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Page 26
EMBER
The door chime echoes in my room, but I don’t get up to answer it. I’m already hunkered down in the corner of my room, a copy of Persuasion by Jane Austen in hand.
“Go away,” I holler, but the door chimes again. Probably Ethan coming to drag me to the party. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to celebrate.
What I want is someone to talk to. But that’s impossible here.
I want to tell someone about the Trial, about my guilt, and about the terrible thing I did. But I can’t.
Because he’s listening. He’s always listening.
I’m not sure I even realized it until now.
Ever since the Trial, I’ve wanted so badly to tell Ethan about what happened in the cafeteria. I want to get his opinion and have him tell me everything is going to be all right, but I don’t dare. Somehow, my alternate self managed to get in and out without Tesla becoming aware. It’s why the computer was frizzing out. Her visit—her warning—was a blind spot in Tesla’s all-knowing vision. I don’t dare reveal the truth now, when I have no idea of the damage it could cause. If only I knew, if only I understood my intentions. Crossing your own timeline is such a risk. And for what? I don’t know. I might not know for a very long time.
The chime goes off again, so I climb to my feet and hit the keypad.
The door slides open, and Kara is standing in the hall. Her hair is in a twist on the back of her head and she’s wearing one of her prettiest outfits—a simple, green velvet mini-dress and tall, black boots. I sigh.
“I’m not going,” I say before she can get a word out.
She steps inside, and the door slides closed behind her. “Of course you are. It’s mandatory.”
The Time Traveler’s Ball is an annual tradition in the Institute. It’s where all who didn’t die in the Trials get to celebrate the fact that they’re still alive and swap stories about their missions. I don’t feel like sharing. Or celebrating. Or putting on shoes. I shake my head and slump back into my corner. “I don’t care.”
Sitting on the side of my bed, she narrows her eyes at me. “You’ve been acting weird, Ember. First, the thing at the cafeteria. Now this. It isn’t like you. What happened?”
I shrug and toss the book on my desk.
She grabs one of my pillows and clutches it to her chest. “Remember that time I snuck out with Crevin, and then rushed here to tell you all about it?”
“Second-Base Crevin?” I laugh. “Yeah. I remember.”
She hesitates before she speaks. “I made it up.”
“What?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d sprouted a third arm.
“It was just, you were new and shy and I really wanted, I dunno, someone I could talk to. A girlfriend. So I made it up as an excuse to spend time with you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “So Crevin never got to second base?”
She grins. “Well, yeah, he did, but it was before you came along. So it was a true story, really, just told a little after the fact.”
I start laughing, and she joins in. It’s so silly. Yet, I can’t stop. I’m doubling over, tears rolling down my face before I finally catch my breath.
“It’s just…” She shrugs. “It was really lonely here before you came. I mean, I had Ethan, but it’s not the same. And then you showed up and you were nice. I knew I wanted to have you on Team Kara.”
I study her face. “Aw, Kara, that’s the nicest thing anyone here has ever done for me. Probably the stupidest thing, to be honest, but nice all the same.” The corner of her mouth curves up into a hint of a smile. I push myself up a bit and smile back. “And, for the record, I’m Team Kara. Absolutely. All the way.” I crawl forward and rest my head in her lap, letting her stroke my hair.
“I know. Team Kara is the best.” She pats me on the head and points to the closet. “Now, what are you going to wear tonight?”
I groan, but she gently pushes me away and stands up, motioning for me to follow her.
“No offense, Ember, but you look like crap. Go wash up. I’ll pick something out for you.”
“I really don’t feel up to going,” I whine even as I head for the bathroom.
She peeks out of the closet. “That’s exactly why you should. Dressing up and looking nice always makes me feel better. Besides,” she ducks back in the closet, “Riley is going to be there. I think he’s into you. Why else would he hang out at the library all the time?”
I groan again. He’s so not my type. Not that I have a type, exactly. I think about it as I wash my face. “Maybe he just really likes to read?” I offer.
She snorts. “Yeah, right.”
What would I want in a guy? I suppose I’ve never really thought about it. But now that I am, only one face comes to mind.