Forget Tomorrow

by Pintip Dunn

  He breaks the contact with a gasp, his hot breath panting over me. “Maybe we’d better stop before we get carried away.”

  I wrap my fingers around his neck. “I like getting carried away with you.”

  “So do I.” He gives me a peck on the nose. I know, somewhere in the back of my mind, that his eyes are green, yet at this moment, I’d swear they’re made from the same murky blackness as the water. “But I get the feeling we’re not talking about the exact same thing.”

  Aren’t we? Because part of me is very sure I’m ready to take the next step. If I only have a short time left with Logan, I want to make the most of every moment. But the other part of me isn’t sure, isn’t ready.

  I take a couple of steps away, to give both my emotions and my body some space. The water laps against my ribs, cool and refreshing against my burning skin. With the amount of heat we generated, I’m surprised the stream didn’t boil.

  Lying back on the water, I kick my feet, trying to remember everything he taught me. Amazingly, I don’t sink.

  Something buoys me up, and I’m floating. Weightless. Skimming the top of the world.

  “You’re doing it.” The words sound muffled through the water, and I smile. And then my heavy limbs take over and I sink.

  “Twelve seconds,” he says. “You were floating for twelve whole seconds.”

  I wipe the drops off my face. “Is that good?”

  “Good enough for your first lesson.”

  We go back to shore. When we sit down, Logan’s eyes have turned green once again. I show him the net I’ve been weaving out of plant stalks, as I waited for the fish to get caught in my traps.

  He runs his fingers over the bumps where the fronds cross one another. “How come you don’t know how to swim? You said your mom doesn’t like the water. But couldn’t your dad have taught you?”

  I take a swig from my canteen, although the lump in my throat has nothing to do with thirst. “My dad hasn’t been around since I was four.”

  “I knew he left, but I thought you said he came back. After Jessa was born.”

  “Nope.” I drink more water. “I remember his last day so clearly. I was standing on the sanitation machine in my nightgown in order to hug him good-bye. He turned to my mom and said ‘They’re going to shave my head. I’ll have to get a wig when I come back so Boo-Boo doesn’t get scared.’ That’s what he called me. Boo-Boo.”

  The words come automatically. I’ve said them a hundred times before, as bedtime stories to my sister. This memory and a handful of others. Building a sand turtle by the dunes. Riding high on my father’s shoulders. Shrieking as he carried me upside down by my feet. Stories repeated over and over, so Jessa could have a glimpse of him. So I wouldn’t forget.

  “Did he buy the wig?”

  “No. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

  Surprise, then confusion, then understanding flit across his face in rapid succession, like one of those cartoon flip-books I used to make as a little girl. “So Jessa is your half sister?”

  “She’s my sister. There’s nothing halfway about it.” Taking a deep breath, I pick up a plant stalk and begin to weave another row onto the net. “But to answer your question, back then, I would’ve sworn we had the same dad. My mom wasn’t involved with anyone else when she got pregnant. And when Jessa was born, she looked just like my baby pictures. Just like my dad. What were the chances my mom had gotten pregnant with someone else with those eyes? I waited and waited, because I knew one day he would come back to us.”

  I pick up another plant stalk, but my fingers don’t work anymore. They feel too big, too clumsy. “Except he never did. And when I pressed my mom, she confirmed Jessa has a different dad. So technically, you’re right. She is my half sister.”

  “I’m sorry, Callie. That must’ve been hard.”

  It’s still hard. Time dulls all pain, but it can’t erase the hurt. Not completely.

  “You’re right, you know,” he says. “She does look like you. When I saw her in the park that day, I thought I was seeing you as we were entering the T-minus eleven class.”

  My lips crack their plaster mold. “My mom has photos where she swears she can’t tell which of us it is.”

  “That’s weird, isn’t it? How you look so much alike.”

  The rest of his sentence remains unspoken. That’s weird you look so much alike, when you have different fathers. Different blood. Different genes.

  “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t care if Jessa had a different mother, too. I wouldn’t love her any less.”

