“You’ll have to trust me to save myself.”
“This isn’t about trust. This is about you being too young and inexperienced to deal with the potential dangers you’ll face.”
“I’ve lived in Baltimore my whole life. I’m not some innocent bumpkin. Zachary’s got street smarts, too. Plus, he knows Gaelic.” That last part sounded feeble. “I’ll use my Italian passport. They say it’s safer to travel as a non-American.” My mom’s father was born in Italy, which automatically gave her dual citizenship. When I was a baby, she did the paperwork so we could both get Italian passports. I cherished this connection to her—a connection I needed to strengthen by walking in her footsteps in Ireland.
Gina shook her head. “I just don’t like it.”
My eyes heated, and I clenched the blanket. “So you won’t let me go?”
“Once you’re eighteen and—”
“I’ll be eighteen, almost.”
She raised her voice above mine. “Once you’re eighteen and living under your own roof, then you can make the rules. You can gallivant off to anywhere you want.”
“I’m not gallivanting, I’m doing research!” I was yelling now, helpless in the face of my rage. “I’m trying to solve a huge mystery here, and you’re making it sound like I’m going to Cancún to drink beer and get laid.”
Gina put a hand to her stomach. “Let’s not talk about—”
“I knew it! This isn’t about safety, it’s about sex. Guess what, Gina? I’m almost eighteen and still a virgin. Zachary and I could’ve done it before he left. But we decided to wait. Just like Logan and I waited and waited until it was too late, and then he was dead.”
My voice cracked. I had to get ahold of myself before I went full tantrum.
Gina spread her fingertips over her eyebrows, like she was wiping away a mental image. “Aura, there’s no shame in being an eighteen-year-old virgin. Plenty of people wait until college, or even after.”
“I have to do what’s right for me. You always taught me that.”
“Don’t use my life lessons to argue for a sleepover with your boyfriend.”
My pulse raced with fury. How dare she make it sound sleazy and childish? “If you were so concerned about my virginity, why’d you let me go to Deep Creek Lake with the Keeleys? I could’ve done it with Dylan, or someone I met at a party.”
“You’re not that type.”
“So you’d rather I hang out with guys I don’t love, just so I’ll keep my clothes on?”
Gina turned away, probably counting to ten to rein in her temper.
I spoke again while I had the chance. “You said he might never be allowed to come back. If I don’t go over there, I might never see him again.”
“You will. And if you don’t, you’ll survive.”
No. Maybe my heart would keep pushing blood through my arteries and veins, maybe my brain would still send signals to my nerves. But if I truly lost Zachary, to distance or madness or both, I was certain I’d become a living ghost.
“I’m going to Ireland, Gina,” I said in a strong, steady voice. “I’ll be careful, in every single way, and I’ll call you every day to check in. But I’m going.”
“No.” She stood and put a firm hand on my shoulder, as if she could physically hold me in this country. “You’re not.”
Gina walked out, shutting the door behind her. I wanted to hurl my pillow at it, or better yet, hurl something loud and breakable.
Instead I went to my computer and logged into my bank account. Had I saved enough money to move out of the house? What about college? Maybe I could get a free ride with a work/study program somewhere. I was pretty sure my Ridgewood tuition was paid a year in advance, so that took care of high school.
Maybe the McConnells would let me have Megan’s older brother John’s room, since he hardly ever came home from North Dakota. I could pay them rent, or help out around the funeral home. It would be sad and sometimes gross, but I’d do anything.
Just as I finished a despair-inducing monthly budget plan, Gina swung open my door. “Twice a day,” she snapped.
I stared at her. “What?”
“When you’re in Ireland. Call me twice a day.”
Before sunrise the next morning, my phone bleeped with a text from Fiona Moore’s phone.
IT’S Z. YOU READY?
I’M HERE. VIDEO CHAT OPEN. My stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him again, even after only twenty-four hours.
START WITH IM. I’LL EXPLAIN.
I went to my desk and activated the instant message window. A link appeared from Zachary, with the words GO HERE.
