I shove my ruined notebook in my bag with my destroyed hard drive and turn in panic toward Sebastian. Teddy’s skirting around the desks and he seems anxious to go talk to him. Before he can reach him, Kimmel interrupts. “Miss Varga, Mr. Cuomo, can I have a word? It’s about your project.”
The boy in front of Sebastian contorts his mouth into the requisite “oooOOOoooh” to denote he thinks we’re getting in trouble. My pulse spikes.
Teddy rakes his hand through his tight curls and sits back down at his desk.
I push myself out of my chair, wobbling on unsteady feet. My whole body is keyed up and I must look like a feral animal as I bound toward Kimmel’s desk in desperation for any information he might have about my project. It takes concerted effort to force myself to stand still even though every cell in my body continues to buzz. Sebastian positions himself several feet away from me, then changes his mind and takes a step closer.
“Have you worked out the last bug in your project yet?” Kimmel tugs at his beard. Chemistry equations and inspirational quotes about science hang on the concrete walls behind his desk. “I need to see it working properly prior to the adversarial review.”
“Um.” A single bead of sweat forms in the space between my boobs. A hysterical cry itches to rip out of my throat, but I swallow it back down. Stay calm, I coax myself, steadying my breathing the way I have to do whenever I visit my buddy the Hypnotist. Kimmel can’t know I’ve lost my memories. It would be enough to disqualify me from the competition. The teachers here love when you spit out scientific facts, so I do just that, hoping for the love of all things quadratic that I sound like I know what I’m talking about. “According to the expectancy violations theory, surprise increases positive responses to new data.” I perform an Oscar-worthy grin. “So the best way to knock the socks off the judges is to keep it a secret.”
“This is serious.” He pulls at the collar of his striped shirt, loosening it. “I really think your joint project will win the competition, and if you show me before Friday, we’ll have time to revise your demonstration.”
Joint project. My mouth gapes and I can barely breathe. I place a hand against the wall to keep from tipping over, but the world turns upside down anyway. I can’t remember what my project is. Or working on it for FOUR YEARS with a boy who doesn’t even exist in my mind. And of course, it’s not just memories missing but files and notebook pages.
Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure I forgot everything related to my project.
My head whips between Sebastian, who wears a caught-with-his-pants-down expression, and Kimmel, who seems to be trying to invent telepathy with the way his gaze bores into mine.
“Can I see the proposal document we submitted?” I enunciate each word to sound as normal as possible. Translation: What the hell was our project?
Kimmel blinks. “Gave it back to you last week.”
“Okay, well, I need to talk to my mentor first—”
Kimmel’s mouth tightens. “That’s not funny, Arden.”
Not funny? Why isn’t that funny? My skin prickles.
I fling my head toward Sebastian for help at the same time his eyes plead with me. It’s up to me to rescue us. I latch onto the first thing Kimmel had said and run with it to buy us some time. “We’re still trying to iron out that bug issue. I’m not really sure what the problem is or how to fix it.”
“Well, you need to figure it out before Friday. Because it’s not just about the competition.” His tone increases in urgency. “If your project isn’t ready by the day of the adversarial review and press conference, someone will die. Do you want that hanging on your conscience?”
I jolt. There’s no longer any chance at tamping down the panic rising inside me. “No, but—”
“Unless this goes to beta testing, that one death will become hundreds. Thousands.”
He can’t be serious.… right? I grip the desk to keep myself steady.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? This is a matter of life and death.”
My shoulders tremble with the magnitude of an earthquake. “Wh-What do you mean?”
Sebastian backs away, his face a mask of horror at this news.
“Arden, stop stalling and—” Kimmel pauses, eyes wide, mouth parted in horror. He freezes like an ancient Greek turned to stone at the sight of Medusa.
The terror projected on his face strikes me numb. I poke his arm, lightly at first. When he doesn’t respond, I jab harder, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. “Mr. Kimmel?”
His face crumples in pain. Students swing their heads in our direction, a few rising out of their seats to see what’s going on.
Sebastian’s eyes widen. “What’s wrong with him?”
