Once the house returned to a habitable condition, the MaxLife crew headed out, giving me one last hug and well wishes. Tony even promised to bring me Donut King doughnuts next time we do a Dream Walk together. "I'll bring the chocolate glazed kind," he added, pointing at me like this is a life or death situation. "Don't tell me that isn't your favorite. Uh, huh. Tony sees all."
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't disagree with him because he totally nailed it. Later that night, I have Mom drop me off at Jake's house. The entire ride over, we have what I call a soft argument. Neither one of us is yelling, but we're definitely not seeing things eye to eye.
"Our assignment is due tomorrow, Mom," I explain. "I have to get an A."
"I don't understand why you can't just pick your car up and come home." Mom grips the steering wheel like she's ready to pull it off. "Mr. Kores respects your father. Once he hears about what happened, he'll give you an extension."
It's true. Mr. Kores is one of those teachers who's all about understanding the student so you can better teach them. But what I don't tell Mom is I need to get out of the house. Even after we've picked up all the mess, the memory of the break-in is in every cracked object. Every stark wall. The piles of garbage lining the street. A constant reminder of the danger we're in.
But perhaps it's more than that. It's Jake. I need his carefree ways. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I've been thinking about him, too. His eyes. How he almost touched my hair. The way he looked at me like I was the only girl on the planet.
"Please, Mom," I resort to begging. "You know how much this means to me."
She sighs but nods, lips pressed together as if she is desperate to say no. Then she flicks on the classical music station and Chopin fills the air, weaving soothing notes within the silence.
Back in Jake's sterile bedroom that could almost pass for an operating room, he pulls up the PowerPoint he started.
"I figured you've been kind of busy," he explains. "So I took some of the topics we covered in our write-up and added it to the slides."
I look over what he's put together. It's impressive.
"How did you get those pictures to revolve like that?" I ask.
"I created my own mini-video and then made a gif out of it. Gives it the illusion that the brain is revolving."
"It's good."
"That must have been hard for the master of brain development to admit."
I shift uncomfortably on the floor where I've created note cards for my part of the speech. "How about we practice our lines? Just to make sure we've got how this works."
"I'm in." Then he pops open a prescription bottle and swallows two pills dry.
"How can you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Take medicine without water."
He shrugs as he moves to the floor next to me and examines the cards. "I've been getting severe headaches for the last two weeks. When the pain comes on, I don't bother waiting around to get a glass of water."
"You sure you're up for studying? Do you need to rest?"
"I've been going to a doctor who's been doing some tests. Maybe they'll find some answers."
I fidget with the notecards, guilt stabbing at my stomach like a butcher. Should I tell him I've been in his brain? Maybe there's something I can do to help him.
"You okay?" His eyebrows rise and there's concern in his eyes that makes me want to reach out and touch him.
What is wrong with me? "No." I clear my throat. "I mean, yes, I'm okay. Let's get studying. Utilize our time."
We spend the next hour going back and forth on our sections. When it's his turn, he stands, ramrod straight, and begins reading off his card with a monotone voice.
"No!" I giggle. "You can't just read off the cards. You have to put expression in it. The cards are supposed to be a guide for you. Seriously, you sound like a robot."
"I take it robots are not your type."
I grab one of his hands to show how he can point to the screen. But the second our hands touch, I freeze. It's like I've stepped beyond the unspoken rule of no touching. I drop his hand instantly.
"Well, you know how to point." I clear my throat. "Obviously. Just put your hands out like this to show inflection."
His eyebrows rise and a smile stretches at the corners of his mouth. "You make it sound so easy."
And that's when my stomach growls. Loudly. My face burns like I've been out at the beach all day without sunscreen.
"Hungry?"
I press my hands to my stomach. "I should go. Check on my family." I don't really want to go back home, but I should. "We're going to nail this."
He opens his mouth like he's about to argue with me, but instead nods. "It'll be my stunning pointing skills and inflection that's going to nail us the A."
I roll my eyes at him and laugh as I pack up my computer and cards. For a moment, the room had life to it, our stuff spread about. Cans of soda and a bag of Cheetos scattered on the counter. But after I gather my belongings and Jake tosses the garbage into the trash, that feeling vanishes. The room has returned to its sterile perfectness once again and I feel a wall rising up between us.
"Thanks again." I rub my hand up and down my computer strap. "I'll see you tomorrow in class."
"Wouldn't miss it."
My alarm goes off at 3:30 a.m. just like it has every morning since I started working for Dad at MaxLife. Numbly I slip into a pair of jeans and a spaghetti-strapped shirt. As I stagger down the hall, my parent's voices flow up the stairs. My automatic instincts shriek to a halt. In my dazed morning routine, I forgot about Dad's injuries. Now, hearing their worried tones, the events of the past two nights ago crashes back. I sink onto the stairs, remembering how Dad didn't even want me to work today.
"You can't possibly be thinking of going back to work this morning." Mom's voice is pinched and an octave higher than usual. "Dustin, please listen to reason."
"I'm fine." Dad grunts. "Did they destroy all the coffee cups, too?"
"The doctor said you had a concussion. You need to rest."
"I'll get coffee at the clinic." Dad sighs. "Liv, you know how much this means to me. And this latest client. He's taking us to the brink of whole new discoveries. He doesn't appear to have memory loss like his charts say, but we're going to do some more work with him again just to make sure. We've got him scheduled for this morning. The medical unit is already prepping him as we speak. I've got to go."
I stand up. Dad has to be talking about Jake! He's the only brain we've come this close to getting into the Vault. I don't even think. I dart down the stairs, plastering on a smile.
"Hey, Dad!" I say brightly. "I'm ready to go."
Both my parents frown.
"If you get to go to work, then I do, too," I reason. "Plus Mom, don't you want me to be there with Dad and keep an eye on his progress?"
"I suppose." She rubs her knuckles across her other palm like she does when nervous or unsure.
"Fine," Dad says. "Besides, we will need you. You are the best."
He smiles then and opens the door into the garage. It's not until I slide into my car and follow Dad's SUV to the clinic that I begin to wonder about my choice. Do I really want to enter Jake's dreams? Our goal is to enter the dreamer's deepest, most precious memories. The Vault. But with Jake and I knowing each other, how would he feel if he were to find out I entered his dreams?
But there's no way he could ever find out. Right?
Lightly I touch my lips but then clamp my hand firmly on the steering wheel. Jake and I aren't even friends. Classmates. Acquaintances, really.
Today could be MaxLife's biggest breakthrough ever. This could open a whole new way for dementia patients to recall memories or even record their memories to access at a later time. The possibilities are endless. I look down at my ring glinting in the streetlights and think about Grams. This is all so much more than a guy I hardly know.
This is transformational science.