Before Tomorrow (Forget Tomorrow) Read online

  “Where do you suggest I go?”

  He squinted at her. This was the part he didn’t want to say. Here he was, making himself out to be her hero, when the only solution he was offering was for her to leap off a cliff into a river. A knight on a white horse, he was not.

  Turned out, he didn’t have to say a word. The roaring river answered everything for him.

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m not jumping into the river. That’s suicide.”

  “Not if you know where to jump,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Not if you have a place to go.”

  “I don’t, clearly.”

  “I do,” he said, hating himself.

  They continued to climb, although the space between them lengthened. He wished he had another option to give her. You and I, let’s run away together, he wanted to say. Whatever your demons, I’ll protect you. Because we’re meant to be together. I’ve known that from the beginning, even before I got my future memory.

  But she never asked for his protection, and he wasn’t qualified to give it. She’d be much safer in Harmony. With his brother. With the resources of the Underground. He knew that.

  They reached the top, where the ground leveled before dropping off in a sheer cliff.

  He took a deep breath and turned to her. “Listen, Callie. There’s a safe haven in the wilderness. It’s called Harmony, and it’s a refuge for anyone who wants a new chance at life. People with psychic abilities who are hunted by TechRA. People like you who want to escape their futures.”

  Her hands clenched. “How do you know this?”

  How indeed. He could spend the rest of the morning telling her the truth about the racquetball, the history of the Underground, his and his brother’s roles. But there was no time. The dogs were coming.

  “My brother,” he said instead. “After TechRA arrested him, my family became members of the Underground, the group that set up Harmony. In case they came after anyone else we knew.”

  She stared at him. And it took all his strength to keep his hands at his sides, to stop himself from scooping her up and offering a protection he had no right to give.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking, running away,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t escape my future. I’m a criminal.”

  His heart cracked. “Will you listen to yourself? The only thing you’ve done is sit in an uncomfortable chair and receive a memory from the future. Nothing else has changed. You’re still the same Callie you were this morning.”

  “You don’t understand. My memory—”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.” He reached out to grab her shoulders, but she was too far away. Oh, how he wanted to touch her. His fingers burned with the wanting. But he was afraid once he touched her, he would never let go.

  “What if you can change your future?” he said. “What if you made it physically impossible for your memory to happen? I’m thinking you’ve got a pretty good shot at doing that if you disappear from civilization.”

  “But the Chairwoman said that was impossible.”

  “She was lying,” he said flatly. “Our entire socioeconomic system is built around future memories coming true, so of course she has to say that. It won’t be easy, since all of Fate is working against you. It will take an enormous amount of willpower and strength, which most people don’t have. But it’s happened. I’ve seen it.”

  Okay, so he was lying. He hadn’t seen it—and neither had anyone at the Underground. Not enough time had passed to know if anyone had been successful in preventing his or her memory. But they were all hoping. They were all praying. Harmony was built on this very belief that the future could be circumvented.

  “Let’s say there’s even a small chance I’m right,” he said. “Isn’t it worth taking?”

  “I’m not that strong,” she whispered. “I can’t even defy my teachers at school. How am I supposed to go up against Fate?”

  “If anyone can, it’s you.” He looked right into her eyes, meaning every word. She had more strength than anyone he knew—and he was surrounded by top-notch athletes day in and day out.

  “I can’t fight Fate. But I know who can. FuMA. I’m going to let them arrest me. Lock me up so that I can’t fulfill my memory. Even if I want to.”

  What? What was she saying? She couldn’t possibly mean—

  “But then you would be in detainment. For the rest of your life.” Was that his voice? Since when had it become so raw and scratchy?

  “I can’t imagine ever doing what my future self did,” she said, squaring her shoulders. Lifting her chin. “But it happened. So I can’t guarantee I won’t change my mind. The safest thing for me to do is to take the decision out of my hands. And FuMA’s offering to do just that.”