I clicked on the site, which automatically e-mailed me an ultra-strong password with approximately a million letters, numbers, and symbols. I had to type them in individually—the site’s security was so hard-core it wouldn’t let me copy and paste.
Zachary was waiting, his username sitting alone in the blue box to the right.
Me: HEY. WHERE ARE WE?
Him: ENCRYPTED PRIVATE CHAT ROOM. IT’LL APPEAR IN YOUR BROWSING HISTORY AS “PERIODIC TABLE FOR DUMMIES.”
Me: HA!
Him: WE’LL SWITCH TO VIDEO IN A MINUTE.
Me: HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE REALLY ZACHARY?
Him: HOW DO I KNOW YOU’RE REALLY AURA?
Me: WHAT SONG DID WE DANCE TO AT PROM?
Him: “WHEN YOU SAY NOTHING AT ALL” BY ALISON KRAUSS.
Me: HUH. I ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS TAYLOR SWIFT.
Him: YOU NEED TO STUDY YOUR COUNTRY MUSIC.
Me: NO THANKS. HEY, WE CAN USE VIDEO CHATS TO PLANT DISINFORMATION FOR THE DMP.
Him: I WAS THINKING THAT TOO.
Me: HOW ABOUT “I HAVE A HISTORY PAPER TO WRITE”?
Him: MINE’LL BE, “MUM NEEDS HELP WITH DAD.” READY?
I hesitated before asking the question that burned fiercest inside me, knowing I might not want the answer.
Me: SO IF THIS CHAT IS JUST BETWEEN US . . .
Him: *INTRIGUED*
I imagined him imagining me wanting to have a serious sexting session. But his body wasn’t the first thing on my mind—at least not that aspect of his body.
Me: CAN YOU TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED WHILE YOU WERE DETAINED?
No response, not even the little “so-and-so is typing” icon.
Me: ZACH, YOU THERE?
Him: YES.
Me: WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT SOME OTHER TIME.
Him: YES.
Me: THE IMPORTANT THING IS THAT YOU’RE OKAY NOW.
No response.
Me: YOU ARE OKAY NOW, RIGHT?
Him: CAN WE GO TO VIDEO? I WANT TO SEE YOU.
In the video chat program, a black square with a generic silhouette appeared while it retrieved his feed. I noticed the live shot of me down in the corner of the screen. Was my hair really that frizzy? Was it shadows or did I have major bags under my eyes?
I sprang out of my chair to turn off the extra lamp, hoping that would help. In my hurry, I knocked it over. “Crap!”
“Aura?”
I flew back to my desk to see Zachary’s face on the screen. “Hi. Wow. Hi.”
“Everything all right?”
“Now it is.”
He looked straight into the camera. Straight at me. “Hi,” he said, almost breathlessly.
“Hi.” I wanted to throw my arms around my computer. “It’s great to see you.”
“Aye. You look beautiful.”
“No, I don’t. I mean, thanks. But no, I don’t.” I gave what I hoped was a coy shrug. “Not this early in the morning, anyway.”
Gazing at him, I could almost forget that we might not be alone. If we were going to give disinformation, the DMP needed to hear us talking like we thought we had privacy.
“I miss you so much,” I told him.
“I miss you, too.” He rested his chin on his fist. “I dunno what else to say. I can’t stop
looking at you.”
Heat rose into my cheeks. “Can you show me your room?”
“No’ yet. Looks like a thirteen-year-old boy’s room.”
“It’s been that long since you’ve lived in Glasgow?”
“We’ve come back between trips abroad, but only for a few days at a time.” He sat back in his chair and looked to his right, at the gray glow of a window. “I didn’t know how much I missed it until I saw the city lights from the plane. I’d forgotten how beautiful it was.”
“What will you do first?”
“Ring up some of my old mates. Pick up where we left off, terrorizing the streets with useless patter.” He almost smiled.
“Hitting the pubs? Getting your Scottish on?”
