The Dome

by Camille Picott

  The separation clears some of the fog from my brain. I stare, dumbfounded, at Taro. I look around, trying to recall where we are and what we were doing before the kiss.

  “Nice, Hudanus,” calls the rude, cackling voice of Jason Van Deer. “Always knew you had a thing for Brains. Too bad she doesn’t have better taste.”

  31

  A Fight

  VAN DEER DROPS EASILY from the open window, sneering. He saunters toward us. There’s something sinister in his swagger. One by one, his groupies drop out of the window behind him.

  Without a word, Taro pulls me into the crook of his arm and steers me away. We walk at a sedate, unhurried pace, but his arm is like an iron band around my shoulders.

  “Aw, what’s your hurry, Hudanus?” Van Deer calls. His boots whisper against the grass as he follows us.

  “Gee, Van Deer. Maybe I prefer the company of a beautiful girl over you. Ever think of that?” Taro never stops walking, propelling me along. His bicep is rock hard against my back.

  I hold my breath, wondering if the merc boys will surround us. Then Jason gives a bark of laughter. The mounting tension dissipates.

  “You could have any merc girl you wanted,” Van Deer calls after us. “Any of them! And you pick a Brain.”

  My cheeks warm at his raucous laughter. His friends join in. The laughter ruffles me, and I pause to throw a glare over my shoulder.

  “Enough, Van Deer.” A merc I don’t recognize drops out of the window. I assume this is the Sergeant Bramfold whose house was toilet-papered. He’s a stocky man, his face red from the exertion of squeezing through an opening much too small for him.

  “I told you they sneaked into the kitchen,” Van Deer says. “Check them. I guarantee they stole stuff.” His eyes blaze with triumph.

  “We didn’t steal anything,” I say.

  “Yeah, right, Brain—” Van Deer begins, but the stocky merc cuts him off.

  “Enough,” Bramfold snaps. He turns a flustered expression on us. “You two, stay right there.”

  “We didn’t steal anything,” Taro tells the man as he approaches. “We were just … looking for someplace quiet.”

  His implication is obvious. My face reddens as Van Deer and the other merc kids guffaw and make rude gestures. Sergeant Bramfold scowls, clearly not amused by any of this.

  “Spread ‘em, Hudanus,” he says. “I have to check you and your girlfriend. You know the rules.”

  Taro nods, arm falling from my shoulder. He spreads his feet shoulder width apart, then raises his arms. The merc pats him down quickly and efficiently. I silently thank Riska for carrying away the saltpeter.

  “Your turn,” Bramfold says to me.

  At Taro’s nod, I copy his stance. Bramfold pats me down. When he doesn’t find anything, he says, “You’re both clean. You can go. Don’t let me catch you in the kitchen again.”

  “What?” Van Deer yells. “That’s not possible. You didn’t check carefully—”

  Bramfold rounds on Van Deer and his friends. “To the locker rooms, now! All of you. You’re going to scrub toilets and showers until your hands bleed. When you’re finished there, you’re going to clean my house. And when you’re done with that, you’re going to run laps until you puke. By the time I’m done with all of you, you’ll think twice before vandalizing anything in the Dome again.”

  Van Deer gives Taro a thunderous look before stalking away. The rest of his friends follow suit, all them herded along by Sergeant Bramfold. When the stocky merc glances back at us, Taro puts his arm back around my shoulders.

  “Take her home,” Bramfold says. “Now. Then get your ass to bed, Hudanus.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Taro and I obediently walk, leaving the cafeteria behind us. He keeps his arm around me, even when Van Deer and the others disappear from sight. I feel it relax by degrees as we make our way through the quiet streets.

  “Good idea to send the saltpeter with Riska,” Taro murmurs.

  “Good idea not to take the whole bag. Riska wouldn’t have been able to fly off with it and we would have been caught for sure.”

  He smiles at me. “We’re a good team.”

