Speaking of aneurysm close calls—when I believed I had Cleaved to Tristan I truly did panic. Blake really did a number on me. Then I out-gamed the gamer with my spectacular performance. And it was going perfectly until I decided to seal the deal with a kiss. And he kissed me back. Really kissed me. In a completely turned on kind of way that made me think he wants to drop the ‘fake.’ Not that I let him know I agreed the kiss was hot. After his ‘joke’ he gets no ego stroking.
Then things got blurry really fast the moment Blake mentioned a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed Intern named Ethan who’s here on Thera. It can’t be a coincidence given my sightings and hearing his voice. If he’s here, why has Blake run into him ‘a couple times’ and he’s managed to avoid me entirely? Blake said the Ethan he met was ‘really into a girl he met at a party.’ The same longing I’ve felt for months returns in force at the thought it was my Ethan and he might have meant me. If he liked me enough to consider marriage, kids and old age by my side, why would he avoid me? And guys accuse girls of playing games.
“Hold on,” I hear from behind, as Blake grabs my hand, caressing it until I meet his gaze.
“We’re late,” I protest.
“I know. I just have to ask you a couple things. First, is my mission really your mission now? Are we still partners and do you still have my back?” Committing to this will put my life in danger. But, my life and future are already at risk, as is Blake’s, and I’ve already decided our futures are tied, like it or not. His eyes intensify in purpose as he awaits my answer.
“Yes. I’ll cover for you while you do your whole try to take down the bad guy thing,” I respond. “I really do want off this rock.” He closes his eyes, lifts his head upward, and clasps his hands together for a moment, before staring at me again.
“Thank you,” he says. “Because I don’t know if you noticed that flare a minute ago, but that means my father has arrived and will be eagerly awaiting an update on how my mission is progressing.”
“That firecracker thing?” I ask, remembering vaguely a small blast and light in the sky, higher than the canyon lights, yet not a star. He nods. So, his dad’s here to put on the pressure, which means whatever he’s got planned is a ‘sooner rather than later’ kind of thing. Great if successful, potentially disastrous if not. “So, when will you fill me in on the plan?”
“From now on, every bit of canyon time will be devoted to it,” he says. “I have so much to tell you.”
“Yes you do have a lot of explaining left to do,” I answer. He twitches at my jab.
“My last question is… where do we stand? Are we resuming our quote-unquote ‘relationship,’ or what?” he asks. I know to complete Blake’s mission we will need the canyon time, but I’m hesitant to define our relationship given the complicated nature of my feelings towards him and the news about Ethan. It takes a couple deep breaths to be able to answer.
“For public appearances, sure, we can resume our, as you put it ‘quote-unquote relationship,’ but it’s going to remain fake.” He looks disappointed.
“What about that kiss?” he asks.
“What about it? You’re on a mission to take down the SCI, not on the freaking Bachelor. We keep up the ruse so we get our canyon time, but the PDAs going to be kept to a minimum,” I respond.
“Surely after they observed that kiss, the powers that watch are going to expect more of the same. An escalation even,” he says, leaning into my ear. My breath hitches a smidgen and I hope he didn’t notice my body’s betrayal.
“You guys have about two minutes to get into the gym,” Bri yells. Saved by the yell. Thank you, Bri.
I look Blake right in the eyes with my best sultry look that used to get Tristan all hot and bothered. “In. Your. Dreams.” And then I turn and run.
“You look absolutely freaking Cleavable,” Blake says as I enter the living room in full party attire. We’ve been summoned to an all night to early morning dance-a-thon on the football field, mandatory for all students freshman and up, and so I’ve squeezed into my tiny tube top and skirt to appease the powers that be. I even dusted myself with Industrial City Party Sparkles and look like a human disco ball. Thankfully I’ve had a week off from clinic visits so my abdomen is flat and firm, the swelling from my surgery gone.
“You look like a 70s movie extra,” I respond. He looks ridiculous in his party vest and pants. The SCI has no issue killing off a whole party full of teenagers, but can’t give a single decent fashion designer a second chance? “Ready to get your groove on?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “Happy to show you my moves.” He pulls me close and grinds against me. The last couple weeks have been absolute torture as Blake seems hell bent on getting a repeat of that kiss. Sure, we’ve spent a lot of time discussing his mission in the canyon, but I’ll be darned if he hasn’t figured out how to discuss the SCI and their evil minions with bedroom eyes. But I’ve also seen him use the same look on Bailey and vice versa. So, I haven’t given him more than a couple chaste pecks to keep our cover.
“You,” I say poking him on the exposed part of his chest, “have become Testosterone’s poster boy.” He twirls me around and laughs.
