That is the thing I will fight for. It’s my thing that matters. This world needs Stella Rose. If anyone should become immortal, it’s her.
I’ll give her the necklace next time I see her. Hopefully tonight. Assuming she finally starts answering my messages or calls. She’s not right now.
Stubborn. That’s something else about her. But it’s all part of her charm. Now she just gets to be stubborn forever, and I get to figure out how to do it with her.
3.
STELLA
Our apartment in Chrysler Citadel is tiny. It has a small kitchen, one living room, a single bathroom, and three bedrooms. I’ve spent a lot of time at Myles’s place over the last year, and my apartment could probably fit into his bedroom. That’s how small the apartment is. Or how big his bedroom is. One or the other.
I live with my dad, my stepmom, Kaimee, and my two half-siblings, Aura and Andrew. I have a fantastic family. Aura is four years younger than me, and we share a room, but it doesn’t bother me. We’re close, and I know she looks up to me, so I let her borrow my stuff whenever she wants. Andrew is seven years younger, so we’re more like pals, but he’s a good little brother. The kind who quiets down when you’re doing homework and makes silly jokes when your day sucks.
Kaimee is more of a mother to me than my actual mom—who I barely know—ever was, and I am a daddy’s girl all the way. My dad and I have exactly the same eyes. Heavy brown, almost black. We have the same lines at the corners of our eyes when we are happy, and our eyes turn down at those corners when we are sad.
SGTS results get sent to parents the morning of the day they are distributed to the teens. So, your parents get the results a few hours before you, and you don’t have to see their gut reactions. I can tell what happened in my house, though, because when I get home from school, Dad and Kaimee are sitting at the table in the kitchen, waiting for me.
The corners of Dad’s eyes are turned down, and Kaimee’s normally perfect eyeliner is smeared. It’s a little weird, because typically when a teen gets cornered by their parents, it means the teen has gotten in some trouble. I’m in trouble, but I didn’t do anything to cause it. Nothing other than existing.
Also, I held it together as long as I could at school, didn’t cry pathetically on the bus going home, and kept a straight face on the elevator all the way up to the fifteenth floor. I was ready to have a calm, rational conversation about my red flag. But as soon as I see Kaimee’s eye makeup, it all goes to hell, and I break down into tears.
Still, I think this is the best-case scenario in a situation like this. My parents react precisely the way you hope parents will respond to trauma. My dad hugs me and says he is so sorry and doesn’t say anything nasty about my real mom (even though we both know the early Alzheimer’s had to come from her side of the family). Kaimee strokes my hair and says it’s okay to be angry and that this isn’t okay and she will be there to talk to me about it whenever I want. They haven’t told Aura or Andrew yet, and it’s up to me when I decide to tell them. My sibs are a few floors down in our grandma’s apartment right now.
“And I know you must be thinking about the Immortality Program,” Dad says. “We can have that conversation whenever you want and however many times you want. You don’t have to make any decisions today. You can apply and drop out if it doesn’t work for you. And you have over a year before you have to make the final commitment. You have plenty of time to think it through, and we will stand behind whatever decision you make.”
I love my dad, I love Kaimee, and I love that they are so supportive. Kaimee says days like today deserve comfort takeout food, and that we can make up some excuse to keep Aura and Andrew at Grandma’s for the evening. But I don’t want to keep a secret this big from my siblings or deny them the mess of vegan Indian food we’re about to order. So, I ask Dad to call them back up, Grandma comes with them, and Dad and Kaimee let me tell everyone myself what happened.
“I got back my Standardized Genetic Screening Test results today,” is what I say. “I don’t want to lie to you. I got a red flag.”
Aura gasps. Andrew doesn’t quite understand. Grandma was already tipped off by Dad, but she covers her mouth like maybe she didn’t know.
“Does that mean you’re going to die?” Aura asks.
“We’re all going to die one day, sweetie,” Kaimee says gently.
“And red flags aren’t always about death,” I explain. “In my case, it’s not a death flag. My flag is because I have a ninety-six percent chance of getting Early Aggressive Alzheimer’s before I’m fifty.”
“Oh,” Andrew says. “That’s really old.”
“Dad’s fifty-two,” Aura says. “It’s not that old. And Early Aggressive Alzheimer’s is bad.” She comes over to sit by me on the couch, and I let her scooch as close as she wants. “It’s too young to lose your memory, Stella. Are you going to …?”
She’s being so mature and kind about this, and I’m so proud of her. “I don’t know,” I say. “The Immortality Program is an option.”
“What kind of option?” Andrew asks.
“Well, I could just live my life as a mortal and take my chances,” I explain. “Genetic screening isn’t a hundred percent guarantee. But it’s pretty accurate and having a red flag like this really improves my likelihood of getting into the Immortality Program.” I take a deep breath. It’s the first time I’ve said that out loud. “If I take the Immortality Virus, and successfully transition to become immortal, I’ll be immune from Alzheimer’s because I’ll never age to the point where that kind of disease could affect me.”
“But—” Aura says. “It’s risky, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Not super risky, but there is a small chance that the Immortality Virus will make me so sick that I’ll die from it.”
