His eyes narrow as we stare at each other. “Something you want?” he finally asks.
“Is this your usual post?” I am feeling bold.
He leans against the wall again and swings one boot over another. “It’s my usual post. Who’s asking?”
“I’ve heard it’s quite a hike to the other compounds,” I say as I nod at the door. Then I hold my breath.
He hesitates, but barely. “Doesn’t mean it’s not doable.”
Something moves through my veins. Maybe it is relief or excitement. Maybe, even, it is dread. Whatever it is, this is the spot. This is the door that links to a new life. “I’m curious—do Ten and Twelve both run from here?”
“Just Ten.”
I nod. “You trying to keep our compound in or Ten out?”
“Both. I didn’t catch your name.” His cheeks are gaunt, hollow like the Noms’, though of course Noms don’t become guards. Jobs aren’t available to them at all.
I lift my chin. “Eve.”
“You don’t look like you belong down here.”
“I’m from a floor up.” I hold out my hands as proof.
“And why are you so interested in this, Eve?”
I shrug. “I’m supposed to pick a job soon.”
“And you’re interested in becoming a guard?”
I shrug again. “Not so much,” I admit. He wouldn’t think I could get such a job anyhow. “The tunnels interest me, though.”
“The tunnels.” He stares at me, waiting.
“Maintenance, construction, that sort of thing,” I add. My eyes linger on the door, on the keypad. “I missed the job tour. Any chance you could open it up for me? Just so I could have a look?”
He smirks. “Afraid not.”
“Where does the tunnel to Twelve run?”
“Not from down here.”
“So, where?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Fifth floor?”
“I think you should go now.”
“But—”
“I said,” he interrupts, “I think you should go now.” He leans his weight forward so he is standing upright.
Automatically, I am wary; I am ready to run. My boots shuffle backward.
“Denominators will be done feeding soon,” he continues, “and these halls will choke up. You should go before they do.”
For a moment, I just stare at him. I can’t tell if he is being kind—kindness is a foreign concept here in Compound Eleven, and so recognizing it is difficult. Recognizing it from a guard even more so. After another moment’s hesitation, I nod briefly, then walk away, back in the direction from which I came.
If I want to, I could get by him, that guard. I could guess the passcode. I could go through the tunnel, see what Compound Ten has in store. That was my plan, initially. To try another compound. The only difference between now and then is that I have seen aboveground and know that another compound isn’t the answer.
No, that isn’t quite true. There is another difference, too.
Wren.
He shouldn’t change anything, but he does. He changes everything. Then the toe of my boot stubs on the compact dirt underfoot, and I fall to my knees. Grit wedges into the lines of my palms, and I swear into silence.
Slowly, I stand and give myself a shake. Things with Wren have no future, not here. Illegitimate Long is one of a million examples. Wren is a Preme, and I am a Lower Mean, and we don’t belong together. It’s that simple.
If he changes things, it is only because I am forgetting that one simple fact.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Later, I open my cell door to a well-dressed yet somber-looking Maggie. “It’s time,” she says flatly. She wears a thin black headband and a short green dress with tights. A bag is slung over her shoulder.
“Time,” I repeat.
Her fist opens to reveal a tube of mascara, and I roll my eyes. She laughs as she pushes her way past me. Emerald is close behind, but her face is stern. I don’t think I have seen her look any other way since Bruno’s passing. She wears a blue sweater—dressy by her standards—and slacks.
“Hunter’s going to meet us there,” Maggie says as she places the bag on my desk.
“Why? We always go together.”
“He’s meeting up with some of the kitchen crew. They’re, like, his new best friends.” She sighs. “Just another reminder of how I’m supposed to make this huge, life-altering decision soon. In case you’re wondering, I still have no clue what to do, even though everyone else seems to have made up their mind.”
“Everyone?” says Emerald. She kicks off her shoes and sits heavily on my bed. “I haven’t. I have no clue what to do.”
I clear my throat. Making huge, life-altering decisions is the last thing I want to talk about right now. “Is Kyle still staying away?” I ask Maggie instead.
“So far, so good,” she replies. But she looks suddenly glum, and I regret bringing it up. “It’s hard, though. Every day is hard, kind of.”
“What do you mean?”
Her lime green eyes sweep to the side. “Breakups suck, right? Even if he is scum. And things ended so quickly, it almost feels like… I don’t know.”
“Like?”
“Like it didn’t really happen. Maybe I just want closure or something. Is that wrong?”
“Is it wrong?” I force myself to grin. “Well, it definitely sounds wrong.”
“Speaking of breakups,” says Emerald, “is anything new going on with Hunter and Anita?”
“That ship has sailed—she has a new boyfriend and everything. He’s totally over it, though. I have a feeling he was never that invested anyways.” She pulls a full bottle of liquor out of her bag and screws off the lid. “Bottoms up, ladies—Dad hasn’t been using his allotment lately, so drinks are on me.” She winks, takes a gulp, then looks me up and down. “You’re not ready, I see.”
I look in the mirror and see a tired face, hair drawn into a low ponytail. I shrug. “It’s just a party.”
“Eve.” She crosses her arms. “Your shirt has a hole in it.”