“Ready to go?” he asks with a smirk. “I know how much you love parties.”
“Why? You going to drug me?” I ask.
“Despite how hard you’re trying to resist me, I know you want me, even without the drugs,” he jokes.
“Yep, I’m right behind Bailey in line,” I say and pull him out the door. I need some fresh air. I’m quite conflicted. Sure, I haven’t been able to forget that kiss. But after hearing from Blake that an Intern named Ethan was in the city, I can’t take things further. Blake thinks I’m playing hard to get, and Bailey thinks Blake’s playing hard to get. Though the more Bailey plays ‘easy,’ the more he seems to be softening to her advances. Despite the fact he’s been all over me.
I need to find Ethan and figure out what his deal is. I cornered Spud to ask whether he could get me in touch with him, but he told me that he’d do no such thing and that I should just focus on my own assignment. He didn’t, however, refute Ethan’s existence, so I’m as curious as ever about where he’s hiding and why. And how he’s here on Thera. If he has high enough DNT to cross over could that mean his being at that party wasn’t a coincidence? The thought sends shivers down my spine.
Spud scored Blake a scooter that’ll fit us both, so I’ve learned to close my eyes and hang onto Blake for dear life while he maneuvers us through the canyon paths at high speed. The pleasant breeze created outweighs the threat of injury, since walking the dark canyon in one hundred ten degree plus temperatures only results in sweat. The ride takes less than two minutes by scooter, so we’re at the dance quickly.
Teens litter the football field, dancing to some new age crap that sounds like it belongs as the soundtrack to the canyon light show. At least it’s music, I think. When I see Tristan eyeing me in my skimpy attire and licking his lips, I pull Blake in to dance with me.
“I like you in your skimpy party swag,” Blake jokes. “You really move well in it.” I push away and do a back handspring and flip to a split that gets everyone’s attention. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he says, pulling me up and into a tight embrace.
We dance in a large group for an hour, rotating between slow and sweet, fast and crazy, and sheer athleticism. While Bailey pulls Blake off for a private dance that looks more like a strip-tease, I teach a line of girls several dance routines I know from cheer to tamp down my jealousy. My subjects eventually burn out and collapse into the arms of TB-enhanced boys.
“You’re losing him, frigid minute by minute,” a teebed out Bailey whispers into my ear. I turn to face her.
“He’s been all over me lately, Bailey. Not all guys are into the ‘I’m so teebed that I’ll gladly spread my legs for you’ thing,” I snap.
“Little kitten Kira tries to have some bite, eh?” she says. “Well, my dear little promo for purity… what do you think ha
s had Blake so hot and bothered these days? Surely, you don’t think that one kiss you shared in the canyons did it, do you? Blake and I have had a… lot… to debate lately and he’s been so… receptive to my arguments. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Whatever, Bailey,” I say. “If he wants your brand of skank, he and I aren’t meant to be anyways.” I push through the crowd to escape her. Unbelievable. But then again, her case makes sense. Every time Blake returns to me from a conversation with Bailey, he’s more aggressive about ‘giving the powers that be a good show’ than usual. If he’s so into her, why’s he still pursuing things with me?
I continue my brisk walk across the football field until I run straight into Blake.
“Where have you been?” he asks.
“Discussing your imminent Cleaving with Bailey,” I say.
“Like that’s going to happen,” he says, though he refuses to meet my eye.
I glare at him and hope he can feel the heat, even if he can’t see it. “According to Bailey, the only reason you’ve been so amorous with me as of late is because she’s done such a good job of getting you worked up… and you guys just haven’t had a chance to seal the deal yet.”
Blake grabs me around my waist and presses his body to mine and whispers in my ear, “I have some rather bad memories of Bailey from my time back on Earth. You have nothing to worry about.” The crowd considers Blake’s move to be foreplay and shouts, “Cleave, Cleave, Cleave.”
“Raise my bet to thirty berries that they’ll Cleave off after the dance,” Bri says to Tristan. When she says ‘they’ she means Blake and me. Bri and Tristan have been dancing next to us, as have Lucas and his new squeeze, Brooke. Bri adds, “They’ve been downright gooey since they got back together. Have you ever seen two kids more in love?”
“We heard that,” I yell back. “It’s a good thing you don’t value your berries.” Bri started a Theranberry pool to predict our Cleave date, and I believe everyone over sixteen (with the exception of Bailey) has entered since berry season ends soon. It’ll be a long summer for those without good stock. Bri bounces over to Blake and me, dragging Tristan along.