“Are you going to do it?” Andrew says. Now he’s really interested. “Are you going to become immortal? Are you going to live forever?”
“No one lives forever,” Kaimee reminds him, still so gently. “Immortality only means you don’t age. You can still die.”
“And I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I tell him. “It’s a big decision.”
Our Indian food arrives, and because my family is awesome, they all seem to understand that I’m not ready to make decisions yet and that I need to forget about the red flag for an hour or so. We chow down happily on naan and chickpea masala, and Aura and Andrew tell us about their days.
“How did Myles take it?” Dad asks later as we’re cleaning up the Indian food. “I notice you haven’t checked your com much all night.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “We haven’t talked much.”
“Maybe you should,” Dad says.
I know what he means. He likes Myles, even though he thinks Myles and I are too serious for our age. But I know Myles has to be freaking out right now. And his family … I hope he hasn’t told them about me. They hate immortality. I always really liked his parents, but if they know I’m even thinking about the Immortality Program, they probably won’t ever want to talk to me again. They’ll want me as far away from Myles as possible.
I don’t want to drive a wedge between Myles and his family. I don’t want my red flag to hurt him. Realistically, that means Myles and I are over. I hate this, but I finally check my com. Myles has been trying to get in touch with me for hours. I message him back, even though I don’t want to. We do need to talk.
He agrees to meet me at the all-night coffee place near Chrysler Citadel at ten.
4.
MYLES
My parents both come home early today. It’s like they’re psychic, but really, it’s probably just that they got some kind of alert on their coms that I’ve done something suspicious on the internet. In my family, research about immortality raises some red flags.
Which does not feel like a joke to me today.
In any case, I am not surprised when my mom calls me down to the sitting room, and I find her and my dad sitting tensely on the off-white sofa we
never let the dogs on. They are sipping glasses of refuel juice. There is a tray with a few slices of cheese, some gourmet crackers, and a tiny bunch of grapes on the coffee table. Just your average, everyday after school snack for a kid who lives in a 13,500 square foot, refurbished factory mansion.
My mom pushes the tray toward me, along with a third glass of refuel juice and an unhappy smile.
“Myles, sweetheart, do you care to explain why you’ve been looking at trash on the internet today?” Mom doesn’t believe in passive aggression. She says it like she sees it.
I consider lying. I could try telling them I’ve been looking into immortality for a school project, but as I open my mouth to do just that, my dad raises an eyebrow at me over his glass of refuel. I ditch the lie and resign myself to the hard conversation. Might as well get it over with. But I’m not going to start with Stella.
“Foster got a red flag,” I say, “He’s applying for the Immortality Program. Obviously. What other choice is there?”
Mom leans back against several expensive throw cushions. She is reticent and extremely conservative. One of her great great grandfathers transitioned to immortality when the option first became available in 2049. But back then, the Immortality Virus wasn’t the same. The first immortals didn’t just experience a few negative consequences or get a little moody. As they aged in years but not body, most of them downright lost it. Mom’s immortal grandpa became a real embarrassment. Got into bar fights, earned several DUIs, got caught up in some high stakes diamond heist, and ultimately killed a bunch of people.
There is a reason my mom took my dad’s name in the 2380s. A reason other than wanting to be a Kayes. Immortality is taboo to my mom. She would rather I die young than die bad. It doesn’t matter at all to her that today’s Immortality Virus is seriously improved.
She sets her jaw at my comment about Foster. “The flag system wasn’t started as an immortality selection system. It’s about giving people as much time as possible to live the life God intended them to have to the fullest.”
I don’t know if I believe in God. Or at least I don’t know if I believe in my mom’s God. But if there is a God, I don’t buy that God made a guy like Foster brilliant and motivated and kind and then set him up to die three years after he finally finishes whatever medical residency he would ultimately have gotten into. And Stella …
My dad disapproves of the Immortality Program, too, at least as an option for otherwise healthy people. But he is sympathetic to red flags. He’s also a mediator, and a good listener, and he’s better at empathy than Mom. He can tell I’m upset by Mom’s reaction to Foster choosing the Immortality Program.
“What Foster does with his life is his choice, Myles,” he says firmly. “But we do need to talk about this. You know our position on the Immortality Program. I know you will miss Foster, but—”
“Stella got a red flag, too,” I say. If they don’t know about Stella, they won’t understand what’s at stake here.
Mom gets pale, and for just a moment, I think maybe there’s some hope here that they’ll understand. Yeah, sure, I’m a Kayes, and she and Dad have been planning out my future for me since before I was born. I’m supposed to be the valedictorian, to rub elbows with other influencers at Arbordale, to be fast-tracked into the corporate executive program or maybe the diplomacy program, and, to be stepping up as CEO of a Fortune 500 company or maybe starting my first congressional campaign right around the time Foster will be kicking the bucket if he stays mortal.
Stella’s future wasn’t pre-planned like that, but my parents did a bunch of illegal research after we started dating seriously, and I know they know that Stella’s intelligence scores are off the charts and that she gets incredible social aptitude and achievement marks in school, too. Mom has always approved of my relationship with Stella because of that.
