Free Delirium: The Complete Collection by Lauren Oliver

Around eight thirty the sky looks like it’s on fire, especially at Back Cove. You should really see it. . . .
    Is it even remotely, conceivably possible he was sending me a message? Is it possible he was asking me to meet him?
    The idea makes me dizzy.
    I keep thinking, too, about the single word, directed low and quietly straight into my ear: Gray . He was there; he saw me; he remembered me. So many questions crowd my brain at once, it’s like one of the famous Portland fogs has swept up from the ocean and settled there, making it impossible to think normal, functional thoughts.
    My aunt finally notices something’s wrong. Just before dinner I’m helping Jenny with her homework, as always, testing her on her multiplication tables. We’re sitting on the floor of the living room, which is squashed up right next to the “dining room” (an alcove that barely holds a table and six chairs), and I’m holding her workbook on my knees, reciting the problems to her, but my mind is on autopilot and my thoughts are a million miles away. Or rather, they’re exactly 3.4 miles away, down at the marshy edge of Back Cove. I know the distance exactly because it’s a nice run from my house. Now I’m calculating how quickly I could get down there on my bike, and then beating myself up for even considering the idea.
    “Seven times eight?”
    Jenny pinches her lips together. “Fifty-six.”
    “Nine times six?”
    “Fifty-two.”
    On the other hand, there’s no law that says you can’t speak to a cured. Cureds are safe. They can be mentors or guides to the uncureds. Even though Alex is only a year older than I am, we’re separated, irreparably and totally, by the procedure. He might as well be my grandfather.
    “Seven times eleven?”
    “Seventy-seven.”
    “Lena.” My aunt has squeezed out of the kitchen, past the dining room table, and is standing behind Jenny. I blink twice, trying to focus. Carol’s face is tight with concern. “Is something the matter?”
    “No.” I drop my eyes quickly. I hate it when my aunt looks at me like that, like she’s reading all the bad parts from my soul. I feel guilty just for thinking about a boy, even a cured one. If she knew, she would say, Oh, Lena. Careful. Remember what happened to your mother . She would say, These diseases tend to run in the blood . “Why?”
    I keep my eyes trained on the worn carpet underneath me. Carol bends forward, swoops up Jenny’s workbook from my knees, and says loudly in her clear, high voice, “Nine times six is fifty-four.” She snaps the workbook closed. “Not fifty-two, Lena. I assume you know your multiplication tables?”
    Jenny sticks her tongue out at me.
    My cheeks start heating up as I realize my mistake. “Sorry. I guess I’m just kind of . . . distracted.”
    There’s a momentary pause. Carol’s eyes never leave the back of my neck. I can sense them burning there. I feel like I’ll scream, or cry, or confess, if she keeps staring at me.
    Finally she sighs. “You’re still thinking about the evaluations, aren’t you?”
    I blow the air out of my cheeks, feel a weight of anxiety ease off my chest. “Yeah. I guess so.” I venture a glance up at her, and she smiles her little skittering smile.
    “I know you’re disappointed you have to go through the process again. But think about it this way—this time you’ll be even more prepared.”
    I bob my head and try to look enthusiastic, even though a little, pinching feeling of guilt starts nipping at me. I haven’t even thought about the evaluations since this morning, not since I found out the results would be discounted. “Yeah, you’re right.”
    “Come on, now. Dinnertime.” My aunt reaches out and passes a finger over my forehead. Her finger is cool and reassuring, and gone as quickly as the lightest stirring of wind. It makes the guilt flare up full force, and in that moment I can’t believe I was even considering going to Back Cove. It’s the absolute, 100