I shake my head. If I had that answer, I’d know what was wrong with me as well.
A full minute passes before Kimmel shakes his head out of a daze. He spins to face the wall. The defined muscles beneath his shirt tighten as he chokes on a breath. He uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead before turning back around. The room is completely silent except for his ragged breath and the racing of my heart.
“Why are you here?” He divides his gaze between Sebastian and me. “Did you need something?” His gaze locks behind us. “Everyone! Back to work.”
Goose bumps emboss my arms. He doesn’t remember what just happened, like the moment was erased from his mind. Did my face contort in pain when my memories first disappeared?
There’s a commotion as the rest of the students scramble to look busy. My gaze never leaves Kimmel. “Did you … forget what we were just talking about?”
“We were talking?” Kimmel loosens his tie, pulling it so far away from his neck it’s as if he fashioned a noose. “Yes, yes. I—lost my train of thought.”
Something in my chest tightens. “We were talking about my project. You said if it doesn’t go to the press conference—”
“Right. Right.” Kimmel nods to himself. “Give me your verbal pitch.” He rests one elbow on his desk and angles toward me, finally managing to perfect a casual appearance a little too late. “You’ll need to practice it anyway for your speech to the school board.”
“I—” I fiddle with my necklace, twisting it up and down the chain to keep calm. Kimmel claps his hands loud enough to make me snap my teeth together. “Everyone, stop working! Back to your seats. I think we need a little refresher on the importance of your pitch.”
There’s a mad dash, students rushing across the room. I wobble like I’ve been hit by a freight train. My head spins. I sink into my seat, my knees giving out halfway.
The boy in front of me twists around. “What just happened?”
I shake my head. I’m still trying to make sense of that myself.
“It’s come to my attention that we need to go over the art of a verbal pitch. Any volunteers?” Kimmel’s voice is breezy and light, as if he just told a good joke to a fellow teacher instead of telling us our project is a matter of life and death.
Every head turns to pin the target on someone else.
Kimmel’s bald head glistens when he stands under the overhead light. “Mr. Day?”
Teddy leans back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head, elbows splayed. Wispy curls frame his face like a dusting of crops on a farm. “3-D bio-print DNA-based human organs at laser printer speed.”
“Excellent. Perfect summary.” Kimmel presses his hand to his forehead like a sailor and scans the room. “Miss Clarendon? Twitter pitch. One-forty characters or less.”
In the back of the room, Melody’s cheeks explode with color as she ducks her face behind her frizzy hair.
“Um.” She riffles through her notebook.
Kimmel snaps his fingers. “Faster, Melody. Imagine you have thirty seconds to wow the school board. It needs to slip off your tongue.”
“It’s a device that transmits streaming music directly to your ear so you don’t have to wear earphones.” She shifts in her seat. “Except it doesn’t work yet. I’ve got the transmission part, but the streaming—”
Mr. Kimmel holds up his hand to stop her. “That’s just excess information. You had your pitch down to a single line.” Kimmel rotates to the blackboard and scribbles one-sentence pitch. “I want everyone to write down your pitch by the end of the class period.”
Some of the students groan. A few grab tablets from the stack at the front. I sit there staring at a blank sheet of paper, trying not to hyperventilate.
I tap my pen against the paper, earning a look of death from Teddy next to me. I write down the only thing I can think of, the only thing I know: If I don’t figure out what my damn project is, someone will die, followed by thousands of people. I tack on today’s date as well.
But I don’t turn it in. Instead, I shove it into my pocket, where it can’t be deleted.
The bell rings, and everyone jumps up, no one faster than me. I spin around to grab my bag from the back of my chair and pivot into Sebastian. Again.
His lips quirk with the slightest of smiles. “Third time’s the charm, I guess.” I envy his ability to remain calm during all this. He covers his nose when we step into the crowded hallway, making him sound nasal when he speaks. “Look. This is going to sound weird. But what exactly was our project and how will it save lives?”
