We didn't say anything else to each other until the sun began to rise. The sky turned a sort of pale whitish color, and the light bled down through the trees. There weren't very many of them—trees, that is. At least, not any more. They'd grown sparser the farther we got from Oliphant. By the time morning dawned, Henry and I were walking across slightly hilly fields. I'd come to the conclusion that Oliphant was out in the middle of nowhere, way out in some sort of country space, where nobody could bother it and it couldn't bother anybody. It made sense. Why would anybody want to live around a juvenile detention facility? And Oliphant itself seemed a pretty controversial place; I'd been pretty sure that it wasn't treating us properly. So of course whoever ran it would want it to be far from scrutiny. In any case, the place was miles behind us when Henry finally talked to me again. It was easier to see by then, but he didn't bother to turn around when he spoke. He just kept on walking. "We'll go until daylight really hits. Then we'll take cover until night. They won't even notice we're gone until they realize the trays keep coming down untouched."

I was too mentally jaded to care what I said, at that point. We'd been going non-stop for hours. "I never ate anything off mine, anyway."

"Good," replied Henry, keeping a couple of feet ahead of me. "The longer it'll take them to notice."

"But my door!" I blurted, just remembering it. "They'll see it wide open if someone goes down the hall!"

He shook his head. "No. I made sure it would close. I had help, you know. I didn't do it all on my own."

"You didn't?"

"No! How do you think those notes got to you? I was stuck in a cell, too."

I lowered my brow, frowned. "I guess I just didn't think of it. I mean, now I'm not thinking of it. I'm confused about a lot of things."

Abruptly, Henry stopped and turned to me. I nearly walked into him because I was looking at my own feet more than where I'd been going. His eyes caught the waning moonlight as he looked directly into my face. I couldn't do anything but stare back. "I have a feeling that things are going to start getting clearer now that we've met." He was so serious, almost spooky.

As pleased as I was at his confidence in me, I couldn't help but be even more puzzled. Who was he? And how did he just know things (or think he knew them)? Would we actually be able to help one another? I hadn't known what to expect with Henry. When I'd been sitting and waiting for his notes, when I'd heard about him from the others, I'd built up an amorphous image of someone perhaps sly and clever, even deceptive. This person was determined, bold--but I also felt as if I could trust him. He seemed sincere. After weeks of being unable to believe in anyone, his presence was a comfort. Not so much that I felt comfortable with him--on the contrary, he made me nervous. But I was comforted by my perception that he was going to take care of everything, that he was going to guide us. That I wouldn't have to make the difficult decisions.

The sun was starting to come up, round and bright and dangerous, because now Henry and I would be pretty obvious to anyone who looked across the field. There weren't too many areas we could take cover in, no trees, really, but some bushes here and there. Henry settled on a clump of larger shrubs, and we crawled into the middle of them and stayed as low to the ground as we could (which wasn't a problem, because the branches were prickly, and I wanted to keep away from them). There was a lot of horizontal space, so we were able to keep several feet between us, and Henry said we'd stay there until dusk.

My shirt and sweats had dried by that time, but my shoes were still damp, so I took them off in the hope that they would dry better off my feet. Then I turned onto my side and closed my eyes. I hadn't realized how tired I was, and at that moment, I felt like I could sleep just about anywhere, which was fortunate, because the hard dirt and pokey bush branches didn't offer much comfort. I didn't know whether Henry fell asleep or not. I was turned away from him, purposely, and listening to the little birds keeping us company, I quickly fell asleep.

I thought at first that I was dreaming when I started to wake. Then I felt the cold, hard earth beneath and the prickles jabbing at my shoulders, and I remembered that I was outside. I wished I had a blanket, not so much because I was cold but because I felt more exposed than I wanted to be. My feet were chilly, too, because they were bare; I rubbed them together. I hoped my shoes were dry.

"They won't find us here; we're safe until dark."

I wasn't startled by Henry's voice. He must've seen that I was awake, even though I couldn't see him from my position. "You said yourself it'll be a while before Oliphant notices we're gone."

"It's not exactly Oliphant I'm worried about."

I heard but didn't quite understand him. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know how to explain it, exactly. Just that . . . there's something bigger than Oliphant. Something else that wanted to keep me there. And you, too. You know, I've been waiting for you for six months."

I picked at a crispy leaf on the branch over my head, feeling warmer, but not ready to turn and face him. "How could you be waiting for me? I don't even know who I am. How could you?"

