by Dunn, Pintip
He thought the guys would be impressed. He didn’t know they would back away, eyes wide and movements cautious. He never imagined they would report the incident to TechRA.
When the officials came to arrest him, Mikey took the blame. Claimed he was the one who levitated the ball, even though telekinesis was Logan’s ability, not his.
The worst part was that Logan let him. He’d watched, along with Callie and the rest of his class, as they dragged Mikey away in electro-cuffs. Callie had turned to him and said, “Do something.”
He should’ve done exactly that. He should’ve stopped them. He should’ve confessed. He should’ve, at the very least, looked Mikey in the face and told him he loved him.
But he didn’t. He stood there, frozen to the spot, as they took away his brother. He stood there, like the coward he was, knowing that his life was never going to be the same again.
Do something.
These words had haunted him for the last five years.
After school that fateful day, he told his parents everything and insisted they take him to the TechRA labs where Mikey was being held. He wanted to confess and trade himself for his brother. But his parents refused. They said Mikey knew what he was doing and that he had a bigger plan in mind.
So, Logan snuck out of the house and took the bullet train to TechRA. The leader of the Underground herself—Melie—intercepted him. She explained that a community was being formed in the wilderness, on the outskirts of civilization, as a safe haven for psychics and those individuals trying to escape their future memories. Mikey had been selected as Harmony’s leader, and his escape was being engineered as they spoke.
The message was clear. There was no point in Logan turning himself in.
He went back home, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t put the pieces of his life back together. And he could never look at Callie without hearing her words.
Do something.
He stopped talking to her altogether—not because he hated her, like she might have imagined, but because he hated himself. His guilt was a tiny, irritating pebble at the bottom of his heart. Through the years, it turned into a hard and sharp-edged determination.
He was going to make this up to his brother—or die trying.
Chapter Four
“Showing up for practice, even on Memory Day?” a voice boomed out. Coach Blake. Had to be. No one else had a baritone like that. “Now that’s what I call dedication.”
Logan turned and saw the broad shoulders and towering height of the man who had been training him ever since he was seven years old. The swimming pool loomed behind him, and chlorine saturated the air.
“You know I can’t go a day without seeing you, Coach.” Logan’s tone was light, but he was only half joking. His teammates talked about his discipline. They thought his commitment was the stuff of legends. He never seemed to fatigue, never needed a break. He trained for hours every single day, even weekends, even holidays. Even, apparently, on Memory Day.
They didn’t know that his brain turned off only during the hours he submerged himself in the cool, clear water, the hours he pushed his body forward with stroke after punishing stroke. That was the only time his guilt slipped away, albeit temporarily. The only time he could breathe again.
He wanted to become a gold-star swimmer not only for himself—but also for his brother. If he achieved his dreams, then maybe Mikey’s sacrifice would’ve been worth it. Maybe the success would be the first step in making it up to his brother.
And so, it was easy for Logan to train. It was the only time he ever felt okay about himself again.
“I wasn’t sure I was ever going to see you again,” Coach said, his voice softer.
“What do you mean? You’ve seen me every day for the last ten years.”
“Yes, but that was before your seventeenth birthday. Before you got your future memory.” Coach rubbed his hand against his square jaw. “I’ve been doing this a long time. And I know this day changes everything.”
Logan frowned. “I’m still the same person I was yesterday, with the same goals, with the same dreams. I still need the water just as much.”
Coach slung an arm around his shoulders, and they walked along the edge of the pool. Logan was used to his classmates looking up to him, both literally and figuratively, but Coach was so big, it made him feel like a little kid again.
“You were never like the rest of them, Russell. You love the sport for what it is. Maybe you would’ve come back, no matter what. But for most hopefuls, once Memory Day comes and goes and they don’t receive the vision they want, I never see them in this pool again.” He laughed, but the sound was hollow, not at all like his usual hearty chuckles. “I wish it were funny, but it’s not. There’s no in-between with this sport. No way to earn credits unless you’re at the very top. Back in my day, we trained our hearts out because that’s all we had.”
He turned to face Logan. “These days, the second my students see a different future, they quit. I love my job, Russell. You know that. But in all my years as a coach, I’ve yet to have a student become a gold-star swimmer. And so, my best swimmers leave me year after year.” His voice caught. “I don’t have children myself, and sometimes, I think of the swimmers as my kids. But that’s bull fike. Real kids wouldn’t leave without so much as a good-bye.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Coach.”
The older man took a deep breath and placed his hands on Logan’s shoulders. Something leaped into his eyes, severe and sharp, and it took Logan a moment to identify what it was. Hope.
“I’ve delayed as long as I could,” Coach said. “But, please. Tell me now. What was your memory? Are you my first gold-star swimmer?”
Coach never begged. He was way too tough for that. But Logan saw the yearning in his eyes, and he knew that this was not only his life’s dream, but Coach’s as well.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I got my memory. I saw myself competing in the Gold Star National Meet.”