  I smile back, trying to ignore his closeness and the way it makes my stomach flutter. I can only assume he keeps his arm around me as a precaution, in case anyone else sees us out here; we have to maintain our cover, after all.

  “I don’t have to tell you not to pay any attention to what they said, do I?” Taro says, drawing me to a stop on a street corner. He drops his arm. “Van Deer never passes up an opportunity to be nasty.”

  “It’s okay.” I give him my best casual smile and retreat a few steps. “It threw him off our scent, which is all that matters.”

  He eyes me, as though he’s not sure how to reply. The intensity in his gaze makes heat rise up in my body again.

  Stop that, I scold myself. What’s wrong with you?

  Taro continues to stare at me. His silence is too much. I can’t stand it.

  “I think,” I say, trying to gather my wits, “it was a good idea.”

  Tension leaches out of his body. He lets out a long, slow breath. “You do?”

  I nod. “It’s like … our cover story. If everyone thinks we’re, like, you know, a couple or something, they won’t think twice if we’re caught out together at odd hours. It will make it easier to break into Maxwell’s, or do other recon on the League if we need to.”

  “Everyone?” Taro’s eyes widen. I can’t tell if he’s stunned or horrified, both of which make me feel stupid.

  “Unless you just want Van Deer to think this was a one-time thing?” My voice squeaks at the end, making the statement sound like a question.

  “No,” he says quickly. “I just—I mean, Van Deer will tell everyone—everyone—about what he saw tonight. If you’re serious about this being a cover, we may have to play the part more often.”

  “Play the part? What do you mean?”

  “Like, hold hands when we’re out together. And, ah, maybe—um—kiss. Occasionally. In front of people. Or at least, where we know people—the right people—will see us.”

  “Do you think that’s a bad idea?”

  “Ah—no, not if you don’t.” He eyes me, as though trying to gauge what I’m thinking.

  The thought of kissing Taro again sends a thrill through me. I shove the feeling away.

  I am a practical girl, I remind myself. Not a stupid, fluttering teenager. It’s just kissing, after all. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Then why, asks a small, annoying part of my brain, did you feel like you could stay in his arms forever?

  “So—so you don’t mind?” Taro asks. “What about Gun?”

  “Gun?” I shake my head. “He’s my good friend. Not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  “You don’t?”

  I shake my head again, still feeling off-balance from the kiss and everything it made me feel. I have an overwhelming need to express how much I don’t want a boyfriend. I’m not sure if this is for my benefit, Taro’s benefit, or both.

  Words start flying out of my mouth. “My mom had an exciting life before she married my dad and had me. After that, she was stuck in an apartment all day, every day. I don’t ever want to be trapped like that.”

  “Before you came along, your mom risked her life every day for a pay check. The life of a mercenary isn’t glamorous, Sulan. It’s dangerous.”

  His words make me feel stupid. “Do you ever want to get married?” I snap.

  “Yes,” Taro says without hesitation. “I mean, not right now, but someday, yes, to the right person.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I say.

  A flush spreads across his cheeks, the muscles along his neck tensing. “Did it ever occur to you that a quiet life in an apartment was something your mom liked? It’s the sort of thing most people dream about—safety, security, family. It’s the life a lot of people would kill to have.”

  His words lodge in my stomach like rocks. �
��I’m sorry,” I say, mostly because I see that he’s angry. He resents the mercenary life his father so meticulously laid out for him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant—”

  “You think relationships are a trap and you don’t want one.”

  “Are you going to be my cover boyfriend or not?” I ask, bristling.

  Taro’s face changes, almost all expression disappearing. I sense him withdrawing from me, even though he hasn’t moved.

  “Yes,” he whispers. “I will be your cover boyfriend.”

  Tension balloons between us. It makes me angry. It makes my heart ache. I don’t know what it means or how to make it go away.

  It occurs to me that maybe I should apologize, but what for? For being honest? For being clear on where I stand when it comes to relationships? Why should I apologize for those things?

