Dom put his gloved hand over the top of the glass as I set it down. I frowned and pulled it away.
“You, uh, may not want to drink any more of that.” He adjusted his usual baseball hat over the shaggy hair that hung over his high collar. “Here, take this one.”
He reached across the table and handed me another glass. The cup wavered in front of my eyes. My brain shuddered through memories, trying to make connections. The nasty tang of the drink on my tongue . . . the world lurching around me . . . and . . .
Dom’s mouth quirked up on one side.
And that. The half-guilty grin he wore every time he got caught in a prank.
“You spiked the drink!” I slammed my glass onto the table. Soda splashed over the side, seeping through the thin fabric of my gloves. My favorite gloves. I glared, and he began to laugh.
“You spiked the drink?” Cora appeared next to my chair, hands on her curvy hips. A glower darkened her tan face, perfect shades of make-up outlining the angry, almond eyes that had entranced half the boys in school. Link beads glimmered in her deep brown hair.
I’d hated Cora, once. When we first met in dance class, for being so pretty. Until I loved her because she was funny and crazy and as needy as a kitten. And flashy—putting Links in her hair to show off.
Maybe if I put Links in my hair, I’d get some attention too. I’d only inherited non-exotic Asian features from my dad—black hair and flat chest. Maybe Cora would help me dye a blue streak in my hair like I’d always wanted. Why had I never asked her before?
Wait. Wasn’t I mad about something? I stared in confusion at my drink.
“Look at her,” Cora yelled. “What did you put in there?”
“I—well, it’s not my fault. It’s a new cocktail mix, Sweet and Strong.” He tugged at his black gloves. “I guess it’s as strong as it says. I thought it’d be funny to leave it here and see which one of you’d have a little extra fun tonight.”
“She’s never had a drink in her life.” Cora crossed her arms over her brilliant yellow shirt. “You idiot, I will punch you in the face.”
Dom finally lost his smile. If he’d ever had a chance of winning Cora back, it was gone. Take that, Mr. Clever.
“Relax.” Dom rummaged in the pocket of his jacket. “I came prepared.”
He tossed a small packet toward me, but I missed the catch. The packet landed on the table.
“I don’t feel good,” I muttered. Wasn’t drinking supposed to make you feel good? “I think I’m broken.”
Cora sighed and ripped the packet open, dropping a small pill in front of me. “Take it, Gen. You’ll feel better.”
The pill skittered in my vision like a tiny cockroach. Ew. “What is it?” I asked.
“Clairtox. A de-intoxicator.”
I grabbed the pill. Nope. Missed. I slapped a hand over it, trapping it, and put it in my mouth. My head throbbed as it melted on my tongue. The rhythm in my head didn’t match the pounding beat of the music, which didn’t match the buzz of Linked memories, which dizzied me like a tumbleweed in a windstorm.
“Still broken,” I reported.
“It takes about twenty minutes,” Dom said.
I laid my head on the table and closed my eyes. “I hate you.”
“Nah, you could never hate anybody.”
“I will sic Hades on you.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” he said. “I didn’t know pet snakes could be trained for attack mode.”
I opened one eye, attempting a cyclopsian glare. Ha. Cyclops. If I were a Cyclops, I’d be bigger than him, and I could make his head spin faster than mine. How did he even get alcohol in here? Nobody at the Low-G would sell it to a seventeen-year-old.
My fist clenched. Sticky hand. Sticky, sticky, sticky with soda. I pulled off my glove and twisted my Link bracelets. Sparkles danced, blue and red and green. Pretty. The sparkles sharpened into bright beams that pierced my eyes.
I wanted to kick Dom in the shins. Six times.
“I need to go outside.” I stood up.
“Let’s go.” Cora shot Dom one last glare. “Glove, Gen.”
Right. No touchy. I pulled on my wet glove and followed Cora to the door. We pushed through the exit, and the music and the Link buzz cut off.
Breathing. Breathing was not broken. I could do that for a few minutes. A light wind brushed my forehead, and gradually the world settled back to stillness. With a groan, I sank onto a metal bench next to the club doors. Maybe the pill was working. Yeah, definitely working. I had a whole slew of ideas for punishing Dom, and none of them involved a Cyclops this time.
