I shudder. Because she’s right—if anyone can find his way to me, it’s Julian.
“But why did you pretend to be human recruits of the rebellion?” I ask. “Why couldn’t you come out and tell me that you were angels?”
“That was all Julian’s idea. He didn’t want questions hanging in the air that would be inconvenient for him to answer. And we agreed that it would be easier to get you to cooperate if you thought we were like you.”
It does sound exactly like Julian, so I don’t doubt for a second that he was behind it all.
“So what now?” I ask.
“Now the feast of saints can begin anew.” She turns Neil and me so we are facing each other. “Here. Let me show you something.” She lifts our hands and presses our palms together. Skin on skin, they become a conduit, sucking us both into our memories.
I see flashes of both our lives—together and apart. The two of us walking down the street, tucked into each other, in our own little world. Neil laughing with Andy as they throw firecrackers from atop a roof. Me, arms outstretched to the jungle canopy as I conquered the main temple of Tikal. Neil holding me tight in the wreck of his car until his life ebbed away.
Mira slides her hand between our palms to break us apart, and the memories stop.
“This was always how it was supposed to be,” Mira says, and Neil and I stare at her, openmouthed. “Everyone sharing their memories, helping one another come to terms with them so they could move on. Maybe it’s time for you to move on too.” She pats me on the shoulder and glides away.
Since I didn’t move on automatically when I faced the memory of my death, I must have some say in when I move on. How can she possibly think I’d want to now? I turn to Neil. “We’re free.”
Neil puts his arm around my waist, pulls me close. “It’s unbelievable. All this. I feel like we’ve been given a second chance.”
“Speaking of second chances, there’s a particular memory of yours I’d like to access, if you’ll let me.” I look up at his face, taking in all his features. Committing them to memory.
“Really?” His eyes light up. “Which one?”
I want to be able to show him how much he means to me, how invested I am in him and his life. I long to feel him so deeply that he’ll never be erased from my mind. No matter what. “I’m sorry I missed your performance in Our Town. I’d love to experience it through your eyes.”
“Of course.” Neil lifts his palm toward mine. When our skin connects, there’s a hum of electricity, and a rush of images fills my mind. The transfer is nearly instantaneous, but I feel Neil’s every bead of sweat that evening, how the bright stage lights cut him off from the audience, how he uttered every line as though he were really living the play.
We drop our hands to our sides.
“‘When you’ve been here longer, you’ll see that our life here is to forget all that . . . and be ready for what’s ahead,’” I quote from the play. “Can we really just forget our lives? Do we need to?” It seems impossible to me that I could one day want to let go.
“Whatever happens, we have each other.” Neil hugs me, and I lay my head on his shoulder.
It’s pure bliss to be with Neil again. We spend time composing top ten lists of our favorite memories, diving in and out of our lives with ease. When he suffers symptoms of his withdrawal from the memory chambers, much less severe than mine but not magically cured with the collapse of the Morati architecture, I press my palm against his extra hard and give him some of my strength. People move on every day, and Mira tells us that if we don’t find someone we’re looking for, they’ve probably already found their peace and moved on. I know I won’t see Autumn here, but I’m always on the lookout for Virginia.
But soon enough we find that despite our joy in each other, against the vivid backdrops of our memories, our lives here pale in comparison. Events fade into one another, details become fuzzy. Nothing is archived, so nothing can be retrieved or relived.
We both experience it, the gradual yearning for something more. And one day we know it’s time to go. Maybe even to a place where we’ll finally be able to get some sleep.
A door opens before us, a door into the great unknown. I take Neil’s hand, and we step through it together.
LENORE APPELHANS
moved frequently growing up due to her dad’s US Air Force career. To date she has lived in six countries and has visited nearly sixty. She currently resides in Frankfurt, Germany, with her illustrator husband, Daniel Jennewein. Level 2 is her first novel. Visit her at presentinglenore.blogspot.com, where she has been blogging about YA lit since 2008.
Jacket design by LIZZY BROMLEY
Jacket photo copyright © 2013 by ALI SMITH
Author photo copyright © by VANIA STOYANOVA
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Lenore Appelhans
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The text for this book is set in Janson.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Appelhans, Lenore.
Level 2 / Lenore Appelhans. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Felicia Ward is dead and spending her time in the hive reliving her happy memories—but when Julian, a dark memory from her past, breaks into the hive and demands that she come with him, she discovers that even the afterlife is more complicated and dangerous then she dreamed.
ISBN 978-1-4424-4185-9 (hardcover)
1. Future life—Juvenile fiction. 2. Death—Juvenile fiction. 3. Angels—Juvenile fiction. [1. Future life—Fiction. 2. Death—Fiction. 3. Angels—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Title: Level two.
PZ7.A6447Lev 2013
813.6—dc23
2012008501
ISBN 978-1-4424-4187-3 (eBook)
Level 2 Page 22
