Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I

by Lee Davidson

  Rigby shrugs, turns a chair around, and sits between Clara and a new guy. The others follow Rigby’s lead, sitting down and keeping their eyes on me. No one even bothers introducing the new Satellite. Rude.

  “You’ve all gone postal,” I mumble under my breath.

  Everyone looks away, trying to act casual—except for Liam. His glare emanates pure hate. If looks could kill…well, no, that one doesn’t work anymore. If looks could kill again, I’d be a goner.

  “I’m getting something to eat,” I say to the table of lunatics.

  “I’ll go with you,” Anna offers, rising from her chair.

  When we’re in the buffet room and I’m filling my tray with everything I can grab, Anna says, “Grant, I’m worried about you.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  She shakes her head. “Honestly, I don’t know why everyone’s tiptoeing around it. We’ve all heard what’s going on.”

  “And what, exactly, is going on?” I ask peevishly.

  “Tate’s a Rebellion.” Anna’s volume is low and she looks around the room like she’s just said a bad word.

  “And?”

  “And she’s your fiancée,” she hisses.

  Not this again. “Seriously, Anna, you’ve got to stop believing the gossip. Trust me, I’d remember if I had a fiancée.” I push her chin up and her jaw clinks closed. “What happened to keeping assignments private, anyway?”

  “We’re all worried about you.”

  “Well, don’t be. I’m fine. Couldn’t be better, actually. Now, can I get my food? I’ve got a quiet week ahead of me and would prefer to take advantage of the company.”

  She says nothing else and leaves the buffet with just a bottle of water. I, on the other hand, am carrying two overflowing trays of food and intend to eat every last bite. I catch Rigby at one of the meat tables; I’m glad to have an opportunity to talk to him.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?”

  He eyes my trays. “Not bad. Hungry?”

  “Nah. So listen, I wanted you to know…” I pause, not sure how to continue. May as well put it right out there. “I kissed Clara.”

  He clenches hard on his toothpick and remains silent.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened.”

  He doesn’t look too keen on accepting my apology. “What about Tate?”

  Ugh. Not him, too. “Please tell me you don’t believe that Tate crap like everyone else?”

  “You told me all about her!” he accuses, like I’m the one that’s crazy here.

  This whole place has gone mad! Not wanting to get into a heated argument with so little time to be around the others, I set one of my trays down, ready to clear the air. “Are you ticked about Clara?”

  “Yeah I’m ticked about Clara! You knew I was interested and you kissed her anyway?”

  “It just…happened. I didn’t plan it or anything.”

  Rigby’s anger escalates.

  “Look, I’m not interested.” Am I?

  No! I can’t do that to Rigby. I don’t have time to play Love Connection. I’m a Satellite, after all, soon to have a new Tragedy to watch over. This isn’t high school. Though now that I think of it, I don’t remember much about high school at all.

  “But you kissed her,” Rigby reminds me.

  “It was a momentary lapse of reason.”

  “You’re quoting Floyd now?”

  I grin, impressed that he got the Pink Floyd reference. “Is it working?”

  “No. And just so you’re aware, if you are interested, I’m not backing down,” he threatens.

  “I’m not interested,” I reiterate, hoping my voice sounds convincing. After a good, old-fashioned stare down, we both wordlessly concede and make our way out of the food room.

  The conversation back at the table dies when Rigby and I return. I’m like the sideshow freak no one wants to be caught looking at—except I do catch them.

  When Rigby sits, he hops his chair closer to Clara and shares his Hollywood smile with her. She pushes her hair behind her ear, turning away from Rigby, and glances sideways at me. Not wanting to see Rigby’s reaction, I put my focus on my trays of food.

  After a few silent, awkward minutes, I swallow a piece of steak and drop my fork loudly. “Listen, I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but if this is about Tate, my so-called fiancée”—my fingers make mock quotations—“there’s obviously been some miscommunication. I don’t know her, I’ve never known her, and if she happens to be a Rebellion, well, then good for Willow for scoring herself the assignment of the century.”

