HOLD BACK TOMORROW By Kris Neville It was so good to be young, Margy knew. She never wanted to be an adult--grow old and die in five centuries. That must not happen.... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy September 1951 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Hello, Margy," he said bashfully when he came upon her standing beside the low, white stone wall which surrounded the schoolyard, isolating it from the carefully landscaped forest and lakes beyond. "Hello, Clyde." "How are you today, Margy?" "I'm fine, Clyde. How are you?" "I'm fine, Margy.... Mind if I sit down here?" Feeling a little flutter of unnamed fear, she cried, "Go ahead. I don't own the wall." Clyde put his hands behind him, found the top of the wall, and drew himself up until he could sit on the stones. He looked down at her, his chin level with her brown curls; he looked as if he had half expected her to turn and walk away, and when she did not, he smiled uncertainly. The fear gone, now, she tilted her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, once again the conscious master of the situation. Clyde looked very boyish, peering down at her. "Don't you want to sit down up here, too?" he said, waving his hand awkwardly. "Maybe." "Here," he said, offering her his hand. "I'll help you up." She wanted to take the hand, but instead, she said, "Thank you, but I can help myself." Gracefully she swung her lithe body up beside him. Clyde glanced across at her, and she stared down at her swinging legs, telling herself to be very careful, and above all, not to look into his eyes when the mature confidence shone through. Clyde cleared his throat nervously and made conversation by saying, "I ... uh ... feel sorry for Teach, don't you?" Margy twisted and puckered her mouth, remembering Teach that morning; she had looked very bad, and the eye wrinkles were very noticeable, more noticeable than ever before. "Teach is wearing out," Margy said, trying to keep the horror out of her voice. "I ... uh ... thought you'd notice; I don't think the rest of the kids did." "She must be over four hundred," Margy said, feeling the cold place in her stomach become even colder. "She'll be dead in another fifty years." * * * * * Margy shuddered as the coldness exploded through her whole body and tingled down to her finger tips, making her want to cry. "I hate to think of anyone dying," she said, wishing he would talk about the weather, or about anything but dying, wishing he were less serious, more embarrassed, and more like his old self. "I just wondered if you'd noticed Teach. I _thought_ you would. You--you know--you ... uh ... seem to understand things, Margy."