Free Revive by Tracey Martin

sneakers.
    Trust no one.
    Not even Kyle.
    If I came to RTC to find a student in danger, and bad people were also searching for that student, then it stands to reason those people might also have sent someone to the school.
    Kyle?
    Are the butterflies that spawn in my stomach when he touches me less about how hot he is and more the product of some residual memory? Did I know something more about him before I hit my head, if that’s even what happened? Is that why I dragged him away from school today?
    Or is he the one who caused the problems I’m having? Did he drag me ? Did he do something to me? Has anything he told me been true?
    Oh, shit. What have I done by confessing this much?
    Stuffing the phone in my pocket, I push by him toward the door.
    â€œSophia, wait!”
    He reaches for my arm, but I dodge his hand. If I took down those guys at South Station, maybe I can also take down Kyle if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t, though, because I’m still not sure how I pulled off those moves.
    â€œSophia!”
    A group of people entering the coffee shop get in my way, giving Kyle the chance to catch up. The door shuts behind him. Though I take off in the least crowded direction, people create obstacles in my path, and the brick sidewalk is a hazard of ice and slush.
    I might be able to outrun Kyle, but perhaps that’s not the best idea. He has answers. I want them.
    Never mind “Sophia”. Indecision might be my real name.
    We’re both hurrying and have already reached the next intersection. The busier parts of the city have vanished behind us, but the traffic down this road is heavy. Ahead, the street is lined with quaint-looking shops and historical décor. To my right, a residential street slopes upward, packed with stylish old houses fronted by iron fences and adorned with seasonal wreaths and greens.
    Beacon Hill—that’s where I am. The neighborhood name itself isn’t useful, but every bit that comes back makes me feel better. A little more whole.
    I duck down the side street, which is empty and quieter. Crossing my arms, I spin around and Kyle bumps right into me because he can’t stop in time. “Did you do this to me?”
    He backs off, shaking away the impact. “What?”
    â€œDid you do this to me?” I point to my cut. “Drug me or something? Is that why my head’s all messed up? Is that why I fell and got hurt?”
    â€œOf course not!” Kyle’s eyes open wide. He reaches for me again, and this time I grab his hand. I’m not sure I even mean to do it. It’s another reflex, triggered by my paranoia. The way I turn his wrist—I have him in a lock. I could snap his arm in two so easily. All it would take is a little pressure. Kyle hisses. “Soph, shit. Stop it. I don’t know what happened. I told you—you were fine, then you went into the bathroom, and when I found you…”
    He sounds sincere, but how can I trust either of us? “Then why aren’t you telling me everything?”
    â€œEverything about what? Would you stop? You’re hurting me.”
    I release him and raise my hands in despair. “I’m sorry. It’s just you’re hiding stuff from me. I can tell. I’m trying to get my memories back, and you’re holding out on me. And then you go and start acting just as weird as I am about the phone thing. What am I supposed to think? If you’re not the one who did this, then tell me what you know.”
    I think I must have pushed him too far. He’s going to run away now, and I’ll have lost the only connection to my memories. But Kyle stays, and that’s even more confusing. More reason to wonder why we were together this morning. More reason to wonder if he’s after something from me.
    Kyle shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks a pile of slush. “I’m telling you everything you’ve asked about. What else do you want me to