Coach whooped. “I knew it! I never received a memory, but I felt, at the core of my being, that one day I would be the coach of a champion. That’s been the only thing that’s kept me going through the years. Through the disappointments. Through all those children ripped away from me.”
He embraced him so tightly Logan could hardly breathe. “You are my life’s work, Russell. My entire career is worth it because of you.”
Something happened to Logan at that moment. The universe shifted, and he felt a piece of his soul clicking into place. He knew, then, that this was the answer for which he had been searching. By becoming a gold-star swimmer, he would make his brother proud. By winning stacks of medals, he would redeem himself for his mistake.
That didn’t explain the second part of his memory—but maybe, for now, the swimming part would be enough.
“Come on.” Coach released him and slapped him on the back. “Let’s get to work. The Gold Star Qualifier is in a little over a week.”
Logan understood that he would have all of Coach’s attention from that point forward. Before the memory, before they knew the future, Coach had to split his time among all his hopefuls.
But now, he knew. Logan’s memory was not just a predictor. It was a guarantee. This upcoming regional meet was just the first step toward becoming a swimmer in the national competition, like he had seen in his vision. Oh, it might not be this meet that qualified Logan. Cities from all over the eastern seaboard of North Amerie would be sending swimmers to compete in their nation’s capital. The competition would be stiff, and he might not win. Instead, he might qualify a year or maybe even five years later. As best as he could tell, his vision showed him at least a decade older. But Coach Blake now knew he had a champion under his tutelage, and Logan would receive top treatment for the rest of his career.
Maybe there was something to be said for future memory, after all. When it worked out, it could be damn-the-Fates good.
Chapter Five
When Logan finally got home, there was
a spread laid out on the table. Marinated red peppers, spicy chorizo, roasted quail, and garlicky lamb chops. The food certainly wasn’t prepared by their Meal Assembler, which made the most basic fare, so his parents must have gotten tired of waiting and ordered in a meal from an eating establishment.
His mouth watered. He could gobble up a few tables of tapas, which was probably why they didn’t have this meal very often. He ate a lot. After swim practice, he ate even more.
His limbs suddenly felt weighted down with lead. He shouldn’t have made his parents wait. Feeling guilty was a way of life for him, but it didn’t make the emotion easier to bear.
He heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs, and then his parents burst into the room.
“Dear heart, I’m so happy to see you.” His mother folded him into her arms. This was one of the things he loved best about her. She greeted him this way every time they were waiting to hear how he did on an exam or at a swim meet. Hugs first, results later.
Not the case with his father.
Logan peeked at his dad, who was half the size of Coach Blake but twice as imposing. He was restraining himself, Logan could tell. His Adam’s apple worked; his temples throbbed. How long could his dad be patient while Logan greeted his mom? Five seconds? Ten seconds? Twenty seconds—
“That’s enough, Hester.” His dad’s voice broke into their embrace, slicing them apart. “Stop coddling him. He’s not a child anymore. He became a man today. So?” The authoritative gaze zeroed in on Logan. “What does your future show? Is there success in store for our son?”
Logan didn’t know what came over him. His parents wanted this future almost as much as he did. And yet… “You are looking at one of Eden City’s future bot supervisors. In the sanitation department, to be exact.” He smiled proudly and spread his arms wide like that was all he ever wanted.
His parents stared. He was going straight to Limbo. But a perverse side of him got a shot of glee at seeing the utter shock on his dad’s face.
Recovering, his dad gave a fake laugh. “Oh, you’re funny. Nobody ever told me I was raising a Live Comedian.” He paused. “This is a joke. Am I right?”
“It makes no difference, dear heart.” His mother smoothed down Logan’s hair. “No matter who you become, we’ll still love you. You’ll always be our Logan.”
Logan wanted so badly for his dad to repeat the same words. For once in his life, he wanted to hear his dad say “I love you” with no conditions attached. Not: I love you because you won the swim meet. Or: I love you because you tested first in the class. He wanted those three words by themselves. That was all.
They didn’t come.
“Well?” An edge entered his dad’s voice. If Logan delayed any more, his dad was going to break some gadgets.
“You’re right. I’m joking.” Should he sound more excited? He was excited. It’s not every day he learned his dreams would come true. But his father always had a way of deflating his enthusiasm. “In the future, I’m a gold-star swimmer. The son you’ve always wanted.”
“Oh, dear heart.” His mom pulled him into another hug, an even tighter one. “I knew you could do it. I knew all your effort would be worth it.”
“I expected nothing less,” his father said, his words limp with relief. He thumped Logan on the back. “Good work, son. Good work.”
Logan should leave well enough alone. He should accept their praise and eat the delicious handmade food. But his disappointment was a colony of termites eating through his insides, and he didn’t know how to make the gnawing stop.
“What if that wasn’t my memory?” he asked. “What if I were destined to become a bot supervisor? Or a dad holding my newborn baby? What if my memory showed that I’ll be mediocre?”
