Level 2 (Memory Chronicles)

by Lenore Appelhans

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  About Lenore Appelhans

  FOR

  DANIEL JENNEWEIN—

  MY TOUGHEST CRITIC AND BIGGEST FAN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MY DEEPEST THANKS:

  To my editor, Alexandra Cooper—your insight brought this book to levels I never dreamed possible. To the entire Simon & Schuster team, especially Justin Chanda, Amy Rosenbaum, Anna McKean, and Lizzy Bromley. To my agent, Stephen Barbara—it’s a privilege to have you and the Foundry team in my corner. To the very enthusiastic team at Usborne in the UK as well as my other foreign publishers for letting Level 2 jet-set around the world.

  To Ann Bonwill for brainstorming this book with me over tuna and onion pizza in Pompeii. To Lauren Oliver for the confidence boost. To SCBWI for resources and opportunities. To early readers of drafts and scenes, especially Jenny Bragdon for her liberal use of exclamation marks, Ana and Thea for asking the hard questions, and Kelly Jensen for insisting there be more feelings.

  To my friends for their encouragement. Shout-outs to Kelly Billingsley and Rev. William Mullins for answering my questions, to my fellow book bloggers for challenging and enabling me, to Michelle Franz at Literary Logistics for helping spread the word, and to the Apocalypsies for the community and feedback, especially Heather Anastasiu, Tamara Ireland Stone, Jess Rothenberg, and Jodi Meadows.

  To teachers who nurtured my interest in writing, languages, and travel—Bette Lorenzetti, Dr. Michael Seewer, Ellen Shelley, Marla Gamble, Dr. Rosemarie Lones, and Dr. Ronda Hall.

  To Tori Amos for the music and the interview that got me thinking about bees and eternity.

  To my family, especially my father for passing down a love of reading and book hoarding, my late mother for making me look up every unfamiliar vocabulary word in Big Red instead of just telling me what it meant, and my husband, Daniel—I’m so glad we’re in this together.

  CHAPTER 1

  I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M DEAD. I used to say it a lot. When my dad suggested I turn off the flashlight I thought I so expertly hid under my covers. That time youth pastor Joe told us to pipe down at the church lock-in. The balmy summer night I convinced Autumn to sneak out after midnight so we could dance in Nidda Park, arms outstretched to the stars. But then I died.

  And now I can’t sleep. Except, that is, when I access my memories of sleeping. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve combed through the seventeen years and 364 days of my life, searching for those rare uninterrupted, nightmare-free stretches of slumber. Because sleep is my only real break from this endless reel of memories, both mine and those I’ve rented.

  Naturally, I’ve compiled a top ten. Most of the list includes Neil, though I often revisit a memory of being cradled on my dad’s chest as a baby. It makes me feel like nothing bad could ever happen to me.

  His lullaby envelops me in such warmth, I can almost forget I’m trapped here in this pristine hive with a bunch of other drones. All my age, all from the United States, all females who died in accidents in the early twenty-first century. And all so addicted to their personal memory chambers, they barely ever venture out.

  Not that I’m not. Addicted, I mean. It’s just that everything’s hazy when I’m out of my memory chamber. I don’t even remember how I got here. And though I do retain names and faces and relevant details of my fellow inmates, I never seem to be able to hold on to much else. At most, there are snatches of my conversations with Beckah and Virginia, but these fade in and out of my consciousness like barely remembered dreams. The three of us are the only ones who spend time in the communal area at the center of the hive. And sometimes, before we are compelled to heed the siren call of our chambers, we sit awkwardly on the polished, blinding white floor that matches the color and texture of every surface in our godforsaken prison. We muse about what this place might be, if this is all we have to look forward to for the rest of eternity, and about how strange it is not to have to eat or drink, or sweat or pee.