  “Of course not. Love isn’t something you can give halfway.” He takes the plant stalk from my hands and begins to twist it around his fingers. “I’m learning that now more than ever.”

  My sentiments exactly. I tried to give Logan only part of my love. I tried to hold back, knowing that he would leave me soon. But no matter how often my brain declared his impending absence, my heart affixed itself to him. And there’s not a piece of logic in the world that can change that.

  I tear my gaze from the ground and look back at Logan. He holds up the stalk. He’s wound it into a perfect circle, the circumference of my wrist.

  A hammer pounds against my chest. My mouth is desert-dry, despite all this water, and the rushing in my ears is back, and he isn’t even touching me.

  “I’ve decided I’m not going back to Eden City,” he says. “Mikey will have to find another way to communicate with the Underground.”

  I suck in a breath. I never hoped for this. It may have been the secret wish of my selfish heart, but I never let myself dream of this moment. “But your future as a gold-star swimmer—”

  “Can wait. Now that I’ve found you again, I’m not leaving. Not without giving us a shot.” He picks up my hand and gently, so gently, slips the circlet over my wrist. “Don’t forget, my future memory is two-fold. Half of it is the swimming. The other half is you. I want that part of my memory to come true. I want you in my life.” His voice drops, and it seems to reach inside me and pick up the pieces that fell apart when my dad left. It puts those fragments back together, cementing them with his certainty. With his belief. “What do you say, Callie? Will you let me stay without arguing? Will you be my girlfriend?”

  I look at my hand. The twisted green plant hangs around my wrist. I don’t know how long it can keep its shape. But as long as it holds, can I really deny its chance to last? I’ve spent the past few days trying my hardest to quell the feelings I have for Logan. Would it be so bad to just let go?

  All sense and reason is telling me not to accept. I know that Logan is needed in Eden City. There may even come a time when I need something that only he can send. But, at this moment, the only thing I need from Logan is himself.

  I’ve been in love with him half my life. I know this now. For once I’m going to be selfish. I’m going to grasp my chance at a new life.

  “Yes,” I say. With that one word I wish, I shiver, I pray that I’ve sealed my Fate. And, desperately, I hope that I haven’t sealed anyone else’s.

  29

  The air smells of rosemary and grilled fish. Conversation and bits of food are flung around, as if the people of Harmony can’t decide whether to talk or eat. I’m wedged on a bench between Logan and Brayden, trying to keep the hysterical laughter inside.

  I had some sparkling wine once. A neighbor sent a bottle to our house after Jessa was born. Mom popped the cork, and white bubbles spilled out the neck.

  “Here, quick.” Mom pushed the bottle at me. “We can’t waste a single drop.”

  I licked the side of the bottle and the bubbles exploded on my tongue. Even after I swallowed, I could still feel the fizz climbing my throat.

  Well, that’s how I feel now. Every time Logan speaks to me, brushes my shoulder, or even looks at me, my insides fizz a little more and bubble a little higher. Long forgotten are my guilt and caution. Now I’m brimming with heady elation. By the time I finish my dinner, I can’t sit still any longer. I jump t
o my feet and excuse myself, leaving Logan talking to Brayden about his swim meets.

  I wander over to the long table in front of the log cabin, where Angela is stuffing a fish with cubed vegetables.

  “Dinner was delicious, Angela.” Sliding in next to her, I pick up a fish and slice through its stomach with a knife. “I think I may have caught a few of these suckers myself.”

  “Did you? Well, hurry up and finish your hunting rotation. I miss having you in meal prep.” She lays her fish on a tray and holds her hand out for mine. “You are going to be around at the end of your rotation?”

  I hand her the fish. Its eyes stare at me, dead and lifelike at the same time. I rub the underside of my bracelet, twisting it around my wrist. I made Logan a matching one, too. These bracelets symbolize so much more than our relationship. They offer me another chance at life.

  I flash back on a scene from this afternoon—cleaning the haul with the other fisherman on the shore. The air is ripe with fish guts. The bloated bellies of the fish flash in the waning light. And Logan, a few scales clinging to his cheek, wields a thin metal blade like a scalpel.

