Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (7 page)

“I ran into Nicole earlier. You know, from that party a couple of weeks ago? She told me.” He’s shivering in his thin jacket and rubbing his arms.

“Autumn’s not here,” I tell him. Autumn has been smug, bragging about Julian hanging out with her practically every day for the past two weeks, so I assumed they were on their way to being a couple.

He shrugs. “I know.”

“I’ll get you some towels.” I head across the living room toward the hall bathroom.

I open the linen closet in the bathroom and pull out a couple of faded beach towels. As I shut the closet door, I catch Julian’s reflection in the mirror affixed to the outside of the door. I jump.

“Oh, hey—sorry I scared you,” he purrs into my ear. He’s right behind me, too close for comfort. I realize I don’t know anything about him. Not even his last name.

I turn quickly, knocking my elbow into one of the shelves. Julian has discarded his light jacket, and I’m suddenly all too aware of his body. I scan the thin, white T-shirt clinging to his well-built chest. “Uh . . . I think my dad has some sweats that might fit you, if you want to get out of those wet clothes.”

“It’s really sweet of you to think of my welfare,” he says. But when I try to move past him, he blocks my path. My heart hammers in my chest. Fear? Exhilaration? I don’t quite know. On my second attempt he lets me by. I rush into my parents’ room, extract an old GWU sweatshirt and
some gray sweatpants, and toss them into the bathroom. He catches them, and I pull the door shut.

I pace the living room, berating myself. I shouldn’t have let him in, shouldn’t have given him my dad’s clothes. Now he’ll have to stay at least until his clothes are dry—half an hour. What if Mother finds out from one of our nosy neighbors? What if Autumn finds out and gets upset? It’s not like she has to be afraid I’m going to make a play for Julian, but since her family’s arrival in Germany, only two months after my family moved here, she has seemed so insecure about boys.

The bathroom door creaks open and Julian emerges, toweling his hair casually. I brush past him, scoop up his wet T-shirt and jeans, and carry them through the living and dining rooms into the kitchen, where the dryer is. I set the cycle, throw in the clothes and a dryer sheet, and slam the door. I hit the start button, and the dryer rumbles to life.

I take a deep breath and march out to meet Julian. He’s made himself comfortable on the sofa. And turned off the TV. It’s presumptuous of him, and it rubs me the wrong way. “It’ll run half an hour, and then you can go.”

He arches his eyebrow. “But what if it’s still raining?”

“I’ll loan you an umbrella.”

He laughs. “Nicole said you were uptight!”

“Nicole? Who cares what Nicole thinks?” I sputter. “I’m not uptight. I’m conscientious. There’s a difference.”

Julian pats the sofa next to him. A dare. I sit down, closer to the armrest than him, my posture rigid.

He grins and shakes his head. “You are uptight! Look at you. Too uptight to play poker, I bet.”

“I’ve played it. I’m a total card shark. Watch out!” I make claws with my fingers and give him my scariest look.

“You really need to work on your bluff.” Damn.

“Whatever.” I sink back into the cushion and concentrate on watching the raindrops hurl themselves against the window, desperate to break through.

“If you have a pack of cards, I can teach you,” he offers.

“First tell me your last name.”

“Jones.” It rolls off his tongue easily.

I get up and go over to the cabinet next to the piano, where we keep our games. I rummage through it. “No cards. But I have . . . Skip-Bo . . . Yahtzee . . . and Sorry.”

“Never heard of strip Skip-Bo.” He shakes his head slowly in mock dismay.

Ugh. He thinks he’s so charming. I throw the Skip-Bo deck at him, missing widely. The box falls harmlessly on the area rug under the coffee table.

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Kidding! We can play Yahtzee, then. At least it has dice.”

So we play Yahtzee. I win every time, racking up Yahtzees like my fingers are telling the dice exactly how to roll.

“You could be a Yahtzee shark.” He stretches his arms out and takes a deep breath. “It’s not as sexy as a poker shark, but it’s a step in the right direction, I guess.”

The dryer buzzes loudly. “Looks like it’s time for you to get going, Julian.”

“Wait, why not make a wager? We play one more game, and if you win again, I leave without putting up a fight.”

“And you won’t mention to Autumn you were here today?” My gut tells me she wouldn’t understand that today has been totally innocent.

