NO.
Liza tapped the screen one last time. “Ta da!”
She crossed to the door, holding it open for me to leave. “Let’s see how well that worked, shall we?”
“You made everyone else forget.” My voice echoed in the room.
“Yes, dear. You. Not a soul in town who’s connected to their Link buds or an SLS will remember who you are. Nor will anyone who Links up as long as this machine is running.” She sighed, tilting her head in contentment. “Such a convenient solution, isn’t it? I don’t even have to worry about killing you. Though I suppose in a way, I already have.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” I took a gasping breath. “I’ll go to the police. They’ll still come, whether they remember me or not.”
“You think so?” She rested a finger on her lips. “You’ll tell them what you’ve found, and they’ll Link up to take a report. Mementi reports are so easy to change. They’re all just memories, stored in the SLS files. And the system is set to purge any memory of you completely. The moment they try to store you, they’ll forget you. And everything you’ve told them.”
She’d wiped me from this earth. The second someone put in a Link bud, I was gone.
“Let’s do a little test. Go on.” Liza gestured out the door.
I ran.
Ren was still being held here somewhere. She would remember me. She wouldn’t put her Link buds in, not after what Liza had said. I slammed into a guard standing at the door to the lobby.
“She said I could go,” I gasped. “Let me go.”
The click of high heels sounded. Liza advanced in an awkward, hip-swaying slouch, like a kid trying to walk in her mom’s shoes. I choked back a crazy, desperate laugh at this ridiculous woman with the power to steal my life.
“Relax, dear,” she said. “I want you to meet someone before you leave.”
Her fingers clawed into my arm again. She guided me past the guard and into the lobby.
Ren sat on a couch with a superior expression on her face.
“Ren,” Liza said. “Thanks for coming in. I wanted to give you one last thing, personally.”
Ren stood up, blinking in shock at Liza’s face.
Liza reached her free hand into her pocket and gave Ren an envelope. “As a final thank you. A little bonus to tide you over.”
Ren clutched the envelope, her lips pinching.
Look at me, Ren, look at me. Know me.
“Is that all?” she said to Liza.
“Yes.” Liza beamed and stuck her hip out. “Oh, and have you met Gena? Stumbled in from outside, a bit scared by the protesters. She’s leaving now.”
Ren’s eyes narrowed in what I knew was a suppressed eye-roll. “Nice to meet you.”
Be sure to follow the new protocol, Liza had said to the guards. All it would have taken was a touch of a Link bud to Ren’s head or neck.
I was wearing her gloves, her jeans. Didn’t she notice that? We had the same dark hair, the same turned-up noses inherited from Mom. I tried to say her name. My voice stuck. Ren brushed back purple hair that hung in her face.
Ren. Don’t turn around. Look at me.
She exited through the front doors. I thought of Kalan coming to my dance class. How I didn’t remember him at all. It didn’t matter how long Ren stared at me, she would never know me. I had been faded out of her life. Forgotten.
My knees weakened, Liza’s tight grasp the only thing keeping me standing. She giggled. “Looks like it worked.”
She dropped my arm. I tumbled to the floor.
“Come on, then. Home with you. Your help is so appreciated. And don’t worry. I’ll have you collected as soon as this experiment plays out.”
Liza winked, a move that unbalanced her sickly face more, and left me collapsed on the ground. Alone except for my dull outline in the cold, shiny tile.
And I wasn’t sure what was worse, forgetting or forgotten. Or if they were the same thing in the end.
Because either way, my life was unhappening all around me.
25
And come, whatever loves to weep,
And hear the ritual of the dead.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam XVIII
My fingers trembled as I hit the buttons projected onto my palm.
Text from Genesis Lee to Cora Julieta Medina, TDS 9:43:07/5-11-2084 Where are you? Need to talk ASAP. Emergency.
I clutched the thin band of my Sidewinder with both hands, tapping it with gloved fingernails and counting the beats. Everybody couldn’t have forgotten me completely. Cora might not have had her Link buds in.