The overly sweet scent of a flowering cactus turned my stomach while the heat of the Arizona evening soaked into my skin. The sky was a deep lavender, not dark but not day either. An in-between time. A wishing time, Grandma had called twilight. Not one thing or another. A time of possibility, where you could be one thing or another. Anything you wanted. If you actually knew what you wanted.
Right now, all I wanted was to not be drunk.
Cora plunked herself next to me. “I will punch him in the face. You say the word, and I will.”
I slouched on the bench, tipping my head back.
“Hey.” The shout from across the garden reverberated in my ears. “What are you sexy ladies doing out here alone?”
Three silhouetted figures waltzed across the garden. Their shadows stretched toward us in the fading sunlight.
“Let’s go,” Cora whispered. “They don’t have a Link buzz.”
Silent bodies meant no Link-stored memories—Populace. My nauseated stomach churned.
“Come on, what if one of them is the thief?” Cora clutched at her purse and dropped it. “I mean, it’s been a while, but they never actually caught him . . .”
A spike of panic lanced up my stomach, piercing my throat with sudden pain. As if I needed the reminder.
“Hey there.” Three boys stopped on the other side of our bench.
One of them noted our clothing and the Links in Cora’s hair. A sneer twisted his face.
“Two Mementi girls out alone, so close to dark? I thought you’d all gone into hiding.”
He must be the leader. Dark brown eyes, black hair, full lips, curved scar next to his nose. I fixed a picture-perfect image of his face into my Links. I’d need it for evidence.
Except I wouldn’t remember his face if he took my Links. I wouldn’t remember anything at all. Every moment of my life existed in the bracelets under my gloves. If they vanished, what would be left of me? I would be like the sunset. Not dead, not alive. In between.
Another boy, sporting a shirt with the arms ripped off, snorted. “Had a little much tonight?”
I clapped a hand over my Links.
“We’re waiting for our friends.” Cora cleared her throat. “The baseball team. All of them.”
And, great, Cora. Kill that potential defense with overdramatic flair. I took a shaky breath. Like I was doing any better.
The third boy laughed, loud and a little out of control. He was the youngest of them, and judging by his inability to stand without swaying, a bit more soused than me.
The leader, Scar-nose, licked his lips. “Come on, girls, we can offer you a better time than your own boys.”
Oh, gross. I shot to my feet, anger and alcohol stripping away my usual mask of politeness. “Shove off. We’re not afraid of Populace weasels like you.”
“Gena!” Cora gasped.
I glared at them.
The Drunk glared right back. “Stupid Mementi freaks. At least we’re not brain-damaged.”
“Hey,” Cora cried, jumping up from the bench.
“You think you’re so much better than us. What are you going to do now that I can pop down to Happenings and buy a Memo? Use my normal brain to remember things like you can?”
Moron. “I doubt you have the neurological capability to remember to zip your fly, Happenings tech or not. Digital copies of memories are crap compared to our ‘brain damage.’”
Scar-nose leaned over the back of the bench. Too close. “You want to watch yourself.”
I flinched, and Cora backed away. Scar-nose laughed.
“You guys know how to scare a Mementi?” he said. “One touch is all it takes to send ‘em screaming.”
Ripped-Sleeves shoved the Drunk forward. “Do it. Go for the curvy one.”
The Drunk ogled Cora, his unfocused eyes glittering.
“Listen, you mind-stunted Neanderthal—” Cora started.
He lunged over the bench. I threw myself to the side. Cora’s scream pierced my eardrums. She turned to run, but tripped over her purse and fell among the scattered contents.
Her purse. Cora had mace in her purse.
I scrambled for the bag. Where is it, where is it?
My gloves scraped over the concrete, tiny fibers catching and pulling. My fingers closed around a canister. I whipped around.
The canister slipped from my slick-gloved, shaking hand. It clattered into the growing shadows.
