Free Impossibility of Tomorrow by Avery Williams Page B

sounds so selfish, right? Like . . . the medieval equivalent of a get-rich-quick scam.” He strokes my hair as I bite my tongue. “But it was so much more. When the alchemists talked about transforming one thing into another, they were also talking about spiritual transformation. It was noble.”
    I have a bitter taste in my mouth. “They were looking for immortality. I can’t think of anything more selfish.”
    “I don’t think it’sselfish, not in itself. It would depend on how you spent it, whether you used all that time for good or evil.” He pauses. “A lot of things are like that, I guess.”
    “Immortality is tragic, if you think about it.” My throat grows thick with unshed tears, and I swallow hard. “Can you imagine being forced to stay young forever, watching everyone you know die? How pointless would life seem if you saw that?”
    Noah’s arm tightens around me. “Hey,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” I whisper. Now that I’ve tasted it, I want nothing more than to keep talking with Noah about alchemy, no matter the risk. My heart yearns to tell him everything, to let him see what I carry inside me. All my years, all my lifetimes.
    He’s so close to the truth and doesn’t even know it.
    “Of course, immortality would only be bearable if you had the right person to share it with,” he says, and my heart catches. I stare straight ahead, but I close my eyes when he turns and kisses me on the cheek.
    “Would you choose it, if you could?” My voice is barely audible.
    “I would,” he answers. “Maybe I’m just being romantic about it, but to me, immortality means freedom . You don’t have to get old. You don’t have to get a job you neverwanted. You don’t have to regret the places you’ve never been, the things you missed out on. You could really, truly follow your dreams. Most people’s lives are a lot more tragic than that.”
    There’s a truth in what he says that resonates on the silver strands of my soul. “It sounds like Mr. Shaw gave you a lot to think about,” I say. “I’m starting to understand how much he meant to you.” And I do. Cyrus knew just how to play Noah, I think bitterly. He knew how attractive all of this would be to a boy whose home life was falling apart, a smart and sensitive and passionate boy whose world was just a bit too small.
    “I had a dream about him last night,” he says, and I stiffen. “I dreamed he was in my room, sitting at my desk. It was really weird—he looked completely different. Somehow I knew it was him, though.”
    Goose bumps rise on my bare arms. “Strange,” I say, resisting the urge to ask what the dream Cyrus looked like.
    “You know what’s really strange, though? The police haven’t found his body. It makes me wonder.” He rakes his hands through his hair.
    “Makes you wonder what? Oakland homicide is pretty busy, you know. I’m sure they’ll find it eventually.” I’m sure they won’t.
    He shakes his head. “It’s not that. They dredged the lake.I mean, his death was a huge deal. Public-school teacher shot in cold blood—the news people have been all over it.”
    “What are you getting at?” I ask, almost afraid to hear his answer.
    “You’re going to tell me I’m crazy,” he says, jumping up from the couch and pacing back and forth.
    “I won’t,” I tell him. “Swear.”
    “It can only be two things. Either someone doesn’t want the police to find his body. Or he’s still alive.”
    My heart starts to pound. “There were witnesses,” I say, my voice quavering.
    “But maybe the witnesses kidnapped him and made up the whole story of the shooting to cover it up? Or maybe they were his accomplices and helped him fake his death.” He stops pacing and wraps his arms across his body.
    “Why would he do that?” I hate where this conversation is going, but I’m gripped by the destructive urge to continue it, the same way people can’t help but stare at car crashes.
    “Who knows?