by Dan Levinson
Gilbert brought out a folding chair for Merry to sit in, and a minute later, one of the assistant drill instructors handed Merry a ball. Merry began to practice on his own, flipping the sphere into the air and causing it to hover. He didn’t succeed every time, or even most times. When the ball fell to the ground, Gilbert had to retrieve it. One time, Finn saw Merry bend over to grab the ball himself, then immediately rear back in pain.
Despite Finn’s shame, he found that he pitied the other boy. It was a strange feeling. Finn had never pitied anyone because he had been too busy pitying himself.
The exercises went on until dinner. Finn switched partners three times. None were vengeful like Nathan, but two were obviously afraid of Finn. They flinched every time he threw the ball. In the mess hall, Finn again served the other soldiers. He was also required to bring another plate to the infirmary.
This time he left it with Lieutenant Gilbert.
By the time he’d dropped Merry’s dinner off, the night air had grown cool and crisp. Finn hugged himself as he walked back to the mess hall. Despite the chill, it was wonderful to feel a stir in the air again, a simple breeze. He had missed that during his time underground. He’d also missed the stars, shining down brightly.
In his childhood, he had often holed up in his room, reading novels and comic books, playing games on his computer while his brothers tossed a football in the yard or rode their bikes through the neighborhood. Finn had never thought he would feel so grateful to be outside. Above, Tiger’s Eye twinkled far in the distance. The night of his arrival seemed like yesterday. It was only in this moment he saw the contrast, how much he had changed in so short a time.
It was nothing short of miraculous.
“Whatcha looking at?”
Finn shifted his gaze from the stars and saw Nathan approaching, flanked by two other boys.
The old Finn would have been frightened, intimidated, but the new Finn was neither, though Nathan towered a good six inches over him.
What reason did the new Finn have to be afraid? Nathan and the others couldn’t harm him. They had only words. Words were nothing compared to the pain of Lily’s kicks, the anguish of reliving his past with Joachim, or the guilt over what he’d done to Merry.
There was nothing to fear from Nathan.
“I was looking at the stars,” Finn said.
“You should watch where you’re going,” Nathan said. “You’re in our way.”
Calmly, Finn met Nathan’s eyes and stepped aside for them to pass. Nathan appeared perturbed by this gesture; he held Finn’s gaze, frowning. “Why you staring at me like that, man?” he asked. “Got a problem?”
“No,” Finn said.
He could see Nathan for what he was: a boy concealing his self-doubt behind an imposing height and confident veneer. Finn wondered how he had ever let such bullies get the best of him. Things were different then, he reminded himself. He had possessed no powers in those days, no means to protect himself. Now he was buoyed by the courage only strength could bring. He wouldn’t allow himself to regret the way he had been. Every experience was valuable. Without his past, he wouldn’t be who he was today.
Joachim had taught him that.
Finn began to walk away, then felt a hand on his shoulder.
“How did it feel when you fucked up Merry?” Nathan asked. “Did you like it?”
Finn turned back to Nathan. “I didn’t like it,” Finn said. “It was the worst moment of my life.” With that he strode away.
As he continued toward the mess hall, he realized someone was standing nearby, watching him. Sonja. She joined him.
“Were they bothering you?” she asked.
“No,” Finn said.
She looked at him curiously.
“You’re . . . different,” she said. She looked away from him, awkwardly, her face turning slightly red. She looked almost bashful.
Finn shrugged. “I guess I am,” he said.
“I, um . . .” For a moment, she bit her bottom lip. “I like it.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks,” he said.
She laughed nervously and nudged him with her elbow.
He nudged her back.
She accompanied him back to the mess hall, and he found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. Before, he’d been too afraid to really look at her, to see her, but now he realized it was like looking at a reflection of himself. Or rather, his old self. Had her calm façade and outer coldness all been a way to hide her own insecurities? Was that what had attracted him to her in the first place—that she was a kindred spirit?
