine it more closely. Could it be? Is my skin glowing? I have to admit, I look healthier than I have in months, and it’s not only the makeup I put on today. The green silk blouse I’m wearing brings out the amber flecks in my brown eyes. Instead of their usual muddy tint, they sparkle like topaz.

  Hands reach around my face and cover my eyes. “Guess who.”

  “Is that you again, Principal Joplin?” I tease.

  “Straight A’s for you, young lady,” says Neil, imitating the booming bass of our school’s headmaster. Neil removes his hands from my eyes and puts them on my shoulders, turning me to face him. The look in his eyes makes me light-headed.

  Being this close to him in the crowded senior hallway unbalances me. I back away, crashing into my locker. “Are you ready to go?” I ask, trying to cover up my embarrassment over being a total klutz.

  He nods, his expression inscrutable, and we walk out to his car. Nervous energy crackles between us. I’m not sure what to say, and I guess he’s not either, because we don’t talk. His movements—as he opens my door for me, buckles his seat belt, and turns the steering wheel to leave the parking lot—seem shaky.

  He puts on the radio, and I’m thankful it fills the silence. I tap out the beat with my palm, and sing along under my breath to the songs I know. I sneak looks at him as he keeps his full attention on the road. He’s a conscientious driver.

  We pull into his driveway. When he reaches for the gearshift to put the car in park, I tap his hand lightly. “Can we go to that playground we passed? The one just around the corner?”

  Somehow the thought of going into his house right now, and sitting together awkwardly on the sofa, freaks me out. The playground will be a neutral place.

  “Yeah, sure,” says Neil, visibly relieved. “I haven’t been there in years. About time I check in on it.” He smiles so warmly, his dimples show, confirming I’ve made the right call.

  Neil walks beside me to the playground. Close, but not touching. His hands are jammed into the front pockets of his lightweight Windbreaker, and whenever we come across an errant stone on the pavement, he kicks it.

  I rack my brain for some small tidbit or factoid I can share to break the silence, but can’t come up with anything. I could dance around my feelings all day, or I could commit to them, despite the risk. It’s possible Neil realizes our kiss in the woods was a big mistake. Now that he’s had time to think it over, maybe he’s looking for a way to let me down gently. I take a deep breath. “So . . . I’m really glad you talked me into going to the church camp. I had a great time.” Understatement of the year.

  “You did?” Neil gulps, drawing my attention to his neck, and the way his polo shirt is buttoned up tight against his col
larbone. “I mean, I’m glad. I mean, I did too.”

  I zone in on the top button of his shirt, and before I can stop myself, I reach up and undo it.

  “Race you to the swings!” I take off running, to hide my blush.

  Neil thunders behind me and makes up my head start easily. We lunge into the swings, leaving wood chips in our wake. Laughing, we pump our legs until we’re touching nothing but sky.

  Finally I put my feet down and let them scrape against the dirt underneath the swing set to slow myself down. Neil does the same.

  “Twists?” I ask. It’s something I remember doing as a kid, the last time our family was in D.C., before my experience in Nairobi made me grow up way too fast. And the chains on these swings are long enough for it to work.

  “You’re on!”

  I twist myself as high as my legs allow. Because he has longer legs, Neil gets two more twists in. We let loose at the same time, and our swings spin and pitch violently, the chains clanking as we unwind.

  Once our swings come to a halt, Neil reaches for my hand. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and I wonder how I could have ever doubted his affection for me. “Now that we got that out of our system . . . let’s talk hobbies.” The teasing note in his voice is back, the color on his cheeks high. We continue to sway together, each anchored by one foot on the ground.

  “Well,” I begin, “we all know you enjoy singing and acting and Boy Scouts. . . . Anything else you’d like to share with the audience today?” I make a fist and thrust it into his face, an imaginary microphone.

  He clears his throat and puts on a mock serious expression, one eyebrow cocked, his nostrils slightly flared. “I also enjoy kayaking, camping, writing bad poetry . . . and making out with my girlfriend.”

  At the word “girlfriend” my heart skips a beat. Does he mean me? Or does he have some other girlfriend I don’t know about? I chuckle weakly and drop my fist. “A well-rounded array of hobbies indeed.”

  “And what about you?” He copies my interview approach. “We all know you enjoy . . .” And here he stumbles. He bites his lip, probably wondering if he should mention the piano or not. But he recovers quickly. “Um . . . listening to music and . . . camping.” He’s grasping at straws, trying not to offend me or plunge me into a bad mood. “Anything else you would like to share?”

  I smile sweetly. I decide to skip mentioning my dormant piano playing as well. It’s a wound I don’t want to rub salt into at the moment. “I also enjoy picking apart movies for continuity flaws, swimming, and making out with my boyfriend.”

  We stare at each other then, and all the blood in my body seems to rush to my head.

  “He’s a lucky guy, your boyfriend,” Neil says. He gets off his swing and bends down toward me, in such a way that I’m sure he’ll kiss me. My insides flip-flop in anticipation. But instead of his lips heading toward mine, they move in the direction of my ear. “Are you up for the challenge of the merry-go-round?” he breathes dramatically.

  He pulls me to my feet, and we dash over to the merry-go-round. The rut that circles it is etched into the dirt like a moat protecting a castle. I hop onto the pebbly metal platform, careful not to trip, and grab on to the center bars.

  “Hold on tight!” Neil says as he pushes against the bar and begins to run, digging his heels into the Earth. After about ten rotations, the centrifugal force threatens to overwhelm me, but I stick out my hand for Neil to grab anyway. He locks his hand around my wrist and jumps on. We jostle against each other until we’re lying perfectly still, our fingers entwined.