  He closed the distance between them. “You can’t turn yourself in, Callie. Think about what you’re saying.”

  “Both you and the Chairwoman said it—the hand of Fate is strong. I have to take extreme measures in order to defeat it. What can be more extreme than going to detainment?”

  He opened his mouth, to argue, to plead, to beg. But it was too late. She looked down the hill. “They’re coming.”

  A pack of bloodhounds pounded up the slope, followed by guards in navy and white uniforms. In the blink of an eye, she pulled the black chip from her pocket and threw it over the precipice. He followed the arc of the chip through the air—and then it was gone.

  His shoulders dropped. His heart ached. He wanted to stop her—but he couldn’t. It wasn’t his decision, and she’d made up her mind.

  Besides, Callie’s most defining characteristic was her capacity to love. And that was precisely what she was doing. Sacrificing herself, in order to prevent a crime from being committed in the future.

  In a way, her character was even more certain than her destiny. Who was he to prevent her from being true to herself?

  “I’m sorry, Callie,” he said.

  The dogs’ barks pierced his ears, and the officers’ feet pounded the ground. They would be on top of them, at any moment.

  “Go!” she shouted. “Get out of here before they arrest you, too.”

  He started to protest, but she shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t make this any harder than it is.”

  She was right. This was happening, and he had to accept it. He nodded and squeezed her arm. And even though it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, even more difficult than training for last year’s Gold Star Qualifier…

  He walked away.

  At least as far as the other side of the hill. He hid behind a tree and watched. Watched the officers and their dogs approach. Watched her throw her arms into the sky and march toward them, so brave, so defiant. So Callie.

  Watched as the only girl he might ever love turned herself over to the authorities—for maybe forever.

  And he knew, at the very core of his being, that his life would never be the same again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Four days later, Logan dove into the swimming pool, his body cutting through the water like a knife. His stroke was smooth, his form perfect. The water hardly rippled as he propelled through it.

  He wished he could say the same about his mind. It had been shivering, trembling, dancing all day. It felt like the dragonfly in the haiku by the old Japanese poet, Matsuo Bashō, that they had studied in the Poetry Core: “The dragonfly/can’t quite land/on that blade of grass.”

  Callie was the one who liked poetry, not him. She devoured the words of her favorite poet, Emily Dickinson, like they were the most decadent dessert the Meal Assembler could produce. But he kinda liked haikus. They were simple and direct, and that dead guy, Matsuo, seemed to be describing his head perfectly.

  He was a dragonfly. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t quite go back to the way his life used to be.

  Four days ago should’ve been the end of Logan and Callie. She made her choice. Their fates diverged into parallel lines. She exited his life. It should’ve been over.

 
But it wasn’t. First, because he had glimpsed the future, and as much as he believed they made their own fates, the memory also gave him a shot of hope. And second, because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  What was she doing now? How were they treating her? She would be locked up in a small cell, no doubt, but did they give her enough to eat? She’d always hated the protein pellets that EdA gave them for their school lunch. He hoped she was given more than that. Did she have a pillow, a blanket? Was she thinking about him? Did they shave her head?

  Maybe that was a silly thing to worry about. She would be beautiful with or without hair. But he had almost flunked the T-minus eight class because of her hair. They hadn’t been friends yet, and he didn’t understand how that color could exist in nature. She described it as dark brown—almost black like her father’s, but with her mother’s golden highlights. But to him, it looked like the sun itself was sprinkling her with kisses.

  The only sun that would kiss her now would be from her memories.

  The air tangled in his lungs, and Logan lunged up at the end of the pool, gasping for breath. Coach Blake was crouched at the edge, waiting for him.

  “Not bad, Russell.” Coach tapped the timer on his wrist com. “But it’s the first lap of the day. Maybe take it a little easier while your muscles warm up?”

  Logan nodded and prepared to push back off. If he’d known Coach would be wanting conversation, he wouldn’t have surfaced at all.