She waited while he doled out a dinner of corn, undercooked broccoli, and soggy chicken nuggets to the other recruits. When he was finished, they served themselves, and sat together. “I’m glad you came back,” she said as they ate.
“Me too,” he said. “Were things okay?”
She shrugged.
“Did anyone else bother you?” he asked.
She shrugged again. “I’m used to it.”
He and Sonja weren’t exactly the same, he suddenly understood. While he had the sense that she, too, had endured the years of barbs and jeers, she seemed to bear it with a kind of stoicism that he’d never possessed. She was . . . strong. Incredible, really.
His heart rate climbing, he reached out a hand and brushed her fingers.
She met his eyes, and laid her hand atop his.
God, she was so beautiful. Her red hair, her flawless, unfreckled skin. Her small-boned arms; her thin, elegant fingers. Her long, slim, graceful neck. And her face, so delicate; her nose small and straight; her lips full, yet somehow dainty; her almond eyes, dark and deep. Her ears were little, even for a girl; Finn found them adorable.
For all his newfound confidence, Sonja still made Finn nervous, but . . . it was a good kind of nervous, a pleasant kind. Even an exciting kind. He really liked her, and he thought that, maybe, she really liked him, too. She shook her head in amazement. “You really are different,” she said. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t need,” Finn said.
Sonja nodded and said nothing more, though she kept her hand on his. Whatever that meant, Finn thought it was good.
They left the mess hall several minutes later and walked toward the barracks. Finn found himself longing for another of the kisses she’d given him when he was in the holding cell. Here, however, there was no privacy, and he wasn’t completely sure if Sonja would accept his advances.
At the door to Finn’s barrack hall, they paused. Sonja’s eyes met his again, then went to the ground.
“Um . . .” Finn said. His pulse climbed. He felt like he should make a move, or something.
Sonja glanced around. Then, before Finn could react, she gave him a quick peck on the lips.
“I . . .” he started to say, but she was already running off toward her own barracks. He stood there, unable to look away from her retreating form. He grinned, elation filling him.
She reached the door to her own barracks, looked at him, and grinned too.
Then she was gone.
Finn went inside, to his bed. Fresh sheets, a pillow, and a blanket lay stacked atop it. Finn made the bed, ignoring looks—some angry, some fearful—from the other soldiers. He was too thrilled to care. All he could think about was Sonja.
Briefly, he observed some of the others, chatting and lounging about. A few played cards with a deck that must have been smuggled in. He saw one person lying in bed, writing in a notebook. Finn had never kept a journal, but now he wished he’d brought something to record his thoughts. He had so many wonderful things running through his mind right now, and he would’ve loved to write them down, save them for another day.
Instead, he lay on his bed and closed his eyes, listening to the soft conversation all around. He sought the quietude Joachim had taught him to find.
Rather than serenity, he found sleep.
A touch on Finn’s arm awoke him. It was dark, and the snores and soft breathing of sl
umbering recruits echoed on every side. With his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could just make out a figure standing by his bed.
“Sonja?” he whispered. “What are you—?”
She put a hand over his mouth, silencing him, then turned and walked off through the shadows.
As quietly as he could, Finn slipped out of bed. He had fallen asleep in his clothes and had to walk lightly to keep his boots from making noise against the floor. He followed Sonja’s silhouette toward the exit.
What was she doing here? Could this be a dream?
He pinched his arm. As far as he could tell, he was wide awake.
When they reached the door to the barracks, Finn felt psionic energy spring up in Sonja. Suddenly she vanished. He could still feel her, however; her power was a beacon to him.
“Come on,” he heard her say. He felt a tug on his sleeve. “Hurry.”
Finn seized his own power and imagined it forming up around him, refracting light so he was invisible to the naked eye. He looked down at his hands, but could still see them. “Did it work?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. Her fingers grasped at his arm. She pulled him outside.
