Imaginer

42 - Where Texts are Read

42

         “Will the…café be a permanent place to stay?” I asked, when we’d finished a meal of McDonald’s and headed out onto the streets.

         “Depends on you.” When he didn’t elaborate, I nudged him, and he continued. “Some people choose to live there. That’s usually for people who have someone with them. Like family. My brother told me there’s an entire family of Others, and the parents are both Soothlings while both kids are Guiders.” He tilted his head towards the other side of the street, and we checked for cars before sprinting over. “Some people only manage to stay for a few weeks, a month. They can’t stand it there.”

         I frowned. “Is the living condition really that bad? Won’t they adapt, make new friends or something?” I fished the envelope out of my bag. I still hadn’t looked at it. It felt wrong to be reading over someone’s letter.

         Sam shook his head and steered me towards a bus stop in front of a thrift store. He piled his sleeping bag onto the bench and adjusted the straps of his backpack. “It’s a special café,” he said, without missing a beat. “Some people don’t like the lack of light. Makes others sick, too.”

         “Others?” I asked, unsure which he was referring to.

         “Others as in, other people,” he said quickly, giving me a smile.

         The bus rolled into view, and we spent the entire trip to Sampson City chatting amiably. I clutched the letter in my hands, unsure how to go about it. It was crinkled and creased, and the paper had clearly been handled many times—the way it bent easily along the folds was a big enough clue.

         “You can read it, Jass.” Sam had been staring at my hands, watching them fumble with the corners. “I didn’t give it to you to hold.”

         I glanced at him nervously. “It feels like I’m invading your privacy.”

         He shook his head and laughed a small laugh. “It’s not considered an invasion if I give you the letter myself,” he reminded. “Open it. Here. I’ll do it for you.” He grabbed the envelope and slid the letter out. It was on an even crinklier piece of lined paper, with writing crammed onto it. “There’s nothing personal or mushy if that’s what you’re worried about.” In an attempt to assure me, he puffed out his chest and said, “We men are gruff and keep our feelings to ourselves.”

         That did the trick. I smiled and lowered my eyes onto the paper.

         Hey Sam. I found some new info and thought you’d like to know. We’re sorted by our blood types. Crazy right? Here’s what I heard from the guys:

         O+ are Hiders (male) and Probes (female)

         A+ are Livings (the ones with animals in case you forgot)

         B+ are Crawlers (bugs)

         AB+ are Alterists (change your mood)

         O- are Soothlings (calm/coma)

         A- are Swindlers (forget)

         B- are Illusionists (self-explanatory)

         AB- are Imaginers (flowers. Never knew why they were called that.)

         Sorry I can’t say much right now, there’s only so much space on scrap paper. Keep your head up, got it? Hope you guys are doing OK, and tell dad I said hi. When you’re ready we can see each other again.