  Taro rubs at his temples. “It’s late, Sulan. I need to get some sleep.”

  “Sure.” I take a few steps back, trying to hide my hurt. Part of me wishes he’d reach out to me, but he doesn’t. “See you later?”

  “See you later.” He turns away without another look, heading toward his house.

  I stare after him, unable to shake the feeling that, despite being honest, I said all the wrong things. My stomach knots. I want to run after him, but I don’t know what to say or how to take back the words that offended him.

  When he disappears around the corner, I feel like I’ve lost something.

  32

  Girl Talk

  WHEN I CRAWL INTO BED a short time later, two things clutter my mind: the brain-fogging sweetness of Taro’s kiss, and the stab of his silent withdrawal when he walked away from me.

  I realize I should be more worried about Maxwell and the League, or about Van Deer and the look he gave Taro that promised vengeance. But every time I try to focus, my mind spins back to Taro.

  I replay the details of the kiss; his initial, hesitant gentleness and the soft feel of his lips against mine. And then the deeper kiss, the feel of his strong arms around me and the taste of his tongue in my mouth.

  After what seems like ages of tossing and turning in my bed, I finally admit to myself that I liked the kiss. I glance at Riska, who’s nestled on top of my chest. He’d been smart enough to leave the bag of brining salt in the shadows of the front doorstep; it’s now safely stashed under my bed.

  His eyes glint at me in the darkness as he regards my restlessness.

  “I admit it,” I whisper to him. “I liked the kiss.”

  There. I said it. Where only my genetically engineered pet could hear.

  This thought inevitably leads me back to our fight. The feel of his angry words make me want to curl into a tight ball. The thought of him not speaking to me makes me ache all over.

  I hadn’t realized how much I’d come to depend on Taro in the past few weeks we’ve been in the Dome. My days are better because of him. Will he forgive me if I apologize? Can I fix things between us?

  I fall asleep worrying over it.

  ***

  “You look awful,” Hank says to me the next morning in the cafeteria as I plop into the chair beside her. Timmy shovels food into his mouth.

  I make a noncommittal grunt and poke at the bacon and eggs on my plate.

  Hank sets her fork down. “What’s wrong?” She switches chairs, moving closer to me and putting space between us and Timmy.

  I shrug, lowering my voice. “Taro and I got into a fight.”

  “Really?” She looks surprised. “Over what?”

  I glance around to make sure no one is close enough to hear. The few people sitting at nearby tables aren’t paying any attention to us. Billy and Uncle Zed are in the buffet line—Zed covertly shoving a fork down the front of his shirt—but it will be a few more minutes before they make it over to us.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” I say. “We, um, sort of” —I lower my voice—“kissed.”

  Hank’s face breaks into a huge grin. “About time!” she says, her loud enthusiasm making me cringe.

  “Shhh.” I glance around. “It wasn’t that kind of kiss.”

  “What are you talking about?” she demands. “What kind of kiss was it, exactly? And when did it happen?”

  Keeping my eyes on my plate, I give her a truncated version of last night’s run-in with Van Deer. I exclude the details of our mission, pretending we were just out for a friendly walk at two in the morning.

  “He just got so angry,” I conclude. I rest my forehead against the palms of my hands, wishing I didn’t feel so miserable. Riska mews and butts his head against my cheek.

  Hank is silent for so long that I finally lower my hands to look at her. Her lips are clamped her together, eyes bright. She looks like she’s trying to keep from laughing.

  “What?” I snap, irritated. “You think this is funny? How am I supposed to make things right?”

  Hank shakes her head, a small giggle slipping between her lips. “Sulan, for a smart girl, you’re really stupid.”

  Riska hisses at her, but Hank ignores him and continues. “Taro is crazy about you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Taro wants more than just friendship,” she says. “Why do you think he spends every waking minute with you?”

  “But …” I shake my head. “But he’s never said anything to me.”

