Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I

by Lee Davidson

  At the next break, I cave. Thankfully, Liam—minus Willow—is at the table when I get to Benson.

  “Can I talk to you?” I ask, ignoring Clara, Anna, Owen, and Rigby. It’s hard to tell if they know something. If so, they surely don’t know the full extent of my failure. If they did, Owen and Rigby would be punching me right now instead of just staring. At least, that’s what they should be doing.

  Liam doesn’t ask any questions when we walk across the room to a vacant corner and sit at a table for two. I steal a glance back at the table, noticing again that Rigby’s arm is, rather comfortably, wrapped across Clara’s shoulders. I remind myself that this shouldn’t bother me and force my eyes to Liam.

  “How’s Tate?” I ask.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Around. How is she?” I ask again.

  “She’s doing better. She took Fischer to a movie today,” Liam whispers while he looks to his left and right. Still afraid of being caught, I see. Mentioning that the Schedulers know about my visits is probably a fact better kept to myself.

  “Has she destroyed anything else?”

  Liam shakes his head and I relax. Finally, some good news.

  I hate to ask, but I have to. “Do you think her improvement has anything to do with my absence?”

  His expression answers my question. A mix of emotions swirls through my stomach. Tate is better off without me.

  “Why haven’t you come around? Not that I’m complaining or anything.” Is it possible that Liam knows nothing about Ryder? I can only hope.

  “I’ve just been busy. I was thinking I’ll take some time off—you know, to give you a break.” Every cell in my body screams in rebellion, but I know this is what I must do. I’ve messed up too badly with Ryder. Plus, my selfishly motivated visits are only hurting Tate.

  Liam may as well be jumping up and down. “Really?”

  “Really. Look, Liam, I’m sorry about coming down so hard on you when…well, you know.”

  Liam shifts in his seat. “Don’t sweat it. I deserved everything you said and worse for messing up like I did.”

  I stop myself from flinching by looking down at the table. His mistake was nowhere near as abhorrent as my failure with Ryder. Part of me wants to tell him about my colossal blunder, but living with the full brunt of my guilt is what I deserve. If I unload this on him, he will probably downplay how awful the situation really is and the last thing I need is someone lying to me.

  “No offense, mate, but I’m glad you’re taking some time off from Tate. I think it will help. Plus, I was up to here”—he raises his hand over his head—“with your blatant disregard for the rules.”

  “Point taken.”

  A few more weeks go by, a few more surgeries, and Ryder finally wakes up. He’s disoriented for the first couple of days and has difficulty coming to terms with how much time has passed. My work as a Satellite comes back into play. Now I’m usually not blocking Ryder because he’s upset about losing his dad (though occasionally that’s still the case). Instead, I’m blocking him because he’s frustrated about his worthless body and his memory loss—both of which I can totally sympathize with. Fortunately for him, his memories are slowly returning. A large number of blocks have also been needed when he thinks about the loss of his Shelby. The car that held so many memories of time spent with his father was destroyed because of me. I’d rather have toothpicks stabbed under my fingernails than feel as guilty as I do.

  I keep Ryder as my top priority, though I still think about Tate day and night. I refuse to see her, not only because the Schedulers would have my hide (as much as I hate them, seeing what’s been needed to fix Ryder has softened me a bit), but because she’s better off without me. She has always been better off without me.

  Now, two months later, Ryder has been released from the hospital. After hours of physical therapy, he’s walking with the help of crutches, which I regard as a miracle (or, more appropriately, the amazing work of the Menders). To top that, he’s expected to make a full recovery.

  Not seeing Tate has been almost as bad as the physical pain I caused Ryder, and I remind myself that the hurt I feel is nothing compared to what I deserve. Liam has been decent towards me, feeding me a few updates about Tate here and there. He now has no problem stating that her improvement is a direct result of my absence. This stings even more than not seeing her.

  None of the Satellites know about Ryder and my epic fail, which is a complete surprise, considering the way gossip travels around this place. For this, I am grateful.

