in the future.
I fight the sinking feeling in my stomach. What are the chances I’ll figure out the Chairwoman’s code words, when I’m not even in the same world as her? Murmuring my thanks, I turn to go.
“Wait,” Laurel calls. “As long as you’re here, would you mind filling out my log book? I’m keeping a record of Harmony’s inhabitants.” She reaches under the table and pulls out a bundle of parchment papers, bound together by strings of rawhide. “Here, take a feather and a pot of walnut ink.”
We take the supplies to a round table and settle onto creaky, three-legged stools.
“You seem disappointed,” Logan whispers, as he moves the chess pieces to one side. Our knees brush under the table. As with any time we touch, the air crackles with electricity.
But that could just be the storm outside. My heart keeps time with the raindrops splattering the roof—furious and ferocious, an onslaught that may never stop. Will I always feel this way when he touches me? Or will my turbulent feelings someday smooth into something calm and serene?
I peek at him, at his eyes and his mouth, at the dimples in his cheek. Quickly, before I can get lost in the sight of him, I look across the room at Laurel and Brayden. “Not disappointed. I was hoping she’d have more information than just a recounting of our history.”
“Keep asking questions. Sooner or later, you’ll find something useful.”
I pull my stool closer, so we can both see the book. My arm bumps into his—and my heart lurches and dances and sighs. He opens the cover, and I struggle to get ahold of myself.
I stare at the handwritten letters marching across the parchment. The page is divided into columns. I read the categories across the top:
Name. Date Arrived. Date Left.
I turn the page. More columns:
Name. Preliminary Ability. Primary Ability.
The next page concerns future memory:
Name. Memory. Date Memory Received. Date Memory Fulfilled. Date Memory Sent.
My hand pauses over the page. Every other column has lines and lines of text underneath. The space underneath the column Date Memory Sent is completely empty.
“Why are all these spaces blank?” I ask Logan.
He shrugs. “They changed their futures by coming here. Maybe their futures changed so much that no memory is ever sent.”
“But then, they never would’ve received the memory in the first place. Right?”
He shakes his head slowly. He doesn’t know. I don’t, either.
I look back at the book. “Not everyone here is escaping a bad future. Look here.” I point to the column under Date Memory Fulfilled. “Some of these memories have come true, probably the ones belonging to the psychics. Shouldn’t at least one of them have a date recorded for the date the memory was sent?” I sit back on the stool. “Unless not a single person in Harmony has yet sent a memory to themselves.”
“How do you even send a memory to your past self? I never learned how. Did you?”
“FuMA always said they would instruct us when the time came,” I say. “But when is that? Do they herd all of us into the FuMA building on our sixtieth birthdays? I didn’t see any groups of old people while I was there, did you?”
He shakes his head.
I wrinkle my forehead, thinking hard. “Laurel is the second person who linked the Key to the discovery of future memory. Past tense. I dismissed the connection because the Chairwoman was talking about searching for the Key in the future. But what if they’re talking about the same thing?” I wet my lips. “What if FuMA’s been lying to us all along?”
He frowns. “Lying about what?”
“What if future memory hasn’t been invented yet?” I whisper.
“Of course future memory has been invented. You and I are living proof of that.”
“No,” I say, my excitement growing. “We’re living proof that future memory can be received in the present. Not sent. Don’t you see? That’s why all the spaces under the column are blank. That’s why FuMA has never explained to us how to send a memory. Because they haven’t figured out how yet.”
I stop. I look back at the page, with the column of blank spaces. And it all clicks into place. “That’s it. That’s why the two agencies are working so closely together. FuMA needs the scientists to figure out how to send memories back to the past.”
28
Mud squishes between my fingers, and a worm slithers around my wrist, leaving behind a wet, slimy trail.
Instead of screaming, I grit my teeth and dump the