Behind the bench, Scar-nose and Ripped-Sleeves were doubled over with laughter. The Drunk had flipped half over the metal back. His legs kicked in mid-air, and he struggled to push himself upright.
Ripped-Sleeves grabbed one of his legs and hauled him over the bench. The boy rubbed his forehead. “Ow.”
The mace, where was the freaking mace?
Ripped-Sleeves flung an arm toward me.
I screamed and dropped to the ground, rolling into a ball with my arms—and Links—protected.
“Boo!” he shouted, laughing again.
What?
I risked a peek. He hadn’t even gotten close to me.
Scar-nose shoved the other two boys toward the club. “Let’s go find some real action.” He turned to flip us off. “The only thing you Mementi girls are good for is a laugh.”
A burst of music assaulted me, and they disappeared inside.
“Cora?” I whispered. “You okay?”
“Stupid boys, I could kill every stupid boy who ever breathed! Which is all of them! Every single one!”
Yeah, she was fine. She crawled around, picking up her fallen things and shoving them into her purse.
“What about you?” She paused and studied me. “Panicking?”
I forced myself up, wishing she didn’t have to ask. “Um, yes. But not panic-attacking.”
“There’s a difference?”
“I guess.”
I rubbed my arms, trying to soothe away the shakes. It felt a lot like the many panic attacks I’d had—just not so out of control. And if I did lose control, Cora had years of experience winding me down. Which I loved her and hated myself for.
She stood, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “You lost my mace.”
We burst into hysterical giggles.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
She shouldered her bag. “I’ve never seen you so . . . mean. You should get drunk more often.”
“Yeah, right.” Saying too much and dropping a can of mace didn’t make me anything but stupid.
And it didn’t make me any less afraid of them. Not just those boys, either. All of them.
The Populace scared us with their own memory research and the possibility of Link theft. We scared them with our superior intellect and control of the city. No-win situation, there.
Cora kicked at my foot. “Let’s go. It’s getting too dark.”
We hurried around the club, taking a shortcut to the tramstop. Every sway of a tree branch or snap that could be a footstep set my heart pumping again. Cora’s words about the Link thief echoed in my head.
They never actually caught him.
Sometimes, a perfect memory was more of a curse than a blessing.
* * *
The next morning, repetitive beeping startled me from a dream. I shook away the last images of being chased by Populace boys who walked on their hands with legs kicking in the air.
A fuzzy, disconnected feeling seeped into my waking brain. Like I was missing some vital component to the world. I groaned and buried my face in the pillow. Dom needed to die.
Three more beeps from my phone. I sat up and pulled my Link buds from my ears; I’d fallen asleep listening to music again. My Sidewinder phone lay on my desk across the room. The flexible band was rolled into a ball, the design of brown ovals along its tan back mimicking the snake it was named for.
“Sidewinder, read me all my unread texts.” I flopped onto my pillow.
“Accessing text messages,” replied the automated voice. I’d set it to sound like Toben Roberts, the drummer from Frankie and the Boy. I grinned into my pillow.
Toben’s raspy voice recited the texts, and any lighthearted feelings vanished.
Text from Cora Julieta Medina to Genesis Lee, TDS 07:01:26/5-4-2084 Need to talk ASAP.
Text from Cora Julieta Medina to Genesis Lee, TDS 07:03:04/5-4-2084 Call me. Mom’s freakin, so am I.
Text from Cora Julieta Medina to Genesis Lee, TDS 07:03:48/5-4-2084 Please, Gen. I’m missing a Link.
2
Something it is which thou hast lost,
Some pleasure from thine early years . . .
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam IV
Detective Jackson filled Cora’s living room like a looming shadow. His dark blue uniform sucked the brightness from the colorful pillows and paint. I was used to seeing him in jeans at family parties, and the uniform un-familiarized his face.
“Take your time, Gena,” he said. Sharp nose, square jaw, straight forehead. I focused on the lines of his dark-skinned face, convincing myself it was the same Jackson I’d always known.
