Memento Nora by Angie Smibert Read Free Book Online Page A

Koji Yamada, Winter’s grandfather,” he said, putting the tray aside to extend his hand to me.
     
    “Nora James,” I introduced myself. I couldn’t help staring at his arm. Both arms. They were covered in designs. A snake flowed down his right arm with the head ending at his hand. A tiger pounced down his left arm in full color.
     
    “Those are beautiful. How long do they last?” I asked.
     
    “Forever,” Mr. Yamada answered, amused.
     
    “They’re real tattoos,” Winter said. “You know, needles stabbing ink into your flesh.”
     
    “Why?” I asked, blurting out again. Something about these people, or maybe their art, gave me the blurts. No one got real tattoos anymore. “What if you get tired of them?” I asked.
     
    “Each of my tats means something to me.” He pointed to a cherry blossom on the left side of his neck. “Birth of my child.” He pulled down the top of his T-shirt to reveal a snowflake over his heart. “My grandchild.” He pointed to some Japanese writing on his right wrist. “My first shop.” The snake. “Knowledge.” The tiger. “Protection.
     
    “Why would I want to change those? They’re the things that make me who I am.” Then he added, “Besides, would you buy clothes from a naked man?”
     
    I didn’t want that picture in my head, particularly if that man had tattoos.
     
    “Grandfather owns a chain of tattoo shops,” Winter explained in that same hushed tone she’d used when talking about her creations.
     
    “I’ll leave you kids alone.” Mr. Yamada headed toward the back garden gate, the one we’d come through, stopping to stretch his calves on the walkway.
     
    “Sasuke-san,” Winter called after him. “I sort of borrowed some stuff from the Curtain Cling.” She gestured toward the pile of canvas.
     
    “Like the curtains, huh?” He sighed. “I was never any good at that one, anyway.” He disappeared through the gate.
     

     
    We showed Winter our first comic. Micah spread it out on the table for her to read. I couldn’t help rereading it alongside her, and it filled me with an odd sense of pride and rightness. We really had something here.
     
    Winter said nothing as she read. When she finished, she took an agonizingly long sip of her thick, jet-black espresso.
     
    “I see your problem,” she finally said.
     
    Micah nodded.
     
    “I don’t,” I said. “I still say upload it. Who’s going to care if we send this to a few dozen kids—or the whole world, for that matter? It’s a free country.”
     
    “Tell that to my parents,” Winter said. She collected our teacups and carefully stacked them on the tray. I wasn’t finished with mine.
     
    “Look, Winnie-chan,” Micah said. He got up and took the tray.
     
    “Don’t call me Winnie,” she snapped as she opened the gate into the house.
     
    I had heard the softness in his voice and something in hers that made me wonder about their relationship. I felt a little jealous. Kind of like a third wheel. The preppie girl among artists. It didn’t help when they came back out laughing.
     

     
    “You need two things really,” Winter said. Her irritation had evaporated. “A way to produce. And a way to distribute. I can help with the first one.”
     
    Her eye twitched slightly, as if it couldn’t take all the energy or caffeine coursing through her spidery body.
     
    “Okay. Now all computers—mobiles, home, school, work—are part of one big network.”
     
    “One monitored network,” Micah interjected.
     
    “Exactly,” Winter agreed. “Ditto the printers, copiers, TVs, cars, refrigerators, etcetera. All of them are dumb devices that pull everything—programs, files, information—from a central server. No memory of their own.
     
    “You could upload and distribute Memento with your mobile or your bedroom computer, but the government—and the handful of security corporations that run it—will know exactly who you are, and they could block the file. Even if you just