  But we rarely talk about our deaths. We don’t remember much about them after all this time anyway. We try to keep it light, inconsequential. I suggest “movie nights,” where the three of us pull up memories of the same film in our chambers and then get together to discuss the details until our thoughts are too cloudy to continue. Virginia never gives up in her attempts to teach us back handsprings and complicated lifts, but I don’t mind because my body, entirely numb in this afterlife, doesn’t feel the pain of always crashing solidly to the floor. Beckah prefers to chat about books and where on the network to find the best quality memory editions of her favorites.

  That’s what I plan to do now, to search again for a precise memory version of Thornton Wilder’s Our Town. Back in high school it was one I skimmed, which means accessing my own memory wouldn’t do much good. I’ve discovered it’s one a lot of people skim, despite its relative brevity, because I’ve yet to find a deep, meaningful reading of it, and I’ve accessed at least two hundred copies by now.

  But before I embark on my search, I decide to say hi to Neil.

  I lie down in my airy chamber and fit my hands into the grooves at my sides, feeling a slight zing and a rush of endorphins as my skin connects. Above me the hologram interface lights up, and I use my index finger to scroll through my memory folders until I find one of my favorite memories of Neil. I push play, and I’m there.

  Ward, Felicia. Memory #32105

  Tags: Ohio, Neil, Hiking, Youth group, Favorite

  Number of Views: 100,235

  Owner Rating: 5 stars

  User Rating: Not shared

  It’s one of those gorgeous spring evenings I can never get enough of, when the trees burst with fresh, impossibly green leaves and the air is fragrant with promise. I am nearing the end of a daylong hike with the girls from the church youth group, and I nod from time to time as if I’m listening to the chatter around me. The talking barely registers because my head swirls with impressions of last night. Of how close I sat to Neil in the back of the van on the way up here. How casually, and without looking at me, he shifted the coat on his lap until it spilled over onto mine. And then how, without missing a beat, he trailed his fingers down my forearm and let them rest on my wrist, as if to take my pulse. How awareness of my surroundings faded as I zoned in on the slightest movement of his hand inching forward, slowly, tantalizingly. How my skin tingled and my own hand ached to touch him back.

  And I am going to see him again soon. Very soon.

  “Felicia?” Savannah snaps her perfectly manicured fingers in my face. “Don’t you think I’d make an ideal Esther? Pastor Joe says I’m too blond.” She huffs, shaking her head so her long golden waves shimmer in the fading sunlight. “He says Esther should be played by someone with dark hair. Like you. But no one really knows what Esther looked like. It’s all conjecture.”

  “Black wig,” I manage to get out, my face flushing as I remember the intensity of Neil’s gaze on me last night as we got out of the van, the last time I saw him before the girls and guys split off to our separate cabins.

  “Are you getting sick?” Savannah recoils, and immediately reaches into her pink purse
for her bottle of hand sanitizer. My nostrils fill with molecules of artificial peach. She doesn’t wait for my answer but moves away from me, catching up with some of the others, leaving me trailing behind.

  I pick up my pace when I see the lights of our cabins through the trees. My heart starts pounding, and I stuff my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I look up, and I see him. He’s at the edge of the fire pit, joking around with Pastor Joe and Andy as they light kindling, trying to get a fire going.

  Neil looks up and sees me too. His blue eyes twinkle. His smile is so luminous and pure, it’s like he’s been saving it up his whole life just for me. Andy pokes him in the side with a twig and whispers something into Neil’s ear that makes him blush. Neil punches him lightly on the arm, and Andy shakes his head, snapping the twig in half.

  “Hi,” I say when Neil approaches. My giddiness at being this close to him again bubbles up in my throat, and I giggle. I want to hug him. Really hug him. But not here. Not in front of Pastor Joe and Andy.

  “Hey!” He reaches out and tugs playfully on the strings of my hoodie. “Want to go for a walk?”

  I giggle again. “It’s not like we haven’t been walking all day.” The guys group went hiking too but took a different trail. A more challenging trail.

