daynight

by Megan Thomason

  “Thanks, I guess, for the inappropriate compliment and the workout,” I say. “I’m going to go do some stretching so I don’t feel like a pretzel tomorrow.” And so I can shake off the willies.

  “What’s inappropriate about calling you beautiful?” he says, getting his sweaty, shirtless body a little too close for comfort, and reminding me how much taller he is than me. If I’d been expecting scars from where he’d been stitched back together, there are none, just the same swathe of chest hair he’s always had.

  “Well, uh, you have a girlfriend and I’m with Blake,” I say. His eyes narrow and he shakes his blonde curls.

  “Until I Cleave, I’m not tied down to anyone,” he says. “I still have a month before I’m eighteen, and until then I have time to convince any girl, including Bri and you, to Cleave me before someone else decides for me.” I shake at the thought. I’m speechless and just motion that I’m going over to stretch, leaving before he has the chance to say anything else, and quickly getting into a yoga pose, eyes closed.

  “It’s okay, you know,” I hear, Bri’s voice. “I don’t blame him for being interested.”

  I stare at her incredulously. “No, it’s not okay. At least I’m not okay with it. I think if you’re with someone, you’re with them and only them. From experience, I can assure you that anything else just leads to disaster and heartache.” I may sound a little bitter, still burned by their stunt the eve of Winter Formal, which is hardly fair since she has no memory of that night. For me, I only have one positive memory of that night and I’d like him to be the one to reappear. Every other person I remember being at that party and blown to smithereens is here, but not Ethan. In some ways, it’s worse to think that he lived and never contacted me, than died and resurrected here on Thera. He probably left the party, went straight to his girlfriend, and never looked back.

  Bri cocks her head and gives me a look of pity. “Soon enough we’re going to be Cleaved for life, so I guess I want to make sure it’s right. And it wouldn’t be right for Tristan and me if he’s into someone else. He’d just be miserable. I knew the moment I first saw him that he was the guy for me, but it doesn’t happen that way for everyone. Last day I thought we would Cleave, but Tristan was pretty teebed so I let him sleep it off,” she says. This conversation sucks. How did I get to a place where I’m defending her relationship with Tristan and mine with Blake? And what exactly is ‘teebed’ that Tristan had to sleep off? I went through all our cupboards and didn’t see a drop of alcohol anywhere.

  “Any guy would be crazy to not be into you. You’re gorgeous,” I say with all honesty. “And given Blake and I have only been here a few hours, it’s pure craziness to even be talking about Cleaving or anything of the sort. I’m just trying to get through the first night, you know?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” she says, though I can tell she’s still concerned about it. I dare to look around and can see both Tristan and Blake’s eyes focused my way, though Bailey’s over there trying hard to distract Blake. My feelings are a jumbled mess. How can I ever make sense of dead people made alive, impending lifetime Cleavings and the implications thereof, my fake relationship with Blake, and back-to-life Tristan hitting on me? I rub my temples and fight off a migraine.

  I continue my stretching and my situation analysis until Blake shrugs off Bailey and comes to offer me a towel. He stayed shirted tonight as if he’s embarrassed to be seen shirtless in the same vicinity as Tristan’s bodybuilder physique.

  “Thanks,” I say. “How was your workout?” If I expected an answer, he disappoints, shrugging his shoulders as he winces. “Nothing’s changed,” I add, trying to reassure him. Why’s he so worried about our stupid, fake relationship anyway? He leans in to give me a light kiss on the cheek and whispers.

  “Sure it has,” he says, and then louder adds, “I’ll walk you back after showers.” I open my mouth to object, but he puts two fingers against my lips. His defeatist attitude irks me big time.

