by Lee Davidson
Standing in my bedroom feels strange, like it no longer belongs to me. I push all thoughts from my head except for one—Tate—and then I fly to her house. The sun is shining and the large, blooming trees hide most of the lawns below.
The muted violin notes coming from inside Tate’s house drift through the back yard. I’m in a rush to get to Tate’s room, but I still find myself stopped and staring at Fischer in the kitchen. He must have shot up six inches since the last time I was here. Unbelievable.
I take the steps two at a time, even though I could fly if I wanted. Climbing them makes me think of the days when I was alive. Nothing wrong with a little fantasizing.
I walk through her bedroom door and Tate continues to play. Frozen like a deer in headlights, I can’t will my legs to move even though I desperately want to close the space between us. She is beautiful, more stunning than she’s been in a long time. She’s even wearing a brown sweater with dark jeans. Though I’d prefer an even broader color spectrum, this beats the black trash she was wearing before. Her makeup is lighter, too, allowing more of her true beauty to shine. With Tate’s violin as the soundtrack, my reeling mind conjures past images of Tate and me in happier times like an old home video. Dizzy and in fear of falling over, I swallow and try to regain my balance.
“Really?”
My head snaps to the far corner of the room. In those few seconds of being entranced by Tate, I had forgotten all about Liam. Sitting on the floor beside Tate’s desk, he has stopped juggling a red bouncy ball. His deflated tone matches his expression. “I thought we were over all this.”
I ignore him and turn back to Tate as she finishes the song. She stills, leaving her bow on the strings. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath.
“Tate,” I whisper when I find my voice.
She takes another breath like she’s trying to calm herself. Then she moves the bow across the violin again, playing a faster, almost angry sounding song.
Being here, seeing her—it makes me question how I could have liked Clara’s kiss. This is where I belong.
I sit on Tate’s bed, watching her play, ecstatic about how much better she’s doing. I need to come back more; I should have never stopped. I refuse to look at Liam, knowing he would disagree with my revelation.
Tate finishes her aggressive song, and I know I should go. Maybe if my trips are short, the Schedulers will never know about them. I walk over to Tate, breathe in her scent, and whisper “I love you” into her ear. “I’ll be back soon.” This makes me feel so much better about leaving.
Liam’s disapproval is laced with expletives that are still rolling when I displace. With a mouth like that, he’d give my father a run for his money.
Ryder’s still sleeping when I get back to his house. I pulled it off! I do my reading like a good Satellite and settle in for a quiet night of dinner and a movie. I even laugh through the comedy. Yes, this is a good day.
Later the next day, I step outside to wait in the breezeway while we’re at Ryder’s grandparents’ house. The family photos gracing the walls only drive home how badly I want to talk to Willow because I really do miss her. Plus, with Ryder doing better, if Willow does know of my epic fail, hopefully she can forgive me.
Finally, Ryder hobbles out of the house with Hannah hovering over him like a helicopter parent. He tries brushing Hannah off when she offers more help than he needs down the steps.
I fly behind Hannah’s red car on the way to Ryder’s house, wishing I could feel the warmth of the bright sun on my skin. About a mile from Ryder’s place, the brake lights shine and the compact car makes a U-turn. Confused, I follow behind until we finally stop. A cemetery visit seems odd, especially since Ryder’s book never mentioned it.
Hannah tries to help Ryder out of the car, but he refuses her assistance. He gets himself supported on his crutches and says he needs a few minutes alone. Suddenly, goose bumps run along my skin.
I recognize the feeling as soon as my vision comes back. Hundreds of miles away, Tate just destroyed something—a memory.
I take a deep breath, convince myself that Liam can handle Tate, and remember what happened the last time I left Ryder unattended. Reluctantly, I follow Ryder to the twin headstones, still fighting with myself about choosing him over Tate.
Prepared to block, my calimeter cuts me off and Ryder turns to a mannequin in front of the graves.
Damn!