"That's how I knew--the fact that you don't remember. I don't remember anything about myself, either, except for one thing from before I woke up at Oliphant, something someone said, that somehow keeps playing in my head." He paused. I waited for him to tell me what that one thing was, but he instead added, "I kept thinking it'd all come back, eventually, like how people with amnesia start slowly remembering things. But I still don't know anything more about myself than I did the first day. I . . . I've sometimes had feelings about certain things . . . senses. Like when you wake up from a dream that's fading, and you feel what happened, but you can't actually recount it." His tone turned bitter. "When you're stuck between four walls in a space the size of a closet for half a year, your dreams are the only thing to look forward to, real or not."

He fell into silence, and I knew I had to turn and look at him; I couldn't hide forever, especially after what he'd just talked about. So I turned onto my side, saw him stretched out several feet away, arms behind his head, shaggy ash-blond hair spread over them onto the ground, clear eyes looking upward, though he glanced at me when I rolled over. I swallowed the butterflies threatening. "How do you know your name?"

Henry studied me for a moment, and I wondered what he could be thinking. Maybe this was the first time he'd actually gotten a decent look at me, as I was getting of him. Did he like what he saw? Was I what he'd expected? But he looked upward again, away from me. "That man who runs the place slipped on it once, didn't remember I was in the room. He was on the phone yelling at somebody (that's all he ever did when I was around). Anyway, he said—and I'll never forget—I don't want Henry here; he's the biggest piece of shit I've ever had! He's your problem, not mine. So I guessed that he was talking about me. That's why I know there's more out there than Oliphant; he was talking to somebody else, somebody who'd sent me there."

I remembered the man I'd seen with rectangle head the day I'd been kicked out of Dr. Scarpoli's class. The creepy guy in the slicked hair and dark eyes. He'd talked about Henry. I considered mentioning him, but for some reason, I couldn't bring the words out of my mouth. Henry started talking again, anyway.

"There was something I remembered hearing—somewhere in the blurring darkness and thought, right before I remember waking up there. Something that I thought was a dream at first but realized later was actually a piece of a memory. It was how I knew to look for you. I remembered hearing a voice say, What will we do with her? and another answer, He won't remember her. We'll send her over in a few months. And that was it. Whoever they were, they didn't think I'd remember what they were saying. They were doing something to me . . . But it was the only thing I had to go on. When I woke up and realized I didn't have any memory except for that conversation, I knew I had to build off it: there was someone I had been with, someone who was a her and who would apparently be coming over after me.

"So every time I heard they'd gotten a new girl, I'd send her a message. I even sent some to girls who'd been there a while, hoping that maybe I'd been wrong in knowing when they arrived. I'd send them a note about escaping. Told them I could help them break out. Some wanted to do it. Most did. But when I'd meet them, I just knew they weren't the right person. They just didn't . . . feel right. So I'd tell them to go somewhere, that I'd be waiting for them . . . but I wouldn't be."

I didn't want a reason to dislike him already, but I was frustrated. "You did that to my roommate, didn't you? That wasn't very nice."

"Are--are you mad?" He sounded surprised. He turned toward me, propped himself up on an elbow.

"Well, all those girls thinking you were going to help them, and you didn't. They probably all got into serious trouble."

He stared at me, but I wasn't going to meet his stare. It was my turn to gaze upward into the bush. "Don't be mad, Nadia. Please? I had to wait until I found you."

It was the first time he'd said my name, or the name I knew. "And I felt right?"

He didn't answer right away, probably unappreciative of my sarcasm. I hadn't really meant to be rude; I didn't want Henry to dislike me. My mouth had gotten in my way. I should've stayed quiet. But then he said, "You're right. I didn't treat those girls very nicely, but I don't regret it. And yes, when I saw you, I felt some connection. Didn't you?"

Yes. Yes I had felt it. "Maybe. I don't know."

He laid back again. "I didn't do that to your roommate, anyway. My note was for you--it went to her accidentally. It was much easier when you were put in high security."

I still wondered why I'd been put there. Had someone done it intentionally? "Who told you stuff? I mean, how did you know about me and . . . well, those notes. You said you weren't alone."

"When I first got to Oliphant, there was a woman that said she wanted to help me. She said she knew I couldn't remember anything and felt I'd been done an injustice. So she would help me. If I wanted notes passed or doors opened, she'd find a way to do it for me. The truth is, if I hadn't been waiting for you, I would've left a long time ago."

"Why wait for me? I can't remember any more than you."

"Because obviously, we were in something together. I'd hoped we would somehow . . . spark each other's memories. One sentence—sometimes one word—can help people remember things." He sighed, like he was suddenly wondering if he'd made the right decision in waiting for me. Then he sat up. He had to bend over quite a bit and looked a little ridiculous. "Neither of us knows anybody or anything. There's a reason for it. Whoever did this to us didn't want us to remember each other, but we've defied them already. We have to be the catalysts to one another's memories. We have to be!"