After a quick inspection, I see that she is right. I see, too, that the hem is beginning to fray.
“And you haven’t brushed your hair today. That’s what it looked like last night.”
I finger it silently. Emerald stares at me.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I don’t want to lie, but of course I do. “Everything’s fine. I’ll change; I promise. And want to know something seriously wild? I’ll even brush my hair.”
Her brow relaxes, and she laughs. One leg crosses over the other as she leans against the wall. “That’s my girl. So, are Wren and Connor meeting us there?”
“As far as I know.” Then I fix Maggie with a stare of my own. It has been a long day, and all of a sudden I feel like having some fun. “Connor’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Wren’s cute, too,” she says quickly. She presses the bottle into my hand, and I have a sip. It burns my throat, but I don’t mind.
“Yeah, I know he is. He’s my boyfriend.” I push her. She looks at Emerald, and Emerald looks at her. And then I understand. “Oh. Right. Wren and I are together. Both of you know, you just don’t know each other knows.”
“How does she know?” shouts Maggie. “And how could you not tell me that you know?” she adds to Emerald, swatting her arm.
“Because I didn’t think you knew, obviously.” A small smile plays on Emerald’s lips, finally. “I pieced it together when I caught her going out one night with blush smudged all over her face.”
Maggie turns to me with her mouth hanging open. I try to push her again, but she jumps on the bed. “God, I wish I could’ve seen that. I pieced it together after Wren kicked Landry’s ass in the cafeteria.”
“Damn, I knew way before that, girl.”
Maggie shakes her head, mouth open, and Emerald laughs. I raise my hands: “Okay, you guys. Very funny. Listen, Hunter doesn’t know, so whatever you do, don’t mention it in front of him.”
“Probably a good idea,” mumbles Maggie. Beside her, Emerald’s smile has disappeared. She runs her hands over her face and groans.
I pause—I had been about to ask Maggie what she meant, but now I turn to Emerald. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Everything. It’s just that every time I start to have fun or think of anything else—bam. There it is. His face.” She shakes her head and frowns.
Maggie and I exchange a look. Suddenly, I have a thought. “Emerald, you and Bruno weren’t…were you?”
She stares at me. “Oh God,” she says. “No. No—definitely, definitely not.” Her eyes slide sideways, and it strikes me that I am not the only one with secrets.
I lower my voice. “It’s just that… I mean, I’ve been struggling too, obviously, but…he’s not the first friend we’ve lost.”
“I know that, okay? It isn’t that. I mean, part of it is.”
“And the rest?”
“I love fighting, Eve. I know you like it well enough and everything, but it’s my life. It’s everything. And now I don’t want to step in that ring again. I just don’t.”
I sit on my heels in front of her. “I get it. So it’s a bigger loss than even Bruno.”
“I know I’m being a big downer and everything, but—”
“You are not. Here”—I pass her the bottle—“have some. We don’t even have to go to the party, if you don’t want. But you can’t keep dwelling on what happened or you’ll never get past it.” After doing nothing today but dwelling on my own problems, I am not qualified to give such advice. But Maggie nods encouragingly at my words and so my gaze is steady.
“What do you think I should do about Blue Circuit?” Emerald whispers. Her large brown eyes look torn in half.
“Keep fighting,” I say without hesitating. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it was just as dangerous out there. You love fighting, so that’s what you’re going to do, whether as a hobby or professionally. Just give it a bit of time. And stop putting so much pressure on yourself right now to make a job decision. We still have two weeks.”
She laughs, and I stare at her dimples. “I wish I could be as laid-back about choosing a job as you.”
“Yeah,” says Maggie. “Me, too. What’s your secret?”
I take another drink from the bottle—a long one—enough to push the onslaught of guilt from my mind. “Let’s just try to focus on thoughtless, fun stuff tonight, okay? Nothing heavy, nothing job-related, nothing sad. Deal?”
Emerald sits a little straighter. “Thoughtless stuff only. I think I can do that.”
Maggie kneels next to me. “Hold still. Mascara’s going on.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“Oh, trust me, Eve. When I’m finished with you, Wren won’t know what hit him. You are going to drive him mad tonight.”
Suddenly, I am laughing, and so is she. So is Emerald. Something resembling contentedness fills my chest, and the thought of Compound Ten recedes backward, just a touch, in my mind.
…
When we arrive at the Upper Mean playground, it’s already thick with bodies. Most people stand between the equipment with bottles in hand, but some actually use it; the teeter-totters are full, and there is a rowdy-looking line-up behind the slide. Shouts of laughter rise from all corners of the room; music, too. Lanterns provide the only light, soft and yielding. I spot Wren quickly, because he is dressed all in black and because he is the first thing my eyes tend to notice. Maybe it is his shape, tall and lean yet thick with muscle. Broad shoulders, rounded forearms. Maybe it is his kind mouth, the one that turns up slightly at the corners, or his wide-set, flashing eyes.
Whatever it is, he notices me staring, and his gaze tightens.
Yes, he changes things for me. Definitely.
