Every Day by David Levithan Read Free Book Online Page A

the death will destroy me.
    So I’m careful. Soccer, baseball, field hockey, football, softball, basketball, swimming, track—all of those are fine. But I’ve also woken up in the body of an ice hockey player, a fencer, an equestrian, and once, recently, a gymnast.
    I’ve sat all those out.
    If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s video games. It’s a universal presence, like TV or the Internet. No matter where I am, Iusually have access to these things, and video games especially help me calm my mind.
    After soccer practice, Skylar’s friends come over to play
World of Warcraft
. We talk about school and talk about girls (except for his friends Chris and David, who talk about boys). This, I’ve discovered, is the best way to waste time, because it isn’t really wasted—surrounded by friends, talking crap and sometimes talking for real, with snacks around and something on a screen.
    I might even be enjoying myself, if I could only unmoor myself from the place I want to be.

Day 5997
    It’s almost eerie how well the next day works out.
    I wake up early—six in the morning.
    I wake up as a girl.
    A girl with a car. And a license.
    In a town only an hour away from Rhiannon’s.
    I apologize to Amy Tran as I drive away from her house, a half hour after waking up. What I’m doing is, no doubt, a strange form of kidnapping.
    I strongly suspect that Amy Tran wouldn’t mind. Getting dressed this morning, the options were black, black, or … black. Not in a goth sense—none of the black came in the form of lace gloves—but more in a rock ’n’ roll sense. The mix in her car stereo puts Janis Joplin and Brian Eno side by side, and somehow it works.
    I can’t rely on Amy’s memory here—we’re going somewhere she’s never been. So I did some Google mapping right after my shower, typed in the address of Rhiannon’s school andwatched it pop up in front of me. That simple. I printed it out, then cleared the history.
    I have become very good at clearing histories.
    I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I’m poking a wound, not healing it. I know there’s no way to have a future with Rhiannon.
    All I’m doing is extending the past by a day.
    Normal people don’t have to decide what’s worth remembering. You are given a hierarchy, recurring characters, the help of repetition, of anticipation, the firm hold of a long history. But I have to decide the importance of each and every memory. I only remember a handful of people, and in order to do that, I have to hold tight, because the only repetition available—the only way I am going to see them again—is if I conjure them in my mind.
    I choose what to remember, and I am choosing Rhiannon. Again and again, I am choosing her, I am conjuring her, because to let go for an instant will allow her to disappear.
    The same song that we heard in Justin’s car comes on—
And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God.…
    I feel the universe is telling me something. And it doesn’t even matter if it’s true or not. What matters is that I feel it, and believe it.
    The enormity rises within me.
    The universe nods along to the songs.

    I try to hold on to as few mundane, everyday memories as possible. Facts and figures, sure. Books I’ve read or information I need to know. The rules of soccer, for instance. The plot of
Romeo and Juliet
. The phone number to call if there’s an emergency. I remember those.
    But what about the thousands of everyday memories, the thousands of everyday reminders, that every person accumulates? The place you keep your house keys. Your mother’s birthday. The name of your first pet. The name of your current pet. Your locker combination. The location of the silverware drawer. The channel number for MTV. Your best friend’s last name.
    These are the things I have no need for. And, over time, my mind has rewired itself, so all this information falls away as soon as the next morning comes.
    Which is why it’s remarkable—but not