  “Oh.” Neil blushes, his smile faltering, and he runs one of his hands through his brown curls. “You must be exhausted.”

  I am. I’m also parched, and sweaty. My shoes are covered in mud. “I’m okay.” I sigh. I’d love to change outfits. “But maybe I’ll go in and grab another bottle of water at least.”

  “No need.” Neil’s smile is back to full force. He leads me over to where he has stashed his backpack next to a tree, and he bends down to pull out a bottle of water. As I take it from him, my fingers brush against his, and the sensory memory of last night pulses through my body.

  I lift the bottle up to my lips and watch how his gaze follows and lingers. He swallows, and I swallow. Our eyes meet.

  I look away sharply, over at the fire pit, where the kindling is burning now and Pastor Joe gestures for Andy to give him one of the bigger logs. This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t encourage Neil’s interest in me, no matter how much I want to. He’s too good. And he deserves better.

  “Maybe we should go help with the fire,” I mumble. My eyes are stinging, and I squeeze them shut to keep angry tears from escaping. It’s all so unfair. He probably thinks I’m like him, without a care in the world. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  I feel Neil’s hand on my cheek as he turns my head back to face him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  I look up at him and am overwhelmed by the concern shining in his eyes. All the feelings I’ve been pushing down for the past months well up inside me. A couple of hot tears trickle down my face, and my nose starts to itch.

  Neil takes my hand, deliberately this time, not caring who sees, and leads me into the darkening forest. We pick through the underbrush slowly, side by side, and with each step I feel better. Stronger. Safer. Finally I stop. Neil stops too and faces me. Even though he’s only inches away, I can barely make out his outline. But I feel his warmth, hear his raspy breathing.

  “Um, Neil, do you have a flashlight?” I whisper.

  His breath tickles my ear. “A Boy Scout is always prepared.” He takes my other hand and guides it down to the lower pocket of his cargo pants. “In there.” His tone is innocent despite the bold gesture.

  I’m a little taken aback, but I fumble around in his pocket and pull out a mini Maglite. I turn it on, and without letting go of Neil’s hand, I twirl in a circle so beams of light bounce off the surrounding trees.

  “We should go,” I say. Then I turn the flashlight off and slip it back into Neil’s pocket.

  I step closer to him, and recklessness takes over. I reach up and touch his lower lip lightly with my finger, and I close my eyes—

  A siren blares. Glass shards cut my face. Intense pain hammers me everywhere at once. One, two, three beats, and then I jerk my hands out of the grooves. I’m back in my memory chamber, almost surprised to see I’m unharmed.

  Something’s wrong. That’s not at all how the night ended.

  Voices buzz all around me, an unusual sound. I sit up to look over the ledge to investigate. The other drones are all doing the same.

  “Did you feel that?” Virginia calls out. A chorus of yeses responds, and everyone makes their way down from their memory chambers, to meet in the middle.

  I head over to where Virginia stands, and Beckah joins us.

  “What just happened?” Beckah asks, shaking. She has a haunted look on her face, a look I see echoed on all the other faces.

  A girl named Amber is pointing at something behind me. “Omigod!” she shrieks, excited. “There’s a boy coming in through a door!”

  Impossible. We haven’t seen any boys here. Ever. I spin around, and my mouth drops open. Because I know this boy. And he’s calling my name.

  CHAPTER 2

  “FELICIA!”

  His deep voice echoes through the hive, and the drones go silent, looking over at me with open curiosity.

  He’s standing in some sort of rectangular doorway—one that has never existed before—and he looks uneasy, frantic even. From behind, an arm is pulling at his black, fitted T-shirt, and as I rush over, I try to catch a glimpse of his companion. But all I see through the door is more glaring whiteness.