“Maybe, now that most of us are old enough. But don’t worry, I won’t drink. I can’t, anyway, until I’m eighteen. Unless I buy a meal, and that gets expensive on a pub crawl. Besides, I know it’d bother you if I became a drinker, after what happened.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant Logan’s death or Zachary’s own hookup with Becca, neither of which would’ve occurred without booze. But I wondered if the DMP had left Zachary with memories he wanted to obliterate with a bottle.
“I bet you’re happy to see your parents again.”
“I am.” His eyes turned sad.
“How’s your father?”
Zachary’s mouth opened as he stared past the camera, but it was several moments before he spoke. “We’ve an electric tin opener now.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Dad always said they were a waste of money and electricity, and they clutter up the counter. No sense in it when there’s a perfectly good—” He mimed twisting a handheld can opener. “But his hands, they’re too weak now.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“When I walked into the kitchen and saw that machine . . .” Zachary swallowed hard. “I should be happy he didn’t die while I was—” He swept a hand back and forth over his head, finally tugging on the dark waves that flopped in front. “I need a haircut.”
He remained that way, eyes fixed on the table below the screen, rubbing the ends of his hair between his fingertips and thumb.
My throat ached at the sight of his anguish. I only knew the pain of losing a father I’d never had. I couldn’t imagine watching the slow decline of one I’d been close to.
“Should I let you go?”
Zachary looked up suddenly. “What? No! Don’t. Please.”
“I thought maybe you wanted to be with your parents.”
“I do, but—I don’t want you to let me go.” His left eye twitched. “Ach, that sounded pathetic.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.” He stared hard at the camera. “Aura, don’t pity me. I can’t take that. This summer wasn’t easy, but it’s over, and I’m fine.” He stressed the last word so hard, it cracked. “Except for missing you, and that’s a pain I want to cure in only one way.”
My pulse pounded at the thought of being with him again, but we couldn’t discuss details when the DMP could be listening. “Do you know what made them decide to let you go?”
“Not sure. I was told the Foreign Office leaned on the State Department, who leaned on the DMP, but why they changed their mind, I dunno.”
That was exactly what I’d expected to hear Zachary say on video.
I checked my watch. “Would you believe I have a history paper due on the second day of school? I need to go proofread it before I hand it in.”
He nodded understanding. We said our good-byes, then joined each other in the encrypted chat room.
Me: I KNOW WHY THEY LET YOU GO. IT WAS THE STATE DEPT AND WHATEVER, BUT ALSO MI-X.
Him: I FIGURED. BUT WHAT TOOK THEM SO LONG?
Me: THEY NEEDED LEVERAGE AGAINST THE DMP.
Him: LIKE WHAT?
Me: LIKE THE FACT THAT THE COMPANY THAT MAKES BLACKBOX HIRED PRIVATE SPIES TO BOMB FLIGHT 346.
Him: WHAT?!!! HOW DO THEY KNOW THIS?
My fingers paused over the keyboard.
Me: BECAUSE I TOLD THEM.
Zachary didn’t respond for several moments, then the chat window showed that he was typing, then stopping, then typing, then stopping again. Finally he simply said, SORRY?
Me: I DID RESEARCH. AND I GOT INFO FROM NICOLA.
Him: NICOLA FROM DMP? YOU WERE SPYING?
Me: NOT SPYING. INVESTIGATING.
Him: YOU COULD GO TO JAIL!
Me: I DID THIS FOR YOU.
After a long, excruciating wait, while my heart seemed to stop, he typed: I’M NOT WORTH THAT.
I felt like crying, but tried to hold it together. CAN I SEE YOU?
Him: I HAVE TO GO NOW.
And he was gone. I let the tears pour forth. Maybe I shouldn’t have told Zachary what I’d done, but it would’ve felt like lying. I’d always been honest with him, even when it hurt.
My vision blurry, I started packing my book bag. Normally the smell of new school supplies filled me with anticipation. Now I felt nothing but dread.
My phone buzzed with a text message from Zachary.
AURA, I’M SORRY. I LOVE YOU.
I LOVE YOU TOO. ARE YOU MAD?
NOT AT YOU. NEVER AT YOU.
IF YOU NEED TO TALK . . .