  Everything starts to slide into place. If Hank is right, no wonder he was upset. All that stuff I said about not wanting a boyfriend had been exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Everyone knows it except you,” she says.

  I slump. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  “Why not?” Hank asks.

  “You know how I feel about relationships.”

  Hank makes a face. “I know you have this weird perception of your mother’s life and are afraid to follow in her footsteps. You really never knew how good you had it outside the Dome.”

  “I know you had it hard,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

  “Knowing my family had it rough isn’t the same as living my life,” she replies. “You don’t know what it’s like to have to scrape together spare change to pay for a cold shower. Or what it was like to have only one meal a day for weeks on end. The idea of having a safe apartment to live in, with food delivered on a regular basis—you have no idea what that sounds like to someone like me.”

  Hank sighs and shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is, your mom wasn’t forced to marry your dad. She wasn’t forced to have you. She had a solid career as a merc. She didn’t have to give it up. Just because you’re angry about the career path Global laid out for you doesn’t mean you should assume your mom was unhappy.” Her gaze strays across the room toward Billy, who’s wresting a handful of bread rolls out of Zed’s hand and returning them to the buffet table. “Besides, it’s nice to have someone. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life alone here?” She gestures, taking in the entirety of the Dome. “Would it really be so bad to take the next step with Taro?”

  I stare at Hank, my thoughts clumping into shapeless goo. My mouth hangs open, all protests shriveled to dust in the wake of her words.

  I spend the rest of the meal in silence, pushing food around on my plate. I don’t even look up when Uncle Zed and Billy join us.

  Is Hank right? Could my mom really have wanted the life she had in our apartment? Did she happily give up her mercenary life for the sedate role of a housewife?

  It doesn’t make any sense to me. But Hank is right about one thing—I am angry about the career path Global has chosen for me. Is that resentment coloring my perception of my mother’s life?

  A wave of sorrow and loss hits me. I wish Mom were here. I want to talk to her, maybe even argue with her.

  I choke on a semi-hysterical laugh. Who would have thought I’d ever miss arguing with her? I’d do anything to hear her yell at me or take away Vex privileges for a week. I’d do anything to be
able to talk to her about Taro.

  “Mrow?” Riska butts his head against my cheek. I rest my head against him, trying to take comfort in his soft purr.

  The idea of losing Taro makes a deep part of me ache. But if he wants more than friendship, what can I do? I wasn’t kidding or being coy when it told him I didn’t want a relationship; I meant it.

  Or at least, I’d meant it at the time. After Hank’s lecture, I’m no longer sure what I want. I wish I hadn’t liked his kiss so much.

  When Billy and Uncle Zed get up to clear away their empty plates, Hank moves her chair closer to me.

  “You know,” she says, “you could just try the girlfriend-boyfriend thing with Taro. I bet you’d like it. You’re already practically glued to each another. The next step would be natural for you guys.”

  I make a noncommittal shrug. I don’t even know if Taro is still speaking to me. I have to work that piece out before I can even start to process the girlfriend-boyfriend thing.

  Hank perches on the edge of her chair. “Taro won’t wait for you forever, you know. If you lose him to some other girl, don’t come whining to me.”

  With that, she ruffles her brother’s hair and heads out of the cafeteria. I hurry after her.

  Another girl? I turn over this new concept as I make my way to the Aircat landing pad. What would I do if Taro started going out with someone? I would be happy for him, wouldn’t I? Yes, I would. He deserves to be happy. Right? Right. So why does the thought make me feel like I have a rock lodged in my throat?

  ***

  I don’t speak to Taro for the next forty-eight hours.

  They are the longest forty-eight hours of my life.

  He doesn’t join us for meals in the cafeteria. He doesn’t meet me at the Aircat landing pad after my Vex appearances. He doesn’t spar with me in our free time.

  “You’re a moping mess,” Hank tells me after the Aircats deliver us to the Village. “You’re as crazy about him as he is about you. You just need to get your head out of your butt, get over yourself, and do something about it.”