Someone smacks into my shoulder, so I pull him into a nearby empty classroom and shut the door. The cacophony of the hallway dulls to the buzz of the heater. I’m still shivering from what Kimmel told us. “I don’t remember either.” I don’t remember and people could die because of it.
He gazes at me with haunting eyes that seem to be permanently set to smolder. “But the server reboot. That’s going to fix it, right?”
I shake my head, trying to keep my face as calm as Sebastian’s. It takes all my effort to keep my voice steady through gritted teeth. “Didn’t work. I just checked your mind again. You’re still missing everything before this morning.”
He steps away from me and crashes into a desk. “You looked into my head?” The words sound more like an accusation than a realization. I cringe. “You violated my privacy.”
That’s his biggest concern? Not all the people who might die because of us? “Only because I’m trying to help you.” I take a few steps toward him, hands raised in the air to prove I have no weapons. His clean soap scent instills a weird mix of familiarity and longing. “Here’s the deal,” I say, trying not to inhale. “Something weird is going on. As far as I can tell, it’s only affecting you and me. Well, maybe Kimmel too.” I’d need to search his mind to confirm. “What else do you remember?” I laugh at how stupid that sounded. “I mean, how do you know English?” His scrawled schedule pops into my mind. “How’d you know to come to this school today?”
“I don’t remember anything specific before today, but I know general things. Like how to speak English, that good hygiene requires brushing your teeth, that my bathroom is the second door on my left according to the house schematics, and that my mom is my mom even though I can’t recall any conversations we’ve had. Stuff like that.”
“Procedural memory, that makes sense.” His mouth parts, so I explain further. “You’re remembering only how-to memories, things ingrained in you, like tying your shoe or riding a bike. Actions and knowledge but not moments. That type of stuff is harder to forget.” Or more accurately: harder to delete in HiveMind because it’s not tied to a specific moment.
“Yeah, but I found out I have a test on The Illustrated Man in my creative-writing elective today, and I remember the book verbatim even though I have no recollection of reading it. I can even recite what’s on the copyright page. That’s not procedural memory.”
Weird. “Any other strange bits of knowledge?”
He thinks for a moment. “I’m not taking any graphic design classes, but I can tell your skin tone is #F8E4CC. Your eyes are #593E1A. Your hair—”
“Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “I meant any other bits of knowledge that help you”—how do I say this politely?—“function like a human? As opposed to a vegetable.”
He laughs and then bites his lip. “Well, the word human wasn’t even used as a noun until the early sixteenth century. Before then, it was an adjective meaning ‘of or belonging to man’ and originally in Latin it meant ‘earthly being’ to differentiate from gods, so … Yes, the etymology of every word in the OED seems to help me act human, if you’re referring to its modern usage.”
I blink at him. “So you know every word ever used in the English language. Good to know.”
“Na kila lugha nyingine.” He winks. “That’s Swahili for ‘and every other language.’”
I sputter-cough. “Holy shit. That’s not normal.”
He nods. “I take it you’re not experiencing the same breadth of knowledge?”
“Nope.” Suddenly I feel inferior, an unfamiliar notion to me. “Any chance you’re good at coding?”
He taps his chin, thinking for a second. “I know all the concepts and commands of most coding languages, but I think I’d still have to practice putting them to use. Same with chemistry and physics. I’ve got the equations memorized. Just not quite sure how to apply them.”
“Well, then at least I have you beat in all things computers,” I say. “So just to be clear … You don’t remember our project. Who our mentor is. Or me?”
Sebastian rakes a hand through his dirty-blond hair. “I don’t even remember who my friends are. Or what I like to do.” He lowers his voice. “Or who I am.”
If someone really did carve our minds deliberately, why would they remove all of his memories but only a few specific ones of mine? And why would he know all this stuff but I wouldn’t?
Watching his chest heave in and out, I stifle the overwhelming urge to throw my arms around him and comfort him. Instead, I keep my lips in a straight line, offering nothing but the answer we both need. A scientist deals in facts, absolute truths. Not emotions. “I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way to get our memories back.”
His hazel eyes soak me in, desperate. Pleading. “How?”
“By finding out who did this.”