I CAN’T. NOT YET.
WHEN YOU’RE READY.
His reply took so long, I double-checked that my phone was receiving a signal. Finally . . .
I WILL.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shouldn’t we feel different?” Megan asked as we worked our way through our first lab experiment in AP Chemistry.
“Now that we’re seniors?”
“What did you want, a red carpet when we walked into school yesterday morning? Trumpets? Confetti?”
“Something like that. We worked and suffered all these years.” She carefully measured the liquid in the test tube. “They should honor us.”
“I think the honor comes in June. A little thing called graduation?”
“We don’t need a reward at graduation. Leaving this place is reward enough.” She glanced up at Mrs. Oswald, who was hovering around our side of the room, checking on students’ progress. When she drifted away, Megan added, “Did you see the new exchange student over there?”
I adjusted my goggles and peered across the room at Simon, pretending I was hearing about him for the first time. “Cute. Where’s he from?”
“England. His mom’s a diplomat or something.”
It felt like Simon was the only person in school not watching me. I heard the whispers in the hallway as I passed, the conversations that mysteriously stopped when I approached. Two-and-a-half months after Logan’s concert, people were still speculating that I’d somehow brought him back to life.
In my junior year, I’d been the girl with the dead druggie boyfriend, someone to pity. In my senior year, I was destined to be a freak. Someone to fear.
It bothered me, though it shouldn’t have. I had way more important concerns, like bringing down the DMP.
Megan continued to hog the hands-on portions of the experiment—she planned to learn every aspect of the funeral home business. Bored, I snuck another glance at yesterday’s text message from Nicola:
GLAD TO HEAR ZACHARY’S FREE! :) THIS IS THE LAST YOU’LL HEAR FROM ME, FOR YOUR SAKE. I HAVE SOME STUFF I NEED TO DO ON MY OWN.
What did she mean by “stuff”? If she had more dirt on the DMP, I wanted to know. But she hadn’t replied to my texts or phone calls.
I brought up the most recent message sent from Zachary late this morning. Since no signals would reach inside our school’s BlackBoxed walls, I hadn’t received it until Megan, Jenna, Christopher, and I had gone outside to the senior courtyard for lunch.
Zachary: CAN’T CHAT TONIGHT. GOING OUT OF TOWN FOR A GOOD CAUSE. WISH ME LUCK.
At least he sounded like he was in a better mood. But where was he going? Who was he seeing? Was he pulling away from me already?
“Siobhan calle
d me last night,” Megan said, interrupting my gloom. “She said College Park is crazy fun.”
“So she’s not missing Connor?”
“You know her.” Megan made air quotes. “That ‘whole long-distance thing’ never works.”
“She better be wrong.”
“I’m sure you and Zach will be fine. You’re way different.”
Right. Because before he left, we’d been boyfriend-girlfriend all of three days. If Siobhan and Connor—who’d been together for more than a year—couldn’t make it, how could we?
And after what Zachary had been through this summer—which he wouldn’t even tell me about—he might decide it’d be easier to forget the entire continent. He could start up with a girl from his hometown, someone who never had to ask him to repeat himself or explain a phrase or a joke. Someone who could help him forget.
“Ready?” Megan held up the beaker. “If we did it right, it’ll be so cool.” She poured the fluid into the test tube. The mixture bubbled, steamed, then changed from white to black.
“Whoa.” I jotted our observations in our lab notebook, then glanced around the room to confirm that others’ experiments showed the same results.
I began to write the explanation for the reaction, then stopped and stared at the test tube. The two chemicals on their own had certain original properties. But when they mingled, they took on a new life with new qualities. New powers.
In my own notebook, I doodled in the margin, using chemical equation notation:
Me + Zachary → weirdness + happiness
As much as I’d loved Logan, and as much as I cared for Dylan, neither of them had ever changed who I was, turned me into a new person like Zachary had. And as much as it scared me, these changes seemed like a sign that we shouldn’t walk away. We were each other’s way forward in life.
Zachary and I had done many so-called impossible things together. But only one thing was truly impossible: leaving each other for good.
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