the floor.
And then I see it. There, on the middle of my desk screen, is a bright red leaf. I pick it up and glance around the classroom.
Nothing. Girls try on each other’s eye tints, boys battle each other on their desk screens, but no one waves or nods in my direction.
I look across the room, at the desk that was mine until this morning. At the boy who sat next to me but never said a word until today.
But Logan’s not looking at me. He hunches over his desk, his fingers typing on his glass-topped desk.
I let out a shaky breath and sink into my chair. Logan didn’t have anything to do with the leaf. It’s not a present. Someone probably dropped it on my desk by accident. I should put it in the compost slot, so it can be recycled.
But I don’t. I place the leaf on my lap, brushing my finger over the raised veins.
My desk screen vibrates once, and a new post pops onto my front page. “A leaf for a flower,” the message reads. “To remind you of the sun.”
It’s unsigned, but this time when I look up, Logan’s watching me. He gives me a smile so big and so brilliant, for a moment, I wonder if it can rival those golden rays.
6
“October Twenty-eight. Hey, October Twenty-eight.”
The voice pulls me from my sleep. I blink in the darkness. I’ve been dreaming of autumn leaves and sweet boys, and I don’t want to go yet. I want to stay in a time when the most complicated thing in my life was sitting too far from the classroom window.
I roll over on the hard concrete, determined to escape back to my dream. But the voice won’t let me. Worse, it’s joined by a pair of hands, shaking my shoulders.
“Hey, October Twenty-eight. Wake up. You’ve got the rest of your life to sleep.”
My eyes open. The walls in my cell are dimmed, and it’s quiet, with none of the grunting, shuffling, and screeching I heard before. It must be nighttime, or at least what FuMA has decided is nighttime. We are like fish in an aquarium, our days and nights subject to the whims of our keeper.
They already control every other part of my life. They don’t have to disrupt the only thing that gives me peace. Sullenly, I turn to the guard who’s preventing me from sleep.
And I bolt upright when I see it’s not just any guard. His russet hair has turned black in the dim light, but his face is the same. William. The guard who administered my memory. “What are you doing here?”
He presses a finger to his lips. “I called in a favor from a friend. They’re going to interrogate me, and we need to get our stories straight. Where’s the black chip?”
“I got rid of it.”
He nods. “Okay. Since there’s no chip, they’re going to grill me about your memory. What should I tell them?”
I rub my eyes, wiping away the last traces of sleep. “I’d like to leave my sister out of it.” I have a very bad feeling I know exactly why Jessa was in that hospital bed. It has nothing to do with her getting sick, and everything to do with her psychic ability. “Let’s give them the exact same scenario, but say it was a man I killed. My future husband. Probably because he was cheating on me.”
William’s brow furrows, as if he’s taking mental notes. “What does this man look like?”
“Brown hair, brown eyes,” I say, making it up on the fly. “Ski-jump nose. A mole on his chin. Crooked teeth he chose not to fix.”
“Crooked teeth, got it.” He glances over his shoulder, through the black bars. The hallway remains empty, but he stands to leave. “I can’t stay. It’s too risky.”
“Wait!” I grab his arm, desperate for human contact. “I don’t get it. Why did you help me in the first place?”
“A moment of weakness.” He gives me a small smile and gently disengages his arm. “I was there, you know. The monitors let me live your memory right along with you. I could tell how much you love your sister, and to have the memory end the way it did… Well, I felt sorry for you.” He pats my shoulder. “I am sorry for you.”
Thank you, I want to say. I feel sorry for me, too. But before my mouth can form the words, he is gone, like a ghost in a dream.
I’m not