  I could be happy here. No, scratch that. I am happy here.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say to Angela.

  The smile beams out of her. “Welcome home, Callie.”

  We work in silence for a few minutes, and her smile leaks away. Her misery presses down on me. I can see the grief in the tightness of her lips, in the fish she’s handling a little too roughly.

  “Angela?” I ask. “How are you holding up?”

  Her hands pause. “Still sad about my mum’s passing. And Mikey and I have been fighting.”

  “Over what?”

  “The usual. Relationship stuff.” She turns the fish over. “But don’t worry. We’ll work it out. We always do.”

  We prep the rest of the fish, and when Angela takes them over to the fire pit to grill, I walk back to Logan.

  He’s sitting with his brother now, his head bent as he listens to Mikey. I’d recognize his swimmer’s physique anywhere. The broad shoulders that taper to a V, the muscular thighs and long legs. As if sensing my approach, he looks up and reaches out his hand to me. Our fingers intertwine and I forget how to breathe. When he looks at me, I don’t need a memory to tell me where I belong. I could make a home here. With Logan by my side, I could carve a place for myself in Harmony.

  At that moment, a scream rips through the air. Startled, Logan and I look at each other, and then all three of us jump to our feet and run to the fire pit, where Angela is cradling a little boy in her arms. He has long, scrawny limbs, smooth nutmeg skin…and a deep, bloody gash on one thigh.

  It’s Ryder, the little boy who had given me the shy smile, whose psychic parents were locked up by FuMA. The boy who came to Harmony rather than live in a city that might someday incarcerate him, too.

  “It hurts, Angela,” he cries, thrashing his arms and legs as though he can battle the pain away. “Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

  “Shh. You’re going to be okay,” she says, already dressing the wound. She rolls up a tube of antiseptic, squeezing out every last bit of ointment. “Mikey, didn’t you say you sent a runner to get a new shipment of supplies? Could you—”

  “On it.” Mikey leaves even before she finishes her sentence. It’s like they know each other so well he can anticipate her needs.

  “A new shipment already?” I murmur to Logan, as Angela whispers in Ryder’s ear. The little boy continues to moan, and a sheen of sweat shines on his forehead, but as she speaks to him he stops moving and lies still.

  “We usually wait for the next fugitive to bring the backpacks,” Logan says. “But Mikey wanted to test his telepathy with my mom, so he sent someone to fetch the pack from the meeting point, where we picked up our boat. The runner just got back today.”

  Mikey reappears with a navy backpack identical to the one we brought. Hurriedly he unzips it, and a dozen white tubes tumble out.

  He picks one up. The logo of a smile gleams up at me.

  “What. Is. This?” Without warning, he closes his hand over the tube and crushes it.

  I gasp. If the tube had a life, it would be dead.

  Logan picks up a tube, too. “It looks like toothpaste.”

  Mikey slams the tube on the ground; he’d squeezed it so hard the tube split, and white paste oozes out.

  “It’s okay, Mikey.” Angela places a large piece of gauze over Ryder’s leg. “We had enough ointment. Ryder will be fine.”

  “It’s not okay,” Mikey growls. “Do you know how many scratches you can get here in the woods? A knife slips, like Ryder’s did today. A branch scrapes your leg. You nick your finger on a bone.” He yanks up his sleeve, revealing a nasty red scratch on his forearm. “I did this just yesterday. Any of these cuts can become infected. If they go untreated, these little infections can turn life threatening.”

  He looks wildly around the fire pit, skimming over each face in the crowd, until his eyes land on me. “It turns out our stopgap measure has a leak,” he says, as if he’s addressing me alone. “I asked my mother to send us tubes of antibiotic ointment.” His lips press together in a long, thin line. “This is what she sent.”

  My heart plummets. He was testing his communication with his mom. A simple message, a single concrete object—and it still didn’t transmit properly.

  “You two,” Mikey snaps to Logan and me. “Come with me. Now.”

