Oasis (The Last Humans Book 1) (5 page)

I head toward the door, and Liam gets an expression I don’t recall ever seeing on his face.

He looks concerned.

“Dude,” he says. “Wait. If you insist on going to Calculus, let’s walk together.”

“Not if you’re going to continue being a dick,” I say in code.

He looks at me with even more worry, and finally, with the most deadpan expression he’s ever had, says, “I don’t get what’s up with you this morning. Are you feeling sick?”

“Me, sick?” My voice rises in volume as I glare at him.

“What else am I supposed to think?” Liam says, frowning. “You sound delirious.”

His seriousness makes my skin crawl. “Dude,” I say. “Is going insane like one of the ancient viruses?”

Liam blinks at me uncomprehendingly, gets off the bed, and approaches me. Grabbing my shoulder, he looks me in the eye and says, “Theo, buddy, I’m not messing with you.”

I look at him like he sprouted horns, but he continues, “I honestly, genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gives me a pleading look that seems to say, ‘Theo, stop this nonsense.’

I grind my teeth. “I’m too worried about Mason to deal with whatever you’re playing at.” I’m a decibel away from shouting.

“Theo.” Liam’s expression is one of utter incomprehension. “I don’t know what or who this mason is.”

“I don’t have the patience for this,” I grit out, and with a final glare, I storm out of the room.

A
s I hurry
toward the Lectures Building, my frustration eases. By the time I’m halfway there, I’m not sure why I even reacted the way I did. Liam was just messing with me, and Mason is probably already in the Math Hall.

As I pass by the pentagonal prism of the Quietude Building—also known as Witch Prison—its unwelcome sight makes me wonder if Mason might be locked up there instead. Could a Guard have gotten him earlier this morning?

I debate walking toward that dreaded place when I see Grace’s distinctive red hair between a large oak and a decorative dodecahedron statue. She’s meditating, which is a strange thing for her to be doing right now. She should be on her way to Calculus. Could she be trying to calm herself because she had another encounter with Mason?

Once I’m close enough, I don’t know what to do, so I just stand there and watch her meditate for a few seconds. Her fine features are serene and placid, like a lake in the morning. I can’t believe I’m actually envious of
her
of all people, but I am.

“Grace,” I say quietly. Interrupting someone while they’re meditating can really startle them. “Grace, you’re going to be late for Lectures.”

“Theo, what are you doing here?” Grace opens her eyes with a sweep of her long, brown-red eyelashes. Then, looking at her wrist—where I assume she can see her hand Screen—she says, “You’re right. I could’ve been late.” With barely suppressed surprise, she adds, “Thank you.”

“I was looking for Mason,” I blurt out. “Have you seen him?”

“Seen who?” Her forehead creases slightly.

“Mason.”

“Who’s that?” She blinks. Her blue eyes seem deceptively guileless.

“My friend whom you would never forget, given what he did yesterday.”

“Is this a joke?” The crease in her forehead deepens.

“Did Liam put you up to this?” I ask, trying to keep my cool. “If so, it’s not funny, especially coming from you.”

“Liam put me up to what?” Her confusion seems to increase. “You know how much I dislike that square little friend of yours.”

“Mason,” I say a bit louder. “The guy who told you how he feels about you.” Unable to help myself, louder still, I add, “The person you snitched on.”

At the mention of the word ‘snitched,’ Grace’s expression transforms from confusion to anger. Her eyes in slits, she says, “Whatever stupid prank you’re trying to pull, stop. Now.”

“You should take your own advice,” I retort.

“I warned you.” She puts her hands on her hips.

“I can’t believe your gall,” I say, frustrated. “To make light of Mason after—”

“What are you talking about?” Grace’s expression abruptly softens with concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “But I wish you’d asked Mason that yesterday. He was devastated.”

“Theo, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

My frustration boils over. “Of all the nasty shit I expected from you, I never thought you’d fuck with my head like this. I thought you were all about being proper. How did Liam even manage to get you to—”

She jumps to her feet and runs toward the distant cube of the Administrative building.

Realizing the blunder I just made, I chase after her. “Wait.” Catching up, I grab her shoulder. “Grace, I didn’t mean to use that language. I was just—”

Her gaze flits from my hand to my face, and I see fear in her eyes.

It’s like a slap in the face.

I quickly remove my hand from her shoulder. “I’m sorry—”

“I’m sorry too,” she says, backing away. “I have to report your language, and whatever else is going on with you.”

“You’re going to admit you’re playing a prank?”

Her expression changes from fear to worry. “Listen, Theo. Why don’t you go back to your room? I think you might need help…”

The pity on her face scares me.