  I return my attention to my plate and cut another piece of steak. The new guy stands so abruptly that his chair falls behind him. He kicks it angrily and marches out of Benson.

  “What’s with him?” I ask, and then shove a forkful of mashed potatoes into my mouth.

  I don’t get an answer, just a lot of wide-eyed looks. Even Rigby is flaking out on me.

  “Seriously, dude, that’s cold,” Owen whispers.

  “What?” I demand.

  “He doesn’t remember Elliott,” Liam grumbles, more to himself. “She erased those memories, too.”

  Curiosity gets the best of me. “Who’s Elliott?”

  “Tate’s brother,” Owen explains in a quiet voice. I didn’t know Owen even had a quiet voice. “Seriously cold, man,” he repeats, shaking his head.

  I stop chewing and hate their accusing glares. “How was I supposed to know?”

  Clara gives me the stupid sick-cat look again. She really is Sports Illustrated hot. Deciding I should stop staring at her, I focus back on my food and eat in silence. Finally, Owen and Rigby strike up a conversation about some new video game.

  By the end of break, the others are almost acting normal. Except for Liam, who has said nothing.

  “Aren’t you headed back to your assignment?” I ask him when everyone else vanishes.

  “Seriously, bloke, you don’t remember her at all?”

  I suppress my irritation, though I’m miffed that we’re on this topic again. “No.”

  He looks as frustrated as Willow was earlier. “I was Tate’s Satellite. I was there when you visited her. You may not remember her, but she’s real. The two of you, your relationship—it’s all real.”

  I hope my expression conveys how ridiculous he sounds.

  “She erased your memories. I saw her do it firsthand.”

  I stare back at him, trying to gauge how someone seemingly sane could believe this. “I guess she did a good job, then,” I finally reply.

  His eyes look desolate when he squeezes my shoulder. After he releases me, he whispers “displace” and vanishes.

  I push out my chair, hoping some time-killing idea will strike me on my way to my room.

  “Jonathan!” I yell loudly so my voice travels across the vast lobby. He turns at the sound of his name.

  “Jonathan, wait up!” I shout, jogging to him.

  “Hello, Grant.”

  “Hey,” I say, a little out of breath. “Is there any chance I could get my next assignment now? Because here’s the thing: I’m going crazy. I need something to do.”

  He considers my request for a moment. “There’s an urgent matter that needs my attention first. Can you meet me in Orders at the next break?”

  Ugh. Next break? “Sure,” I end up saying, because it’s not like I can argue with the guy.

  I glance at the courtyard doors when he’s gone. Any place is better than my room, so I spend the rest of the day sprawled on the lawn. Time couldn’t possibly move slower.

  Unable to wait a minute longer, I arrive at Orders before break starts and lean impatiently against the golden desk.

  Eve, the whacked-out girl who gave me my first assignment, approaches and pops a pink bubble. “Grant?”

  I nod. Please tell me she’s not going to question my name again.

  “Jonathan sent me,” she explains, smacking her gum.

  Apparently, no one ever told this girl
it was rude to stare. “Okkkaaaay?” I draw the word out so she gets it.

  “He sent me with a message. He cannot meet you today. Something urgent came up.” She talks like she’s reciting a script. “Meet him back here in two days.”

  “Two days!” I bark. She pops her gum. “Can’t you just give me my next assignment?”

  “Sorry, I’m just the initial girl.”

  “The what?”

  “The initial girl,” she states again, as if I’m supposed to get it this time. “The girl who gives the initial assignments.”

  I wait for her to say more, maybe a “Duh!” or something to that effect, but she just stares and pops another bubble. Finally, she asks, “You seeing anyone?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do. You. Have. A. Girlfriend?”

  “Oh. Uh…no.”

  She cocks her head. “Want one?”