Now she tries to pick up her glass, but her hands are shaking, and she spills the rest of her refuel juice all over the coffee table.
“Shit,” she says, and then she says it again while we all try to mop up the mess with the cloth napkins that were sitting on the table by the snack tray. At the third, “shit,” she throws down her napkin, looks away, and starts to cry.
Dad takes over, but the party line is the same:
“Myles, I know how you feel about Stella, but you’re still very young. If she chooses immortality, there will be other girls for you.”
There’s that stupid line about youth again. All the important decisions get made young, and I’m angry that my parents are playing dumb right now. They know I’m not going to let Stella apply for that program alone. They know if I become immortal, the future they’ve got planned for me all falls out the window. Everything changes.
“I’m considering it for myself,” I tell them. “I never wanted to get involved in politics anyway.”
That’s true. I know it as I say it. All of it. I don’t think anything my parents want for me is something I truly want.
“Absolutely not,” Mom says, while Dad sits silently, looking at me like he already knows how this is going to go down. His eyes say he is disappointed. He will be disappointed in me forever. Which will probably be about another sixty years for him since the Kayes are so healthy.
“If you choose to become immortal, you will no longer be a member of this family,” Mom says, desperately, like she thinks maybe if she lays down that ultimatum, it will change my mind.
I get up from the table abruptly and go to my room. Let them think about that.
I try calling Stella. She still hasn’t returned any of my messages, and she doesn’t pick up now.
Stella.
She must be so scared right now.
She must feel so alone.
I need her to know that she will never be alone with this. I need to talk to her. I message her for what feels like the thirtieth time, and I get back something that makes me feel sick inside:
We need to talk.
5.
MYLES
I pocket that rose gold necklace for Stella, sneak out of my place, and catch the tram to the all-night coffeehouse by Stella’s apartment. The coffeehouse is this hipster place with matchy-matchy furniture and fancy flavor syrups like tiramisu and raspberry lemon sorbet that make the best lattes.
I order cold-pressed chamomile lavender tea because I don’t think I need anything to make me more amped up for this conversation. When Stella comes in, I am sitting in one of the armchairs by the front. I jump right up when I see her and hug her immediately. I didn’t plan what I was going to say, but what I say is this:
“You didn’t have to run away this afternoon.”
She leans into my shoulder and starts to cry. Great. Nice work, Myles. Way not to put any more stress on a girl who’s already having an awful day.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “That came out wrong. You got scary news this afternoon. It was your right to react however you needed to react. I’m just trying to say I could have handled it. Whatever you needed right then. Even if you just needed me to shut up and sit with you. I could have done it. You didn’t have to be afraid.”
She pulls away from me, and I’m struck by how absolutely beautiful she is. I kiss her right there inside the coffee shop, by the door, ignoring the looks we get from old curmudgeons who probably don’t know how to love anymore anyway.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I just … what do you want to drink? Your favorite?”
Her favorite is a mango green matcha latte. That would be a lot of caffeine for ten o’clock at night, but sometimes you’ve had a bad day, and you need a mango green matcha latte.
“What are you drinking?” she asks. “It smells good.”
“Cold-pressed chamomile lavender tea,” I say.
“Can they add honey?”
I kiss her nose. “If they can’t, we’ll never come here again.”
I get her tea for her—she’s always offering to pay for her own stuff, but seriously, does she not understand that I am
a trust fund baby?—and then I ask her if she wants to sit down.
“I thought maybe we could walk,” she says.
“Are you sure? It’s cold outside.”
“We don’t have to go far. And there were some stars out. You’d like them.”
She’s right. I love stargazing, and it’s hard to see the stars on most nights from anywhere in Detroit because the city just has too much light pollution. We bundle up and take our tea outside, and we walk down the street quietly together, pointing out stars to each other when we see them until she says:
“I love you, too. You know that, right?”
The tone. This is the beginning of a breakup speech.
“The red flag doesn’t have to mean anything,” I say.
She laughs bitterly. “You know it does, Myles. It changes my whole future. Whatever I decide to do.”
She’s talking about the Immortality Program, and I realize she must be afraid that I’m going to tell her not to do it. After all, she knows my family.
“I’m not afraid of immortality,” I start to tell her. “I want you to know—”
“I am, though,” she says, cutting me off. “I’m afraid of it. And I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t apply, too, and either way we—”
“Will be fine,” I tell her. “Because you don’t just love someone when they have good days, Stella. With true love, you’re in it no matter what.”
She bites her lip. She knows she can’t tell me we’re too young for true love. I don’t think she’d even believe that herself. But she’s also the practical one. I see that in her eyes. She wants to tell me that true love can come around a second time. That true love could have some limits.
“I know,” she says. “But sometimes true love means you let someone go because it’s better for them that way.”
She stops walking, and she has started to cry, and she’s saying things that just make no sense, like, “Myles, we can’t be together anymore. I can’t do this to you. Your parents will hate me. You’ll lose everything. And what if you don’t even care about me this way … after? Or what if you fall out of love with me in ten years? You’ll hate me. Your life is perfect without me. You don’t need this burden. We—”
Stella Rose Gold for Eternity Page 2