  Can he really think I’ll give up my entire life back on earth, as pathetic as it’s been recently, to live with my dead high school boyfriend here on rule-heavy Thera? Sure, I still have feelings for Tristan. How could I not? My life revolved around him before he died, but not always in a positive way. If I wasn’t sure Tristan was the ‘one’ after more than a year, how could I hope to decide that before his eighteenth birthnight? Those last few weeks before Tristan died had been a lot more negative than positive. If Blake has anyone to be concerned about for competition with our fake relationship, it’s Ethan, not Tristan. A perfect fantasy boy’s way more dangerous than a very imperfect, two-timing ex. Just thinking about Ethan makes my heart ache in a way that neither Blake nor Tristan can. With some effort, I re-bury the memory.

  After Blake vanishes from sight, I scurry to the girls’ locker area. Tristan heads my way. I pretend not to hear him call my name and close the door behind me. A shower soothes my sore muscles before I change back into my school uniform. I find Blake waiting for me outside the complex and for the first time I wish I knew how to skateboard, as our travel time ‘home’ would be cut dramatically. We walk silently past the spot I’d passed out earlier and I curse Spud under my breath.

  “So, you’re not talking to me?” I ask him finally. “It kind of seems like we should have more than ever to talk about.”

  “Not now, Kira,” he says. I jump ahead and turn to face him all in one step, so that he has to stop. “What?” he demands.

  “What has you so upset? So I worked out with Tristan. I felt stuck because Bri told me to, and as you said, it’s not like they know the history, so I was trying to do my job and be nice.”

  “You looked like you were having a real nice time,” he says. I guess this is Blake jealous and I really don’t want to fight with him about it given I hate fighting under any circumstance. His emerald eyes and body language are fiery. It breaks my heart that he’s mad and my heart can’t stand any more destruction tonight. I motion him towards me as if I want to whisper something to him and I kiss him lightly on the cheek. He smells like Theranberry soap and shampoo.

  “What was that for?” he whispers. The whoosh of skateboards behind us interrupts my thoughts, as I turn to see them screech to a sharp stop. My silent wish for instant teleportation goes unfulfilled and we are left face-to-face with Bri and Tristan yet again. Tristan looks ridiculous on a skateboard. He just doesn’t have the body type for it.

  “Wow, you’re only getting cheek? You’ve got to go for the tongue action,” Tristan says to Blake. I chuckle since I never had the guts to tell Tristan how much I hated his throat-seeking ‘tongue action.’

  “Uh, gee, thanks for the advice,” Blake mumbles.

  “Want to join us for dinner?” Tristan asks.

  “Thanks, but not this morning,” I say quickly. “Can we get a rain check? We’re still getting settled and have someone stopping by later to make sure everything is well stocked and in order.”

  “Sure,” he says with a smile that tells me he’ll keep asking until we say yes. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  “Uh huh,” I say, thinking of how many tomorrows of this I’m going to have to endure before I get to go home. I wave to Bri as the two of them push off their boards and distance themselves within seconds.

  “Promise me something,” Blake says, mesmerizing me with his eyes.

  “What?” I ask, not being willing to make a promise I can’t keep.

  “We need to talk. There’s stuff about me you don’t know… that might make you hate me,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

  “Why would I hate you?” I ask. I knew it. I knew there was stuff he wasn’t telling me and that I couldn’t completely trust him. It must be bad if he thinks I’ll hate him.

  He leans his forehead into mine and stares at me. His eyes look a little watery.

  “Spill,” I say.

  “Not now. But soon. We’ve got to get back. It’s time for your mental breakdown.” I know that our sunlight quota is nearly up. B
lake jogs up the hill. But as I contemplate our ‘date’ with Spud and my pending meltdown, my feet feel heavy and I struggle to finish the climb to the top of the hill, falling well behind Blake. He patiently waits for me.

  “Hey neighbors,” I hear and look up to see Tristan and Bri, which quickly snaps me back to reality. You’ve got to be kidding me? They put us next door to them? Blake looks as thrilled as I do to see them watching us from their balcony, separated only by a half wall to ours. “How awesome is it that you guys are right next door?”

  “So awesome. Bastards are going to pay,” Blake mutters. He then says more pleasantly to our neighbors, “We’ll see you guys tomorrow. I think I’m going to go cook this beautiful lady some dinner.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up the ramp to our house.

