by Trisha Leigh
I tear my eyes away and pick up a glass of punch, readjusting my own expression. My face flames, the cup like an ice cube inside my superheated hand. Dread burrows under my confusion over Lucas as the sides of the cup slump inward. The melted plastic sticks to my palm, but I dislodge it with a few furtive shakes above the waste receptacle. It lands atop assorted items, walls goopy and misshapen. Real smooth.
The tone of the murmurings shifts, jittery laughter turning to hushed whispers. My heart trips into stutters, and this time not because of a too-familiar pair of blue eyes.
There, stepping through the entrance to the eatery, are the Wardens.
Even though their presence isn’t a surprise after yesterday, the actual sight of them is as shocking as always. They ignore us and march to the nearest video screen to consult with our chaperones. Everyone watches, wide-eyed but not displeased, while I slink closer to eavesdrop.
The Monitor in charge, a rail-thin bald man who instructs calculus, offers a greeting. “Welcome to Danbury, Wardens. All of the Terminals have arrived. Please make yourselves at home and let us know if we can provide any additional assistance.”
The Warden in front, a tall, muscular man nods. I’ve been staring at him for longer than I should, and a stabbing ache swells behind my eyes. I’ve never been so close to an Other before, and when my eyes demand relief and slide away, I notice a raised red mark just under his left ear. A scar of some sort.
My jaw drops. Its pattern mirrors the shape of my locket.
The room wobbles as my body sways and threatens to topple. I manage to stay on my feet and keep my hands clasped in front of me. My body temperature rises so high that anything I brush against could burst into flames. Which might not work in my favor.
“Thank you. We’re here to follow up on some reports we’ve received.” The Warden turns and surveys the room, obviously with no intention of offering clarification.
I haven’t a clue what reports he’s talking about or why they’re observing us, but fear cannonballs into my belly. Again I worry that attempting to trick a Warden during a one-on-one conversation is a recipe for disaster. I can’t be alone with them.
The Wardens disperse, moving about the room. The mood in the eatery returns to the previous nervous excitement, with the addition of some awe-filled staring at our observers. My Cellmates display no concern, even though the Others who are here searching for something—or someone—take people. Even though they took six of our Cellmates just yesterday, six kids not attending their first Gathering, as far as I can tell.
Without thinking, I steal toward the door. Disappearing is the single focus of my mind, every thought of staying composed driven out by alarm. The part of my brain that usually calms me in moments of panic screams at me to run. They can’t see me like this, amped up and sweaty, failing to appear as calm and happy as my peers.
It feels as though hours pass before I slip out of the eatery and into the empty hall. The black boxes mounted on either side of the door take note of my exit, little red lights illuminated and staring. The creepy feeling of being watched raises the hairs along my arms and the back of my neck. The Others record everything, but no one could be watching every camera at every moment…I don’t think. At least the wasterooms are out here and we’re allowed to use them. Leaving shouldn’t raise any suspicions.
Two Wardens step around the far corner. The mere sight of them threatens to knock me over but I continue without collapsing, passing them and turning the corner toward the girls’ wasteroom. Instead of entering I scurry to the end of the hall.
Up or down?
Making a snap decision, I head down the stairs.
Venturing away from where I’m supposed to be could be a mistake, but every instinct forces me as far from the Wardens as possible.
If hiding is the wrong choice, it’s too late to regret it now. Decision made.
A metal door labeled “Maintenance” catches my eye and the knob turns easily in my hand. The room belches musty air and a massive cobweb splays across my face before my eyes adjust to the dark.
There’s no time to recover from the first shock or even wipe the sticky wisps from my nose and mouth before strong hands reach out from the darkness. One arm encircles my waist as the other clamps down over my mouth.
They’re both freezing. The cold bites my skin, making it feel windburned. A scream wells up in my throat with nowhere to go, and sweat streams out of every pore as I struggle against the viselike hold. My captor’s chilly breath tickles my ear and I lean away from his lips with renewed determination. Anguish floods my veins.
I’m going to die. And no one will even notice.
“Stop squirming.” He grunts as my hip bone digs into his upper thigh. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t want you to make a ruckus when you saw me. I’m going to let you go now. Don’t scream.”
I don’t recognize the voice, not that I expect to. The hand over my mouth lifts ever so slightly. Like he’s testing me. I will myself to stay quiet, to earn some trust. When he turns me loose I spin away on shaky legs, whirling to confront him. My defensive posture eases due to plain shock.
Pine Boy.
He’s smiling now and not forcing it. “You look surprised. Me, too. I had this crazy idea that a dark basement room would keep me safe from jasmine-scented girls I’ve been trying to avoid.”
My glare arrives without warning, no second thought given to letting my real emotions show. “Why are you avoiding me? And what are you doing down here in the first place?”
He doesn’t answer either question, and instead wipes his palms on his pants and then studies them. The scalded red skin is visible even in the dim light. “Man, are you sick or something? You’re on fire.”
“No, I just…you grabbed me. I was scared!”
He shrugs and lets the subject drop, wandering over to sit on a waist-high steel pipe. Since he’s not going to kill me, at least not right away, I take a better look around the room. It’s filled wall to wall with desks, chairs, and scrap material, along with other unrecognizable clutter.