Unable to hold out any longer, I dig into my bag for the frame and displace, hoping to catch Liam. When I’m finally to Tate’s, the burning smell in the air causes my mind to race, and Elliott’s empty seat at the kitchen table makes me flinch. But then I see her, and the world is right again.
Tate’s familiar beauty freezes me—oh, how I missed her!—and I stand rooted to the tile floor, as still as she is. Sitting at the table, she hasn’t touched her plate of food. This bothers me, since Fischer and Tate’s parents are almost finished with their meal.
My yell for Liam is answered by silence. I stare at Tate, wanting so badly to touch her, yet afraid that if I do, I’ll never leave. I wonder if this is what it’s like for a drug addict after they get their fix. It kills me to go, but I have to find Liam to know what she’s destroyed.
I’m out of breath by the time I get to Benson. “Has anyone seen Liam?”
After looking at me like I’m a lunatic, everyone at the table shakes their head in unison.
“What’s his room number?” I say it so quickly that my words almost trip over each other.
“Eight twenty-seven. But why—”
Halfway out of the room before Owen can finish asking his question, I have to spin and run back. “What’s his last name?” I wheeze between breaths.
“Moore.” Owen, along with everyone else, is still wearing the same confused look.
I sprint out of Benson, across the lobby, and down the M hall. My knock goes unanswered, along with my incessant door pounding, so fifteen minutes and a lot of stares later, I’m on my sofa, busting to talk to someone. Where the heck is Willow, anyway?
I check on Ryder before going to Tate’s, mostly because I’m scared that if I see her again, I’ll never leave. Ryder unfreezes, awkwardly leans on his crutches to get closer to the twin grave markers, and pulls a granite rock from his pocket.
“Hey, guys. I just needed to tell you that I’m happy, thanks to Hannah. That’s what it’s about, right?” He pauses. “She’s great. Dad, you knew her, so I’m sure you agree. Nana and Gramps love her as much as I do.” He takes a deep breath. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about me. Enjoy each other.” He kisses the rock and places it on top of Willow’s headstone. “I love you.”
I snap my mouth closed, and, for the first time, the urge to follow Ryder is gone. Still, I don’t leave his house until he’s snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors. It’s only seven in the evening, but his pain medication puts him to sleep with the infants and elderly of the world. Hannah’s still here, too, which assures me that he will be all right in my absence.
Tate’s sprawled on the wrong end of her bed when I get there. She adjusts her earbuds and nods to a beat I can’t hear.
“Hey, man,” I say. Freaked out, Liam drops Tate’s book. “She destroyed something, right? I blacked out on my assignment.”
He’s obviously ticked that I’ve come back here, but after a sigh, he finally talks. “A photo album.”
“How’d she do it?” I manage. Feeling sick to my stomach, I try to wrap my head around all the memories she eliminated in one shot.
“Fire. She’s quite the pyro. She almost burned the house down.”
I join Liam on the floor—which he seems none too thrilled about—and focus on the hairline crack in the wall. As the sun sets, the room darkens and the crevice gradually disappears. I can’t help but think of Tate, how she is stealing herself from me, disappearing from my memories, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.
I jump when Fischer screams in the next room, but L
iam doesn’t even flinch. The house becomes still again. “He’s been having nightmares lately,” Liam says in a dry voice.
Tate’s swollen eyes prove what I already know. My visits to her have been for selfish reasons, and they are doing nothing to help her move on. I have to let her go.
I wipe away a tear before it rolls down my jaw.
During break, I jump at the knock on my door and anxiously bury Tate’s frame—which I’ve been death-gripping for the past twenty minutes—into my bag. “Come in!” I yell from the sofa.
“Hello, Grant.” The person I was hoping for was Willow. Instead, I get Jonathan.
“How’s it going?” I reply. Resting my head back, I decide I’m keeping the atrocious (but oh-so-comfortable) sofa. If Willow asks, I’ll tell her it’s because it’s too much trouble to move.
“Quite well, thank you. Mind if I sit?”