  “What, doesn’t she know how to cook?” I hear Tristan saying. Neither of us responds and I’m relieved when the door shuts securely behind me. I stumble into the living room. Blake pulls me down onto the couch and into his arms. The tears start streaming and I release the emotions I’ve been holding in all night.

  How the heck can this not be a dream? Is it possible I was actually injured in the blast at the Goodington’s, am in a coma, and my brain has fabricated all of this? Didn’t I see a TV show like that once? Isn’t that more possible than traveling to Earth’s sister world through a portal in the ocean to a place where dead people live again and some sick and twisted, faceless rulers force their loved ones to attend to them?

  Do I still love Tristan? Or is that chapter of my life closed? Could I allow myself to develop feelings for Blake? Can he ever live up to the memory of Ethan, who I felt sure could be the ‘one’? Or will I turn on Blake when I learn his secrets? What has he done anyway? Did he spend time in juvie or something? Was he abused? Raised by meth dealers? What could explain those scars on his hands? Although I need to know his deep dark secret, I first need to deal with the existence of the Second Chancers.

  The thing that I get stuck on over and over again is the ‘how’? How can my friends be alive? They were dead. Vaporized. Well, not quite given the number of body parts I saw in the post-disaster news coverage. But, mangled beyond repair, certainly. So, how did they get here? They weren’t reborn since they showed up at the same age they were when they died on Earth. Someone needs to explain the science behind it, because nothing I’ve learned in school or training here can account for it.

  Amidst the grief and anger, I also feel something for Blake that I can’t quite define. He infuriates me most the time, but occasionally shows me a tender side that tugs at my heart. By the time the doorbell rings, I realize we’ve completely missed our window for dinner. That mystery will have to be left for another day as we’re due to be debriefed by the man whom I consider to be my captor. The doorbell rings again and I close my eyes to collect myself and let Blake pull away, though he whispers, “It’ll be okay, Kira,” before jumping up to get the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Sundry,” I hear Spud say.

  “Mr. Rosenberg,” Blake responds. “Come on in. And please call us Blake and Kira. The whole formal thing’s annoying. Sorry I was slow. We’ve just been, uh, working through the massiveness of the night.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Spud says in an all-knowing tone as he enters the room and sees me in shambles on the couch. I don’t bother to say hello, trying to wipe the evidence of my meltdown from my face. He helps himself to a seat and I watch Blake retreat to the kitchen.

  “Ms. Donovan, or Kira, rough night?” he says.

  “I got to hang out with all my dead friends. It was great,” I say with the deadpan delivery I reserve for the man.

  “As shocking as it must have been for you to see them, can you appreciate the miracle of the situation? You do understand that they are not dead here, right?”

  “I’m not really a ‘believe in miracles’ kind of person,” I say. “But true to your advertising, the Second Chance Institute has managed to find a way to give people a second lease on life,” and then adding under my breath, “however disturbing it is.”

  “Well, I think it’s a miracle,” Spud says.

  I look at him incredulously. How long did the SCI have to brainwash him? Deep down, does he understand that all of this isn’t okay? I ask him, “How does it work? How do they get here? How do they get through the portals? I need to understand it.”

  “Sorry, even with my promotion I’m not privy to the details,” Spud says.

  “I don’t believe you,” I respond, full of indignation.

  “Does it really matter? They are real. They are here. You are here. Deal with it,” he says. I hate this man; truly despise him—his ridiculous looks, his condescending attitude, his inappropriate questions, and his pathetically insufficient answers.

  “It matters to me,” I say, pounding my fists on the couch, frustrated and upset.

  “I assume you were careful not to discuss the past?” he says, ignoring my temper tantrum. I take some deep breaths to calm myself as I don’t do angry well, being rather unversed at it.

  “I assume you already know the answer to that?” I say, putting him back on the defensive. He glares at me with his signature, ‘be careful, you are pushing it’ look. “But yes, to answer your question, I made no mention of the past. So all is safe, unless dead kids became psychic upon resurrection.” This gets me a smirk and a nervous wiggling of his chin fat.

