Free Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) by Lenore Appelhans Page A

up at him. “Do you find frogs in the underworld taking sips of the Lethe to forget all those times they ate rotten flies or fell off their lily pads?”
    “I don’t know, but it seems like a good question to ask Pastor Joe. We could ask him together,” he suggests shyly. “You know, if you’re there next Sunday.”
    “We’ll see how Grammy feels. Dad’s looking into getting her a part-time nurse, but it’s so expensive. . . .” I trail off. “She is ninety-one years old, after all. She’s going to have some bad days.”
    “Ninety-one! I never realized.”
    “Don’t worry. No one ever thinks she’s that old. My dad was a late-in-life miracle.” I look away, pick up my pace as we round a corner. “And I was a late-in-life accident,” I say bitterly, under my breath, my mother’s ultimate rejection slashing at me all over again.
    Neil matches me footstep for footstep, but he stays silent, as if allowing me to compose myself. Either he doesn’t know what to say or he’s perceptive enough not to say it. As we walk, he’s greeted by classmates and teachers, and he has a smile for everyone. By the time we reach my physics classroom, the hallway has cleared, leaving only a few stragglers.
    I try to put on a cheerful expression to mask my distress. “Thanks for walking with me.”
    Neil doesn’t seem to buy my sudden brightness. “Look . . . I know we just met, but if you ever need someone to talk to . . .” His eyes shine with sincerity,warmth, kindness. All those sentiments I haven’t gotten nearly enough of lately.
    I take a deep breath and ask him the question foremost on my mind right now. “Do you think it’s weird to want a little taste of the Lethe? Just enough to go back to a time when things were less complicated?”
    “Well, I don’t think it’s that weird. I mean, everyone has bad experiences, right? We’ve all done things we wish we hadn’t.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “I don’t think I could go through with it, though. Because, you know . . . even those things—maybe even especially those things—make us who we are.”
    The school bell rings. I’m late again. Six for six today. And not only that, I’ve let my new lack of ambition for being on time affect Neil, too. “Uh, sorry for making you late.”
    “Hey, no big deal. Choir can’t start without me anyway.” From anyone else that statement might sound cocky, but not from Neil. He even seems slightly embarrassed.
    A man who must be Mr. Howe approaches, looking as though he’s eager to close the door and get started. “I better go in,” I say to Neil.
    He gives me half a wave and heads off down the hallway.
    Mr. Howe takes my schedule and indicates that I should sit down. I do, once again in the back row.
    My new physics teacher starts his lecture, but I find it hard to concentrate on elementary particles and instead ponder what Neil has said about not wanting to forget his troubles. He seemed sincere, but then, the couple timesI’ve talked to him, he’s never been less than peaceful and content. It’s hard to imagine he’s ever gone through something terrible. I’m sure if he had, if he truly knew what pain was, he’d want a gulp of the Lethe water.
    I cross my arms on the desk in front of me and lay my head down. In the dark cocoon of my arms, I close my eyes. But the familiar flashes of my bed drenched in blood force me to sit up again. My stomach rumbles, and I raise my hand for a hall pass. Mr. Howe grouches, but I don’t care. I rush to the restroom and make it just in time to throw up today’s lunch of ham sandwich and blueberry muffin into the toilet.
    I hear a whapping noise and look up with a start. I’m no longer in the girl’s restroom, puking out my guts. I am in the memory chamber, and Julian has a pair of drumsticks he’s beating on the overhang above me.
    When he sees my eyes have opened, he tosses the drumsticks and they disappear into thin air. “Great!