“Nope. What’s up?” I ask dully.
“I’m here with good news.” When I don’t say anything, Jonathan continues. “Your assignment with Ryder is complete.”
I try to keep my face even. Does he know I just went to Tate’s?
“I realize Ryder’s assignment did not go exactly as planned, but I am very proud of how you’ve stepped up the past few months. I know this transition has not been easy for you.” He pauses, making me shift in the sofa. He knows something—he has to.
“Everything OK?” Oh yeah, he totally knows.
I can only nod, not trusting my voice.
“Hmm,” he replies. What does that mean? “We will exchange assignment books in the Orders hall during your next break. I expect Willow will join us to celebrate your success; she’s passing the torch, so to speak. You will have a week off to rest and familiarize yourself with your next assignment.”
I keep quiet, not knowing what to say. Is he going to bust me right here?
“You’re welcome to stick around Progression. You’ve certainly earned a day off. But if you’d rather, you can spend your final day with Ryder. Oh—also, because his assignment has closed, his book will now detail his full future, ending on the day of his passing. When you have some time, I suggest reading it. It’s an important part of the process for Satellites and should bring closure to your assignment.”
I can’t stop thinking of Tate.
“You know, Grant, I am always available if you need to talk. No topics are off limits.”
I think about Elliot’s empty chair at the Jacoby table and hope a subject change will clear my conscience. “Actually, I do have a question.”
“Yes?”
“How are Satellites chosen?”
“Every Satellite possesses a key chromosome that undergoes breakage and reverses its gene sequence at conception. We call this a chromosomal inversion. This rearrangement causes an abnormality in the brain, one that Satellites rely on daily: the ability to block. Incidentally, you are one of very few Satellites whose chromosome is not only inverted, but thicker as well. Over a century has passed since we’ve seen this in one of our Satellites.”
“So I’m a freak?” I ask, almost laughing because I think of Willow.
“Quite the contrary. This anomaly makes you an excellent blocker—one of the best we’ve seen in many, many years. Certainly you can see how this talent makes you an asset to our team.”
I want to argue that he’s wrong, that I don’t belong here, but know it would be a pointless fight. So instead, I get right to it. “Have there ever been two Satellites who knew each other in life?”
“Ah. You’re speaking of Elliott.”
Duh. I bite my tongue to keep from saying it aloud.
“No. This is a first for all of us.” He pauses like he’s waiting for another question, but I stay silent. “Is that all?”
I nod.
“Until tomorrow evening, then.” He stands and crosses the room, stopping at the door. “Grant, in regard to your extracurricular activities…”
Oh no, here it comes.
“I do know everything that goes on around here. I understand your internal struggle quite well. I am allowing you a…well, let’s just call it a free pass.”
What? “What?”
Jonathan continues facing the door. “It is time to say good-bye. I am giving you the opportunity.”
“What about the Schedulers?” What the heck is wrong with me? Who cares about the Schedulers! I’ve never listened to them before.
“I’ll worry about them. But Grant”—he turns now—“just one time. That’s it.”
The door clicks closed. Did that really just happen? He wants me to see Tate?
No. He wants me say good-bye.
I’m torn when my calimeter buzzes, but I end up grabbing my bag and displacing back to the Ryder because I know I’m not ready or able to say good-bye to Tate yet.
I hang out, leaning on the wall in Ryder’s bedroom for what could be the final time. Hannah lounges on his bed, messing with his iPod despite the fact that she’s here to, quote, help him pack. Ryder balances on his crutches and stuffs his duffel bag with bulky clothes for the upcoming spring weekend getaway in the mountains with Hannah and Mya’s family.
“I can’t wait to see Lennon,” Hannah says.
“I know. He’s growing like a weed.”
“Your face lights up every time you talk about him. It’s super cute.” She leans up and kisses his cheek.
“You want kids, right?” he asks.
“Absolutely. You?”
“Definitely.”
“So you’ve thought about it?”