  He dips a cattail torch in the flame of the fire pit and leads us to his hut. Still holding hands, Logan and I trail after him. My stomach sloshes around uneasily. I don’t know what he’s going to say, but it won’t be good. It can’t be good. I’ve never seen Mikey so angry, not even on the first day we arrived.

  Once we arrive at his hut, Mikey drops the torch into a built-in holder. The flame flickers, making our shadows dance on the wall.

  Two buckskins are laid out on the dirt. This must be where they’ve been sleeping, as opposed to the soft piles of moss that serve as my bed at Angela’s. I feel a pang as I remember the bed Logan made me out of pine needles during our trip to Harmony. He must’ve done that just for my comfort.

  I look up to catch Mikey studying me. “You don’t like me,” I say.

  He opens his mouth as if he would like to agree, but then snaps it shut again. “That’s not true. But your relationship with my brother will not work. I can’t allow it to continue.”

  “What do you mean you can’t allow . . .?” But the words die in my mouth, strangled by what I think—what I know—he’s going to say.

  Logan shifts behind me. His breath wafts against my hair, but the heat does nothing for the goose bumps that have popped up along my arms.

  I lick my lips and try again. “Why won’t our relationship work?”

  Mikey looks between us. His shadow looms behind him, hulking and grotesque. A single bird screeches outside the hut, and I’m suddenly aware of the stillness in the air.

  “Logan’s not staying in Harmony. The day after tomorrow, I’m sending him back to Eden City.”

  30

  The world tilts, and for one crazy moment, I think I might slide right off the edge. Then I hear Logan’s voice, low and controlled, and it anchors my feet to the ground.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You knew your time here was limited,” Mikey says. “Harmony needs you in Eden City. We need you to communicate with the Underground. With the coldest months of the year coming, many will get sick, with illnesses for which we haven’t prepared. Without you, they’ll die.”

  “Shouldn’t it be my decision?” Logan steps around me so that he’s face-to-face with his brother. “What if I can find another method to deliver the messages? I…I don’t know how, but we’ll figure something out. What if I’d rather stay here with Callie? With…you?”

  His voice falters on the last word, and my heart squeezes, squeezes, squeezes.

  Mikey lays his hands on Logan’s shoulders. Somethi
ng passes between them, some invisible force I can’t sense in any physical way. But I know it’s there. My mind recognizes it and carves its shape into my perception.

  He’s speaking into Logan’s mind, words too personal for an outsider to hear.

  I love you, my brother. I will not forget our days together. The bond between us is strong and true, and no one can take that away, no matter where you are.

  Or maybe Mikey’s not saying that at all. Maybe he’s saying: stop your crying, little boy. You will do as I say. You will not disappoint me ever again.

  Whatever passes between them, it seems to work. Logan takes a step back; he drops his head, as though he’s considering Mikey’s words.

  My stomach plummets to the ground. No. I won’t let my future be decided like this. I won’t stand here observing like a passenger with no access to the controls as my life hurtles down a path I didn’t choose.

  Not again.

  “You’re not giving your mother a chance.” My voice echoes in the hut, shattering the silence that’s smothering me. “Her powers might improve with practice. She was able to figure out you wanted a white tube—it was just the wrong white tube. She’ll get better with time. You just have to let her try.”

  Mikey tilts his head. “Why are you arguing with me? Even if we had a different option, which we don’t, Logan doesn’t belong here. You know it, and I know it. He’s got a brilliant future back in civilization. He’s going to be the best swimmer they’ve ever seen.”

  Mikey’s not saying anything I haven’t felt. And I know I’m being selfish. I know I should accept the situation. I know I should let him go.

  But my heart refuses. I’ve finally opened myself to him, after all this time. We’re finally together, the way we’re supposed to be. He can’t be ripped away from me again. He just can’t. “There has to be another answer. Another avenue of communicating with the Underground. We just have to find it. It doesn’t have to be him.”

  Mikey arches an eyebrow, not saying a word. He doesn’t have to. Until I come up with an alternative solution, these words are meaningless.