“I have to go,” I say, backing away as well.

“I’m sorry, but I still have to tell them,” Grace says, watching me. “I know you’ll hate me even more—”

Not waiting for her to finish, I turn on my heels and all but run toward the Lectures Building.

Mason will be in Calculus.

He has to be.

W
hen I get
to the Math Hall, the Lecture is about to start.

I peek in and see other Youths, their faces in varying shades of boredom. Mason isn’t among them. Could he be skipping? Math
is
his least favorite subject.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hall interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to see Instructor George, the Calculus teacher, approaching.

He gives me a quizzical look. “Are you
trying
to be late, Theodore?”

“I was just wondering… Did Mason give you an excuse for why he’s not at the Lecture today?” I ask, hoping I’m not about to get Mason into more trouble.

“Who?” The Instructor’s forehead wrinkles in that uniquely Adult way. “I’m not sure I follow.”

I realize I’m holding my breath. Exhaling, I say, “Mason, sir. You know… my friend. Your student.”

“Is this a jest?” The expression on Instructor George’s face is the one he gets when someone mixes up an equation. A sort of ‘how can you be so wrong?’ type of glare. “I don’t have a student by that name.”

As the meaning of his words registers, a deep terror seeps into me.

Until this moment, I could tell myself that Liam and Grace were playing a prank on me. An Adult, however, would
never
partake in a prank—particularly if that Adult is Instructor George. His sense of humor was permanently replaced by the Pythagorean Theorem.

Which means only one thing: something odd is going on.

Did I jinx my mental wellbeing when I told Phoe I didn’t think she was imaginary? Is that what’s happening? Did I truly lose my mind? Or did I go crazy because Phoe made my mind tamper-free? Ancients went insane all the time, so this is a real possibility.

Or could I simply be dreaming?

“Phoe,” I scream mentally. “Phoe, where are you?”

“Theo, what the fuck is going on?” Phoe’s reply is so loud my whole body tenses. I’ve been jumpy around loud noises ever since Owen startled the crap out of me by suddenly screaming in my ear in the middle of my morning meditation a few months ago.

Instructor George gives me a questioning stare. He must’ve noticed me jump.

“They don’t know who Mason is,” I whisper at Phoe. “And don’t speak so loudly again.”

“Wait.” Phoe’s tone is pure incredulity. “You asked
him
about Mason?”

“I—”

“Never mind that now,” she says sharply. “Get yourself together. I think he just saw you move your lips.”

I take a deep breath and make an effort to relax. “It’s hard not to panic,” I think at her.

“You’re doing okay,” she says. “Now say, ‘I’m sorry, Instructor George. I guess no one told you about the history lesson we’re play-acting with Liam. He’s supposed to be a Freemason.’”

Robotically, I repeat what Phoe said.

The Instructor looks at me as if I have ‘two plus two equals five’ tattooed on my forehead. Then he shakes his head and says, “This is one of the most creative ways someone has tried to get themselves excused from my Lecture.” Straightening his shoulders, he points at the door. “I’m not falling for it. Get inside.”

“Crap,” Phoe says. “I guess there’s nothing more we can do. Get inside the room and shut up. I have to see how big of a mess you’ve made.”

I march in and notice that Instructor George isn’t following me.

Ignoring my growing sense of unease, I plop down in a chair, my mind overloaded with questions.

“He just reported your conversation to the Dean,” Phoe says when Instructor George walks in a few beats later. “Let me try to research this further. Don’t say a word.”

The Instructor begins his lesson. He likes to teach on a giant Screen in the front of the class, not unlike how teaching was done in the ancient world.

I don’t hate math as much as Mason does, nor am I as bad at it as Liam is. Mathematics is actually the only subject where I don’t feel as if I’m being fed bullshit on a daily basis. For example, when we learned that equilateral triangles are equiangular, I understood both the mathematical proof and the truth of it. Even when we learned that 0.999 with infinitely repeated nines is equal to 1, I understood the truth of it through proofs, even though it felt unintuitive at first. It was even fun to change my mind like that. In contrast, every word that comes out of Filomena’s mouth in History feels like a calculated falsehood.

Today, though, I feel as ambivalent about the Lecture as my friends usually do.

To keep myself from panicking, I attempt to focus on the lesson, but every fifteen minutes, I catch myself wondering where Phoe is and what I’d do if she doesn’t show up soon.

Eventually, I give up trying to pay attention. At least the Lecture will be over in a few minutes.

To keep a modicum of sanity, I replay the events of this morning in my head. My best guess is that this whole day has been a very strange dream. In that case, how do I wake up?