His mom linked an arm through his and began walking him to the table. “I already told you. We would celebrate you anyway, so long as you were happy. That’s all that’s important. Isn’t that right, Charles?”
“Oh yes,” his dad said. “We love you, son.”
There it was. The three words he so badly wanted to hear. But they didn’t make him feel any joy. Because it was easy for his dad to say them now.
After he knew his son was going to be a gold-star swimmer.
Chapter Six
Logan shoved two of the tiny quail drumsticks into his mouth. He wished he could taste the food, but his disappointment had climbed up his throat and numbed his taste buds, too.
His mom, usually so sensitive to his moods, gazed dreamily at the lit-up wall. “Dear Fate,” she kept saying, pressing a hand against her chest. “Just think. Me. The mother of a gold-star swimmer.” If she’d been more violent, Logan could imagine her pinching her arm until it turned green. But she was as gentle as the music they played during the Meditation Core, so hand to chest it was.
His father, on the other hand, stuffed food down his throat as if he were a contender to become a gold-star eater. When the last morsel was gone, he cleared his throat meaningfully.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, rubbing his hands together. That was when Logan understood that dinner was merely a precursor to the night’s true entertainment. “I took the liberty of renting a memory scanner for the evening.”
His mother gasped. “Why, Charles, that must have cost a week’s worth of credits.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Scanners weren’t typically for personal use. Places of business invested in them, so they could scan applicants for job openings. Financial institutions had them, so they could access the loan worthiness of a person. Everyone else used the scanners in the atrium off the FuMA lobby.
“A week and two days, to be exact,” his father said. “But anything’s worth it for my one and only son.”
Logan stiffened. His earlier elation had all but disappeared. What about Mikey? he wanted to shout. Have you forgotten about your firstborn, just because he’s off leading some primitive community in the wilderness?
Logan hadn’t forgotten. In fact, he had started helping the Underground, too. He and Mikey were a Sender-Receiver psychic pair, which meant that Mikey could send messages into Logan’s mind. In the last couple of years, Mikey had started sending him images of the supplies Harmony needed. Logan then informed the Underground, and they were thus able to stock the wilderness community with essential medications and toiletries.
His parents had no idea he was Harmony’s source—and he was going to keep it that way. They would never approve. They’d want him to focus on his swimming. Sure, they were active members of the Underground, but Logan always felt that was due more to his mom than his dad. More than once, he’d gotten the impression that his father wished they could just be a regular family, living a regular life.
They trooped up the stairs to the machine his father had rented. No two-dimensional scanner for Charles Russell. His dad had gotten the top-of-the-line scanner that translated a memory across five senses. No wonder it had cost so many credits.
His dad handed him the helmet, and Logan tensed, sweat springing onto his neck. It looked just like the one he’d worn earlier that day.
He wasn’t ready. The last thing he wanted was to share his memory when he still didn’t know what it meant.
As always, his dad didn’t give him a choice.
Logan took a deep breath and put on the headpiece. His mom and dad ducked inside the donut-shaped machine, and he closed his eyes, opening his mind like he had been taught in the Meditation Core.
He thought of the open swim lanes in front of him, devoid of any people, debris, or kickboards. Open. The wide, open ocean, where he could swim forever and never reach the other side. Open. The clear blue water, the most open medium he had ever known. Open, open, open.
The memory leaped into his mind instantly, as though, once received, it hovered at the edges of his consciousness, just waiting to be summoned.
He propelled himself through the water, body length after body length. His stroke was strong, his movements powerful. His entire body functioned as
one carefully synchronized machine.
His fingers touched the end of the pool, and he launched himself up, sucking in a deep lungful of air. Thunderous applause filled his ears. The din was so loud it reverberated off the walls and echoed in his heart.
In one smooth motion, he climbed out of the pool. His wet feet padded along the hard concrete, and the smell of chlorine choked the air. Everywhere he looked, he saw people. Crammed onto the bleachers, waving flags from different cities, chanting his and the other swimmers’ names. A banner hung on the far end of the pool hall, proclaiming in enormous letters: Gold Star National Meet.
He ripped off his swim cap and shook his head, spraying water droplets in a two-foot radius. The cap dropped by his feet. It was navy blue, with a gold star on it, which only meant one thing. This was the final heat of the national meet.
He crouched down to pick up the cap and saw a scar snaking up the middle of his palm. It looked newish—perhaps a few months old, at most a year. He stood and looked around the pool hall, searching, searching, searching. There were so many people. So many girls with brown hair and eyes that tapered at the corners.
And then he found her. In the first row, right in the center set of bleachers. Calla Ann Stone.
She met his eyes across the crowd and nodded. Just once. “My red leaf,” she mouthed.
A rush of something flooded through him, a feeling so strong it almost knocked him over.
He knew at the core of his being that he was accepted for who he was.
She made him feel like he belonged.
That was it. That was the whole memory. Logan slipped the contraption off his head and waited for his parents to duck out of the donut screen. A minute passed. Nothing. Two minutes. Finally, his dad bent his tall frame over and emerged from the machine.