Memento Nora by Angie Smibert Read Free Book Online Page B

jury-rigged a stand-alone printer and handed out the comic books in the bathrooms at school, they could still trace the nanomarkers in the ink.”
     
    “Central control of the information,” Micah said, tapping his temple.
     
    “But who’s going to care? We have the right to say what we want,” I argued.
     
    “My parents thought so,” Winter said. “Grandfather’s lawyer says they’re still alive, but she hasn’t been able to see them for over a year. And neither have we. The first lawyer gave up on the case.”
     
    She looked at me with that X-ray vision of hers again; but I was a blank, as blank as when Mr. Peters tried to explain tangents. I felt the rays bounce off of me.
     
    “They’re in Detention,” Micah said. “With a big D . You know the place they hold people for ‘questioning’ and ultimately the Big Pill that makes them forget everything.”
     
    “There’s no such place.” Dad’s in security, I told myself. He would’ve mentioned such a thing. It would have been on the news. We would have learned about it in school. I looked from Micah to Winter, hoping this was some big joke. No one was laughing. “They can’t just hold people. Or make them take the pill.”
     
    “Can’t they?” Winter stood up. “Your mother was their first lawyer. Ask her about it.”
     
    “Winter?” Micah said. He seemed just as surprised as I was.
     
    “No way,” I said.
     
    “She lasted the longest. A year.”
     
    “What did your parents do?” I asked her.
     
    She shrugged. “Nothing. My folks were engineers. Mom designed microchips; Dad created software for his family’s firm.”
     
    Of course, that Nomura. I felt the outline of the Nomura Pink Ice in the pocket of my new leather jacket.
     
    I figured it couldn’t hurt to be careful. Still, I thought, the Nomuras must have done something wrong. Maybe I would ask Mom, though I seriously doubted she’d know anything about it.
     
    “Okay, so how do we print this thing?” I asked after a moment.
     
    “Oh, I’ll come up with something.” Winter looked around the garden. “People printed underground comics long before computers.”
     

     
    “She’s full of crap about my mom, right?” I asked Micah as we walked through the obstacle course on our way back to the library.
     
    “Beats me,” he said. “Watch this.” He pointed to Mr. Yamada standing at the lip of the giant curved wall.
     
    “Sasuke—the guy the game show was named after—was this ninja warrior in Japanese comic books and kids’ stories,” Micah explained.
     
    Mr. Yamada pushed off the lower part of the wall and, with a couple of long, quick strides, propelled himself up the curve, then grabbed the overhanging lip of the wall. He pulled himself up in one fluid motion.
     
    “He was raised by monkeys,” Micah said as if that explained everything. “The ninja, not Mr. Yamada,” he added when he saw the confused look on my face.
     
    Mr. Yamada stood on the giant concrete wave shaking out his arms, looking out over the world, the city, as if he were taking in one last look before the wave crashed down and wiped it all away. Only then did he notice us. Micah bowed, and I did the same. Mr. Yamada nodded to us ever so slightly before he turned and leaped over the chasm to the next obstacle, disappearing from view.
     
    And I’d thought sasuke-san was Japanese for “grand-father.”
     

11
     

Not My Usual
Glossy Self
     
    Therapeutic Statement 42-03282028-11
Subject: JAMES, NORA EMILY, 15
Facility: HAMILTON DETENTION CENTER TFC-42
     
    Mom and I finally fit in our post-closing shopping trip on Saturday. I’d been putting it off, using this “art history” project with Micah as an excuse. But really, the idea of shopping, especially downtown, was just too dreary for me.
     
    So Mom had the car service take us to the Valley Ridge Mall. It’s not the glossiest place, but it’s okay. They don’t require an identity chip to shop. Mom would probably