My eyes shifted to the three other people in the tram. Sydney Little. Liria Soto, my teacher’s oldest daughter. Jax Bennett. None of them had greeted me. They all focused on the news coming into their Link buds.
They had forgotten me.
I pressed the Sidewinder into my belly to suppress the nausea and turned to the window. We approached the city center. The skyline looked lonely without the silver Memoriam spiraling into the blue.
All the memories from those we loved had vanished in smoke. But we still had our own memories of them, so they lived in us. Not me. No one had memories of me. I was more dead than the dead. I’d never realized how much of myself was made up of the people around me.
Three buzzes in my hand; a new text.
Text from Cora Julieta Medina to Genesis Lee, TDS 9:45:23/5-11-2084 Sorry, you must have the wrong number.
The Sidewinder clattered to the floor.
Everything. Every second we’d spent together for the eight years we’d been friends was gone. How could she not notice she was missing such huge chunks of her life? With something so big, surely she’d feel I was gone. Surely she would miss me.
Maybe that wouldn’t matter, since she didn’t know it was me she was missing.
Maybe my friends and family would end up with the other patients in the hospital, crazy and losing themselves without understanding why.
Or maybe they’d feel a little sad for no reason they could see, and move on. Maybe I wouldn’t leave much of a hole.
My hands pressed into the seat on either side of my legs. Each expansion of my lungs sparked an agony that closed my throat. Like my body knew I was dead and was trying to comply with the inevitable.
None of the passengers had reached down to pick up my Sidewinder and set it on a seat near me, a politeness I would have expected from other Mementi. It was like I wasn’t sitting on this tram. To them, receiving a constant feed from their Link buds that erased me, I probably wasn’t. I stumbled down the aisle to pick up my phone.
A voice chimed over the speaker. “Passengers are reminded that standing is not permitted on Havendale City Trams. Thank you.”
I let out a shaky, heartbroken laugh. At least someone recognized I still existed.
When the tram announced my stop, I hurried down the steps to the street. To my surprise, Mr. Soto, my teacher, stood at the bottom of the stairs like a guard on patrol. My heart lifted. If he remembered me, he could help. He could tell everyone to keep their Link buds hidden away.
He adjusted his wide-brimmed panama hat and turned at the sound of my footsteps clanging on the metal steps. He wasn’t usually a hat-wearer.
“Mr. Soto?” I said.
“Sorry, you’ll have to wait for the next tram to take you out of here,” he said, blocking my path. “No one’s allowed down here but Mementi.”
My foot hovered over the next step. “But I . . .” What would I say? He didn’t know me.
“Come on, kid, back up the stairs.” He adjusted his hat again. “Nothing against you. We’re trying to keep everybody safe. Including you.”
“Who’s we?” I asked weakly.
“Some of us are trying to protect each other instead of hurt each other. Now—” His mouth hung open for a moment. “You’ve got a Link buzz.”
My hand clutching the rail spasmed. A Link buzz, and him not recognizing me as Mementi . . .
“THIEF!” He lun
ged up the stairs.
I tripped on the stair behind me, falling hard on my butt. Adrenaline surged and I gasped. Run, before someone else comes, before they hurt me, before they rip away the Links they don’t know are mine.
Mr. Soto reached for my shoulders.
Only one thing to do.
I ripped off a glove and reached for the only open skin he showed—his face. The moment our skin made contact, I focused as hard as I could on a memory. He froze as the touch allowed him to see what I could see in my mind. A normal day at school. Him at his desk, me among his students seated in the chairs around the room.
He jerked away, almost falling as he backed down the steps of the tramstop. “You’re Mementi,” he said hoarsely.
I climbed to my feet.
“You’re a—a student of mine? You can’t be. I don’t know you.”
I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the lump there. “Someone erased your memories of me.”
He tugged the high collar of his shirt. “No. Nobody would do that.”
