Take Me Tomorrow

Chapter Eight: Call the Police

Lily hugged me before I even knew her name. One part of Lily's dark curly hair clung to her cheek, the other section sprang out, wild and free. When her wide brown eyes took me in, she smiled so wide it hurt my face. I blushed. When was the last time I'd met someone my own age? Been hugged?

"Sophia." My father had spoken uncomfortably as he watched his seven-year-old dive into the social realm. "This is Ms. Beckett." He pointed to Lily's mother, a woman who looked identical to her curly-haired children, aside from one detail. While she was milky white, her children had warm medium-brown skin. "She'll be your nanny while I'm away."

I didn't speak. I couldn't. With Lily clinging onto me, I really didn't know what to do.

"We're going to be the best of friends," Lily squealed. She seemed younger than me even though I was told we were the same age. I couldn't say anything to that either.

"You'll really like it here." Ms. Beckett gave a slight push to a young boy standing next to her. He stumbled forward, but his gaze never left the ground. His curls were matted with gel, and his shirt had a collar. He looked like he was dressed in an old man's suit. Miles managed to tell me his name, while Lily exclaimed that he was her brother. Twins. I had never met twins before.

"I'm Sophia," I said, glancing up at my father for social direction.

"You'll like it here, kiddo." He repeated Ms. Beckett's words, playing with the glasses in his shirt pocket. I nodded mechanically, knowing that his new job would keep him out of the State most of the time. I was stuck here, and everything was about to change.

My life had shifted almost every year since then, but so did everyone else's. The clairvoyant drug, tomo, was released five years later. I was twelve, but I understood true fear. Topeka fell into absolute madness, and the Phelps' Massacre happened within one year. Hundreds were arrested, and it was still unknown how many people died, but it was all in the name of safety. Questioning it became treason, and in the end, the drug was successfully confiscated and outlawed. It wasn't long after that the curfew was put in place. Lyn moved in weeks later, and a year passed without much trouble, but life didn't seem normal until I befriended Broden one year later. Now, at sixteen years old, I was looking at a boy I had never even heard about. A boy all my friends knew.

I stared at Noah whenever I was able to do so without being noticed. I wanted to know where he had been all of this time, what he saw during the massacre, or even if he were in Topeka during it. Granted, there were plenty of kids in the Topeka Region that I hadn't met yet, but they weren't friends with my best friends. I couldn't understand how Noah knew Broden or Miles without having met me, but here we were—complete strangers with the same friends.

It didn't make sense.

As we walked, I searched for any part of him that I recognized, but I failed over and over again. He was much taller than me, maybe an inch taller than Broden. His face was relaxed, but the little shadows that hung from his eyes revealed how tired he was. His sage uniform and dyed hair suited him naturally, though, like the sudden change of identity was an everyday thing. It was otherworldly, seeing a stranger—Noah—as another stranger—Nate Harper—and questioning whether or not I had met him before under another name. For all I knew, Noah wasn't his name at all, but another identity altogether. For all I knew, Noah didn't even know his own identity. It would explain how he was so comfortable playing dress-up. He never had to be himself.

To figure out who he was, though, I knew to look for consistencies. Unfortunately, though, the only consistent part about him was his black-faced watch. He even used it with Broden, and I recalled Miles wearing one a few years ago. That was the only information I knew meant something. The question was what it meant.