  “Sorry, I’m not in the market right now,” I stammer, pushing by her to get away as fast as possible.

  “Well, if you ever change your mind…” she calls after me.

  I walk directly to my usual table in Benson, thankful to be away from her. Sheesh, the way things have been going around here, Progression may as well be Match.com. After I endure stares from Rigby, Clara, Owen, Anna, and Liam, the atmosphere around the table returns to normal. I’m dealt into their game of Sats. Deflated, I tell them about having two more whole days to kill.

  “You should totally try gaming, man,” Owen suggests.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Anna argues, eyeing Owen.

  Owen brushes her off. “Seriously, it’s way cool! You’re welcome to my headgear if you want it.”

  “Maybe,” I reply noncommittally.

  “It’s in my room—number seven twenty-three in the K wing. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks. Anyone seen Willow?” I check the archways, wishing I could make her appear.

  “She’s pretty busy right now.” Liam’s apparently still ticked that I’m not buying his made-up story.

  “Think she’ll be coming for break?”

  Liam’s scowl deepens. “Doubt it.”

  “Have you seen her? Is she OK?”

  “How do you think she is?” He pushes up from the table and stomps out of the room.

  I shake my head and return to the card game before the others have to leave as well.

  The next two days crawl at a snail’s pace, only slower. In a desperate attempt to kill the remaining half of the second day, I take Owen up on his offer and try the gaming thing. After laughing at his floral sofa (which is even uglier than mine), I grab the absurd binoculars sitting on his coffee table, strap them around my head, and take a deep breath when the lenses power on.

  I’m shocked to see Willow as one of the character options in Elite Force: Squad Seven. There’s no way I’m pretending to be that kook—or the tatted and pierced Reed for that matter—so I choose a giant guy named Billy instead. Using my body as the controller, I memorize and repeat the displayed movement sequence that allows for a successful block. It takes some getting used to (and I’m sure I look as stupid as Liam did playing it), but the game is surprisingly decent. I should have been playing it two days ago. After mastering three levels, my calimeter buzzes. I pull the binoculars off and drop them onto Owen’s cushy leather chair on my way out.

  I’m relieved when I turn the corner to Orders and see Jonathan at the end of the long hallway. He smiles. “My apologies for the other day. Something pressing came up unexpectedly.”

  “No problem.” I’m just glad to finally be getting my next assignment.

  Jonathan looks past me. “Ah, here she comes.”

  Carrying herself as though her energy has been snuffed out, Willow forces a smile and pulls me into a tight hug. She steps back and scans me. She’s such a mom.

  “How you doin’, kid?”

  I hug her again, realizing how much her absence has bothered me. “I’m good. Bored as all get-out, but good,” I say into her hair before letting go. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right.” She pulls her dreads into a ponytail. “I totally need to code, but thankfully, my assignment is complete.”

  “She’s pretty amazing,” Jonathan beams.

  “Oh, stop!” She pretends to be embarrassed. Jonathan and I laugh, knowing that could never happen.

  “Now that you’re both here.” Jonathan turns to the wall behind the desk expectantly. Shelves of books fold out of the dark wood panels, reaching so high they disappear. A golden ladder slides from the right and settles around the middle of the bookcase. Jonathan steps through the walkway that was part of the desk just two seconds ago and grips the ladder. “Your book, please,” he says to me.

  I grab Ryder’s book from my backpack and hand it to him.

  He looks up the ladder. “Be right back.”

  “I told you he was traditional,” Willow remarks after he’s out of sight.

  “You call that traditional?”

  “Well, maybe not the magic wall, but the bookshelves, definitely. It suits him nicely, don’t you think?”

  I don’t answer because my eyes are too busy searching for him. When he finally returns, he’s carrying a book the same size as my last, but this one is dark purple instead of red.

  “It is my pleasure to present you with your first Elite assignment.” Jonathan’s words get delayed somewhere between his mouth and my head. I look at Willow a minute later when they sink in.