Ryder shoves two more pairs of socks in the bag. “Yeah, sure.”
“Have you thought about it with me?”
“Maybe.” He leans his crutches against his dresser and falls on Hannah, playfully tackling her on the bed.
“How much have you thought about it?” she muffles from under him.
“Enough.” His mouth skims across her cheek to kiss her ear. I turn away, preferring the eye candy of my dingy boots instead of the lovebirds.
“Well, if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Simon.”
“Oh?” Ryder challenges.
“Yes. That was my grandfather’s name,” Hannah adds matter-of-factly.
“Fine, I can live with Simon. But if it’s a girl, we’re naming her Willow.”
“I can live with Willow. I hope you’re planning on making an honest woman out of me before we have all these babies.”
“I’m thinking about it. Ouch!” he groans, and I lift my head.
Hannah apologizes, shifting carefully under him. Then, because saying sorry must not have been enough, she elaborates with a kiss that includes lots of tongue.
Tired of the make-out session, I’m about to leave the room, but then Ryder awkwardly gets up and resumes packing. Hannah pulls her phone out of her back pocket and turns her attention to marathon texting.
Ryder pulls a small velvet box out of his top dresser drawer and hides it in his bag while Hannah’s attention is on her phone. A second later, I’m in the narrow hallway, gasping. I claw at the collar of my hoodie, desperately trying to release its hold on my throat. Breathe, breathe, breathe, I think, crashing against the wall.
I want so desperately for that to be Tate and me, but—unfairly—that’s not the future we were destined for. Ryder’s life is finally coming together while my own is unraveling, thread by thread. Our common tie of losing our fathers seems so far away now, making me feel even more alone. I catch my breath and slide down the wall.
I need to let Tate go, for her sake. She needs to move on—to build a life of her own—but how will I live without her? What am I saying? I’m not even alive. She is, though. If she tries to take her own life again…I can’t even let my mind go there. If she died, knowing it was my fault would destroy me, no question. The guilt I felt from my mistake with Ryder was nearly unbearable, and he lived.
I stare at a dark knot in the narrow hallway floor, willing myself to come to terms with the BS hand I’ve been dealt. I hardly notic
e Ryder and Hannah walking past me or his voice carrying from the kitchen downstairs. What I do notice is the air turning to ice and blackness swallowing me.
When I stumble into the kitchen, Ryder’s putting a plate in the sink and Hannah’s finishing off the last bite of a sandwich. Apparently, I’ve been passed out awhile. I scour the house for my bag, find it in the living room, and displace. My flight to Tate’s is a blur.
“What happened?” I yell, bursting through her bedroom door.
Liam jumps three feet in the air. “Dude, a little warning next time!”
“Sorry.” I check on Tate, who’s in the big button chair using her laptop (or staring blankly at the screen, anyway). “What happened?”
He nods toward three CDs on her desk, and there’s zero enthusiasm in his voice. “I saved those.”
I walk over dozens of broken discs, my boots not disturbing a single one, and squat down to look at one of the square booklets.
“Mean anything?” Liam asks.
Like I even need to answer. I don’t bother looking at the other booklets or the mirrored shards scattered across the carpet. Instead, I tick through the cases on her desk. “Christmas. Just because. Birthday,” I say, listing the occasions when I gave these to Tate.
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“Until she destroys it.” I point to the Van Morrison case. “She danced around like a fool to Brown Eyed Girl when I gave her this one.” In any other time and place, and under very different circumstances, I’d laugh at the memory.
“What’s with all the CDs?”
I watch Tate zone out behind her computer. “She loves music.”
“Couldn’t come up with anything more original to give her, huh?” Liam jabs.
I’m thankful that he’s not trying to kick me out. “I mean, she really loves music.” My boots pace soundlessly over the broken discs. “I swear she was more excited about getting these CDs than she was when I gave her the ring.”
“Maybe you should have given her a better ring.” Liam reads my somber expression. “Kidding!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, realizing this is my free pass.