  Our heads bump lightly together as we spin, and the sun’s rays warm our exposed skin. When the merry-go-round slows, and then grinds to a halt, I turn my head to face Neil. We grin at each other with big cheesy smiles. He shifts his body so he’s propped up on his side, and he reaches out his hand to brush the tendrils that have escaped from my ponytail away from my face. My scalp tingles, and the tiny pulses of pleasure radiate down my body. My muscles relax, and I close my eyes. His kiss is tender, his lips impossibly soft, and I marvel at how perfectly we fit together, like he’s a piece of me I didn’t know was missing before.

  And of course I have to go and ruin it by crying. I’m not loud about it, but by the time the first tear trickle reaches my ear, he knows. A shadow passes over the sun, and I shiver.

  He hugs me tightly, pressing me against his body in a way that makes me want to wrap my legs around him. I redden at the thought. I break away from him and sit up, hugging my arms to my chest.

  “You’re cold,” Neil says, concerned. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you coffee.”

  “Do you have tea?” I blurt. Having this chance to be with Neil feels like a fresh start, and coffee is a vice I’d rather leave in my past.

  “More than what lies at the bottom of Boston Harbor.” As we walk to his house, Neil gives me a rundown of all the different types of tea that inhabit his parents’ well-stocked cupboards.

  “Chamomile is good,” I tell him as he unlocks the door and ushers me inside.

  Neil’s living room is light and airy, and impeccably neat. A sofa and armchairs are arranged in front of a fireplace, and the walls are lined with bookshelves.

  “Have a seat,” Neil says. “I’ll get our tea.”

  I sit on the sofa—right in the middle—and pull a throw pillow from the nook of the armrest to stow behind my back. My eyes flicker around the room, taking in the various family photos on the wall, always of the same three people—Neil and his parents. But then I see one smack in the middle of the mantel that makes me pause because there are four people in it. I cock my ear, listening for the telltale signs of tea-making in the kitchen, and approach the photo, skimming around the coffee table carefully.

  In it Neil looks about thirteen, and there’s another boy standing next to Neil’s father, blond but with the same wild curls, who must be a couple years older. Does Neil have a long-lost brother? There has never been mention of him, so I have to assume it’s a sensitive subject. What happened to him? Did he die?

  My heart pounding in my throat, I sit back down. Just in time too, because Neil comes in with two steaming mugs. “We’ll let these steep a couple minutes, and in the meantime I can play you a song.” He ducks his head and shrugs as he places our tea on doilies on the coffee table in front of me. “If you want.”

  “A private concert? Of course I want!” I smile at him brightly and swallow my questions about the mystery boy.

  He returns to the entryway and pulls his guitar out of the closet, and then sits on the footstool in front of me. He strums a few chords, then scratches the side of his neck with the bright orange guitar pick. “I haven’t played this song for anyone before. But I play a lot when I’m home alone.”

  Leaning forward, I press my palms together and squeeze them between my knees. As he starts to sing, I’m struck again, as I am every time, by the emotion he’s able to convey. He sings of loss, of forgiveness, of learning to live—and love again. It’s an arrow through my heart, because it’s everything I both feel and long for. It’s like he’s reading my mind.

  When it ends, I’m paralyzed.

  He places his guitar on the chair and scoots the footrest closer to me. He takes my hands in his, looks deep into my eyes. “I . . . I thought it might help you to see I understand what you’re going through. I mean, not exactly, of course, since you haven’t told me what happened, but . . . Remember when you asked me if I’d drink from that river, the Lethe? At one time I would’ve—without question. I’d have thrown myself into that river. Anything to take the pain away. But you can get through it. I did. And I want you to know that whatever it is, I’m here for you. Whenever you’re ready to talk.” He’s so earnest, if he told me he’d jump in front of a lion for me, I think I’d believe him. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me to bare my dark secrets to him.

  I lower my eyes to escape his gaze, which has grown so intense, I fear it can see straight into my soul. “I better ge
t home,” I say, getting up and heading toward the door. “Grammy’s going to wonder where I am.”

  “Wait—I’ll drive you.” He jumps up and brushes by me, opening the door.

  “It’s only a half mile,” I say, ready to refuse him, until I see his eager expression. “Will you walk with me instead? I feel like walking.”

  “Yeah . . . yeah, sure.” And when we step out the door, hand in hand, I glance back, realizing we never touched our tea.

  We walk past the playground, past cul-de-sacs, past an array of pastel-colored houses. Neil and I talk about our friends at church and our classes at school. It feels so normal and nice.

  At my door I pull out my key, insert it into the lock.

  “Wait,” says Neil. “Before you go . . .” He leans in and cups my face with his hands. He kisses me softly, his warm touch melting away all my remaining uncertainty. It’s a feeling I could get lost in. I pull him closer, kiss him back harder.

  The door opens, creaking on its hinges, and Neil and I break apart, startled.

  “Good evening, Neil,” says Grammy. Her smile is polite, her eyebrows slightly raised.

  “Hello, Mrs. Ward,” he says, backing away. “So, see you tomorrow, Felicia?” He looks like he’s trying to keep a straight, serious face, but a smile—and those dimples—breaks through.

  “Yes, tomorrow,” I promise as Grammy guides me into the house, even though I don’t know how I’ll survive the hours until I can see him again. Grammy retrieves my key and shuts the door, but I rush to the front window and pull back the curtains to watch him. And I stay there until he rounds the corner, out of sight.

  CHAPTER 16

  SUDDENLY I FEEL LIKE I’m being ripped apart. It is pitch black, and dust and small stones are raining down on me, bouncing and pinging against the sides of the chamber like hail. I’m disoriented by the lack of hologram screen glow, and have to squint to keep the dust out of my eyes. With rising panic I try to turn the screen back on, but the system is completely fried.