The Valley and the Flood Rebecca Mahoney (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

I snort. Fair enough. “Ms. Jones, um, went to the interview?”

Cassie eyes me impassively. I don’t get around to asking before she answers. “We’re not family. Not in any kind of official sense. They let me live in their house—she and her wife, Sandy. They let me eat their food and read their books. Sandy takes me thrifting once in a while. But on paper? As far as my school knows, I ‘grew up early.’”

She shrugs. “I’m the one who wanted it that way, so I shouldn’t be surprised when I don’t get special treatment. But I know what I’m talking about, even if I didn’t foresee it. She should get that by now.”

I let out a slow breath. “So you didn’t foresee it.” When she narrows her eyes, I add quickly, “You just seem really sure.”

She eyes me for a long moment, as if to make sure I’m not doubting her. “No one can be a hundred percent sure of everything. Not even me,” she says. “I see a lot, you know. Maybe even more than Maggie Williams did, in her prime. But I see moments. Fine details. Not context. And it means I jump to the wrong conclusions, sometimes.

“So when I told my parents what was coming, I don’t know what they decided to do with that information,” she says. “And I’ll admit, there’s something they’d give almost anything to relive. But they have a better reason not to. At least, I like to think so.”

I wait for her to keep going. And when she catches me looking, her cheeks flush. “I’d prefer not to say why.”

I don’t know how to react. But I know what Gaby would have said. “Want to talk about literally anything else?”

She uncrosses her arms with a sigh. “I’m not sure how anymore.”

“Then let’s make it a game,” I say. That’s what Gaby did whenever we had a transfer student, or a new kid sitting with us at lunch. “You ask anything you want, and I ask anything I want. Only rule is, nothing heavy. No big life stuff. The more insignificant, the better.”

I think I catch a smile as she sweeps past me. “My favorite color is green.”

“Okay, new rule,” I call after her. “You can’t foresee the questions.”

As we round the corner at the end of the hall, I hear the churn of the printer again, and I’ve barely taken a step toward their cubicles when Alex slides a stack of warm sheets of paper into my hands, exuding pure, wired triumph.

Cassie slides around me and peers over at the packet. “Oh, this looks good. We’ll be making a few unexpected stops, though.”

Alex looks unfazed. “You can pencil those in, if you want.”

“Oh, I didn’t see who they’d be,” Cassie chirps. “Just that they’d be unexpected.”

“Have you been back there this entire time?” Felix hisses as Cassie brushes past me to pick up her own packet.

“Don’t worry.” Cassie smiles over her shoulder. “Your singing voice is very nice.”

Masking a snort, I finally look down at the result of Alex’s hours of work. Names and addresses: John Jonas. Jessica Graham. Loreen Murphy. The last on the list is just an address: Lotus Valley Central Caverns.

There’s a sheet below it, a printed, clearly standard survey: how long have you lived here, are you married or single, please rate this list of priorities from most important to least. Handwritten at the bottom, however, are two very different questions:

What is your happiest memory?

What would you give to live it one more time?

I pick it up to take a closer look and catch one more sheet underneath. This one is just locations. Hospital, attic stairs. Lotus Valley Public Library, southwest corner. The corner of Morningside and Jacobs (midafternoon only! adds a scribbled parenthetical). There’s a question on here, too. But only one.

Are you familiar with the entity that was born here?

But I’ve barely finished reading that sheet when Alex plucks it out of my hand. Carefully, like he’s trying not to draw attention. And when I catch his eye, he shakes his head.

“This is the survey?” Felix asks, oblivious.

“Ms. Jones’s suggestion,” Alex says. And though he sounds calm and even enough, he hunches a little as he tucks the last sheet of paper nonchalantly into his back pocket. “We’re going to act like we’re conducting a survey on the Flood’s presence in Lotus Valley, see if anyone tips their hand. Though I don’t know if everyone will talk to us. Maggie’s supporters especially.”

There’s a damp, heavy chill curling into the base of my lungs. That buzzing click of the adrenaline valves switching on. But for all the anxiety I’m feeling right now, uncertainty doesn’t follow. Because I still hear it in the back of my head. What gives you the right?

I think whether they support me, want me gone, or believe that I’ve brought them a gift, one thing will be true. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble getting Lotus Valley to tell us what they think of me.

JULY 3, FIVE MONTHS AGO

NOTE TO SELF: Like anything, this is a skill that can be learned. And if nothing else, you’re good at homework. Maurice made you a photocopy of the diagnostic criteria. He wants you to look at these words and know that you’re allowed to feel them. Those pages are heavy with ink now, with underlines and asterisks and notes. You know what’s yours. You know what isn’t.

But don’t make the mistake of thinking you know everything.

Let’s back up now to this crisp, hot afternoon at the thrift store, down the street from your North Park apartment. You’re not looking for anything. You don’t need anything. But there’s nothing like buying a jacket for the price of a sandwich. And it’s reliably still, in a way home rarely is—no clatter of dishes or footsteps, no cartoons blaring. No one comes here.

Usually. Tomorrow is a holiday. You might have remembered that otherwise. But