I push my way through the crowd in his direction, and in this moment, I don’t care that he is a Preme or that I am a Lower Mean. After the day I’ve had, it is all I can do not to wrap my arms around him, to lean on him, to kiss him. Instead, I string my hands together behind my back and nudge him. My gaze lingers on his T-shirt, which carves gently over muscle. I am a little tipsy and hope he won’t notice.
“You look different,” he says bluntly. His eyes drift over my face, one augmented by Maggie’s mascara and lip gloss, and my hair—loose except for a braided headband crafted by Emerald. On Maggie’s insistence, I wear a tight pair of jeans. On my own insistence, I wear a plain white top.
“Who, me? That’s weird—”
He presses a hand into my back and his mouth to my ear. “You look killer, Eve.”
My heart beats quicker. We look at each other, and for a moment I forget the music in my ears, the people surrounding us and pressing into my sides. I forget screaming at my father, and my discovery of Compound Ten’s tunnel, and my inability to kill Daniel. I forget all of it because there is something about Wren’s eyes that make me feel a paradox I can’t explain or even begin to understand. I feel cocooned, safe, but also as though I have all the latitude in the world.
“Killer?” I laugh. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
He squints and tilts his head. “Nope,” he says finally. “That’s not it.” Still, his hand rests on my back, and I don’t want him to move it. Even though others are sure to see.
“What’s she doing here?” I ask as I catch sight of long red hair.
He looks over his shoulder. “Let’s see. Maggie told Connor. Connor told Long. Long told everybody. That’s pretty much how it goes.”
“Did I hear my name?” A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and on Wren’s, too. “How are my two favorite lovebirds this fine evening?”
I glance at Wren, who looks at me and shrugs. “He knows, in case you couldn’t tell. Connor, too.”
“About your forbidden romance?” Long winks. “Yeah, I know.”
I try not to smile, but I fail. I know it makes no sense, but I like that Wren told his friends about us. It feels more official, somehow.
“Any of your friends know?” Wren asks as Long sips from a bottle. Laughter swells from the other side of the room.
“As a matter of fact, they do. Emerald and Maggie.”
“What about Hunter?”
I make a face. “He just needs a chance to get to know you better.”
“Ah. And then he will give me his seal of approval.”
“Exactly,” I say as I tug at the bottom of his T-shirt. We stare at each other, and I think he wants to kiss me right now as much as I want to kiss him.
“Ugh. You two are disgusting.” Long disappears into the crowd, and I laugh. Around us are mostly faces I recognize—Mean faces, from Floors Two, Three and Four. But there are Premes here, too, Long evidently the reason. They pay the Mean crowd around them little attention, and the Mean crowd does the same. Animosity runs deep, and it runs in both directions. But still they are here. Still we share the same space.
A few months ago—before I met Wren—the Premes were foreign. Evil. Now the younger ones, the ones who dared to descend to the fourth floor tonight, the ones without a track record of iron-fisted, ruthless leadership, seem like more of the same. Now the compound feels smaller.
“I really should report this event to Father’s office, you know,” comes a voice that I’d rather not hear. “He wouldn’t approve of such a security breach.” Addison stands so close to Wren that her arm brushes against his.
“It’s just a party,” Wren says.
“Just a party?” she repeats. “Is that what your mother would say?”
“What my mother has to say is the least of my concerns.”
�
�Wren, you’re much too hard on her.” She pauses as a Floor Three Mean brushes against her. I can see in her expression that she is put out, but, to her credit, she says nothing about it. “That darling mother of yours,” she continues, “always went out of her way to make me feel special during our courtship. That kindness can’t be overstated.”
“The two of you had more in common than you and I ever did.”
“Yes, ambition. A quality you used to prize in me, I might add.”
“Before I saw it for what it truly was, perhaps.” His voice is calm and indifferent.
“Being?”
He shrugs. “Greed.”
“Admit it, Wren,” she laughs. “All this Mean nonsense—it’s just a way to attack her. At first I thought I was the target, but then I came to my senses. I know you would never hurt me intentionally, not after what we had. But your mother? You’ve hated her since the day your father died, placing all your bad luck on her shoulders. And now you’ve found a way to ridicule her in the most public of ways.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Don’t forget I know you better than you know yourself.”
Wren looks far from amused by the accusation. In fact, he scowls. “The more we speak, Addison, the more I think you’ve never really known me at all.”
“I know you plenty well,” she replies with confidence, completely indifferent to his demeanor. “I know you like spicy food and bland food but nothing in between. I know you don’t enjoy playing pool because you are fiercely competitive and hate to lose. I know you have a soft spot for knee-high black leather boots—”
“That’s enough, Addison,” Wren snaps.
Maybe he is worried about how I will react. Maybe he thinks I will punch her. It is a wonder that I don’t, for that list was intended for my ears. Spicy food, playing pool, knee-high boots… All frivolities unknown to Lower Means like me. These are details I cannot know about Wren. These are details that she can throw in my face.
“Fine,” she sighs. “But let me say this. You aren’t realizing the toll all this is taking. You also aren’t realizing that your rebellion could have lasting repercussions. Serious ones. Look at this room: Premes and Means, socializing? Think of future generations, Wren. And as for me, I won’t wait around forever.”
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 26