“Someone did it to me, too. Please, Mr. Soto, you have to let me pass. I just want to get home.” My voice sounded small, like a child’s.
“Who?” he demanded. “Who’s doing this?”
If I mentioned Happenings, the word would spread. The mob there would explode. “I’m not exactly sure. But it’s new. A new tech that uses our Link buds to remove memories.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I didn’t think so either. I watched it happen.” A sudden panic gushed through me, shoving words out of my mouth. “You have to warn people. Tell them not to touch their Link buds, or an SLS.”
The doubt on his face killed any hope. He wouldn’t tell anyone if he didn’t believe me.
And judging by his change in expression, doubt had turned to suspicion.
He stepped forward to block the stairs again. I leaped, skipping the last four steps and landing hard on the ground. Before he’d registered I was past him, I bolted down the street.
“Hey!” Mr. Soto’s voice rang out behind me. “Stop!”
His footsteps slapped the pavement behind me. He couldn’t keep up. He was too old, too fat. My house bounced in my vision. Couldn’t go there. He’d know where I was, drag me out, take my Links, lock me away. My thoughts echoed the pounding of my feet.
Around. Go around the back of the house, pretend to weave down another street. Hide in the backyard.
I raced for the corner, sweeping past my front gate. I chanced a look behind me. Mr. Soto had fallen pretty far behind, but he was still chasing.
And still yelling. The streets were empty, but some of the locked-up houses would have people inside. If anybody else came running, I was toast. Burnt and crispy and memory-less toast.
Mr. Soto disappeared as I rounded the corner. My own low picket fence zipped past me.
Now. I grabbed the fence and vaulted over it in one leap. Trees. There were more of them at the center of the yard, near the gazebo. Far enough in he might not notice my Link buzz. I ran until cool shade fell over me. I dropped to the ground behind a spiny bush.
Grass tickled my nose, and I inhaled the scent of dirt. Had I jumped the fence in time? Had he seen me?
His footsteps clapped nearer. My blood rushed in my ears. I strained to hear the creak of the fence, the sound of him following me.
He cursed and kept running.
I buried my face in the grass and took whistling breaths through my nose. If I opened my mouth, I’d scream. No screaming. I thumped my hand on the grass over and over, beating back the choke of anxiety I still couldn’t get away from. Get a grip, Gena. This wasn’t over yet. There was one more chance for me, waiting inside the house.
Mom still had the night shift at work. She’d be home right now. Not plugged into an SLS, and with any luck, not plugged into Link buds either.
26
My own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore . . .
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memorium XXXIV
I sagged in relief when the DNA scanner let me into the house. I’d been afraid it would reject me. Or worse, not react at all, like I was a ghost. But the lock clicked, and I entered to the sound of the security bell. The plink plink plinkplink of water dripped from the tap in the kitchen.
I eased open Mom’s bedroom door. She slept on top of the comforter on a neatly-made bed. For a moment, I watched her breathe. We didn’t look much alike. She’d only given me a few nondescript features, like my small upper lip and turned-up nose.
She’d given other things, though. Her love of astronomy. Dad had said I’d inherited her stubbornness too, and her determination to finish anything I started. I had things from her you couldn’t see but rippled below the surface.
I tip-toed forward, hating to wake her, but needing her more than I’d ever needed anyone. I reached out to shake her shoulder. She would remember me. Even if no one else did, my mother would remember me. I needed to touch her, to feel that she was real. That I was real.
My fingers brushed the fabric of her shirt. Then they contracted, my hand clenching. Beneath her short blond hair, the tip of a Link bud hung from her ear.
An invisible hand punched my stomach. Air left me in a whoosh.
She had nothing of me. Nothing. Not even my birth. The only one who had that memory, that moment of bringing me into the world. I was no longer her daughter. I wasn’t anyone’s daughter.
She wouldn’t remember teaching me how to find the North Star using the Big Dipper as a guide. She wouldn’t remember the grueling reviews she gave me after school. Or letting me pierce my ears when we went shopping for my thirteenth birthday. Or watching my calories for me. I’d never missed her meddling so much.
