He held out his hand.
“This is for you. To show you who I think you are.”
I pulled my hands to my chest. He dropped the object and it bounced into a corner. The door clicked shut. When I looked up, he was gone.
I rushed to the corner, snatching what he’d left me.
It was a bouncy ball.
* * *
Clutching the bouncy ball, I hid in the costume closet for ages. Zahra would want to talk, and what would I tell her?
Oh, that random boy I yelled at? Yeah, he said he and I are trying to stop the Link thief, who happens to be my sister. She stole my memories too, so I don’t remember him. And I had the weirdest desire to hug him despite the fact that he’s obviously crazy. I seem to be a bit cracked myself.
I pressed myself to the wall. The stiff tulle from a skirt scratched my face. He’d said someone was stealing my memories but leaving my Links. I couldn’t possibly believe that.
My fingers opened, revealing the bouncy ball. The dim light of the closet’s single bulb caught a shimmer inside. The ball was clear and hollow, filled with blue-tinted water and silver sparkles. When I shifted or shook it, the sparkles swirled, tossing light. Like stars. Dancing stars.
It was like this stupid little ball had captured me completely.
How could he know me like that? There was only one place to look—but sinking into my memories was a scary prospect at the moment. The glitter in the ball settled, calm and shimmering. I took a deep breath. I could be brave.
Start easy, with memories of yesterday. Only one day ago, and stored on one of my hardwood Links, but the memories were as dull as though I’d stored them on a piece of onion paper. I’d woken up and my parents were there. I hadn’t gone to school. Why not?
I couldn’t remember.
I’d gone somewhere with trees and noise. I’d felt nervous, but happy because . . . wasn’t someone there? Someone who made me happy?
I couldn’t remember.
The rest of the day zipped past in a vague blur of crowds and running and panic and bliss and agony and something else that
I just couldn’t remember.
Panicked, I scanned my memories of the days before. Moments stood out in sharp color. Waking up, dancing, school. In between, blurred splotches of nothing nagged at me. I only knew those moments existed because I could feel that something had happened.
I batted the scratchy tulle away from my face and scrambled for the door. It was too hot, I was suffocating under the pressure of all that nothing. The door gave way. I tumbled into the hallway and footsteps came running.
“Gena.” Zahra’s soft accent sounded relieved. She knelt next to me on the floor as I pushed myself up. “Why were you hiding? What’s wrong? Who was that boy?”
My elbows weakened. I collapsed to the floor. Kalan Fox, his text had said. Kalan.
“I can’t remember,” I gasped.
“What?”
“I can’t remember.” I rolled onto my side. “I can’t remember yesterday, or that boy, or anything. Zahra, how can I not remember?”
“Na uzo billah,” Zahra whispered.
She only spoke Arabic when something bad happened. A sound like a kitten being strangled escaped my mouth.
The world blurred. A wild tremor rattled me, an earthquake in my soul. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”
Zahra’s hands reached for me, slow and fuzzy. I slapped at the air. Don’t touch me, don’t touch me. Someone had sucked away my life. My heart banged against my ribs. Eager to beat away the remaining days and minutes and moments of my life. A weight pressed on my chest. Pushed me down. Down to the ground. Like a grave. Parts of me were dead. Killed. Shaking and shaking, I couldn’t stop the shaking.
“Gena!” Zahra’s voice beat into my head. “Stop, you can stop this. Focus. Move.”
I can’t move. I can’t I can’t I can’t.
“One finger, Gena. Move it.”
One finger. Tap. My fingernail hit the floor. A tiny vibration in my hand. Different from the shudders. A new rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. The pattern seeped into my body. I lifted my palm, slapping the floor in the rhythm of my typical song. Not a. Rata-tat-tat. Big deal. Rat-a-tat-tat.
No. This was a big deal. New mantra.
Don’t think. Rat-a-tat-tat. Don’t think. Rat-a-tat-tat.
