up as though they’re assembling their forces for the upcoming onslaught.
“Why’s that?” I ask, squinting at the sky. Good thing we’re about to go inside.
“Mikey told me everybody crowds together and bunks inside once the weather turns cold. He said last winter he woke up with somebody’s dirty sock in his mouth.”
“Ew.”
Bracing myself, I push the door open and walk inside. But I don’t smell feet, dirty or otherwise. Instead, the scent of sawdust greets me. Small round tables hold hand-carved chess pieces, and parchment paper hangs on the walls. A girl and a boy sit behind a long counter covered with baskets. Deer jerky, dried fruit, soap, paper, socks, underwear, dried herb packets, even a few books. Anything I could possibly want in the wilderness.
“Come on in, Callie, Logan.” The girl waves us over. Her dark bangs and ponytail look familiar. I must’ve met her the previous night. “I’m Laurel and this is Brayden. Was there something you wanted to buy?”
“I don’t have any credits,” I say.
“Oh, we don’t use credits out here.” She indicates a paper with handwritten letters scrawled across it. “Or at least, not the credits you’re used to. We’re each allotted fifty points a month, and you can redeem those points for anything you see here.”
I run my hands over a basket. Even the deer jerky? Zed and I pulled it off the drying rack a few hours ago.
“Even that, I’m afraid,” Brayden says. Red hair falls over his forehead, and his freckles stand out like stars in the night sky. “It’s the only fair way of dividing things up.”
My hands still. “Do you have a psychic ability?”
His mouth twists to the side. “Oh, sorry. I hate it when I do that.”
“You can read minds?”
“Only if you’re having a specific thought. I can’t dig into your memories or read your emotions or anything like that.” A flush creeps up his neck, making his freckles disappear.
“What am I thinking now?” Logan asks.
“You want to know what we’re talking about.” The redness fades, like water seeping into the ground. “I was explaining to Callie the way we do things here. Take Laurel. She has to buy the paper like everyone else, even though one of her duties is making paper and walnut ink.”
I pick up the parchment paper. The edges are frayed, and the page looks like it’s been crumbled into a ball and then smoothed out again. But it’s paper. “You made this? It must’ve taken forever.”
“I have a vested interest. I’m a poet, see.” Laurel points to the sheets hanging on the walls. “Those are the poems I’ve ‘published.’ If I didn’t step up to make the paper, I’m not sure anyone would.”
I peer at the even letters covering the page. They look almost like the words on my desk screen. No wonder they elected her as record-keeper. “I’m not actually here to buy anything,” I say. “Zed said you might be able to answer some of my questions.”
“He did?” Her face lights up like a flint striking steel. “Did he say anything else about me?”
“Laurel here would do anything to get a plant bracelet from Zed,” Brayden says. “I could’ve told you that even if I didn’t read minds.”
She tosses a dried herb packet at him. “Hush. I think Zed’s sweet, that’s all. If he has any points left over at the end of the month, he always buys me paper, so I can write more poems.”
“He likes you. Anytime you’re around, he’s thinking how nice your…um, eyes are.”
Her smile is equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. “I think he just likes my poetry.”
I shuffle my feet, not sure how to respond. I’m sure Zed finds Laurel attractive, but given what he confided in me, their relationship doesn’t have much of a future.
Logan clears his throat. “We’re trying to figure out what the terms ‘the Key’ and ‘the First Incident’ mean. Have you heard of either?”
She exchanges a glance with Brayden. “There’s a legend about a Key that helped Callahan unlock the secrets of future memory.”
I frown. “That’s not right. Tanner Callahan received the first future memory. He didn’t invent it. I should know. I’m named after him.”
“I’m just telling you what the legend says.” She drums her fingers on the table. “The Key held the final piece of the puzzle. Without the Key, the legend goes, future memory never would have been discovered.”
It’s the same story, more or less, that Zed told me. But I don’t care what happened in the past. I’m interested