“Oh, don’t look so scared; it’s a good thing. You’re going to be a spy, after all, so being able to act is one of the most valuable skills you could have. And you clearly are a natural liar. But I’m not interested in an actor who needs to memorize lines; you need to be able to improvise. So answer these questions with the first thought that enters your mind. If you pause, you’ll fail. Now, why do you think your Chosen should pick you over your rival?”
“I don’t. I just hope she does.”
In his eyes, I see him ticking the boxes.
Modest? Check.
Humble? Check.
“Elaborate on that,” he says.
“I want her to pick whoever will make her the happiest. And if she’s a better fit with him, I’ll gladly accept my fate.”
A total pushover? Check plus.
I imagine myself standing naked in a massive steel room: the incinerator. Feeling the cold dry air on my skin, the metal beneath my feet. The split second of agony before the roaring orange flames turn me into ash. Stop thinking about that. Focus!
“There must be some good things about you,” he says. “Tell me about them.”
“I’m a good listener. And I can be funny sometimes, I guess.”
“If you caught your Chosen kissing your rival, what would you do?”
I lower my eyes and bring on the tears. When I feel them behind my eyelids I look up at him, my entire body radiating hurt. I stare at him for a moment, drop my mouth open a fraction, then turn my head away.
“I’d look at her like that. Then I’d walk away. Next time I saw her she’d probably apologize if I were still in the running, so I’d tell her she doesn’t ever have to explain herself to me, and that I only responded in that manner because I love her so damn much. I’d tell her I’m glad it hurts because it proves how much I care.”
“Would you fight for her?”
“If I had to, yes.”
“When will you first try to kiss her?”
“I won’t. I’ll wait until she kisses me. But I’ll kiss her on the cheek after our first date.”
“What would you do if she texted you in the middle of the night and said she was lonely?”
“I’d drop everything and run to her as fast as possible. I’ll be there for her whenever she needs me. No matter what.”
“Now, I have one last question, and in many ways, it’s the most important one, so think for a second before answering. If you get it wrong, you’ll be dismissed.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my legs. This is it. One last question.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Do you think you will fall in love with her?”
I smile, because I know the answer, and that means I’m finally getting out of the LIC. There’s no way I can get it wrong, because the answer to this question has been drilled into me every single day I’ve been here.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “She’s the hero of this story, so how I feel is irrelevant.”
He leans back on his chair and grins.
“Correct.”
CHAPTER
TWO
Craike left after that, leaving me alone in the room to stew. He never told me explicitly that I made it, so I have no idea if I passed or if I have to go back to my cell to wait until another girl is ready. On one hand, he seemed pleased with my answers, but he also saw right through some of my lies. Does he know how fake I am? He definitely won’t send me out if he knows. My interview replays in my mind, with each repeat narrowing in on my more cringeworthy lines. I had one shot and I screwed it up.
With a whoosh, the door slides open and a tall girl with straight blond hair enters. She’s dressed in an oversized blue flannel shirt, torn black jeans, and white sneakers. In her hands is a white iPhone, which must be showing something fascinating as she’s staring at it intently. Under one arm is a pile of neatly folded clothes. Men’s clothes.
She places the pile on the table. “Get dressed.”
“Thanks.” I stand and grab the shirt. It’s a white dress shirt and the material is soft and silky. I put it on. It fits tight against my body, hugging my shoulders and tapering in at my waist.
“It’s not just for you. It’s hard to work when I’m distracted by …” She gestures toward me with one hand as her voice trails off. I’m not sure if she’s talking about my abs or my crotch.
“Thank you?” I say as I button up the second button. “It’s nice to know I can be a distraction.” I pull the pants, gray slacks, up over my hips and fasten the silver clasp. Then I sit down. “Maybe it means I have a shot after all.”
She finally looks up from her phone. “Here’s hoping. Now that’s done, I’d like to do this.”
She raises her hand, offering me a high five.
I slap her hand, and she beams.
“Congrats, man!” she says. “You made it through! That’s a big deal. Oh, and I should introduce myself. I’m Kaylee, your coach.”
“My what?”
“Your coach. I’m here to give you love advice, if you need it, that is—and trust me, you probably do. I’m your own personal relationship counselor. And, luckily for you, I’m the best at what I do.”
“And that is?”
“Making important young women fall in love with fakes like you. I’ll be with you the entire time, telling you what to say, giving instructions on how to act, that sort of thing. When they transform you, a device like this”—she taps on the table, which creates a hologram of a silver ball about the size of a pea—“will be injected behind your ear. It lets us keep track of you, plus, it’ll allow us to communicate. And don’t worry, this isn’t the Suicide Squad, it’s not a bomb to stop you if you go AWOL. We have Stalkers for that. This little beauty is mainly so I can make sure you don’t say the wrong thing. During a lot of the important conversations you’ll have with your Chosen, I tell you what to say. On those days, you’re just my pretty puppet. Sound good?”
I cross my arms over my chest. Already the silky material feels cold.
“It sounds perfect.”
