Build.
Find.
Build.
Find.
But dread poisons my thoughts anyway.
I drop the scrap in my hands. My knees crack as I rise. Pins needle my toes as I walk to the edge of the pool. It brims with rainwater, reflecting a wobbly image of me: a girl with straight, dark hair just past shoulder-length, face too pale and eyes black, if I have to guess. Along with my memories, I’ve lost my ability to see in color. Weird, I know. Weirder is what happens next. The image in the water shifts, and I’m looking at a reflection of Kay.
“Where are you?” she asks, her voice a quieter, deeper version of mine.
“I’m coming, love.”
“You’re forgetting.” I shake my head vehemently, but Kay goes on. “Look again,” she says. “You’re just seeing yourself.”
And I am.
The girl in the water isn’t Kay.
It’s me.
My pulse drums in my ears. Obviously, my sister isn’t here. But the Kay-of-my-mind is right: I am forgetting. When I dream of her, it’s in vibrant color, unlike the gradients of gray of my monochrome days. But everything is hazy when I wake. The details merge. The colors fade.
I screw my eyes shut as if to wring them out. Reopen them. The tiles at the bottom of the pool shimmer. The water seems to be calling my name.
Cee.
My feet move to the rim before I realize what I’m doing. I slap my cheeks. I’m awake. Not dreaming. Not sleepwalking. Definitely not going to end up in microbe soup.
One step after another, I back up. My chest tenses, like there’s a rubber band slung between it and the water. I’m half afraid my heart’s going to snap out when I tear myself away from the pool, but it remains firmly behind my ribs, pounding hard as I kneel back beside the junk pile.
Sometimes the need to find Kay overwhelms me, so I don’t think about Kay. I think about Hubert, who’s depending on me. I think about the sea and how impossible-to-swim big it is. I think about all the restless nights I’ve spent in M.M.’s house, dressed in her sweaters and cargo pants, living a hand-me-down life. Nothing here is truly mine. Not even U-me. My real home waits for me across the sea.
First things first: Get off the island.
I dig deeper—and yank my hand away, hissing. Then the pain recedes, because I see the blade. It protrudes from the dirt, glistening with some gray liquid—my blood, I think. I also think …
Don’t jinx it.
Carefully, I ease the blade free. Two more emerge, all three spiraling around a hub. I hold it up to the light streaming through the trees. The three metal petals wink, slightly dented but otherwise very propeller-shaped to my amateur eye.
“Joules.” Am I dreaming?
Nope, still bleeding. Still holding on to the tarnished propeller like it’s some exotic flower.
U-me rolls to me. “Joules: a unit of work energy, noun—”
“Fucking megajoules! We did it, U-me!” I tackle-hug her, then let out a whoop that echoes across the island. U-me blinks, probably wondering if the sound counts as a translatable word. Whatever her verdict, I don’t hear it. I’m already rushing back to the ridge, not sure if I should cry or laugh or shout some more.
So I do all three.
Goodbye, meadow. I dash through the too-tall grass. Goodbye, shrines.
Goodbye, ridge. I scale it in record time, my arms numbed by adrenaline. Goodbye, M.M. Thank you for sharing your house. Sorry the moths got to your sweaters before I did.
I save the last goodbye for myself, the only soul on this Joules-forsaken place. Trust me, I’ve searched. Everywhere. Whittled my situation down to the disheartening facts:
#1 I’m on an abandoned island.
#2 I have no idea how or why, because （see #3）
#3 I quite possibly have a case of amnesia that worsens by the day.
Not-so-disheartening fact #4?
I’m out of here.
2
FROM A DISTANCE, THE CITY in the sky appeared as lifeless as the ocean below it.
Beneath the surface was a different story.
Inside stratum-99, the penultimate level of the eco-city, the party had left Kasey Mizuhara marooned at her own kitchen island. As everyone else jumped to the beat, bodies shimmering under the blacklight, Kasey stood behind a facade of drinks and cups, watching like one might watch animals at a zoo, except she didn’t feel quite human. Alien was more like it. Or ghost.
About time. Kasey had missed her invisibility. She’d been recognized twice in the last week alone, and when the first wave of partiers had logged in, she’d almost logged out.
But the universe had a way of balancing itself. Within fifteen minutes, a group of Kasey’s classmates mistook her for the hired bartender. Then, while Kasey was winging the mixed drinks, Meridian messaged to say she could no longer make it. That’s fine, Kasey sent back. Better than fine, actually, that the mastermind of Kasey’s so-called “moving on” party wasn’t present for it. Because no one was here for Kasey, to her great relief.