Impossibility of Tomorrow by Avery Williams Page B

from the phone that’s wedged against my butt. I tug it out from my pocket and squint in the screen’s sudden brightness. It’s a new e-mail.
    The subject line reads, Reed Sawyer wants to be friends on Facebook .

SIXTEEN
    Julie’s barely five feet tall, but she moves through the after-school throng with remarkable speed. I nearly lose track of her sunny blond dreads more than once. Finally she glides through the oak doors that lead to the music classroom, and I swiftly follow, pausing at the entrance.
    From within, I hear the muffled notes of a piano. I cock my head, surprised to find that I don’t recognize the song.
    Cyrus can play the piano. All of us Incarnates can, to one degree or another. When you’re alive for as long as we are, you find ways to keep occupied. Cyrus could perform a Chopin nocturne as well as a Satie Gnossienne —withimpeccable technical skill but not an ounce of passion.
    I pause, my fingers tracing the handle of the oak doors. Cyrus could never play the piano with such deep sorrow. It resonates with emotion, with humanity—and what’s more, I think it might be an original composition. I take a deep breath and go in.
    Inside, I find Julie hunched over the piano, her small frame swallowed up by an oversized blue poncho and baggy, patched jeans. Her hands roam over the keyboard with practiced grace, the melody veering from major to minor keys, from classical impulses to a vaguely jazz-influenced storminess.
    I approach, making no effort to conceal my presence, but she doesn’t seem to realize I’m there till I’m right in front of her. Her hands jerk away from the keys as she gasps.
    “Kailey! You scared me.”
    “Sorry.” I smile. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to ask you something. The winter dance is coming up, and we need a band to play. At the dance. We were all hoping you guys—you and Eli and—” I break off when I realize I don’t know the name of their third member, the boy who plays banjo.
    “It’s not a good idea,” she says quickly, her lips set in a thin line.
    “It’s a great idea,” I counter, surprised. Cyrus would have leapt at the chance, knowing it was a perfect way to observe students. “Everyone loves you.”
    “We can’t.” Her voice quavers, sounding suddenly fragile.
    “But—” My voice halts when, to my utter confusion, she begins to cry.
    “I’m sorry,” I say and hurry to her side, patting her shoulder awkwardly while she shakes. “What’s wrong?” I ask, after a moment.
    “It’s Eli,” she manages to say finally. “I’m just . . . so worried about him.” She turns her teary face to the window. My heart ricochets inside my chest.
    “What do you mean, you’re worried about Eli?” I ask. I’m suddenly on high alert. She draws her knees up to her chest. “He’s just . . . not himself lately. He’s being distant. And mean. And he keeps forgetting the words to our songs.” She wipes her eye with her wrist. “Sorry to unload on you like this.”
    “No, it’s fine.” My heart takes off like a horse, like a jet engine. I throw out a hand to brace myself. “When did this start?” I hear myself ask.
    “Ever since that teacher got killed,” she whispers. “And at first I could understand—we were all shaken up, you know?”
    “I know.” The sun shifts. The beam of light disappears from the window.
    “Anyway, we’ve been looking for another female singer. We were supposed to meet on Wednesday for auditions. He never showed, which is so unlike him.”
    Yes, there are a lot of girls, Julie had said in the hallway thenight of the Nutcracker . Which is why there can be no mistakes. They were auditioning singers.
    “The worst part is, we’re playing tonight on Treasure Island. It’s our biggest show ever. I just hope he can get it together. If he can’t . . . well, we may have to replace him. He can’t even perform anymore. It’s almost like he’s become another person. I just hope he’s not, you know, on