The weight gradually eased off my chest, bringing back air. The world sharpened. Minutes ticked past to the beat of my drumming. Gradually, the panic attack faded. I lay on the floor, clutching at its comforting stillness. Screw a bed, I could sleep right here. Zahra’s face, her expressions always so clear with her hair hidden under the hijab, contracted in worry.
“You are okay now?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She sat on her heels. “Come with me. We are calling the police.”
I jerked up. It made sense, going to the cops. Except the thought had me practically hyperventilating again.
I had no idea why.
She headed toward her office. I scrambled up and chased after her. “No, Zahra, no.”
She snatched her phone from her desk. “What do you mean, no? Someone has taken your memories, Gena!”
Ren. He’d said it was Ren. That couldn’t be true. There’d be no point for her to steal my memories. I crumpled into a chair as Zahra called the police. I thought of Kalan, of his bushy eyebrows and strong arms. Of how I’d wanted to comfort him. Of the bouncy ball I still clutched in my hand. A deep sense inside told me to trust him.
No way. Not about my sister.
Zahra slammed her phone to the desk, making me jump. “Ils sont idiots!”
Something about idiots. I assumed that meant the cops.
“They are patrolling the streets.” She smoothed her hand across her hijab. Her shoes beat staccato clicks across the tile. “Almost all of them, he says, the entire force. Too much violence, and you must wait until someone can come for you.”
My head dropped into my hands, either from exhaustion or relief. Or both.
Zahra turned sharply and shoved her chair under her desk. I’d never seen her so jumpy. “I will call your parents. They can take you home.”
My head jerked up. “But the concert. I’ll miss it.”
“You are joking. A performance, after all this? You haven’t even practiced your solo piece, and you had a panic attack. The recital is in an hour.”
“No, please, Zahra. I need this, I need to dance.”
“Gena—”
“Please. I need to move, I need to dance.” I needed to feel the universe in balance again. I needed my heart to pound because of exercise, not fear.
Zahra put her hands on her desk. “And when did you become so obstinate? Fine. But only your solo, not your group dances. And I am telling your parents the minute they arrive, and the police are still coming. Bien?”
“Okay.”
My parents would yank me home the second they heard about this. I wasn’t worried, though. More than likely, they’d be late, and Zahra’d be swamped getting everyone ready backstage. The younger classes were a handful.
“Now go stretch and at least visualize your dance,” she said. “And get in your costume.”
I rushed to the costume closet. My solo outfit was near the front of the rack. I ran my fingers over the smooth material, trying to focus on anything but Kalan and lost memories. I loved my costume for this dance. Silver and shimmery, with ruching across the bodice and simple spaghetti straps. Sheer silvery ribbons curled down from the hips. A faux-skirt of starlight twirled when I did.
I changed in the locker room where some of the other girls had already gathered, and pulled on my warm-ups to cover my skin. Barely an echo sounded in the nearly empty room. No hint of the usual giggles and nervous jokes. The Populace students weren’t the only ones who’d stayed home.
Still no Cora. I tugged my jacket cuffs over my Links. I didn’t remember the last time I’d talked to her. I tried to ignore the dread that thought dropped into my stoma
ch. She had to be okay.
I snuck to one of the main floor practice rooms for a little privacy, leaving the lights off. I synced my Sidewinder with the wallscreen and cued up my song.
Lay down. Close your eyes. Ignore everything about stolen memories and boys you should know and cops coming to get you. The choreography I’d practiced for weeks spun through my head.
It didn’t feel right.
The steps were familiar, but they were wrong, somehow. My visualizations faded with the song, and in the silence, a tiny noise registered.
There it was again. A sniff. I raised my head, and in the far corner, wedged between the mirrors, was Cora.
I sat up. “You are here! I was worried.”
“You really aren’t my friend anymore, are you?” Her voice was small and raw, like a wounded creature.
“What? Cora, why . . . are you okay?” I scooted toward her.
