Read Online Impossibility of Tomorrow by Avery Williams - Free Book Online Page A

appears, clomping down the stairs. “Do you . . . want to come up for a few?” He locks eyes with me, and I nod.
    “Yeah.” I have the strange sensation that he just rescued me from something. I could tell when we spoke earlier that he didn’t want me to come over, and now I’m beginning to see why. I follow him up the stairs, turning for one last look at Mr. Vander, but he’s already returned to his ripped leather chair in front of the TV.
    Noah’s house has an air of faded grandeur. The stained-glass window overlooking the landing is streaked with dust; the faded Persian runner in the hallway rubbed almost down to the cotton backing in parts. There’s no smell of food cooking, like there is at the Morgans’ house. No clatter of conversation.
    No Mrs. Vander. I recall Noah saying she threatened to leave when his father lost his job and started drinking again. It looks like she did, though I’m ashamed to realize I never asked Noah what happened. He doesn’t talk about his family much.
    Harker lopes up after us, but Noah stops him when he goes to follow us into Noah’s room. “Stay,” he commands. The dog lies down on the rug in the hallway, watching me warily.
    Noah’s room fits him perfectly. It’s cozy, with low, angled ceilings. A huge oak desk holds an old desktop computer, a pile of books, and an open sketchpad. My eyes are immediately drawn to the walls, covered in framed photographs, beautifully arranged.
    Some are reprints from famous photographers—Man Ray, Robert Mapplethorpe, Diane Arbus, and a few others I can’t immediately place. Others I instinctively recognize as his own work. There’s a portrait of Harker, his dark eyes liquid and full of love, rendered in black-and-white. There are shots of various locations I recognize from around Berkeley and Oakland: the clock tower at the UC Berkeley campus; a group of kids riding bicycles; birds clustered on a liquor store sign while a man with sad eyes stands underneath.
    On the wall above his dresser is a painting, the onlynonphotographic piece in the room. It’s unmistakably one of Kailey’s. I move closer to study it.
    The painting shows Kailey from behind, in her room, looking out her window toward the Vanders’ house. The only source of light is the soft glow from Noah’s window, outlining his silhouette—but then I see the small dots of light surrounding the window, illuminating the gutters and the eaves. I smile. They are tiny fairies, their translucent wings delicately rendered. Kailey’s signature touch: magical creatures thrown casually into the real world.
    “I like your dress,” he says to my back, and I turn around.
    “Thank you,” I answer. “You too.” His brown shirt and dark pants follow the line of his lean, muscled frame. The scuffed combat boots peeking out from beneath his cuffs are the only indication of his usual rumpled style. It looks perfect.
    “Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. “You like my dress?”
    “Shut up,” I say. “I meant that you look nice.”
    He grins. “I was going to wear a tie, but I realized I don’t really know how to tie it.”
    “A tie? How fancy is this place?”
    He looks down, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s not, but I was having fun with the whole date thing.”
    “I’ll tie it for you,” I offer, picking up the tie draped over the back of his desk chair. “You’re going to have to sit down, though. I don’t think I can reach that high.”
    He obliges, and I wrap the tie under his collar, brushing his hair back with my fingers. A shivery feeling takes root in my belly. I can feel his breath in the air between us.
    “Where did you learn how to do this?” he asks. His voice is low, soft.
    “Um, I’ve seen Bryan do it?” I offer. My voice catches as I see the books on his desk and realize what he’s been reading about.
    Every one of them is about alchemy. Thomas Vaughan’s Coelum Terrae , George Ripley’s The Mistery of Alychymists , a title called The Alchemical Practice