  “Hold it.” The older man grabbed his neck. “I want to talk to you. Get out of the water for a minute.”

  “Coach, I’m in the middle of my workout—”

  “You’re not a fish. You’re not going to suffocate if you come up for air.”

  Reluctantly, Logan pulled himself out of the pool and sat next to his coach. He accepted a towel and patted his face dry. If his mentor wanted to talk, then they would talk. After training with him for the last decade, Logan owed him that much.

  “You’re here early,” Coach said. “School doesn’t let out for another three hours.”

  Logan studied the seams in the wet concrete. “Thought I would get an early start on my session. The qualifier is in three days, you know.”

  “You skipped out early yesterday, and the day before that, too. What’s it going to be tomorrow? Are you going to ditch school altogether?”

  Logan blinked. “School’s just a formality once you receive your future memory. Everybody knows that—my parents, the teachers. They’re all aware I’m missing a few classes, and they don’t care. They know how important the qualifier is.”

  “And I know how important learning is, for its own sake. I don’t want you to neglect your studies in order to chase after your gold-star dreams.”

  Logan shook his head. Coach’s stance on education wasn’t new. He was the one who made his swimmers go home when they would’ve practiced into the night. He was the first to urge them to take a day off from training in preparation for a big test. He wanted disciplined and driven swimmers—but not dummies.

  Logan had always chalked up Coach’s insistence on education to his own failed career. He wanted his athletes to have a backup plan in case the swimming didn’t work out.

  But Logan didn’t need a backup plan. He had his future memory.

  “I ran into Roxy at my Memory Day party,” he said, changing the subject. “She said you were retiring this year. Which would mean the qualifier is your last chance to produce a winner. Is that true?”

  Coach took a swig from a canteen, swishing the liquid in his mouth as if it were mouthwash. Swish, swish, swish. Logan thought he wasn’t going to answer at all—but then he nodded.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Logan asked, his throat, his chest, even his muscles tight.

  “It shouldn’t make any difference.” Coach took another pull from the bottle. “I know you’re already trying your hardest. That’s the kind of swimmer—the kind of person—you are. You don’t do anything halfway. So there was no point telling you. It would only cause unnecessary worry, and I didn’t want that extra pressure on you.”

  “I’m going to do my best to win this for you,” Logan vowed. “Whatever it takes.”

  “I know it. That’s what you do. But you should know, as much as I want this win, I’m proud of you, no matter what.”

  Logan blinked. His eyes stung, and it had nothing to do with the chlorine. These were the words he wanted from his father. But he didn’t get them, would never get them. His coach was saying them now. Maybe that was good enough. It had to be.

  Coach scuffed his knuckles against Logan’s head and ambled back to his office, the canteen swinging from a strap.

  Logan dove back into the pool. But this time, he didn’t push himself. Instead, he glided through the water, thinking of Coach’s words.

  Coach knew him better than anyone else, and he was right. Logan didn’t do anything halfway, not his swimming, not anything else. This couldn’t be the end of him and Callie. She might be locked away in FuMA, but there were still things he could do to help her. The Underground had connections at every level of government. There had to be someone who had access to Callie. Someone who could tell him how she was doing, if they were treating her well.

  He had to pay a visit to Melie. It was time for this dragonfly to find a place to land.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Something was wrong. Red strobe lights flashed along the sidewalk in front of Melie’s townhouse, and half a dozen transport vehicles were parked on the street. Guards in green uniforms bearing the insignia of PuSA, the Public Safety Agency, milled around, talking to civilians and dictating notes into their wrist coms.

  Logan’s heart pounded. Was it Melie? Had ComA discovered her rebel organization? Was she done for? Were they all done for?

  He ducked under a laser beam—if they really wanted to keep out onlookers, they needed a laser wall—and scanned the crowd. Thank the Fates, he spotted Melie immediately. She sat on the lawn, her hair so dark it was almost a reverse beacon.

