First Real Kiss

“Do you have any advice for how I can remember?” Here I was, asking Kook for advice. It felt right, though. “I’m not into hypnosis or séances, just to be clear.”

Carlton cackled. It rivaled Dr. Chortle’s in volume and intensity. “It doesn’t have to be guided. Just think back. Remember what you can. When it’s time, and when you’re ready, it will come to you.”

“I’m ready now.” Ha. I sounded like Sheridan, begging for information on how I knew all I knew about her. I should tell her—whether or not she hates me, she deserves to know.

The drive back to The Citadel took ages because my brain was racing. What could I remember about that night? Dust, darkness, choking.

But had it even been at night?

Inside my apartment, I whipped open the internet and did a search. First, I had to wade through dozens of articles referring to Sheridan’s appearance as the Library Rescue. I couldn’t help myself. The photos of her at the commemoration event were sweet. She looked beautiful, earnest. Her long, auburn hair trailed over her shoulder, and her green eyes were like the sea—troubled and deep.

My heart surged every time I opened a new article and saw a new photo of her at a different angle from a different news outlet’s photographer. Even a national news outlet had picked up the story. There was a clip from her speech.

I watched it again. Twice.

“But then, a voice called to me. I don’t know who he was, but he found me in the clouds of dust.”

Dust.

I found another site with her whole speech recorded. It was scratchy, just a phone recording. But I relived hearing it all over again. Like before, it played out like a movie in my head. The creaking of the building above, the taste of the acrid air, the choking billows of dust from the collapse. My knees ached.

Then—I saw it. I was kneeling beside her—pushing the hair off her forehead. Holding her hand. Telling her it was going to be all right.

It wasn’t my imagination. It was my memory!

Tears pricked at the sides of my eyes. I blinked them away. For the first time, I didn’t reject the thought. Like Carlton had requested, I opened my mind to it.

Had I been there? I definitely had been there that night. Or was it day? The whole thing felt dim, but articles online confirmed it had been daytime. The darkness I saw when I pictured it had to be based on the vague memory of being inside the falling building and its crumbling debris and gypsum board dust.

I pressed my palm to my forehead. I stood up and paced in front of my couch until I hit my shin on the sharp steel corner of the coffee table. I walked to the pantry and opened the door and snagged the flat blue box with the gold elastic band that I’d bought a couple of weeks ago and had been saving for the right moment. I also located one more thing, which I’d had to special order and which had come at a fairly high cost.

Little did I know at the time, I’d be more or less hyperventilating when I finally had the chance to give it to her.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

“Sheridan,” I whispered. “Can I come over?”