She pulled her knees to her chest and hung her head. “You’re not using my song. The one for the new dance we planned. All you care about is that Populace guy.”
I bit my lip. “What did I do? What’s wrong?”
She sniffed again. “Like you don’t rem—” Her head snapped up so fast, it hit the mirror with a soft thud. “You don’t remember. Again.”
Prickles coursed up my arms. I shook my head.
“Oh no,” she whispered. Her eyes widened. “It’s him, Gena, I told you it’s him! He’s the thief, or working with the thief, or something!”
I crawled closer to her. A note of hysteria had invaded her whispers. “Cora, cool it. Zahra called the cops, okay? They’re going to figure this out.”
“The cops?” She wrapped her arms around herself. “And Kalan? You’re not going to see him again?”
A strange longing tugged my heart at the sound of his name. But I didn’t know him. I had to be careful.
“No, I’m not going to see him again.”
Her chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. She tugged at her gloves. “I should punch you in the face.”
My lips twitched. “Would the shoulder give you the same satisfaction? I’d like to stay conscious for the recital.”
Her head lolled back against the mirror. “I’ll save it for later. I guess . . . we can pretend yesterday never happened.”
For me, yesterday never had happened. My smile collapsed, and my heart fell into a sinkhole. “I guess so.”
“That’s why you’re using the old song,” she said. “You don’t remember the new dance. The one we’ve been working on since Sunday.”
I shook my head.
With what seemed a great effort, Cora nudged my foot. “Your other dance will be perfect.”
I nudged her foot back half-heartedly. My original dance was beautiful. But I had a feeling the new one had been better.
What a horrible reflection of my life.
20
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law . . .
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam CXXII
I wound the laces of my pointe shoes around my ankles and tucked in the ends. The stiff, waddling feel of walking in pointe shoes was a typical precursor to performing. The audience applause beyond the curtain faded, and Darena swept off the stage, rushing for her warm-up sweats.
My turn. I lifted my chin and stepped past the curtains and into position.
The heat of the lights on my bare skin. The gentle shuffling in the audience. The twin hums inside me of nervousness and Link buzz. All familiar. But also not right. Like I played a cartoon of myself on this stage.
Classical music poured from the speakers, and I moved into the dance mechanically. With perfect control, my arms swept up. I rose on my toes. Straight lines, hard muscles. Perfection. The strain of it clashed with the chaos inside me.
I couldn’t dance this way. I stopped before my first pirouette.
Murmurs and uncomfortable turning of program pages came from the audience. My music cut out. The lights blinded me. The yearning to dance overwhelmed me. Music started again. I didn’t move.
“Gena,” Zahra whispered loudly from off-stage. “It’s all right. You can come off if you need to.”
I didn’t need to. I needed to dance, but I’d forgotten how when I’d forgotten who I was. Had I ever known who I was? Or allowed myself to be that person?
Maybe forgetting who you used to be was the first step to finding who you really were.
My shoulders straightened, and my spine lengthened. Cora was in the sound booth behind the audience, hiding from the crowd but watching me. I lifted my face to her. She knew what I needed. Cora always knew.
Strains of music wafted across the stage. A different song. It paused, like it was asking me a question. I smiled, then unwound the straps of my pointe shoes and tossed them off stage. They thumped at Zahra’s feet. Cora started the music, and I counted out the beats. Five, six, seven, eight.
Energy coursed through me, and I danced. A sharp kick. The ribbons of my costume scattered. I rippled, my body flowing forward and back, neck curving forward and back. A leap, with ribbons fluttering over my thighs. A spin. Tight and strong and controlled and unbound. I heaved my shoulders back. My arms flung out and swept forward.
A strange heat filled me as I continued to dance. I was movement. I was freedom.
I was Genesis Lee.
The music slowed. I dropped to my knees, my cheek sweeping the floor. Sweat trickled down my face and fell to the stage. The last strains of music faded.