He raises one eyebrow. “No.”

“Good. And if you win?” I grin as I knock the dice around in my hand. “Not that you have any chance of that.”

He touches my hand, stilling it. “If I win, which we all know is unlikely . . .” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I get to kiss you.”

Kiss me? Is he serious? Suddenly his hand feels too hot on mine. There are a thousand reasons why we shouldn’t kiss, but now that he’s brought it up, it’s all I can think about.

As if reading my mind, Julian leans over and softly brushes my hair behind my ear. I’m hypnotized, drawn in by the dark blue depths of his eyes. His hand slides behind my neck, and he inches closer until his face is the tiniest sliver away from mine. I part my lips, my entire body tense and waiting.

He pulls away, and I deflate, coughing to mask my confusion. I don’t want him to know how much he’s thrown me off balance. “Well, okay, then. Since you won’t win anyway, it’s a deal.”

We play. This time, however, I’m just not getting the Yahtzees. I’m rolling well, but then, so is he. Finally, only the Yahtzee row is left for the both of us. If I get a Yahtzee or neither of us does, I win.

I go first, but the Yahtzee is not in the cards. Now it’s up to Julian to win or lose.

Julian takes the dice from me. “Can you blow on them for luck?”

“Luck for me? Or luck for you?” I ask him, tapping my foot. What’s happening to me? Am I flirting?

“I would like to think my luck is your luck too.” His voice is soft, like a sigh, and he looks down at the dice as if they hold his future within them. It’s like getting a glimpse of a whole different person.

I chuckle weakly and blow a short puff of air onto the dice, playing along. It seems to reenergize him.

“Let’s do this!” He winds up his arm as if he’s about to pitch a baseball, and lets the dice fly onto the table. A Yahtzee—all sixes. I can’t believe it.

Julian stands solemnly and pulls me to my feet. He closes the gap between us until I’m pressed against his chest and he’s kissing my neck. I don’t resist, though I know I should. “I have wanted to do this since forever,” he moans into my ear.

He tilts my head up and kisses me full on the lips. I sink to the sofa, and he moves with me, never breaking contact, deepening the kiss, running his hands expertly up and down my back. My traitorous body arches toward his as he guides it so that we’re lying side by side, entwined in each other’s arms. I’m so wrapped up in the sensation of Julian’s kiss that I purposely ignore the rapidly fading daylight outside. Ignore the fact that it has long since stopped raining.

Finally we break apart. My lips feel raw, bruised. “Wow. So, um . . . you can get your clothes out of the dryer now.” I stumble up off the sofa, disoriented. How could I have let this happen? “I can make some spaghetti.”

Julian stretches out like a satisfied cat. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better go. You know, before it starts raining again.”

He changes back into his clothes, and I let him kiss me again by the door. “I hope we can do this again sometime,” he says as he leaves. I stand in the doorway, rooted to the spot, half-delirious with joy, half-racked with guilt. I can hardly believe Julian has so much power over me that he’s transformed me into someone who’d betray her best friend.

As I exit from
the memory, I can still feel the weight of his lips on mine. It’s revolting. I charge out of the chamber, ready to yell at him for forcing me to relive that particular memory. The kiss that set off a terrible chain of events I’d rather not think about.

But he’s not here. He’s not in the center area, and unless he changed into a white shift, he’s not in any of the other chambers either. I take a peek into the closest occupied chamber and see the face of a little boy who seems to be about six years old. I bend down to get a closer look, and cover my mouth in shock. The little boy is strapped in.

CHAPTER 6

THE BOY’S EYES ARE WIDE OPEN,
but he doesn’t react to me, even when I wave my hand in front of his face. His hologram screen casts a strong, unbroken light over his small body, which is taut against its restraints. That familiar glow has never looked so sinister to me.

I dash from chamber to chamber. They are all the same—occupied by young children who have no chance to get up and move about. It’s perhaps a small freedom, considering we’re all locked in hives, but when I try to imagine being strapped in, I start to panic.

I return to the boy and poke around the bonds at his ankles, wrists, and chest, looking for clasps or some way to remove them. Though the boy doesn’t stir, his eyes tick
back and forth like a metronome, as if in a deep REM sleep. Finding no way to release him, I sink to the floor. What kind of people would do this to children?