  “Listen.” His voice is lower now that I’m near the doorway, his head turning and his eyes darting from me to whomever it is he’s with, and back again. “I’ll be coming for you. Soon. Be ready.” He steps out, and the last I see of him is his black high-top Converse, halfway laced. There’s a pounding sound, heavy footfalls, and the door slides closed.

  Not even a second later I run my hands over the smooth wall the closing of the door left behind, feeling for a ridge, a hinge, a control panel. But there’s nothing. Just like there was never anything to find the approximately one million times I’ve been over this wall before, searching for a way out. I beat my fists against it, and then turn and let myself slide down the wall, defeated. At least I know now for sure there’s something more than this single hive. Which means Neil might be out there somewhere.

  “Who was that?” asks Virginia. She crouches down, examining my face. Beckah hangs back a bit, staring at me in awe. The others crowd around, reaching out to press their own hands against the wall.

  “That was Julian.” I shake my head, still not quite believing it.

  “Who’s Julian?” Virginia probes. “You sure seem important to him.”

  “Very important,” Beckah chimes in, tucking her petite frame in next to me. “He said he wants to take you away, but I know you wouldn’t leave us.”

  “He’s just someone I knew once.” I look Virginia straight in the eye and do my best to sound dismissive so she won’t pry. “I have no idea why he suddenly showed up after all this time.” It doesn’t make sense. Not that anything makes sense here.

  I turn to Beckah and soften my tone. “Don’t worry, Beckah. I promise I won’t leave you behind.” And I mean it too. I’d go crazy if I didn’t have her and Virginia with me.

  Beckah lights up and reaches out to squeeze my hand. She’s never given up her habit of touching us, despite our insensitivity to physical contact. “Thank you. You two are the best friends I’ve ever had,” she says. I squeeze back.

  “Well, he must be important to someone,” Virginia says, clearly not yet ready to close the subject. “I mean, why does he get normal clothes while the rest of us are stuck with these shapeless white shifts? He even has hair.” Virginia rubs her bald head. It’s the same bald look we all have.

  I laugh, the bitter sound of it strange on my lips. Leave it to Virginia, former head cheerleader, to ask hair and fashion questions. “At least you still have some color,” I say. Virginia pushes up the long sleeves of her shift, proudly exposing more of her tawny skin. There are only two other gi
rls in our hive who don’t blend into the walls. The rest of us are so bleached out, we’re like photographs that have been overexposed.

  The other drones are starting to lose interest in the wall and in me. They drift back off in the direction of their chambers. The temporary excitement has been sucked out of the hive, leaving only the dull nothingness we’re used to.

  Virginia looks at the retreating drones with disdain and lowers herself to the floor with an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh. They’re all so boring.”

  Beckah regards me solemnly. “Where would you even go if you could get out of here? Would you look for Neil?”

  “Of course she would, silly,” Virginia blurts before I can reply. “She talks about him all the time.”

  I untangle myself out of Beckah’s grasp and cross my arms over my chest, imagining for a second they are Neil’s arms wrapping me in a hug. “I really miss him.”

  “I wish I had the chance to have a boyfriend as nice as Neil,” says Beckah. “Or any boyfriend, really.” She picks at invisible lint on her shift.

  “Eww . . . but what if you find him and he’s, like, ninety years old?” teases Virginia. “Maybe it’s better to stick with your memories.” Of course Virginia has a point. We’ve been here so long, and it’s entirely likely Neil lived to a ripe old age, that he got married and forgot all about me. It’s too depressing to contemplate.

  “I can’t stand not knowing,” I say, hugging myself tighter. “I need closure. To know how he lived. If he ever still thought of me. How he died.”

  Virginia and Beckah stiffen at the mention of death. “I really want you both to meet Neil,” I say, hoping my enthusiasm will relax them again.

  It works. Virginia winks at me. “Oh, but we have met him,” she says.

  She’s referring to the fact that they’ve both rented some of my memories of Neil. I haven’t shared the more intimate ones on the net, but if I could blush, I would. “I mean, for real.”