“So, why do you smell like that?”
His voice startles me. I’m so intent on my surroundings I’ve almost forgotten I’m not alone. “Why do you care?”
Nagging distrust and years of conditioning stop me from telling him to take a whiff of himself sometime before he lectures me.
“It’s sort of nice, actually, but if it’s perfume you could scale it back. Almost knocked me out of my chair in chem the other day. It reminds me of summer in Georgia.”
“Did you used to live in Georgia?” I catch his eye and see fear for a split second before it makes way for studied neutrality.
“Just visited once. For my grandmother’s death pyre.”
“Oh.” I roam down one of the aisles, finding it easier to breathe out of his sight. Our interaction feels honest and it scares me more than a little. I’m so desperate for a connection I’m not being careful enough. It would be best to get out of here, away from him. My brain accepts and rebels against this simultaneously.
Taking a brief moment to regroup helps me calm down but it doesn’t help me figure out what’s going on or what he’s doing down here. Or why it’s so easy to talk to him.
Trust no one.
The warning likely applies to handsome, talkative boys hiding in basements for no good reason. I need to tread carefully, even if he does seem different. Maybe I just want him to be someone like me so badly I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
Movement catches my eye. I squint, edging toward it with more curiosity than caution.
Until I make out what it is that’s moving.
CHAPTER 6.
I stumble, tripping over several plastic crates and landing hard on my rear end. Pieces of metal and other unidentified objects skitter and bounce across the concrete floor, making a racket loud enough to be heard in the next town, never mind upstairs. I scramble backward on my butt in an attempt to put distance between me and the animal.
Lucas is gone, escaped because of the noise or perhaps because of what’s in the back of the room.
There’s a fish back there. In a bowl.
Someone is keeping a live animal right here in the Cell, exposing all of us to unknown diseases. Hysteria rises as I press a hand to my mouth and suck air through my fingers. Maybe the fish can’t hurt us like some bigger animals, the ones with rows of teeth, but still. Animals of any kind are not allowed inside the boundary.
I have to get out of here. Need supersedes caution—I scoot out the door and down the hall, looking back and forth and wondering which way the boy would have gone. Not back upstairs. Not home before curfew. I sprint up the stairs. My luck holds, and no Wardens appear to bar my path out the front door. The biting autumn air aches in my ears with each sharp inhale, forcing me to a stop after a few minutes. There isn’t much occasion to sprint in my world.
A figure darts out from beside a house and runs at me. I freeze to the spot, a scream gathering in my lungs but whooshing out in a gurgle when his face comes into view at the last second.
It’s him. Again.
“What are you doing standing in the middle of the street? Are you crazy? Why aren’t you back at the Gathering?”
The questions come fast, hushed but in an unhappy tone I’ve never heard before except in my own head. For a minute, the struggle to form answers stuns me and I don’t fight as he drags me back with him into the shadows.
This is odd, considering.
Traipsing around someone’s yard when you’re supposed to be at a Gathering is not Acceptable. Nothing about me is Acceptable, though, and I’m tired of pretending to be like everyone else, of doing what I’m supposed to. This boy is the first person, besides the young chemistry Monitor with the quivery smile, who might be different.
I want to find out why.
Standing in the dark between twin houses, my white tennis shoes growing moist from the dewy grass, I fix him with a stare. “You’re supposed to be at the Gathering, too. Why aren’t you?”
He looks as if he’s considering giving me an answer but decides against it. Instead he cocks his head to one side and offers a genuine smile. A deep dimple appears in his right cheek. “What’s your name, nosy? Or should I call you Jasmine?”
I frown, refusing to drop his gaze. He knows my name—we’ve had five days of blocks together. “Only if I can call you Pine.”
Worry flashes across his fair features but he hides it away. The teasing tone sounds forced now. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Promise.”
His coaxing wins me over and I play along. “Althea.”
He sticks out a hand. It looks soft and warm, but I know from experience it’s not. Then again, most people feel colder than me, especially when I’m worked up.
“Lucas.”
We shake hands like adults, mine trembling from the chill clinging to his. The smile falls from my face as the memory of the fish in the basement storage room barges to the forefront.
His tentative smile turns puzzled. “What is it?”
“That room in the Cell basement has a fish in it. Who could have put it there? Do you think they’re trying to get us all sick?”
Dread bubbles as the images of what could happen dance through my imagination.
His smile returns and he chuckles. I wonder if he has a death wish or something. He’s definitely nuts, wandering out here at night and hiding from the Wardens. Probably Broken, or on the edge of it.
I don’t stop to wonder what it says about me that I’m doing the same thing.
“That’s Fils. He’s mine. And he doesn’t have diseases.”
My mouth falls open so hard it makes my jaw ache. I close it just as roughly, my teeth clacking together. “What do you mean, he’s yours? You’re keeping a fish in the Cell? Have you gone completely banana balls? Wait, what do you mean his name is Fils? How do you know his name?”
He snorts as if it’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “Because I named him. He can’t talk so I guess he didn’t have a name before. I wanted to call him something.”