  But his relief was short-lived. In her lap, Melie cradled another woman, older, with fine wrinkles and silver hair. Even from a distance, Logan could tell she wasn’t in good shape.

  Nearby, two PuSA guards had a guy in their custody. He had sand-colored hair that flopped in his eyes, and a tattoo of a circuit board around his neck. Clever. Logan felt like he was peering inside the body of a bot, but the illusion didn’t save the guy from having his wrists captured in a pair of electro-cuffs.

  The front door of Melie’s neighbor’s side of the house was wide open. End tables were knocked over. Vases and books were on the floor. Broken glass from the window was sprayed onto the lawn, as if there had been a break-in or a scuffle. Probably both.

  Logan walked to Melie, who was hunched over the woman’s body. Melie’s normally straight shoulders were moving…as if… Could it be…? Dear Fate, she was actually vibrating with emotion.

  He fell to his knees beside her, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge him. All her attention was focused on the woman in her lap.

  “It happened just like in Beks’s vision,” the old woman whispered, her voice raspy. “But different. He broke into our home. He went straight for the electronics, and when I surprised him, he put a bullet in my chest. Except Beks wasn’t here. She didn’t fight back; she didn’t kill the boy. They arrested her for a murder she hadn’t committed, and she went willingly, because she thought by doing so, she could change the chain of events. She thought she could save my life.” She took a rattling breath. “But here I am, the life leaking out of me. And my Beks is still sitting in detainment. For doing nothing wrong.”

  The woman’s face crumbled. Tears sprang onto her face, even though she clearly didn’t have energy to waste on anything, much less sorrow.

  She took one last breath, and then her eyes closed, the grief over Beks’s imprisonment in every wrinkle and crease.

  Melie let out a sharp cry, and Logan rocked back onto the ground. He didn’t know if
the woman was dead or had just passed out.

  The medics approached and carefully peeled the body from Melie’s grip. They were gentle, but the way the woman’s limbs flopped around didn’t seem normal. She was too loose. He knew then that she would never wake up.

  The medics loaded the body onto a stretcher and carried her away. Logan turned to his leader. “Melie? Are you okay?”

  In response, Melie turned in to his chest and started sobbing. Shocked, he brought up his hand to pat the older woman’s back. This wasn’t the way his world was supposed to work. She was his leader, his protector—not the other way around. For as long as he had known her, she had offered comfort with her precise data, with her cool logic. That was how she led the Underground, with emotionless control.

  Well, that control was cracking now, and he had to get her inside.

  He pulled her to her feet and guided her to her half of the townhouse. A guard stopped them. Gave them some mumbo jumbo about Melie staying in her house until they could interrogate her. Logan agreed, lifting Melie’s wrist and passing it in front of the scanner by the entrance. The door slid open.

  They hobbled inside, and he deposited Melie at the table. “Was she…a close friend?” he asked as he fiddled with the knobs of the Drink Assembler to order up cups of tea.

  “I barely knew her,” Melie whispered. The words should’ve reassured him, but they didn’t. Her voice was too lost and raw for that. “She’d been my next-door neighbor for a decade. I should’ve known her better. I should’ve taken the time to be her friend. Maybe she would’ve confided in me, then. Maybe I could’ve done something for the girl.”

  A chill ran up his spine. “What do you mean? What girl?”

  She closed her eyes, as if the sight of the teacups, the Drink Assembler, and her ordinary wall screens was too much. “The story she told us. Her granddaughter, Beks. Maybe I could’ve saved Beks from her fate.”

  “FuMA’s doing that,” Logan pointed out. He stuck a cup of jasmine green tea in front of Melie. “Like the woman said, Beks is in detainment. Maybe it wasn’t enough to save her grandmother’s life, but at least she doesn’t have murder on her soul. In fact, they’ll probably release her now that the vision has come and gone, and she didn’t commit the crime.”