“Tell me the last time you lied.”

“I told grandmother the cashier did take the expired coupon.”

She laughed again.

“Alright, you’ve proven me wrong yet again. But I don’t think you could lie for nefarious purposes. In any case, how do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. Something still sat uneasy with me. Grandmother had kept these pencils a secret despite how much they’ve haunted her, and she’s only sharing with me now because she’s sick. Yet Louise, a random girl on the internet, already knew. What kind of person was Meng to share this family secret with a stranger? There was no time to process, though, and so I responded to her with my barely formed thoughts on Reforging. “It’s such a mysterious thing, and I had no idea she could do anything like it, but also, I wonder about its purpose? Did I just find out my grandmother has this magical ability, but one that is not at all useful? Like if I found out she can make rocks dance, or something?”

“It’s very useful,” Louise said sharply.

“Is it? Do you still use a pencil? The only time I use one is for standardized tests, and a bunch of filled-in bubbles isn’t going to reveal anything—and once I’m done with school, what use will a pencil be? I will be at my computer all day. And there are already lots of ways to preserve computer data.”

“I’m sure you would know all about that.”

Her tone stung.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“A computer may be good enough for you. But not everyone has a computer. And if you include the people of the past, the overwhelming majority of people have never used a computer.”

“But that’s absurd, why would you include the people of the past?” I asked. “If you include the people of the future, eventually the majority of people will never have used a pencil.”

“Fine. They will have computers, and we can get their stories via whatever it is they type. But how do you get stories from the past when you are no longer living in the moment? How do you get stories about a time period that is quickly aging out? What do you do when the people who have lived through a significant experience are dying or losing their memories? Computers can’t do anything about that. And pencils shouldn’t be able to either. But they can, with your grandmother’s ability.”

“Oh.” A fear gripped me then, one that held too tightly for me to be able to say more than the one word to her.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice became gentle. It was almost annoying, how perceptive she was.

“It’s nothing,” I said automatically.

“Take your time. I’m here.”