Free Impossibility of Tomorrow by Avery Williams Page A

like you .” I feel bold. “So hopefully that answers that.”
    “Good. So . . . there’s that dance coming up at school. Would you go with me?” He lowers his chin slightly and regards me, and I’m surprised to see that he actually looks nervous.
    Seraphina Ames at a high school dance? The idea is comical.
    But dancing with Noah? Being in his arms? Being normal ? The idea is intoxicating.
    “I know you’re Little Miss Rebel and stuff, but—”
    “I’d love to,” I answer quietly, and he grins at me with obvious relief.
    After we eat, we walk hand-in-hand along the footpath surrounding Lake Merritt. Noah makes sure to avoid the shore where Cyrus was supposedly killed.
    The temperature fell while we were inside, but with Noah next to me I can’t even feel it. Thoughts about ourfuture keep arising in my mind, unbidden and undeterred by the moonlight. But when he pulls me into the shadow of a cypress tree I forget everything but now, this perfect moment. Because Noah’s hand is at the small of my back, and his lips are searching, and the lights of the downtown buildings are flickering across the lake. Our bodies are pressed together like a flower between book pages.
    I only wish I could tell him who I really am, what I really am. Because how can he love me without knowing my true name?
    Since I can’t tell it to him, I kiss him instead.

TWELVE
    The next day after school, Noah raises his head from a nineteenth-century microscope in the antique store where I work. “This is the best toy ever,” he informs me. I laugh.
    “I dare you to find a kid outside who agrees with you,” I tease. I’m grateful for his company. There’s been only one customer all day, a thirty-something woman who was in the shop just for the five minutes it took her to pick out an Edwardian ivory hand mirror. I’m always amused at the things people buy in here.
    Noah pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and slides itunder the microscope’s lens. “Did you know that paper is hairy?” he asks.
    “I think they’re called ‘fibers,’ not hair,” I say.
    “Okay, smarty-face. Come here,” he demands, waving me over.
    “You want me to look at hairy paper?”
    “Why not?” But when I approach him, he takes my hand and places it under the lens. The cold brass surface chills my skin. “Hmm, interesting.”
    “What do you see?” I move my body closer to his. I can smell the tea tree oil soap he uses. I want to run my fingers through the dark, tangled waves of his hair.
    He fiddles with the knob. “There,” he says finally. “I see it. It’s all silvery.”
    “What do you see?”
    “Your soul,” he answers.
    I rip my hand away.
    “Wh-what are you talking about?” I stare at him.
    “Jeez, Kailey. What’s wrong?” He looks hurt.
    “That’s just a really weird thing for you to say,” I answer, rubbing my hand. There’s a scratch on it from the sharp brass edge of the microscope.
    “It was something Mr. Shaw told me about,” he explains. “He said that the human soul isn’t a religious myth—it’ssomething physical. There was even a doctor who measured it. Did you know that the average soul weighs 21 grams?” He looks at me nervously.
    I force myself to be patient. I understand that he needs to talk about Cyrus. He’s grieving a friend. It’s not Noah’s fault that he has no idea that Cyrus is actually alive—or what a monster he is.
    “I didn’t know that,” I lie. I remember Cyrus’s brilliant smile in March of 1907, when Dr. MacDougall’s research was published. You see, Sera? Modern science is finally catching on to what the alchemists have known for hundreds of years.
    Noah leans back on a Victorian fainting couch, abandoning the microscope. I curl up next to him, and he puts an arm around my shoulder.
    “Yeah, Mr. Shaw told me that there’s no difference between the spiritual world and the physical one. He said that most people think of alchemy as a cheap trick. Turning lead into gold—that