“Great! And it’s not like I’m in your head all the time, you will get to have some time alone with her. I’m only there for the big moments—first dates, first kisses, that sort of thing. The quiet moments are yours. Also, I’m the person you can talk to if you want a set piece. You know, a dangerous event or something that dramatically flings her into your arms. I’ve seen a Chosen totally change her mind about a guy because of a well-timed set piece. Now, don’t you want to see who you’ve been assigned to?”
A.K.A. the girl who decides if I live or die.
“I sure do!”
“Great! Isn’t this exciting? You’re about to see the girl you could spend the rest of your life with.”
Well, in that case, I really hope she’s beautiful. Why is she showing me this? It’s not like it changes anything.
She swipes her hand to the right, and the tiny silver device zooms away and is replaced by a blue-tinted hologram of a girl. She’s looking up at something in the distance. Her face is nondescript, pretty in a way that doesn’t stand out, aside from the cute little freckles on her nose. Her brown hair is tied back into a ponytail.
She’s not a supermodel or anything, and for that I’m grateful. She looks like a nice, normal girl.
A girl who would choose a Nice boy.
“Her name is Juliet. She’s been marked as important ever since she was five years old, when she aced her Mensa test. We’ve monitored her ever since. When she was seven, she started inventing, producing things that people with graduate degrees would struggle with. Her brain, it … it operates in a way that’s so far ahead of everyone else. The world’s top universities have been trying for years to get her to enroll with them, but she’s rejected them all because she wants to have a normal high school experience. She’s one of a tiny handful of people in the entire world who we believe have a higher than ninety-seven percent chance of reaching the top of their chosen field. Her inventions will shap
e the lives of every single person on earth one day. Or, at least, that’s what the head honchos here think.”
I tilt my head to the side and look at the hologram of Juliet again. “Why are you sending us in now?”
“She’s only just started being interested in boys, as proved by a series of, well, blunt Google searches. We expect her to make her choice before she leaves for college.”
I keep eyeing the shimmering hologram of Juliet. Of the person I must make fall in love with me.
“If you know so much about her, why are you assigning her two guys?” I ask. “Wouldn’t it be easier to create the perfect guy for her? Like a scientist or something?”
Kaylee’s smile falters. “I want you to promise me something, okay? Don’t talk like that in front of Mr. Craike. He straight up doesn’t like people who ask questions, and trust me, if he doesn’t like you you’re screwed. But it’s a legitimate question, so I’ll answer it. Sending in two guys is much more effective than sending a guy on his own. One of the reasons is that it forces her to make her choice sooner; being in demand has that consequence. The second reason is that they tried sending in Solos and, well, it didn’t work that well. They made one perfect guy for each girl, like a science whiz for Juliet, and you know what happened?”
“No idea.”
“The Chosen ignored the Love Interest and fell for some random person in her class. This baffled the scientists, but it made perfect sense to me. I never fall for anyone predictable; it surprises me every single time. Seriously, I fall for the worst guys. So having two guys in the running as opposed to one makes sense because it increases our odds. Now, do you have any more questions? After the surgery our conversations will be monitored, so I won’t be able to be as honest with you as I can be right now.”
I pause for a second, thinking it over. This isn’t an opportunity I can afford to waste.
“Do you think she’ll pick me?”
Kaylee shrugs. “It’s possible. For you to win this you need to present yourself as a man she can depend on. Her life is going to get pretty wild, and she knows it. Someone nice, secure, and stable will be a good thing for her. She’s probably looking for someone who she can come home to after a big day who’ll remind her of simpler times. Someone who’ll cook her dinner and care for her children. But there’s a problem.”
My heart thunders.
“Juliet is, let’s put it simply, not your typical Chosen. She likes to shake things up. It’s part of the reason my bosses are so interested in her. Any sane person in her position would pick a Nice, but Juliet is daring. The innovative mind that makes her worth monitoring is what makes her so unpredictable. She might not even care about things that appeal to most people, or the pressures of society. Don’t let her appearance or her dreams fool you—making Juliet choose you is going to be tough.”
“That depends on my rival. Do you know who he is?”
She nods.
“You’ll meet him pretty soon. He’s good, man. Like, real good. When I met him he turned on the charm so hard I nearly fell apart on the spot. He’s much more charming than you. You should be careful. He’s a killer, that one.”
“Maybe I’m saving the charm for the real deal.”
She rolls her eyes. “Let’s hope so. Well, I’m out of time, so I have to go. This will be the last time I see you while you look like this! And don’t worry too much about the procedure. You’re lucky—I think they’re only going to make superficial changes, so it shouldn’t hurt that much.” She taps the spot behind her ear. “Talk soon!”
She skips out of the room, leaving me, once again, alone. I sit for a few minutes, my fingers drumming on the table, my legs bouncing up and down, my posture reverting to its natural hunch.
Whoosh.