I pointedly pinch my wrist.

“You’re not dreaming.” Phoe’s sudden words startle me. “Writing usually looks blurry when you’re dreaming, but the Screen looks pretty crisp, doesn’t it? Believe me, given what I’ve found out, I wish you
were
dreaming.”

“But—”

“I
told
you not to do anything or go anywhere.” Phoe’s voice grows in intensity. “Which part of that did you not understand?”

“I had to go to Calculus,” I object. “Did you want me to cut class?

“Right, of course, because had you skipped your Lecture, you’d have been in trouble
,
while now, you’re all hunky-dory.”

“Can you do me a favor and not talk like you’re a voice inside my head?” I whisper loudly enough that Owen turns around and gives me a questioning stare. I shrug at him and subvocalize at Phoe, “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Owen raises his forefinger to his temple and makes a circular motion. Which movie did he learn that ‘you’re crazy’ gesture from? Other Youths usually don’t know ancient behaviors that well.

“Ignore that dweeb.” Phoe is still, annoyingly, talking inside my head.

“But he might be right,” I think at her, pulling my gaze away from Owen to look at the Screen in front of the classroom. I want him to think that I’m bringing my attention back to math. “I think I truly
am
nuts.”

“You’re not,” she says, out loud this time. “But this Mason situation
is
messed up.”

“At least
you
know who Mason is,” I say, finding surprising relief in that. A little voice—a voice that is not Phoe but my own paranoid self—reminds me that despite what I thought last night, Phoe could still somehow be a product of my imagination.

“So we’re back to that nonsense again?” Phoe says. “Now is not a good time for you to be worried about
me.
”

“Fine,” I think. “Let’s get back to the issue of Mason. Did you figure out what happened to him? What’s going on? I assume you had a reason for making me wait?”

“Okay.” Phoe sounds as though she’s sitting next to me. “The bad news is that I
don’t
know where Mason is,
or
what happened to him. But I do know this: they truly don’t know who Mason is. No one does, as far as I can tell.”

Even though I suspected as much, my insides fill with lead. “What does that mean?” I think at Phoe, trying to rein in my growing panic.

“It means when Liam, Grace, and Instructor George acted like they didn’t know Mason, they weren’t faking it.”

“So are you saying
he
was
my imaginary friend and not you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps.

“Then why do they not know who he is?”

“That part is tricky.” Her voice acquires a certain distant thoughtfulness. “Do you recall what happened with that movie you liked,
Pulp Fiction
? The one that disappeared?”

“It was deleted from the archives,” I say.

“Right. Well, there’s something I didn’t tell you out of fear of distressing you.
Pulp Fiction
wasn’t the first movie that was deleted after I showed it to you.”

The mental “Huh?” I reply with sounds like a loud nasal exhale.

“I know how it seems, but it’s true.
Pulp Fiction
was merely the first movie I didn’t let them make you Forget.”

“What?”

“Do you remember
The Silence of the Lambs
?” Phoe asks. “You watched the movie and read the book, but you don’t remember either, do you?”

“Lambs?” I fight the urge to whisper out loud again. “Those are baby sheep, right? Those cute white creatures the ancients used to eat?”

“Right. You clearly don’t recall. But as I was saying, after the Adults decided to ban
The Silence of the Lambs
, it didn’t just disappear from the Archives. You couldn’t recall reading or watching it either.”

I’m too stunned to reply at first. Then, mentally shaking my head, I think, “No way.”

“I’m sorry to spring this on you. I tried bringing it up last night, but—”

“It just can’t be,” I subvocalize. “If I watched a movie or read a book, I’d remember it. How could I not?”

“Your nanobots were utilized to tamper with the intricate neural pathways required to recall that particular memory. After that was done to you, you confabulated a new reality, one in which you had never read or watched that work of fiction.”

“I did?”

“Because you don’t remember it now, you can safely assume so, yes. Since then, I’ve been experimenting with selectively shielding your mind from this sort of influence.” Her voice is hushed, almost a whisper in my ear. “It worked with
Pulp Fiction
, which is why you remember
it
. Then, last night, when you asked me to disable all tampering with your mind, I did as you asked. It’s my conjecture that the Elderly, or whoever, did the same thing to people’s memories of Mason as what happened to your memory of
The Silence of the Lambs
. It’s called ‘Forgetting.’ You were the only one who didn’t fall under its influence.”

“Wait—”

“I’m sorry, Theo.” She softens her tone. “If I’m right, it’s not just those three people you spoke with who don’t know a Youth named Mason. If I’m right, you’re now the only person in Oasis besides me who remembers your friend.”