Applause roared in my ears. I climbed to my feet. With a dramatic sweep of my arm, I bowed to the dark forms of the audience. To Mom and Dad, who never knew that part of me. To myself, for finally letting that part of me free.
The moment I stepped off-stage, Zahra swirled me into her arms. I stiffened for a moment. But what the heck? I hugged her back, squeezing her ribs until she laughed.
“What was that, eh, you crazy girl? That was not the dance you practiced! Maybe it was better.”
My heart swelled and filled the holes inside me.
“I need to stretch,” I said.
Zahra touched my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Gena.”
“Thanks.”
Music blared and a troupe of eight-year-olds started a peppy tap number. I headed for the hallway. The stage door closed off a thunder of clackity-clacking shoes. Light from the stairwells at the opposite ends of the hall illuminated the smiling pictures of Zahra’s former students. Hidden in the shadow of an alcove, another face waited for me.
“You were brilliant.” Kalan’s fervent words echoed down the dim hall.
My heart hammered. He came back. He actually came back for me, when I’d gone ballistic on him barely two hours ago. Did I want that to mean something?
“I don’t want to freak you out again.” He lifted his hand into the light. “I just wanted you to have this.”
A smartplastic square rested on his palm, stamped with the word MEMO.
His memories. Ones of us, I was sure. And oh, boy did I want it. It would tell me what we had learned about the Link thief. Who Kalan had been to me. Who I had been. I was terrified to know everything I’d forgotten.
“I won’t touch you,” he said. “I can drop it in your hand.”
My fingers opened one by one. I stretched out my hand.
“Genesis Lee.”
I yanked my hand back. I knew that tone: two steps past the warning tone, one step shy of yelling. I faced him.
“What was that?” Dad’s bowler hat shadowed his face. He was nearly crushing the box of powdered donuts in his hands.
Mom frowned at me over a whole bouquet of roses. “That was very inappropriate, Gena. We’re disappointed in you.”
Right. Not unexpected. But still, a painful lump swelled in my throat. Why would I have hoped, even for a second, they might be anything but disappointed? I stepped into the stairwell light, my dance costume shimmering.
“You want to know what that was?” I asked in
a level voice. “That was me.”
Kalan shifted in the shadows of his alcove. The donut box crinkled and Dad opened his mouth. I cut him off.
“That was the me you never wanted to see. The me that can’t be forced into whatever stupid mold you think I should be. That was the me I’m going to be from now on whether you like it or not.”
“Gena!” Tiny muscles in Mom’s face convulsed in shock.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The tension in Dad’s voice crackled. “We’ve never forced you into anything.”
I grabbed a dangling silver strip from my skirt. “Every time I expressed a preference for something, you shut me down. It always had to be what you wanted. Why does something like dance matter to you?”
“It’s not about dance, it’s about perception,” Dad growled. “It’s about how people see you as a graceful young woman instead of some kind of provocative . . . some kind of slutty . . .”
He clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late. I recoiled at the slap of his words. Since when was grace and passion slutty? “Dad, nobody cares, that’s not what—”
“I care.” Dad’s breath whistled through his nose. “It makes me look like I raised a daughter as crass as any other girl in town.”
Because it was always about how he looked to everybody else. Dad and I glared at each other. Kalan stepped out of the shadows, and Dad’s gaze shifted. His face seemed to swell, his eyes practically popping out. The box of donuts dropped to the floor.
“YOU!”
Kalan jumped, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
“Get away from my daughter.”
A white powdered donut rolled to a stop at Kalan’s feet. Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind my parents. Detective Jackson’s voice drifted up. Crap. Crap crap crap. Why was that crap? No idea, but panic poured down my throat like heavy syrup.
“. . . said a student was losing memories. If it’s another Link theft this town’s going to explode.”
They couldn’t catch Kalan, they’d arrest him for sure—Dad would demand it. And Jackson. Every nerve ending in my body screamed at the thought of him.
The Unhappening of Genesis Lee Page 19