  She beams back at me and pushes up on my chin, forcing my jaw to refasten. “Congratulations, kid.”

  “You have been selected, out of a grand pool, might I add, to join our Elite team of seven. Congratulations,” Jonathan says.

  “Really?” is all I can manage.

  “Yes, really! Why couldn’t you have shut up like this months ago? It certainly would have made my job easier.”

  I’m too stunned to jab Willow back. “I’m taking your place?” I ask, still not believing it.

  “I had a good run. May as well give someone else a shot. Although I seriously doubt you’ll ever possess my awesomeness.” She winks at Jonathan.

  “With this great title comes greater responsibility.” Jonathan’s eyes move to the book in my hand. “This next assignment will be extremely demanding. I trust you to keep your focus.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I look forward to many more years of your service.” He pauses, adding the dramatic effect that he always seems to pull off. “Well, you’d better get to it.” He shakes my hand, wishes me luck, and strolls down the hall.

  Me…an Elite? I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this, though I can’t deny that I’m a little stoked. Still, to have been selected over so many others who are much more deserving, I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.” On our way down the hall, Willow fidgets with her sleeve like she’s uncomfortable. The volume from the lobby increases with every step. “I guess this is it, huh?” she eventually says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not going to be seeing much of each other anymore.”

  I put my arm around her as we snake around small groups of Satellites in the lobby. “We’ll make time,” I promise, kissing the top of her head when she leans against me. “After all, someone once told me, when you’re a Satellite, it’s forever.”

  She stops when we reach the B hall and turns to me. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For protecting Ryder. I know it was you.”

  “How?”

  “His tocket. I knew when my memories fully came back. I owe you so much.”

  “You owe me nothing,” I say, meaning it.

  “No, I do.”

  We resume a slow walk down the crowded hall.

  “What’s he like?” A tinge of sadness plays in Willow’s voice.

  “He’s great. Really great.” I think about his accident and wonder why I was unable to stop it, and then become fearful
that I’ll give away how badly I failed. “And Mya,” I say quickly, “she couldn’t be more like you if she tried. Well, except she’s less of a weirdo.”

  Willow pushes against me with her shoulder.

  “I do have a question,” I say.

  “Hmm?”

  “What’s with all the granite?”

  She smiles. “It’s always kinda been my thing. As a kid, I would sneak away to the beach a few blocks down the street from our house. I’d climb on the granite boulders, imagining I was an explorer looking in the dark shadows for their secrets.” She pauses. “Imagine the history they hold—submerged by the sea part of the time, left to dry when the ocean retracts. They remain solid, while the world moves and evolves around them.”

  I dig in my pocket, pulling out the small stone tocket. “And this one?”

  She takes it from me and rolls the smooth rock over her fingers. “Troy collected these for me. He filled an entire garden with them, if you can believe that. This one”—she holds it up in full view—“was my focal point through Ryder’s birth.” She places the rock back in my hand. “Take care of that one for me.”

  I agree, knowing she’s not referring to the stone. “How come you don’t have a New England accent?”

  She steps into the elevator. “I’m as Midwest as you are, kid. All the way from Iowa. You and I were practically neighbors,” she jokes. “My family moved to New Hampshire when I was eight, but I never picked up the accent. It’s ludicrous, right?”

  I shake my head and laugh. Willow calling something ludicrous brings three words to mind: pot, kettle, and black.

  She hugs me tightly when we get to my door.

  “Want to come in?” I ask.

  “Nah.”

  “I have coffee,” I say in my most persuasive voice, hoping to change her mind.

  “Thanks, but I need to get going. Troy’s probably bored out of his mind.”

  “Ha! More like dreading your return.”

  Her expression is much too serious and her lingering stare makes the space between us zing with awkwardness. “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Shut up!” I hug her again. “It’s not good-bye.”

  “It feels that way.”

  “It’s just a chapter closing.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” she asks. “Elite…that’s a big deal.”