Пинтип Данн - Remember Yesterday

I swallow hard. It’s not like the memories the scientists made me live. Instead of experiencing the memory across five senses, I’m merely watching the scene—and yet, it’s so vivid, so intense that I almost feel like I’m there.

Two people appear at the end of the hallway. They converse briefly, and then the tall one walks toward us. She wears a navy uniform and has silver hair cut closely to a well-shaped head. The face is more lined, but the features are unmistakable. Chairwoman Dresden.

She strides briskly to the cell and stops in front of one of the prisoners. “Mom,” a young female voice says. “You have to call off the execution.”

“I told you, Olivia,” Dresden says. “You knew the price of receiving a mediocre memory, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

“My future self sent me a happy memory,” the girl says. “In it, I held my newborn baby and felt at peace with the world.”

“It was mediocre! You of all people should’ve known what was coming.” A muscle ticks at the corner of Dresden’s mouth. “It was your vision of the future that showed us what we could become. A race of superhumans.”

My mouth goes dry. Dear Fates. This isn’t a memory but a vision of the future. The vision, in fact, that the six-year-old Olivia showed Callie. The one that made her stab a needle into her heart. Logan’s recounted it enough times for me to recognize it. Why is Dresden showing it to me now?

Dresden wraps her hands over the girl’s on the bars. “I know you’ve got talent, Olivia. You’re my daughter, aren’t you? Why didn’t your future self send a better memory? You could’ve chosen any memory. One that showed off your superlative skills as a violinist. One that illustrated your mathematical genius. Why did you send this one?”

“I don’t know why she did it, Mom,” Olivia says. “Maybe my future self thought it wasn’t right to execute ninety-nine percent of the population on the basis of their memories. Maybe she knew this was the only way to get you to listen. To show you there’s more to humanity than pure talent. There’s also happiness. And love.”

Dresden drops her hands from the bars. “Not in this world, I’m afraid. We can’t allow any mediocre genes to contaminate the breeding pool. The execution has been set. You and the other Mediocres will serve your sentence in two hours.”

She turns and strides away, her heels clicking against the floor, toward the person with whom she entered the hallway.

“Mom!” Olivia calls. “You can’t do this. I’m your daughter. Your daughter!”

“No. No daughter of mine is mediocre.”

The vision should end here. That’s where Logan always concluded his telling. But it doesn’t. I tilt my head, squinting at the vid. The worms wriggling around my stomach begin to crawl up my throat. Something’s about to happen. Something…bad. Dresden is showing me this vision for a reason, and it’s not just to satisfy my morbid curiosity.

Dresden flings out her palm and knocks to the floor the handheld device her assistant is carrying. The device smashes into a million pieces, and the assistant gets to her knees to retrieve them.

MK Rivers, I’m guessing. The chairwoman’s assistant back then and, ten years later, her assistant now.

She stretches to retrieve another piece, and her shirt gets untucked from her pants. It lifts up and reveals the splatter-paint birthmark at her waist. One that consists of a splotch that radiates in five directions. Just like the fingers of a blobby hand.

I can’t breathe. The air gets stuck somewhere between my lungs and my windpipe, and no amount of pounding will dislodge it. No. No . That can’t be my birthmark on that girl’s waist. I would never be on Dresden’s side, let alone be her assistant. Never.

And yet, there’s no erasing the image. That birthmark like a splatter of paint. The splotch that radiates into five fingers. That’s my birthmark. Mine. With me since my birth and catalogued into ComA’s records of identifying characteristics.

“You might as well stop fighting the inevitable.” Dresden crosses her arms, smirking. “Now we both know you’ll be working for me someday, after MK gets promoted.”

I’m trembling, my knees, my arms, probably even my hair. But I shake my head forcefully. “No. You’re wrong. This is just one possible vision of the future. It doesn’t have to come true. Callie proved that.”

Dresden’s eyes flash. “You can tell yourself that. But we both know this vision is more than just a prediction. It originates from your very genes, Jessa. Why do you think, as a child, you reacted so strongly to the memory of betraying your family? Somewhere, in your chemical makeup, you already know this is going to happen. This is who you are. Accept it. Perhaps your sister was able to fight Fate. But you will never be able to fight your very nature.”

A weariness descends on me, one that goes beyond my bones to the molecules themselves. Maybe it’s from the infection. More likely, it’s from this guilt I’ve been lugging around like the hydration packs sewn into my hoverjerseys.

She’s right. This is who I am.

My sister ended her life to save mine. But never once did she stop to consider whether my life was worth saving over hers.

Callie was the strong one, the noble one. She’s the one everybody loved. Logan’s heart ripped in two when she injected herself, and my mom walks around like she has some essential organ missing.

All I have to do is look into their eyes to see how they really feel: The wrong sister died. The one who lived is nothing but a girl who can’t get along with her mother. Nothing but a slacker whose only goal is to find another cliff to fling herself off.

If I could go back to the past and undo my sister’s decision, I would. But I can’t. So all I can do now is thwart my sister’s enemy. As long as I live, I will never betray my family.

Even if I’m as unworthy as the chairwoman says.

Squaring my shoulders, I stare down Dresden. “The answer is no. No matter how many visions you show me, I will never, ever be on your side.”

Magnificent in its swirls of color, the ramp is part of a system of banks, half-pipes, and undulating waves that make up Eden City’s best hoverpark—and Tanner Callahan’s favorite hangout.

My heart pounds like I’m on the last leg of a marathon, and I’m burning up under all this padding. I swallow, tuck the stray hair under my helmet, and swallow again.

Not only do I have to go down that ramp, but I have to do a heel-flip trick as my entrance. Without falling on my head. In front of a growing audience of hoverboarders.

Maybe this is my punishment for defying my future. Maybe, after conquering skydiving and cliff jumps, I’ll fall and break my neck on an incline that rises a mere twenty feet off the ground.

A guy with stringy brown hair nudges his friend, and they both look at me, broad smiles on their faces. Of course they’re happy. The crowd loves to watch boarders land cool new tricks. They like it even better when we crash against the concrete.

But this is all part of the plan. After Dresden left, I decided my mom was right. As much as I hate the scientists, I need to talk to Tanner. I have to find out what infected me.

I catch a glimpse of Tanner now next to a girl in a white tank top. His lips rest against each other in a straight line, and he stares at me, his eyes dark and unfathomable. He’s got a hoverboard balanced against his hip. Like everyone else, he’s waiting for the show.

I swallow hard. Despite myself, little pinpricks of awareness sprout all over my body. It’s like my every nerve has come alive because of his presence—which is just ridiculous. I can’t stand the guy. I only want to pump him for information.