He nods. “Yes, the LIC has existed for hundreds of years, and we have Compounds in eleven countries. Almost everyone you think of as important or influential had, or has, a Love Interest beside them, hiding in plain sight.”
He touches the screen. The hologram appears again. He swipes, and a black-and-white photograph appears. It’s of an old president whose name I can’t remember. He’s standing on the steps of the White House, waving at a group of people. Beside him is his wife. She’s waving at the crowd with one hand. I’m sure most people wouldn’t notice anything abnormal about her, but now that I know what she is, there’s something about her frozen smile that’s horrific. She isn’t there to support the man she loves on a monumental day in his life.
She’s a spy.
The photo vanishes and is replaced by a wall of images. Each one is similar to the one of the president; someone important, from athletes to movie stars, is standing in the limelight. But they aren’t the ones I focus on. I’m focusing on their partners, the monsters hidden in plain sight.
“I hope,” says Craike, “the knowledge that you are now a member of the world’s most covert and most powerful spy organization inspires you to make the right decisions when you enter the real world. You’re going to do good work out there, Caden, I can tell. I don’t mean just for us, but for the world: you’ll help us keep everyone safe from the tiny few who have real, terrifying power. If she picks you, that is.” He taps the screen once, and the hologram disappears. “Now, come on, it’s time to go.”
Leaving the Stalker in the room, we make our way into a long hallway lined with empty cells. We walk through a set of double doors to a small courtyard. The grass is plastic and neon green. There’s one palm tree and a small fountain filled with white-and-orange koi fish. Four huge decorative mirror shards, each easily double my height, have been stabbed into the grass.
In the shade of the tree, a bunch of rejected guys are standing, chatting. Their disappointment shows in the sag of their shoulders. We’re sort of friends—well, as close to friends as we can be given that one day we could become mortal enemies.
Still, their faces bring up some of the best memories I have: watching movies in the rec room with 105, lifting weights with 304, and goofing off in behavioral psych classes with 63.
I’ve lived with most of these guys since I was eleven, which is when I was moved from my foster home to the LIC. I might not be friends with all of them but they’re the closest thing to family I have. I spot 413 in the group. We aren’t friends but he came to the LIC the same week I did, so we’ll always have that binding us, even if I do find him kind of annoying.
In his defense, he did introduce me to Nicki Minaj, and he’ll always get points for that. Sure, he only showed me the “Anaconda” video because, well, Nicki and those dancers. But the song stuck in my head, and afterward I listened to it on repeat until I’d memorized each of the verses. Now she’s my favorite musician by a huge margin.
413 waves at me. Should I say goodbye to him? What do I say to someone I’m probably never going to see again? I can’t say what I want to say, which is: thanks for introducing me to Nicki, but I still think you’re a tool.
“If you’d like,” says Craike, “you can say goodbye to them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I walk away from Craike and approach 413. He offers his hand.
“You made it?” he asks.
I nod as I shake his hand. This is … odd. He’s usually such a bro, and as such, I didn’t think he was capable of just a handshake. Usually he likes elaborate greetings with knuckle bumping and back tapping. Now, though, shaking his hand, he seems softer, and I’m worried that I’ve judged him too harshly.
“Yep, I did,” I say. “Looks like I’m getting out of here.”
He must hate me for leaving while he’s still stuck here. He must think I’m rubbing his face in it.
He pulls me into a hug. “Go crush it out there, man. And who knows, maybe in a couple years we’ll both be out and I can have you over for dinner or something. You know, like normal people.”
“Yeah, definitely.”
I force the statistical improbability of that happening out of my mind, then return to Craike.
“They hate you,” he says.
I nod. “They’re just scared. They’re almost eighteen so they know they have limited time, because everyone knows the adult Compound is more selective than ours. No one wants to stay at the LIC forever.” He narrows his eyes, which makes me blush. “I mean, no one wants to grow old without being assigned.”
