Read Impossibility of Tomorrow for Free Online Page B

thing that comes to mind. “That assumes he invented the press. And discounts the work of Laurens Coster, who many say was the first to work with movable type.”
    Mr. Yee raises his eyebrows. “I had no idea you were such an expert.”
    I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Damn it . Just what I need—to stand out when my life depends on fitting in.
    “Kailey’s right,” I hear a boy say behind me. I whip my head around to see Reed, a bowler hat on his head and suspenders punctuating his vintage button-up shirt.
    “Go on,” prods Mr. Yee, amused.
    “Well, there was Hadrianus Junius’s account—I think it was published in the late fifteen hundreds?—that backs up Kailey’s claim.” My hair stands on end. “I studied a bit of typography at my old school,” Reed continues. “We had an antique printing press. It was really quite—”
    The bell signaling the end of class shrieks through whatever Reed was going to say, and I bolt from my chair beforeit stops ringing. My backpack bangs into several chairs and people as I rush to the door. “Sorry, sorry,” I repeat to no one in particular.
    The air outside the classroom is damp with mist, courtesy of the rain that’s falling softly sideways, making a mockery of the open-aired school’s covered walkway. It’s the kind of rain that makes me feel silly when I whip out an umbrella but nonetheless soaks my hair and my clothes if I don’t.
    I shove through the throng, hurrying to meet Noah, the one person in Berkeley I can trust. I’m watching the floor when I collide with another person in the hallway, the force reverberating through my wrists.
    “Sorry!” I say, bending down to pick up the textbook I’d been holding and coming face-to-face with a familiar boy. Eli’s not wearing his cowboy hat for once, and his ice-blue eyes are more striking without its shadow.
    “No harm done,” he replies, shifting his violin case and scooping up my book before I can grab it.
    “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I explain.
    “I prefer to think of it as a collision course with destiny,” he replies in a deadpan tone. “As if there was such a thing.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins.
    “Oh, I’m a big believer in destiny,” I say.
    He fiddles with the zipper on his sweatshirt but doesn’t reply.
    “Well, I’ll see you later,” I say, filling the awkward silence.
    His bandmate appears at his side, the short dreadlocked girl who plays accordion and drums. “Eli. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We have practice.”
    He furrows his brow. “Sorry, I forgot.”
    “Hey, Kailey,” she says, as she leads him away.
    “Hey,” I reply, but they’re already swallowed up by the crowd.
    I find Noah at the end of the hallway, immobile, staring at the memorial shrine for Mr. Shaw outside our biology classroom. His hood is pulled up over his forehead, escaped locks of dark hair coated with droplets that remind me of icy tree branches in New England.
    “Hi,” I murmur, placing my hand on his arm. His eyes warm when he sees me, and I turn him gently away from the shrine. His sweatshirt juts out below his neck, concealing what I assume to be his camera, safely zipped up to protect it from the weather. I poke the lump.
    “Is this your battery pack?” I tease.
    “It’s my camera. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a robot.” He grins, but I can tell he’s making an effort. The shrine, and what it represents, grips him. I take a moment to study the shrine out of the corner of my eye. It’s grown since Friday, flowers and handwritten notes and even laboratory beakers huddled against flickering candles.
    I forge ahead. “Well, you should get some rain gear for your camera. Maybe one of those miniature cocktail umbrellas.”
    Noah’s laugh sounds actually sincere.
    I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Nice escape attempt, Kailey,” a throaty female voice says. I turn around. Madison stands before me, holding a clipboard, a pencil tucked behind her