I backed out of the room and bleakly surveyed the house. It was spotless, as always. No shoes by the door, like at Cora’s house. No backpacks or basketballs like at Dom’s. There was no sign I had ever been here.
My own room held signs, though. I opened my door and stood on the threshold. Neat and tidy and me. Dance shoes in the open closet. The silk Chinese fan on my dresser that had belonged to Grandpa Scott’s mother. A holo-picture of me and Cora at the Beach, sticking out tongues colored red and purple by popsicles. Glow-in-the-dark stars in perfect constellations on the ceiling. Hades sunning himself under his heat lamp on my desk.
What would my parents think when someday they realized they weren’t entirely sure what was in this room and opened the door? Would it scare them? Or be comforting, filling a void they hadn’t realized was so deep?
I closed my door. The weight of forgotteness dragged me to my knees. I was nothing. I was no one. My family didn’t know they were my family, and my heart screamed to have them back. I even clutched at my anger toward my dad, holding the pain as proof he was part of my life. I thumped my forehead against the carved Chinese cabinet in the corner.
A memory flowed into me. My mom’s remembrance of a moment at their wedding, when my grandparents presented the antique cabinet of Grandpa Scott’s as a gift.
I sat up, slapping my palm against the wood. Memories. My mother’s favorite, most cherished memories stored in cabinets and knickknacks and priceless collectibles. I wrenched off my gloves and strode through the house, brushing my fingers against everything in sight.
And I was there.
I was in a small red rock on the mantle, hiking to Emerald Lake with my whole family, the only time we’d ever gone to the canyon together. I was in the glass ballet slippers on the side table, dancing in my first recital, complete with pink tutu. I was in a wooden wall hanging, helping my dad carve it when I went through an artistic phase.
The warmth of hope flooded my face. This was still my home. Mom and Dad and Ren were still my family. These memories kept part of me alive for them.
Through my bittersweet moment, a thought nudged into my head. What about everyone else?
Liza Woods was still carrying on with her experiments. Still stealing memo
ries to hide that fact. And now she had a metal monster to spy on the Mementi and steal more memories. I was the only one who knew that.
I tapped my Sidewinder on. Only one person left in the world really knew me. I had no choice but to turn to him now.
Text from Genesis Lee to Kalan Daniel Fox, TDS 10:26:42/5-11-2084 Meet me at Havendale Canyon. I’m sorry for everything.
27
My spirit loved and loves him yet . . .
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam LX
“Genesis Lee.”
Kalan moved a tree branch out of the way and stepped forward. I dabbled my feet in the river, the chilly water a contrast to the sudden heat in my cheeks.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to be sorry?” he said.
“A lot, apparently. I’ve got a faulty memory.” I rubbed a hand across the rock I sat on. Rough particles of weathered stone snagged on the fabric of my glove.
He sat on a rock next to me, resting an arm on his knee. His nearness made my mind yelp in protest, but I didn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look . . . I don’t know. Tired.”
You’d think it would be freeing, or something. Nobody’s former thoughts and opinions of you hanging around your neck. But being almost the sole bearer of your own existence turned out to be exhausting.
If anyone understood the burden of being forgotten, Kalan did. It had to be the worst joke in the universe that the one person who remembered me was the one person I’d forgotten.
“It was you,” I said.
“What was?”
The freezing river gurgled over my ankles and swirled around my toes. Like it wanted to comfort me. “You were the thing I was forgetting, not the Link thief. My dad didn’t want me to remember you.”
“Your dad?” Kalan rubbed his forehead. “He’s never even met me.”
“He saw you in my memories and took it upon himself to remove you from my life.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness out. Somehow, it hurt worse now that Dad didn’t remember what he’d done.
“I don’t . . .” His eyebrows twitched, gathering and dropping. A look between outrage and pain. “That’s completely and totally the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
The Unhappening of Genesis Lee Page 23
