Read Online The Memory Thief by Emily Colin - Free Book Online

lead in an hour. Teenagers are a difficult audience at best, and this group, ten smart, savvy girls from the projects in Durham, was especially challenging. I’d hoped that my stroll would clear my mind and help me prepare for the class ahead. Instead, I felt more muddied than when I’d begun. Pulling on a clean T-shirt, I took a deep, cleansing yoga breath, grabbed my bag, and headed out into the mountain air.
    In the end, my class went well, although it was challenging enough to demand all of my attention. The girls filed out of the room for dinner, and as I gathered their journals into my shoulder bag, the only thing on my mind was how to wrap up the class the next day: Would they be willing to read their pieces aloud? Should I combine their writing and photographs into a chapbook and send them copies when the retreat was over, or would they think that was stupid? Deep in thought, I bent to put the rest of the journals into my bag. I was straightening up when I heard his voice.
    â€œHey,” was all he said, but I’d been so far into my own little world that it startled me. I jumped about a foot, and the journals came cascading out of my bag. I hadn’t expected to see anyone, much less a strange man who’d been hanging from a tree and giving me a hard time the first time we’d met. Maybe he was a lower primate and a stalker, all rolled into one alarming package. I glanced around for support and saw no one—my students were long gone, and everyone else had probably made their way to the dining hall by now. It was just me and Monkey Man, who looked like he was about to start laughing again.
    â€œThat’s twice,” he said in that low, amused tone I remembered, crossing the floor in two easy strides to help me pick them up. “At least you didn’t scream.” He joined me on the floor, where I was blushing a deep red and shoving the journals back into my bag as fast as I could. We started to stand up at the same time and nearly collided. He reached out to steady me, and that’s when I got my first real look at Aidan James.
    Then I was speechless, a rare occurrence. Close up, tree-boy looked to be in his late twenties, like me. Lean and muscled, he had wavy dirty blond hair, long enough that he had to brush it out of his eyes, which were a deep, saturated cerulean. They were set far apart, which worked with his high cheekbones. It didn’t look like he’d shaved in a couple of days; blond stubble covered his cheeks and chin, but on him it was sexy instead of sloppy. His nose was long and narrow, like he’d just gotten off the
Mayflower.
But what got me the most was the light in his eyes, like he was in on a big secret and couldn’t wait to share it. Energy radiated off him in waves. Even standing still, he seemed incredibly
alive
somehow. It was like nothing I’d ever felt.
    He grinned at me. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
    I realized I was staring, and ducked my head. “Oh. Sorry. I just—you scared me.”
    â€œI know. Like I said, that’s twice.” He handed me the last of my journals. “I came to apologize, but now I guess I owe you double. Can I take you to dinner?”
    I gaped at him. “I don’t even know your name.”
    â€œOh. How rude of me.” He extended his hand. “I’m Aidan James.”
    â€œMadeleine Kimble,” I replied, shifting my bag onto my shoulder so we could shake. “Maddie.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” he said, smiling away. His hand was warm. “So what about dinner? Care to join me?”
    Everyone at Wildacres ate together in the main dining hall, and the meals were paid for in advance. I knitted my eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I want to sit with you tonight?”
    â€œWhen you put it that way …” His smile faded to a little halfgrin, more of a smirk than anything else. “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m asking,