The desert’s cold night air came as a shock, like an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt. Finn shivered.
“Hurry,” Sonja repeated.
She led Finn away from the barracks just as they heard the sound of boots on asphalt. “Did you feel something?” a voice asked. It was the night guard, set in two-hour shifts to make sure no one snuck out.
“I don’t know, man,” said a second voice. “I’m not good at that stuff.”
Sonja took Finn around the cluster of buildings and toward a section along the compound’s rear fence—ten feet of double-thick chain link topped by barbed wire. Finn felt another surge of energy, heard a grunt of effort, and then saw Sonja come into view as she landed outside the outpost, a pack over her shoulder. Finn took a breath. He could do this. He just needed not to look at that sharp metal, gleaming in the moonlight. He could do this.
Finn fed power into his legs and leaped. The ground sped away as he went up and over the fence. Then, just as suddenly, the sand was looming up to greet him. It was too late to land on his feet, so instead he formed a barrier of energy around himself, as strong as he could make it, and hoped for the best.
He hit the ground with a jolt that rattled his teeth and expelled the breath from his lungs, but it was only a kinetic shock; he felt no pain. Sonja rushed to him, looking at him with those luminous eyes. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” she asked. She grabbed onto his arm and helped him up.
“I’m fine,” he said. He brushed away the sand on his shirt and pants, mildly embarrassed.
“Let’s go,” Sonja said. She grabbed his hand, tugging him along.
“Where?” Finn asked.
“Anywhere,” she said.
They walked for several minutes, over dunes, always keeping the outpost at their backs so they would know how to return. The sky was boundless; it stretched overhead with innumerable pinpricks of twinkling lights like sparks, which played across that endless expanse of darkest blue. The sand shifted beneath their feet; together they fought to keep their balance, and failed—they tumbled into the sand, their limbs tangled, Sonja giggling the whole time.
To Finn, the sound of her laughter was like music.
Sonja stopped at the crest of a dune. The whole desert spread out before them, the swells of sand a rippling mosaic. They could even make out the outpost, tucked in a recess off in the distance. Sonja unzipped her pack and set out a couple of blankets, one to lie on and another to keep themselves warm. They settled down under the covers and looked up at the stars.
“We’ll be in so much trouble if we get caught,” Finn said.
“That’s half the fun,” Sonja replied.
“You’re a troublemaker,” Finn said.
“Only when I want to be,” she said.
Finn wasn’t sure in this light, but it looked like she was blushing again.
Before he could say a word, Sonja reached into the pack again and withdrew a bottle of brown liquor. She raised an eyebrow at him, then unscrewed the cap and took a drink. After, she offered him the bottle.
“Where’d you get that?” Finn asked.
“One of the girls in my barracks had it hidden away real good,” Sonja said. “I nabbed it from her trunk.”
She handed him the bottle.
Finn took a sniff, and recoiled.
He was apprehensive about alcohol. After his grandfather had passed away, Finn’s parents had stored the old man’s liquor collection in the basement. It hadn’t taken long for Garrett and Judd to get into it. One night, while their parents were out to dinner, Judd had made Finn drink whiskey. Finn had immediately run to the bathroom and thrown up. He’d been fourteen.
He looked at Sonja, who watched him with earnest eyes, and then sighed. Perhaps it was time to give it another try. He took a swig from the bottle.
It tasted horrible!
Finn sputtered, nearly spat, but somehow choked it down. A fire sprang up in his belly. In fact, his whole body began to feel warm, and his limbs tingled. Tentatively, he took another small sip. Sonja giggled and plucked the bottle from his grasp, then took another drink for herself.
A short time later they settled down under the blanket, Sonja with her head on Finn’s shoulder. It all felt so strange and new to him. He wasn’t sure what it was she saw in him.
He wanted to know.
“Why do you like me?” he asked her.
She looked at him as if it should have been obvious. She said, “You stood up for me.”
“That’s it?” Finn asked.