There was something like doubt in his voice, as if he were speaking more for self-assurance than because he really believed himself. It concerned me. I had to restore his confidence. "You've got to be right," I told him. It wasn't much, but his shoulders relaxed, seemed to release tension.

"This is what we'll do," he went on, determination returning. "I've had months in a white room to think about what I'd do once I got out of there. The way I see it, we have very little to go on. But—"

"Wait. I think we might have more." I'd interrupted without even wondering if he'd care or not, but he didn't seem to mind. I sat up to face him and also had to duck. "I was in the office—doesn't even matter why. There was a man in there with whoever the guy in charge is. They were talking about you, saying if you got out there'd be trouble. And the stranger mentioned something about where I was from—the Eden Circuit, I think he said. Or, at least, I think it was about where I was from. The man said a girl with no memory . . . so I assumed he meant me. But then the man said you were from a different place, or something. I guess that was all I really got out of it. That and the fact that you were causing trouble for Oliphant."

"The man you didn't know—Did you catch his name? Or his purpose?"

I frowned, trying to remember exactly what had happened. My experience with Miss Pinsky-Waters and my sudden move to high security had tangled my memory of that conversation. "He never said his name. But he was arguing. He knew you; he said there was no way you could leave, that you had to stay. And I got a feeling he had the upper hand."

"Like he was really the one in charge?"

"Yes. He made threats."

"So my intuition is right. There is someone besides Oliphant. I knew it! Then this is what we'll do. We'll go to the nearest big city, whatever it is. I don't even know what state we're in. And as soon as we get there, we'll see what we can find about this Circuit. What was its name again?"

"Eden, I think. But why a city? Aren't we safer out in the middle of nowhere?"

Henry picked at a rock stuck in the dirt in front of him. "We didn't get out just to be free. We've got to figure out what happened to us. I want to know why I don't remember, and I'm definitely not going to find out in this wasteland. Don't you want to know why you were at Oliphant? Whether you committed any crime or have a family? Don't you want to remember who you are?"

I thought of the one picture I had from my past. The one that was made up of only three colors: blue, black, and the flash of something metal. I thought of the fear it opened inside me and the way my stomach turned when I recalled the sound of that whooshing fan. And then the words from my session with Miss Pinsky-Waters: When you wake up tomorrow . . . "I'm not sure," I said quietly. I hadn't exactly meant to say it out loud.

"You have to be sure," Henry insisted, almost as if he were scolding me. "If you aren't sure, then it was pointless for me to wait for you." He looked hard at me, huffed in exasperation, and crawled out from under the bushes.

I waited only long enough to slip my shoes back on, afraid he'd leave me. Maybe he was unpredictable, but the last thing I wanted was to be left alone in a field. I had to remind myself that I'd just met Henry; I didn't know him at all. Perhaps I'd been too bold with him; maybe he was disappointed in me. Whatever the case, I wanted to be with him. I did feel some connection to him, even if I hadn't quite admitted it, and I felt sure he'd keep me safe. I had to stay with him. So I scooted out from under the brambles, cursing when they snagged my hair, and when I got out and looked around, I was relieved to see that he was still there. His back was to our hiding place. He stood, tall and slender and shirtless, with his arms at his sides, his fists clenched.

Approaching him slowly, I stopped when I was by his side. "I'll go wherever you want to go," I said softly. "I'm not sure I want to know . . . but I am sure I have to know."

He waited a couple of minutes before replying. All I heard were bugs droning in the grasses around us. Then, not turning, he said, "Even if it hurts?"

I bit my lip. "Even if it hurts."

"Because it has to be serious," he added, turning to face me, "if they took our memories of it away."

I looked at the way the surrounding field was reflected in his pale eyes, the angry color of the scar on his forehead, far more visible now with the wind blowing his hair aside. With a shudder, I took a deep breath. "What if we lose ourselves even more?"

He turned away, and I was afraid for a moment that I'd offended him, though I couldn't have said why. But Henry was looking for something, and when he saw what he wanted, he bent and picked it and stood back up. "Whatever happens, we won't forget each other. I don't know if these are forget-me-nots, but we'll just pretend." He reached out a hand toward me, and, guessing he wanted me to do the same, I opened my palm up toward him. Then he briefly held his hand under mine and dropped the flowers into it, using his other hand to curl my fingers over the blue buds.

The static warmth that his touch had created caused me to flush, to gasp imperceptibly. Had he felt it, too? No, he was backing away, had released my hand so quickly.

"Now we should go," he said, turning toward the horizon, and we did.