“What’s Fils mean? I’ve never heard that word before.”
Lucas shrugs, a light pink blossoming on his pale cheeks. He avoids my eyes as he mumbles an answer. “I don’t know what it means. I hear the word in my dreams sometimes.”
The way he says dreams recalls the strange ones that occasionally visit me. More like memories, they don’t come often enough, leaving me wistful and clinging to tendrils as I wake, like Lucas sounds now. The faces of the people in them are blurry, fleeting, but make me feel loved and something more…like how I imagine a real home would feel.
The longing on Lucas’s face makes my heart ache. The instinct to comfort him comes out of nowhere; I have to fist my hands to keep from reaching out. “How did you get a fish, exactly? And how do you know Fils isn’t making you sick?”
“I caught him in a pond. I’ve had him five years and I’m still alive. I’ve touched him, fed him, and cleaned out his bowl. I’m fine.”
“How is that even possible? Who taught you how to take care of him?”
“I just figured it out. It’s not that hard.”
Lucas’s logic rings true but a lifetime of fear isn’t going to disappear because some handsome new boy says it should. “Well, you do what you want. You shouldn’t be keeping it at Cell, though.”
His eyes widen, darting back and forth as he presses a finger to his lips. We draw deeper into the shadows beside the quiet house, my back pressed against his chest. It’s firmer than it looks. My heartbeat quickens when his arm winds around my waist.
Wardens—two this time—tread heavily down the street sweeping flashlights in an arc. I hold my breath, body vibrating as Lucas sucks his in as well. If my heart weren’t pounding from terror it would be struggling with such nearness to a boy—to another human being, really. His peculiar scent mingles with my own odd fragrance, creating a not entirely unpleasant mixture that hovers around us in a cloud. I fervently hope it doesn’t extend to the sidewalk because if the Wardens smell it, they will investigate. The combination is thick and unusual, created by two scents that would never rub against each other in nature.
The Wardens pass, the pool of yellow from their lights falling about ten feet short of our hiding place. They continue down the street but neither of us moves until the street has been silent for at least five minutes. Lucas exhales and lets me loose. I sag against him for a moment before turning. Our eyes meet, full of questions neither of us is willing to answer. Or even ask. He might be wondering if I’m going to report the fish. After the close call, I know I’m rethinking my need to find out more about him. He may already have witnessed too much.
“We’d better get home.” Lucas glances down at his watch. “It’s after nine. The Gathering is over.”
I missed my Gathering. I wish I could care. I don’t care about anything except not getting caught and carted off by the Others. I cared about the Hammonds once. About Val and Monica.
Caring only makes it harder.
Lucas and I head down the sidewalk together. A moment later we come across a group of kids and attach ourselves to the rear. I move in silence, their talk bouncing over me until the word Gathering snaps me to attention. A dark-haired boy walks next to Brittany, holding her hand. Greg, probably.
Greg talks too loud. “Did you guys see the new kid tonight?
A short, squat boy answers, laughing. “Yes! It’ll be exciting to have a Barbarus at Cell.”
I hadn’t noticed the new boy at Cell tonight, but apparently everyone else did. My Cellmates laugh, excited about the beginning of our last year. They shoot interested looks toward Lucas and me, and for the first time something besides confusion paints my Cellmates’ faces as they attempt to make sense of my presence. It looks like…curiosity? After a moment, understanding dawns.
They wonder if Lucas and I are courting.
I reach a hand up to touch my cheeks. They’re on fire, burning my palm befor
e I snatch it away. Lucas glances at me, his icy blue eyes lighting with interest as he takes in my face. No doubt it’s an interesting shade, but he’s smart enough not to comment.
The evening is cool and a slight breeze tosses leaves to and fro. Even so, the walk isn’t unpleasant. By the time we reach the Morgans’ street we’re alone again, everyone else having turned off at their respective streets or houses. Uneasiness wraps around me as we slow to a stop in front of his house.
He raises a finger as though he’s going to touch my cheek. I bat it away. This is terrible. I don’t want any part of courting, and people thinking we are will earn too much attention. “Look, I don’t understand why you’re out wandering around or hiding from the Wardens, but I think we should stay away from each other.”
I say it because my mind insists he’s some kind of trouble. What I want is the opposite.
He looks down at his feet. “If you change your mind, maybe we could meet in the park during open hour tomorrow. I saw you wandering by yourself near the boundary every day last week.”
My mind races over my afternoons, searching for anything I might have done that would raise suspicion. “You saw me? How?”
“I like to climb trees. You never look up, you know.”
The thought of Lucas watching me stroll about without my knowledge makes me both embarrassed and angry. “I don’t think so. I don’t need any extra attention, and you and your fish and your hiding in the shadows is bound to get one or both of us in trouble.”
“What do you mean, any extra attention?”
One evening alone with another person and my secret’s all but painted on my forehead. Running from the Wardens, frowning at him, saying right out loud I don’t want to catch the Wardens’ eyes. I force a smile, cursing my loose lips and ignoring the beads of sweat breaking out on my palms. “Did I say extra? I just meant attention. With the Wardens in town and everything. Good night.”