She pulled away from him, so she could gaze directly at him. “Isn’t that good enough?”
“No, I . . .”
“Let’s see,” she said. “You’re kind. You’re brave. You’re . . . pretty cute.” She started laughing, somewhat anxiously. “How’s that?” She bit her bottom lip again.
Finn searched for words. God, he had to say the right thing. “It’s good, it’s just . . . you’re so beautiful, and I’m just . . . me.”
She stared at him a moment, and then . . .
She kissed him—a deep, passionate kiss. She rolled up on top of him and they stayed there for a long, blissful moment. When she pulled away, her coppery hair hung down in a canopy and tickled his face. “You make me feel safe,” she said. “No guy . . . No one has
ever . . . ever . . .” Her voice hitched with emotion.
Something stirred inside Finn. He felt overcome by the urge to protect her, to live up to what she felt. He pushed himself up, drawing her close. He opened his mouth to say something and . . .
She kissed him again, her tongue soft against his. She shifted on top of him, and he began to grow hard. Her fingers pulled at his belt buckle.
“Wait,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“I just . . . don’t know if . . .”
“You don’t want to?” she asked.
“No, I do, it’s just that . . .” He hoped she couldn’t see him turning red. “I’ve . . . never . . .”
“You’re a virgin?” she asked him.
He nodded. Would it end now? He was mortified. He hadn’t intended to tell her, but it had just come out.
“I think that’s sweet,” she said. She smiled, her hands cupping his face, and kissed him again.
“Have . . . have you . . . ?”
She stopped, and looked away from him for a moment, her eyes growing distant. “One time,” she said. “But . . . it wasn’t . . .” Once more she nibbled at her lip; it looked like she was thinking of what to say. “It wasn’t somebody I liked, really. It just . . .” She paused again, and Finn was afraid she was going to cry. But then she gave a little shrug, like she was shaking it off. “Things don’t . . . they don’t always happen . . . like we want them to. But I knew I wanted my next time to be special.”
“I think you’re speci
al,” Finn said.
“I think you’re special, too,” she said.
They kissed again. It continued like that for a time—a dance of lips, with their arms twined around each another. Through it she undressed him, and herself. His heart was pounding, pounding, pounding; he was eager; agitated; he had no idea what to do with his hands. Eventually, Sonja placed them on her hips.
“Wait,” he said again. “Do you have . . . you know?”
She reached into the pack and removed a box of condoms.
He couldn’t help but laugh. A girl wanted him, Stockton Finn! It was . . . incredible!
She laughed, too.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and gently pulled her back to him. She relaxed against him. He eased down her underwear. She helped him get the condom on.
When he entered her, he lost himself immediately.
After that, he was ready to bury himself in the sand, but Sonja didn’t care. She was patient with him. She soothed him, kissing his chest, his neck, making his body tingle. When he was ready again, she re-dressed him.
The second time, he was better. He let her lead. She sat in his lap, undulating, her breath going quickly in and out. He fell into her rhythm.
At first she guided his hands as he traced the lines of her body. He could barely concentrate on anything but the movement of her against him, and the sensation of how she felt—the warmth, the wetness, the pleasure he’d been so unprepared for. Eventually he grew bold enough to let his fingers wander; he caressed the softness of her breasts, felt the curve of her back and buttocks. He felt her teeth on his ear and was surprised at the intense flare of pleasure it evoked.
This time, when he climaxed, it was as if for the first time in his life. He felt her stiffen with him, the breath catching in her throat.
Afterward, they lay together a long while, limbs entangled. He felt a man now, yet also somehow a child, more vulnerable than before. She watched him, seemingly fascinated by the contours of his face and the rising and falling of his chest.
“We should go back,” he said at last.
She nodded.
They dressed, then folded the blankets and returned them to the backpack. Finn carried it this time, slung over his right shoulder. His left hand enfolded hers. They skidded down the dune, heading toward the outpost.