Cora cowered in her chair across the room, drowning in her over-large purple hoody. Her Links tangled in her hair beneath her scarf. I knew Links in the hair had been a bad idea. She glared at Jackson like he was somehow to blame, but she’d been glaring at everyone this morning.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” Jackson said.
I’d never be ready. But they needed my memory of last night. My evidence.
I was a horrible friend. It wasn’t even that meaningful of a memory. Not a deep, personal one. It would help find the psycho who’d stolen two years of Cora’s life, but I wanted to hide it so no one could take it from me like they’d taken Cora’s.
Self-loathing left a vile taste in my mouth. I took a deep breath and reached for the memory.
Neurons in my brain shot signals through nerves in my arm, accessing my Links. Strobe lights flashed in my mind. The Chinese music beat out last night’s rhythm I hadn’t gotten to dance to. The heat and the thrill and the irritation and the scent of sweat and alcohol cascaded through me. An echo of my own thoughts sounded in my mind. The wood bead gave me everything—sensation, emotion, thought. Like a moment relived.
I transferred the memory into one of my metal Links, as easy as moving an object from one hand to the other. The metal zapped away all emotion, and the details sharpened. Every person I’d seen or heard in the Low-G shone like the star of their own movie. I knew all their names. My memory could pinpoint every Mementi in the city.
Faces I hadn’t noticed at the time popped out of the background. My friend Kinley and her sister. A bunch of college students, some who used to be friends with my older sister. And Populace, everywhere, including the boys who’d nearly attacked us. All faces without names. All of them suspects.
I broke the memory’s connection to my conscious mind and wrinkled my nose. Personal memories did not jive with metal Links. The memory practically tasted wrong—sharp and tinny, like putting a coin in my mouth. Wisps of emotion from the night lingered. But that was it. The emotional fire was gone, and all I had left was smoke. I’d never get those feelings back, even if I transferred it to wood again.
The worst was still to come.
I gave a curt nod, and Detective Jackson slid back the plastic cover on his small, square Shared Link System. A white-and-black quartz stone glittered. Waiting. The SLS at school let me abso
rb knowledge memories from top astronomers at the Havendale Observatory. Jackson’s was a storage box for evidence memories that would connect to the city’s grid. It would take a memory, not give one.
Jackson held the box in stiff hands. Everything was so still today. Jackson’s hands. Cora in her chair. Even the sunlight just hung in the air. Somebody had hit pause on the world.
“Now,” Jackson said. “Most people prefer to let me view their memory, so I can make my own memory of it. Then I’ll transfer it immediately to the SLS. Of course, if you’d rather not share the memory with me, you can transfer it yourself.”
The frozen sunlight smothered me in a bright cocoon. If I transferred it myself, I’d have to remove the memory from my Links and give it to the SLS’s quartz stone. A piece of me would be missing forever. But sharing. It wasn’t like the brief, disorienting flash I’d gotten of my sister’s first date when I’d accidentally-on-purpose brushed her ungloved hand when I was ten and curious. That was fleeting, a split-second rush of excitement and fear that was gone so fast I couldn’t even categorize it as a memory—more a fragment. She’d yelled at me, and I deserved every curse she’d thrown my way. She’d never said what tiny glimpse of memory she’d gotten from me—probably didn’t even realize what it was; it came and went so fast.
Sharing a memory wasn’t the same rush, the same bewildering glance inside someone else. Jackson would be inside my memory, taking the time to see and experience every moment the way I had. He had to see the whole thing, so he could create his own own memory of my memory and give it away to the SLS. It was the only way we knew how to copy memories, using another Mementi as a conductor, and it terrified me.
“I think . . .” I tried to breathe the frozen air, and my voice stuck. I couldn’t do this.
Argh! Like this was even a big deal. My eyes darted to Cora in shame. She was studying me intensely, staring so hard I shrank back. Who did she see when she looked at me? The Gena of two years ago? Except I wouldn’t match the only Gena who existed in her memory. I wasn’t the person she remembered.
I would be better than she remembered me. And better than she didn’t remember me. I swallowed and said to Jackson, “I’ll share the memory with you.”
The Unhappening of Genesis Lee Page 2
