Read Online Revive by Tracey Martin - Free Book Online Page B

last Sunday—that’s the number I’m looking at now. It’s an important number; it was an important conversation. But it wasn’t my dad on the phone. Any doubts I had are gone.
    That means, as of just last weekend, I was lying to Kyle.
    It also means I should call the number, but instead I’m stuck reliving the details that returned. Trying to sort them into place in that filing cabinet at the back of my mind.
    Kyle waves. The scents of coffee and sugar wash over me. “Sophia?”
    Traces of the mystery conversation run through my head, and words accidentally slip off my tongue. “I was searching for someone. They were in danger.” That’s what the conversation was about. The details are gone, but that much remains.
    Kyle says nothing for a moment. His face is curiously blank as though it’s taking all his brainpower to follow my incoherent ramblings. Actually, it probably is. I’m jumping from one topic to another without any logic. “Yeah, you said that already. You’re sure now?”
    I nod. Part of me wants to tell Kyle everything in the hope that it means something to him, but I swallow the urge.
    Student X was in danger. Did I ever find them?
    Kyle plays with a stirrer. Silence spreads across our table like spilled coffee. The shop is alive in conversation and clatter, but there’s none between us. We’re drowning in the quiet. Finally, Kyle releases the stirrer. “Do you remember who or why?”
    â€œNo. I didn’t know who, just that…” I mentally bite my tongue. “Just that I was sent to help them.”
    Shit, even that might have been saying too much. Besides, it makes me sound crazy. Which maybe I am.
    Kyle looks up sharply. “Sent? By who?”
    â€œI don’t know. None of this makes sense.”
    â€œNo, it really doesn’t.” He squeezes my hand.
    I stare at his skin—really stare—because for some reason something about it makes my brain itch. I strain to make another memory appear, but of course it doesn’t work that way. Anyway, it’s just a hand. Why would his hand be important?
    No way am I going to ask. When I listen to myself, it’s not hard to imagine that Kyle must think I’m crazy. That I’m suffering from some kind of delusions brought about by the cut on my forehead. Yet one thing I don’t doubt is that it’s all real.
    Real, and I never told Kyle any of it.
    I shift the phone in my free hand. My answers—some of them anyway—are at that number. They must be. But now, more so than ever, I’m not sure I should call it in front of Kyle.
    I set the phone on the table and put my jacket on.
    Kyle gets up with me. “Ready to leave?”
    â€œNo. I want to call home, but it’s too noisy in here. Going to do it outside. I’ll be back.”
    His hand falls on my phone. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
    â€œGoing outside?”
    â€œCalling.” He reaches for his jacket and knocks over his empty cup because he’s not paying attention. “Was thinking whether you might not want to worry anyone, you know? Like you said—if things are coming back to you, then maybe you should hold off calling. Figure stuff out more.”
    His pupils have dilated, and he pushes his hair around. I pretend not to notice, but I tense as well. “Maybe my dad can help. Talking to you is helping, so it makes sense.”
    â€œYeah, but…” Kyle’s fingers twitch. He wants to grab my phone, I can tell. “It also makes sense to figure out more information before you call. Like who you were looking for, and did you find them.”
    No, it doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense, and it’s making less by the second. “Just a few minutes ago you were suggesting I call.”
    â€œRight, but I changed my mind.”
    I zip my jacket. “I don’t understand why.”
    He scuffs his