We both know this doesn’t happen. Either you’re chosen while you’re desirable or you vanish, either to be incinerated or, in rare cases, mind-wiped and repurposed into some other role, like a parent or older brother or something. Being repurposed is far from ideal, though, as they say it strips you of all personality, leaving you a shell of the person you used to be. We both know that winning is the only way to live a life somewhat worth living.
“The fact that I was chosen,” I continue, “means they have one less shot at being assigned while they’re still young adults. Some of them already have their transfer forms. It makes sense that they’re afraid.”
“Fear is useless. If they want to get out they need to work hard. It’s the only way through.”
Easy for you to say.
At the end of another long, mirrored hallway is an elevator. Craike presses a plastic card onto the wall to the left of it. A square panel illuminates, showing a photo of Craike above the words ACCESS GRANTED. The sound of machines whirring fills the air.
He turns to me. “Did you enjoy your time at the LIC, Caden? Sometimes I can’t wait to get away from a place, only to leave and discover I was happier than I thought.”
I look down the pristine reflective hallway. Will I miss this place? No freaking way. But he’s staring at me, so I smile and say: “Sure, I mean, I’m sad about leaving my friends, but I’m excited to finally live the life I was born to live. To become the real me, you know?”
The doors slide apart. We walk inside. He taps his card onto a screen beside the buttons, then presses the button marked 1. The elevator rises.
“Caden, the only person a liar can’t fool is a better liar. And boy, I can see right through you.”
I turn away, my cheeks reddening.
He keeps looking at me. “So let’s hope Juliet isn’t a very good liar.”
“Yes, let’s.”
The door opens, revealing a massive hangar. Sitting in the middle of the room is a gleaming white jet. Two workers in gray overalls are pulling at chains at the back of the room, slowly opening the door to reveal a long gravel runway.
And the sky.
It stretches on and on and on. It’s bloody endless.
“We can’t be disturbed as we transport Love Interests,” says Craike. “And a private jet is the most efficient manner of discreet transport.”
In front of the steps that lead to the door of the jet is Kaylee. She sees me and starts jumping up and down, waving ecstatically.
Hey, Caden!
Her voice rings through my mind, clear as day. Startled, I take a step back. She laughs, then taps the spot behind her ear.
Don’t freak out in front of Craike, all right? It’s bad form.
Can you hear me?
Of course I can. This is good, we need to practice talking telepathically. And no, I can’t always read your mind. Only little bursts. Now, I’m going to hug you.
She sprints toward me and grabs me in a hug. My arms go slack as she squeezes, but my obvious awkwardness only makes her grip me tighter. “It’s time. Come on, man, smile! You’re finally getting out of here. You’re going to a small country town in Virginia called Mapleton. It’s got all these little bookstores and coffee places and ugh, it’s so cute. You’ll love it there.”
Craike’s warning rings in my ears. You’ll always be ours.
“I’m sure I will!”
“You have to see the inside of
the plane. It’s decked out to the absolute max. I’m talking leather seats, wide-screen TVs, the newest gaming consoles, and, best of all, a full bar.” She flings her arm around my shoulders. “Maybe a drink or two will settle those nerves before you meet Juliet? God knows alcohol was probably invented to help hapless Romeos like you. So come on, let’s go!”
I climb up the steps, bouncing up and down, trying to make myself appear almost as giddily excited as Kaylee. I figure it’s what a Nice would do. At the very top, I turn and look back. Craike is staring at me with his arms tight across his chest. His eyes are cold and his mouth is set in a sneer. “Don’t forget what I said, Caden.”
Step out of line and you will die.
“I never will.”
Then I walk through the doorway into the plane.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Kaylee wasn’t kidding, the inside of the plane is stunning. The carpet is the color of cream, and there are only four seats: massive, soft leather things that recline fully. At the back of the plane is a small bar, and behind it is a glass shelf stocked with every type of alcohol imaginable. Alcohol wasn’t allowed at the LIC, but I’ve seen enough TV to know it’s supposed to be delicious. My mouth waters.