I hug myself into a ball and wish I could weep. I want so badly for the tears to come. For my life that was cut short. For the ocean of loneliness in my heart when I think of Neil and my family and friends. And to express my rage at my unseen jailers. For locking me in a prison all this time, cut off from everything except my memories. For drugging me. For taking Beckah. For destroying my chamber. And for their cruelty to this boy and all the others like him.

I’m so wrapped up in my grief that I block out everything else. I imagine I’m at home in my bed—not the one in Frankfurt that holds too many nightmares but the one with my first grown-up mattress and the frilly pink bedspread, before sleep became something I preferred to avoid. I can almost feel the bedspread’s satiny softness against my cheek.

“I see you’ve figured out materialization.” Julian prods my side with his foot. “Way to go.”

“What are you talking about?” I sniffle, and wipe away tears and snot with the sleeve of my shift.

“You’re crying.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it takes me a few seconds to catch his meaning. I stare at my now soiled sleeve and touch my face gingerly with my fingers. It’s puffy and wet. I’m crying. I’m crying!

“But how? I’ve never been able to before.” And I’ve tried. I attempt to stand up, but my limbs flop like jellyfish and refuse to obey. I collapse against the base of the chamber I
recently occupied. The one where Julian forced me to relive our first kiss. I glare at him with all the energy I have left.

“Careful. This whole crying indulgence has already drained you of the bit of power you were able to siphon off for yourself. Now you have to plug in again to recharge.” He curses under his breath. “This puts us behind schedule.”

He approaches me with purpose, but also caution, as if cornering a skittish animal. “Let me help you back in.”

“Wait.” I beg him with my eyes. “Talk to me for a minute. Please.”

He regards me for a few beats, then nods and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me, his posture so perfect and his body so balanced that he resembles a yoga master. Or a statue of a yoga master.

“You’re starting to be able to change the code of this dimension. We call it materialization. It’s a good sign. It means you’re strong. It means I was right to come and find you.”

The confusion I feel must show, because Julian immediately elaborates. “You’ve never been able to cry before because it’s not part of the program.” He sounds bored and annoyed, as if he’s told me this a thousand times and I just haven’t been paying attention. “Whenever you plug in to your chamber, you let the program feed off your energy and your power. That you could cry now means you were able to reclaim some of your power for yourself. You can wield that power to hack the system. You can change things to the way you like them.”

“I’d like to set these kids free,” I rasp.

Julian shakes his head. “That would take a lot more power than you have at the moment. Besides, the guardians here have an excellent reason for keeping these kids strapped in.”

“You’re defending them?” I’m incredulous. I suspected Julian was heartless. But this is madness.

“I’m not defending them.” He raises his voice just enough that I know I’ve hit a nerve. “I’m merely pointing out the obvious. They’re too young. These kids don’t have the capacity to plug themselves in and roam the net. They go through the memories of their lives in sequential order, over and over again. It is not like they are suffering. They have no idea they are here.”

“But they shouldn’t be locked up by themselves,” I say. “They should be with their parents. So they can be held and know they’re loved.”

“Everyone needs that.” He shifts his weight forward, and reaches out as if to caress me, but I flinch. Bare my teeth.

“Don’t! Just don’t.” How dare he? Does he think if he touches me, I’ll give in? Tell him it’s okay that he’s a monster?

He puts out his hands in a gesture of surrender and rocks back into his rigid pose. “Okay, calm down. I will not touch you unless you ask.” His eyes glint with mischief. “Unless you beg.”

I choose to ignore this additional provocation, and
change the subject. “Materialization. Is that why you have hair and eyebrows and normal clothes?”

“Exactly!” Julian smacks his hand on the floor, startling me. “Now you’re getting it.” He winks. “Watch this.”

Julian shimmers before my eyes, and his T-shirt and jeans ensemble is replaced with my dad’s GWU sweatshirt and jogging pants. “What do you think?”

I shudder. “Ugh! No! Anything but that.”

He grins wickedly. “If you say so . . .” He shimmers again and is left in nothing but a Speedo, smooth chest and washboard abs glistening with water droplets as if he’s just stepped from a pool.

“Julian!” I gag. “Stop fooling around.”