I look up. Standing in the doorway is a boy. He’s a Bad, that’s obvious, but he’s unlike any Bad that I’ve ever seen. He’s slim, maybe even skinnier than me, but his biceps fill the black leather jacket he’s wearing. The collar of his gray T-shirt dips low, showing a small stretch of smooth skin. Unlike most Bads, who seem to favor military-style buzz cuts, his hair is long and stylishly messy. It screams, I’m the lead guitarist in a punk band you’re not cool enough to know about. It’s jet black, though. Of course it is.
A grid of red light appears in the middle of the room, separating us. The air hums with static.
He steps forward and raises his hand so his fingertips hover an inch away from the light. “It must be to stop me from killing you.”
“Or me from killing you.”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you? You’re my rival, which means you’re a Nice guy, and Nice guys don’t kill people. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
THIS BOY WILL KILL YOU.
The door whooshes closed behind him.
He scratches the back of his neck with one hand. “I guess they wanted us to meet before it all starts.”
“I guess so.”
“And, well, before they change us. Apparently all this”—he waves a hand in front of his face—“is about to get seriously shifted.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”
“You could say you’re sorry? You know, offer me some of that classic Nice guy sympathy?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s not really my style.”
He leans back, inspecting me. “For a Nice, you’re not very nice, are you?”
I smile. “Nope!”
He laughs. “I’m not that Bad either. But hey, what can you do? Maybe we could ask them to swap our dispositions?”
“Um, I’m going to go ahead and respectfully pass. The only reason you’d want to switch this late in the game is because you know she’s going to pick the Nice.”
His face falls, and my smile falters, then fades. All I can think about now is him standing alone in the middle of the incinerator.
I breathe in deep, then exhale. I can’t think of him like that. I’ve always known whoever I went up against must die, so I can’t start feeling bad about it now. Not when the guilt could distract me from my goal. “Listen, man, I want to say I’m sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I don’t want you to die.”
That’s a lie.
He’s staring at me with one eyebrow slightly raised, but the corner of his mouth keeps twitching up, so very close to a smile. “Maybe you are Nice after all. Maybe I should be worried.”
He grabs the chair and swings it around so the high back faces me. The legs screech against the concrete. Then he sits down, with his chest pressed against the chair’s backrest and his hands propping up his chin, which is covered in a few days’ worth of black scruff. A large patch on his right cheek is totally hairless.
He looks me in the eye. His eyes are a rich, earthy brown, so startlingly normal that they’ll probably be changed. Brown is too boring for a Bad. I hope I’m wrong, because he’s incredibly handsome already. Any improvements would just increase the chances of her falling for him at first sight.
“I realized something,” he says. “This is the last moment we have to be ourselves. As soon as they call us, we’ll stop being us and we’ll start being Love Interests, with our whole identities changed to fit what she wants. So I want to take this moment, the last moment of being me, and avoid all that competitive bullshit and spend a second saying what I truly think. And seeing as you’re here, I want to have, like, an actual conversation with you. My—no, our—last one. So what do you say? Would you like to talk, properly talk, with me?”
I’m a bit weirded out by his friendliness, but I definitely don’t want to hurt his feelings, so I just nod.
“Great. So, what makes you tick? Like, seriously. Not the answer you’ll give Juliet. What do you really feel? About yourself, about this place? About anything.”
He can use this against you.
“You first.”
He nods. “Fine. If I had a choice of anything to do with the rest of my life, I’d want to be a paramedic. I like the idea of the adrenaline,
but also that I’d be able to help people. I’m really bummed that it’s too Nice a profession for a Bad. I like comic book movies but I can’t be bothered to read the books themselves. I spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about my parents. Actually, the amount of time I spend thinking about them isn’t embarrassing, but what I think is. I’ve convinced myself that I was stolen from them and that they’re out there right now, desperately hunting for me. I know it’s optimistic bullshit, but no matter how hard I try I can’t shake that image of them. Lastly, the thing that scares me the most about this whole thing is that for me to survive, you have to be destroyed. Like, best-case scenario for you if you lose is mind-wiping, and even that’s unlikely—so I’d probably be sending you to your death. The fact that I want you to go through that so I don’t have to terrifies me, man. So … what about you?”
The rational side of me is telling me to keep my mouth shut, to use the information he gave me to derail his efforts to make Juliet fall for him. It’s also possible everything he said was a lie, a way to get a head start before the game has truly begun. I shouldn’t trust him. Yet this other, louder part of me is looking at the guy in front of me and seeing something other than competition. Someone who knows how I feel. Someone who’s been through everything I’ve been through. Someone I don’t have to lie to because we both know what we are.
I look down at the table. “Most people think I’m a kind person, a genuine Nice, but I know I’m not.”
“Why is that?”
“I … I know the cost of my survival and I still really want to live. So I guess all you need to know about me is that I’m capable of hurting you to ensure I win. I’m dangerous, I know I am.” I catch his stare and hold it. “You should be afraid of me.”
“If you’re not a nice person, why are you a Nice?”
“They think I’m Nice, and I’m not in a position to correct them. Do you think they’d let you switch if you wanted to become a Nice? They have plans and expectations for all of us, and I want to survive, so I’ve learned to act like I am the boy they want me to be. So far it’s worked out pretty well.”
The Love Interest Page 2