Free Lyon's Legacy: Catalyst Chronicles, Book One by Sandra Ulbrich Almazan

grimace at touching Sean’s jacket. Then we had to force fake smiles while she flashed a bright light at us, not once, but twice.
    I knew they didn’t have digital cameras in this era, so once I could see again, I asked, “W hen will the pictures be ready?”
    “Oh, I’m not even halfway through this roll yet,” Grandma Mary replied. “I’ll probably finish it for Christmas, then I have to have it developed.”
    I should be headed back to my universe by then. It was a little disappointin g that I’d never see the picture, but I didn’t think it would be a very flattering one, even if it was only 2D.
    “Come on, Jobanana.” Sean grabbed his guitar. “Looks like we might have to run for it.”
    He bolted out the door without another word to his grand mother. I waved at her, then followed.
     
    * * *
     
    Sean didn’t say much on the bus ride back into downtown Chicago. The sun had already set, but lights illuminated a few office buildings. I was surprised by how much I missed the city I knew: the sleek, sculptured buildings; the speedy monorail system; the variety of restaurants. I wondered what Mom would have thought of this place, and I squeezed my eyelids shut.
    “You must really hate Chicago if you can’t even bear to look at it in the dark,” Sean commented.
    I willed my hatred into a laser beam, but when I opened my eyes, he didn’t disintegrate. “It’s not that.”
    “Did you leave someone behind?” he asked.
    “Yeah,” I admitted.
    “That’s a load of cr—of nonsense. Who’d go for an over-educated girl like you?”
    “I don’t know, maybe someone a lot smarter than you?”
    The bus stopped. Sean rose so quickly a couple of people got between him and me. I hurried to follow him. Once outside on the street corner, Sean lit a cigarette as if it was a guide to our destination.
    “Grandma always wanted me to go to school, to make something of myself,” he said. Shoving his cancer stick in his mouth, he crossed the street. Most of the stores in this area were already closed, with metal bars blocking their entrances. “I suppose I could have made her happy, but it wouldn’t have made me happy being an architect or a dentist.” He glanced sideways at me. “I hope she doesn’t start nagging me to be more like you. What made you decide to study whatever-it-was again?”
    “Genetics. It’s the study of how traits are passed along, like height or eye color.” Or musical talent, I thought to myself. “As for why I want to study it, well, it helps me understand more about my family.”
    He let out a sharp laugh. “Are they as messed-up as mine?”
    Oh, the stories I could tell him if I could speak freely. Instead, I said, “Your grandmother seems nice enough,” in a tone that I hoped would encourage him to talk.
    “She’s the only one left who gives a—who cares about me.” I would have smiled at his change in word choice if h e hadn’t sounded so bitter. “Everyone says Dad ran off to war so he wouldn’t have to take care of me. I stayed with my mom for a while, but when she took up with someone else who didn’t want another guy’s kid, she gave me to Grandma Mary and moved south. By the time I reconnected with my mom, she already had cancer.”
    I knew all this, but I hadn’t expected him to tell me himself. “I’m sorry” didn’t seem like an adequate response, and I didn’t think he’d want a touch, even in sympathy. “My parents didn’t get along either,” I said.
    He halted, turning an intense gaze onto me. “Really?”
    “Yeah.” I was surprised at his fascination for a moment before I remembered most people still got married in this era, and divorce wasn’t common. “I never saw much of my dad when I was growing up.”
    “Huh.” His voice was more surprised than angry now. “I guess some things run in families.”
    I scowled. “You think we’re doomed?”
    “I don’t ever want to get married. Women and kids tie you down.” He resumed walking.