  I’m not sure if Willow knows what I’ve done to her son, but I’ve come to terms with having to face her, simply because I miss her terribly. On my way to Benson, I cross my fingers that she’ll be there.

  “Hey, man, wait up!”

  In the corridor, I stop and turn at the sound of Owen’s voice. He’s in the lobby, jogging to catch up.

  “Hey, Owen, how’s it going?”

  “Good. You?”

  Seriously, do his assignments ever bother him? “Fine, I guess.”

  “So, ah, you eating today? I mean…you eating today?”

  “Why are you acting weird?”

  “What do you mean?” He nervously swipes his hand over his black hair. “OK, I may be acting a little strange. Sorry. It’s just that I have a surprise for you. Well—I mean, Anna and I have a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Keep an open mind, man. You might like this one.”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Just come on.” He picks up his pace through the lobby.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, half jogging.

  “You’ll see,” he calls over his shoulder.

  He almost loses me through the crowds of Satellites, which may not be such a bad thing. I don’t have a great feeling about this. He’s way too happy.

  He stops, and I stare over him at the courtyard doors. “I’m not spending my break in training,” I say firmly. “I want to eat.”

  He vice-grips my bicep when I turn to walk away. “Trust me, man.”

  He looks too much like a used car salesman to be trusted, but he’s obviously not going to let me leave without a fight. Against my better judgment, I follow him.

  “Please tell me what’s going on.” I look around the empty field. My eyes stop on the grassy area twenty feet past the bleachers. “What’s that?” But I already know full well what that is.

  Owen ignores me—in fact, he won’t even look at me—and walks over to the red flannel blanket.

  “Dude, I’m totally not into you,” I say when he sits.

  Owen cracks up. “You’re not too hot yourself.”

  The door bangs closed at the top of the path and catches my attention. “Oh, come on, man!” I hiss to Owen. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

  “Open mind,” Owen says under his breath as Anna and Clara walk down the sloping path.

  “You’re dead.”

  “No kidding?” Owen finds too much humor in turning my threat into a joke.

  I bite down on my tongue extra hard while watching the girls approach. Anna even has the nerve to be carrying a picnic basket.

  “What’s going on?” Clara asks.

  “Yes, Owen, please…enlighten us,” I sneer.

  “Oh my gosh, you guys are so cute together,” Anna says like a bubbly cheerleader. Then she kneels beside Owen and pulls out four plates, napkins, a loaf of bread, a big ceramic bowl with a lid, and four Cokes from the basket.

  Clara shares my sentiment and even her tone is one I would choose. “You’re kidding.”

  “Double date!” the bulldog shouts. “Great idea, right?”

  Great idea? Is he nuts?

  I try not to look at Clara, but I fail. Her face is the color of the blanket. “We don’t have to do this,” she says to me.

  “Really?” I ask, finally optimistic about something.

  Her expression falters for half a second, but she recovers quickly. “Sorry, guys,
I know you meant well, but this wasn’t the best idea.”

  Anna doesn’t bother hiding her disappointment like Clara. Ugh. Girls never fight fair.

  “It’s fine.” I try not to sound angry and sit on one of the corners of the blanket. “It’s just a meal between friends, right?” Because this is so nothing else. It can’t be anything else.

  Clara hesitates, but then sits on the only spot left on the small blanket. With her knees together, she folds her legs to her side, the only ladylike way to sit on the ground in a skirt. Her obvious discomfort proves she knew nothing about this either, which I find reassuring.

  Anna goes to work, dishing spaghetti onto the plates. Owen breaks off a large chunk of bread and passes the remainder of the loaf to Clara. Then he proficiently shoves the entire piece into his mouth. As if that wasn’t disgusting enough, he proceeds to talk while chewing.

  “Nice day out, huh?” he says. At least, that’s what I think he says.

  Clara’s frozen, holding the loaf of bread out in front of her. Her repulsed expression is comical, and I can’t help but laugh. The sunlight shines off the blue stones on Clara’s bracelet, and my laughter halts.