  “Excellent. How did Tristan and Briella react to you?” he asks.

  “How do you mean? I chatted with them. Bri and I hit it off, and Tristan hit on me,” I say.

  “Did that make you feel uncomfortable given his current relationship with Briella?” he asks. Why is it so important for him to know this? I try to read him and my best guess would be concern that I may be a spoiler in some evil being’s Cleaving plans.

  “Yes, it was uncomfortable and awkward for everyone,” I say.

  “Because of your feelings for Tristan or your feelings for Blake?” he probes. It takes a moment for me to realize that the powers that be think my relationship with Blake to be fully real and progressing much faster than in reality.

  “Both, I guess,” I say. I wonder what’s taking Blake so long in the kitchen, but realize he’s probably scrounging for food since we missed dinner. Blake doesn’t have quite the appetite Tristan had when we dated, but pretty close. My eating habits more closely mirror my stress than hunger level. And since my stress level is at an all time high, I could use some munchies.

  Spud continues his interrogation. “Did you get a sense that either Briella or Tristan had any memories from before?” Odd given he said that isn’t possible.

  “Hmmm. No not really memories per se, but more like feelings if that makes any sense. Tristan said he was drawn to me and he was going to figure out why, and Bri immediately felt like we’d be friends,” I say. He jots down some notes on his tablet.

  “Do you have any intention of pursuing a relationship with Tristan?” he asks bluntly. My eyes go wide. I let out a puff of imaginary steam and dig my fingernails into the couch.

  “Mr. Rosenberg,” I say, trying to keep my voice as calm and steady as possible, “I’m a little overwhelmed by the fact my dead friends are here and reanimated, and even more overwhelmed by the fact that you knew this and did not tell me ahead of time. So no, I’m not really planning some dream wedding with Tristan. Or I guess that doesn’t even happen here since people either have premarital sex and Cleaved for life, or get matched up by some random computer or whatever. Neither of which I’ll allow to happen to me.”

  “But you have been pursuing a relationship with Blake?” he asks, his blubbery cheeks wobbling as he laughs over his intrusions. Well, not a real one. Or maybe? I don’t know. But, for Spud, it’s got to seem real.

  “Yeah. As far as I know he’s not dead,” I say, biting my lip, as Blake enters to hand me a plate of food. “Thanks,” I say to Blake and then shove a bite of food into my mouth so I can avoid further discussion.

  “Okay,”
Spud says. “You can eat while I talk with Blake and then I highly recommend you get a good day’s sleep. Your doctor decided to move your surgery up to tomorrow evening after reviewing your test results, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to eat or drink after dinner, and won’t be able to have breakfast in the evening. And here’s a medication you’re to take right away,” he says, handing me a couple of pills, which he waits for me to swallow. The mention of the surgery makes me feel ill. Blake grabs my hand to comfort me. I run my fingers across his scars, eagerly anticipating the moment he tells me what happened to cause such injury.

  “Can Blake be there?” I ask. “I just can’t deal with those needles on my own.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Spud says. “Given your test results they’re concerned about Blake as well, so will be running additional tests on him at the same time. I’ll mention your concern about the needles to the doctor.” The way he says it and the reaction on Blake’s face makes me think that it’s entirely intentional to keep Blake out.

  “Can’t they wait to run tests on me until after Kira’s surgery is done?” Blake asks.

  “No, I’m afraid not. You have classes to start. Kira will start her classes a night or two later, as I suspect she’ll need some recovery time.”

  “I thought the surgery was no big deal. Should I be worried?” I ask, even more weary about it than before, and suddenly not so hungry. In fact, I’m very woozy and incredibly sleepy.

  “It’s not a big deal and no, you shouldn’t be worried. Some people experience a little discomfort afterwards, but the doctor will give you some pain medication and with a little rest you’ll be just fine,” he says.