Two of the seats are occupied. A prim-and-proper-looking girl with her red hair pulled back in a tight bun sits in one. She catches me looking and her eyebrows furrow, making her square glasses slip down her pointy nose.
In the other is my rival.
But it’s not him anymore.
His eyes are now a shining, emerald green. His face has been restructured so now his jawline is stronger and his nose is slightly bigger and dead straight. His cheekbones are high points beneath his eyes and his teeth have been bleached so that they’re impossibly white. Even the little hairless patch on his cheek is gone, and now the bristle on his cheeks looks almost like a full-on beard. I thought he was handsome before, but now he’s in a whole new league. Like, before he was the lead guitarist of a punk band I’m not cool enough to know about, but now he’s the dreamy lead singer of a mainstream pop-punk band who is going to ride the line between cute and sexy all the way to the bank. It’s just … his eyes are so vibrant, and his hair is so perfectly messy. I can’t look away.
“Judy,” Kaylee says with a stern nod to the prim girl.
Judy moves her head lazily upward and blinks slowly. “Kaylee. It’s so nice to see you. How was the funeral of your last boy? I heard the flowers were beautiful.”
He and I keep looking at each other.
“I need a drink,” I say, and I head toward the bar. I pass him, and as soon as I do I sense movement; he’s slid out of his chair to follow me.
I grab the fanciest bottle of scotch I can find, a squarish bottle with a blue label, and start pouring it into a small square glass. The amber liquid sloshes against the bottom of the cup.
My rival is behind me. “So,” he says. His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. “I was given a name. They want me to go by Dylan, but you can call me Dyl, if you’d like. I prefer it. It feels more like my choice, not theirs, you know?”
I turn away from him and spin the lid back onto the bottle. My grip on it tightens, forming a tight seal. Of the two of us, he’s better-looking. By a wide margin. After everything I’ve done to turn myself into the perfect Nice, he could win because of his pretty eyes and stupidly cute smile. It’s bullshit.
He could star in a CW show, for crying out loud! He’s a scruffy Abercrombie model! He’s …
He’s looking at me.
“Dude,” says Dyl. “What’s the deal?”
I place the bottle down and turn to face him. The glass of the bottle clatters against the granite of the bar.
“You’ve changed. A lot.”
His mouth drops open slightly. “Is it bad?”
I shake my head. “No. But you don’t look like a real person anymore. I mean, seriously, who the fuck has bright-green eyes?”
He laughs. “I do, apparently. Now pass me a scotch, Nice guy. I’ve always wanted to try it.”
I pause. Should I do this? The LIC wouldn’t want me to. I peer past him and see that both Kaylee and Judy are distracted by their phones, so I pour a drink and pass it to him. They want me to hate him, and if I can do something that goes against their wishes but doesn’t get me in trouble, I’m absolutely going to do it.
He’s staring at me, grinning like he noticed that I hesitated but poured him the drink anyway. Damn it. He raises his drink to his lips and winces. “This doesn’t smell how I’d imagined.”
I smell my own, which stinks like burning acid. I thought it’d be sweet and woody.
“Well,” he says. “It’s too late to back out now. Cheers!”
Our glasses clink together, then, at the same time, we take big gulps. The liquid sets my mouth on fire. Coughing, I slam the glass back down onto the bar. Through watery eyes I see Dyl. He’s doubled over, spluttering his lungs out. He looks ridiculous.
I laugh. Like, genuinely laugh.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.
He starts to laugh too, and somehow, that makes everything better.
I recover and take a deep breath. My mouth and my windpipe are numb and sort of cold. It feels funny yet kind of nice. Is this what being drunk feels like? Dyl straightens up, beaming, his smile showing off those goddamn perfect teeth.
He wipes his eyes. “I owe you, man. Imagine that, Juliet and me at a party, me a Bad, and then I can’t even handle a sip of scotch. I’d be a joke!”