  “Owen!” Anna scolds. “We’ve discussed talking with your mouth full.”

  “Oh. Right,” he mumbles, still chewing. “Sorry.”

  “So, what’s new with you guys?” Anna hands a plate to Clara and another to me. My stomach flips. The question, though innocent enough, sounds too much like Clara and I are a couple.

  I grab the bread from Clara and shove a piece into my mouth to keep from saying anything that would upset Anna—and probably Clara, also.

  “Not much.” Clara seems more comfortable now. “I noticed the new group that came in yesterday. Did you hear Jessie is a Legacy?”

  Anna gives Owen a scoop of spaghetti first and then moves on to Clara’s plate. “Is she the tall blonde girl you introduced me to a few months ago?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Clara says, using her fork to push the spaghetti over to make a small space for her piece of bread.

  “Was she happy about that?” Anna asks.

  Owen snorts. “Dude, is anyone ever happy about that?” Red spaghetti sauce drips down his chin.

  “Believe it or not, Owen, not everyone wants to do this forever,” Clara says.

  He’s completely dumbfounded. “Why not?”

  Clara looks bored. “We’ve had this discussion so often—you know why not.”

  “I know. I still don’t get it though. Who wouldn’t want to do this forever?”

  Me! Thankfully, my mouth is now full of gourmet noodles and sauce so I don’t have to speak “There are very few things I’ll agree with you on—ever,” Clara stares at the sauce still on Owen’s chin, “but I have to admit, you’re right. I don’t know why someone wouldn’t want this forever.”

  “Maybe so they can have their own life,” I interject, before I can stop myself.

  The three of them look at me like I just stepped out of a spaceship. Naked.

  “Seriously,” I continue. “You all had lives before this. Why wouldn’t you want them back?” I just don’t understand their thinking.

  “We’ll still get our lives back someday when our loved ones die,” Clara says. “That doesn’t mean we have to give this up. We could be Lifers and have both.”

  “But why would you want to do this forever?”

  Anna uses her fork to push the red noodles around her plate. “Because we’re helping people.”

  “And because our work is hard core, man,” Owen chimes in. “I love a challenge. The fact that I get a new one everyday is epic!”

  “You were an adrenaline junkie when you were alive, weren’t you?” I’ve met a dozen guys just like him, mostly carpenters, always out for the next big rush. Shoot, even Elliott was constantly doing ridiculously dangerous crap.

  “Totally,” Owen agrees. “One of the few things I remember from my life was bungee jumping. When I displace, I’m always waiting for the moment when I’m jerked back up by my feet.”

  “You’re not right.”

  Anna and Clara think this is funny. I think they’re all seriously sick if they prefer this life over being alive. I will never be like them. I will never get over losing Tate.

  Thankfully, the subject changes to the new foods that arrived with the latest recruits. Owen’s particularly fond of the carrot cake, though he makes sure to add that nothing is as good as the fried chicken. His constant reminder about his favorite food is seriously old. Then things get weird because Owen and Anna get all gushy. They even kiss. And then kiss again. Clara looks away from me and twists a piece of her blonde hair. I wish I had more bread to shove in my mouth.

  “So, snowmobiling, huh?” Clara asks, probably trying to break the awkwardness, since Anna and Owen are off in their own little world of romance.

  “Yeah. You ever done it?”

  “I don’t remember.” She thinks her answer is funny. “I grew up in Connecticut. They have some cold winters, so maybe. Although, I previously mentioned my parents not letting me do much. So probably not.”

  “Would you? I mean, if you had the chance?”

  “Absolutely! I’ll try anything once.” She pauses. “You look surprised.”

  “It’s just that—I mean, you seem so…proper.”

  “Proper?” She says it like I just called her ugly.

  “Sorry. It’s just that you have good manners and all.” Did I just say that out loud?

  “That’s because you see me in the company of Owen. Everyone has good manners next to him.”