My smile fades as I remember why I’m on this plane. Why I exist. The only thing I should laugh at is one of Juliet’s jokes. Without her around, I don’t matter, so feeling anything when I’m not near her is a waste of energy. Also: I helped Dyl, which is something I can’t afford to do. He’s right, if he’d spluttered like that in front of Juliet it would’ve cracked apart his tough-guy persona. Giving him that drink was a mistake. All I can do now is hope that it wasn’t a big, life-ruining mistake.
Caden, what are you doing? says Kaylee’s voice in my mind. I told you, that boy is dangerous. He’s not your friend. I repeat, he is not your friend. Come back to your seat right now!
I slide past him and make my way back down the aisle. When I reach my seat I sit down and clasp the buckle of the seat belt over my waist.
From the other side of the plane, Kaylee glowers at me. A strand of golden hair has fallen out of place, and now it dangles in front of her eyes, which are brimming with rage. The intensity of her stare shocks me, and I look down at my seat belt.
Don’t be an idiot, Caden. I want to win, to show Judy I’m better than her. Don’t let him destroy you before we’ve even begun.
So that’s all she cares about? Great. I turn in my seat so my back is to Kaylee. The plane is moving, and now I’m out of the LIC. I guess it’s a big deal, but I’m still recovering from Kaylee’s scolding and my own self-loathing, so I don’t really feel anything.
I squint and look out the window. All I can see is a long stretch of brown earth and then the sky. The sunlight is golden, and I imagine the smell of it, clean and free of chemicals. I’m as free as I’ll ever be now. Holy shit! The feeling, bright and hot, overwhelms my shame. I’m finally a part of the real world. Maybe I can’t do anything I want, but it’s definitely better than before.
I remember Dyl spluttering after he sipped the scotch, and smile. Don’t forget what you are. The only reason I’m on this trip is to reach Juliet. Even though it feels like it, it’s not a big deal. Right now I’m nothing, a blank page waiting to be filled. I shouldn’t feel anything until I meet Juliet. But man, that was funny. He’s funny.
All I have to do to survive is make sure that boy dies.
My smile fades.
CHAPTER
SIX
The plane touches down in a small, private runway in the middle of a farm. The flight passed pretty quickly as, thankfully, there was a TV screen that dropped down
from the ceiling. The only options were eighties movies, so I watched The Breakfast Club and then the first third of The Princess Bride. But for the most part I spent my time staring out the window. The countryside we were flying over was so big and so flat it fascinated me.
“Are you coming, Caden?” asks Kaylee.
I unbuckle my seat belt and force the Nice into my voice. “Yep.”
When the door opens, Kaylee reaches across the bar and swipes three cans of Coke, tucking them into her handbag. Then we disembark.
Outside it’s flat and barren and the air smells like burnt sugar. Past the fields of swishing grass and the green mountains is the impossibly blue sky. At the top of the stairs, I pause with my hands on the cold metal railing, marveling at the world in front of me. Everything is vibrant and colorful. The sun is rising, peeking out against the mountains, but the air on my skin feels dreamily warm.
“Yeah, yeah,” says Kaylee. She’s already off the steps and is standing in front of a shiny white limousine. “The world is beautiful. Big whoop. Now come on, I want to show you your house. I spent a lot of time working on it, so you need to appreciate it!”
I walk down the steps. On the other side of the plane, Dyl is disembarking. He raises one hand and waves.
I don’t wave back.
Rather, I clamber into the limo after Kaylee. Inside is a row of black leather seats. Kaylee is sitting with her back pressed up against the door. Tinny classical music pumps from a speaker on the ceiling. The windows are tinted so dark I can’t see outside.
The limo starts up and pulls off the side of the road onto the highway. Kaylee cracks open a can of Coke, filling the limo with the scent of sugar.
“Can I…” I start, then I shut my mouth. Soda, even diet soda, is a banned substance at the LIC, and asking for it now feels way out of line. It’s only Kaylee, and she’s so laid back it’s easy to forget who she works for, but that’s a mistake I can’t afford to make. Kaylee is my boss, and I’m not free, so I need to tread carefully around her.
She smiles. “Oh my God, have you ever had a Coke before?”
The Love Interest Page 4