  Owen pulls his tongue out of Anna’s mouth long enough to respond. “Hey!”

  “She’s right,” Anna says, but then she sighs as if she doesn’t mind that Owen was brought up in a kennel.

  “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point there,” I agree. Clara’s actually pretty comical. And her smile is amazing. No, not amazing. Stop it, man! I scold myself.

  As if knowing of the chink in my armor, Clara reaches into her bag and pulls out her lip gloss.

  “Peppermint,” she says humorously when she sees me staring at the tube. She has no idea how much of a weakness that scent is for me.

  She slides the clear stick over her lower lip first. Is she moving in slow motion on purpose? She adds some gloss to her upper lip and finally presses both lips together, sliding them back and forth enticingly.

  “Earth to Grant,” Owen sings.

  I snap back to reality and give him a glare. I wish he wasn’t dead so I could do the honors. He snatches up a piece of bread he dropped earlier on the blanket and chucks it at me, hitting me in the forehead.

  Clara, who was oblivious to my previous lip fascination, is no longer. For the second time, her face is as red as the blanket.

  “Should we call it a day?” she says to her brown sandals.

  “Yeah, I should code before getting back to my assignment,” I lie.

  The three of them buy my excuse and stand. While I’m putting the plates in the basket, Anna asks, “What are you doing?” I don’t know she’s talking to me until she repeats herself. “Grant, what are you doing?”

  I want to say, “What does it look like I’m doing?” but instead, I answer, “Cleaning up.”

  “Why?” Owen asks.

  My hand freezes in the basket when I get it. Then I’m sure my face turns as red as Clara’s was. The three of them confirm this by laughing at me. Talk about feeling stupid.

  “Sorry. Habit, I guess.” I stand, but look down at my feet.

  “Dude, you’re a loser,” Owen jokes, taking Anna’s hand. They begin walking past the bleachers toward the stone path.

  Clara and I follow a few steps behind the happy couple. “I thought that was cute,” she whispers.

  My face grows even hotter. I’d give anything to displace right now.

  When we’re inside, things become even more awkward. “So, ah, thanks for the meal.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

  “Don
’t thank me.” Clara smiles and I swear she leans forward. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh—right. Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

  Her smile loses some of its juice. “I had a good time.”

  “Me too.” I’m not sure if I’m just being nice when this comes out. No, I did have a good time.

  Clara swipes her lips together like she’s spreading the lip gloss around again, and her eyes move to the right. Something from behind pushes me. I lose my balance and trip forward. Clara takes this wrong, and—oh no!—pushes her peppermint lips against mine.

  I want to pull back, but the taste keeps my feet—and lips—firmly planted. Clara’s lips feel so much like Tate’s, but so different at the same time. Probably because my eyes are wide open in shock, reminding me that this is not Tate.

  What are you doing! I scream in my head. Finally, I do step back, not sure why it took five more seconds after my mental scolding.

  Clara looks pleased by our exchange. I, on the other hand, am trying with great difficulty to keep my cool.

  “Thanks,” I say lamely. “I’ll see you around.” I turn and walk away as fast as I can without looking rude. Thanks? Did I seriously just thank her?

  I’m in the elevator two minutes later, unsure how I even got here. I brush my fingers over my lips and then lick my bottom one, tasting peppermint. My stomach twists with the realization that I just kissed Clara. And I don’t think I hated it.

  Rigby’s going to kill me.

  18. She almost burned the house down

  I know it’s risky, especially since I’m sure the Schedulers are going to know immediately, but I have to see Tate—now more than ever. What happened with Clara…I don’t know what to think.

  When I land at Ryder’s, I gauge his mood. This is easy considering he’s taking a nap, just as he was when I left him before break. Now or never, I decide, and dig through my bag for the picture frame I haven’t used in months.

  I say the magic word and go rocketing across the Earth. While I zoom through the trees and mountains, nerves make my stomach tighten. What I’m doing is wrong—and so unfair to Ryder.