“Come on guys. Help me out,” Bri says, eyes twinkling. Her usually heavy makeup is doubled and particularly sparkly tonight, the effect being pretty sultry and I wonder if she’s going to make a play for a Cleaving of her own with Tristan by morn. She pleads with Blake, “My summer party schedule depends on you. Blake, how can you possibly resist her dressed like that?” Tristan scans me, thinking he’s safe holding Bri from behind, but Bri’s sixth sense kicks in and she grinds her heel into his foot and Tristan whimpers like a dog.
“I think it safest to not answer that,” Blake responds. “But I do agree that Kira’s pretty hot in her party attire. Especially when she does all those flips and stuff.”
“Seriously, you two,” Bri says, her voice a bit pushy and urgent. “Get with the program. Cleave. Have wicked cute babies.” Blake tenses at the mention of babies, having shared his concern of mini ‘Bliras’ being grown in the Garden City labs. I think the concerns are unfounded. The doctors showed me ultrasound pictures of the lesion before and after my surgery. How would Ted know the specifics anyway? He’s just guessing and spreading his unhealthy psychosis.
I dismiss her marketing campaign. “Sorry. I’m programmed differently.” She purses her lips in disgust at my values. I always suspected she didn’t share my views on waiting until marriage, but she wasn’t one to kiss and tell either. She’d dig into my affairs—particularly where Tristan was concerned—but glossed over her own relationships. She’d dated Lucas for four months before her death. I have no clue what they did behind closed doors. Never asked. Didn’t want to know.
Bailey says, “Yeah, you’ve got the 50s housewife programming.” My head whips around to face her and I’m not the only one. What did she just say? She shouldn’t know squat about 50s housewives. Blake clearly heard as well. Bailey’s eyes jet around nervously, but then she lets out a squeal before I can ask her about it. Good thing. I could have exposed Blake and myself to the Second Chancers had I confronted her in front of everyone.
“Oooh. Lara and Johnnie came. She looks so cute pregnant!” Bailey says, waving her arms to get the couple’s attention. She successfully lures them our way. I’ll have to get Bailey alone later and subtly figure out what she knows.
Lara Stewart and Johnnie Sanders had been crowned royalty at Carmel Valley High… Homecoming Royalty, that is. Both seniors, they’d dated since freshman year and applied to the same colleges. I believe they’d been accepted and agreed to go to University of California Riverside. Before attending the Goodington Winter Formal after party. Now here on Thera, they’re Cleaved and have Assisted Pregnancy Baby Number One on the way. Lara’s working towards a degree in teaching administration and Johnnie’s got a security gig of some sort.
While Blake plucks Johnnie’s brain about Garden City security protocol, I politely listen to Lara dish about completely unnatural methods to get pregnant on Thera. The more she describes, the whiter I get, fainter I feel. Shots. Abdominal ultrasounds. Minor surgical procedure to remove the eggs. She might as well have been dictating my medical file. Our experiences vary on two fronts. First, she agreed to her egg removal. And second, a few nights after they removed her eggs they implanted an embryo, which took, making her pregnant.
Whereas Briella laps up every detail of Lara’s story, my brain attempts to reject the similarities. Disprove Ted and Blake’s theories of Petri dish-generated posterity. If they really did take my eggs and Blake’s sperm, what happened to the embryos? Are they hoping Blake and I will Cleave soon so they can impregnate me? Or do they have some other plan?
I need air. The throngs of teens on the field seem to be closing in and cutting off my air supply. Without explanation to Bri, Lara or Blake, I sprint out into the open air and down a path deep into the canyon. The air feels heavy and sticky, different from usual, but I don’t know how to attribute the change. I look to the dark sky for clues, but the canyon lights mask my view.
While I love my canyon time with Blake, I don’t find the same appeal being out here alone. We usually walk the canyon as dawn approaches, but it is solidly middle of the night and the swirling lights can’t cut through the blackness. Every sound rattles me. The bugs. Animals and reptiles camouflaged in the brush. And a rumble I can’t place. It starts softly like fingers tapping on a keyboard, but then grows to a stampede of horses. So much for being able to think. Blake yells for me and then I hear a loud siren. It’s familiar. Oh crap. That’s the same siren they used in the flash flood drill. I scramble to climb the hill before the water assails me.
I’m fifty feet up, a third of the way, when it hits. Knowing I’ll lose all progress if caught in a mudslide, I grab for the thickest bush, a thorny Theranberry. The briers slice through my exposed flesh, but keep me from being washed into the growing river below. Mud blankets me as it washes down the hill and the rain assaults from above. Our emergency drill hadn’t properly prepared me. I’d relied on Blake’s quick thinking and strength. He’d used rope ladders to scale the canyon, but how can I find a ladder if I can’t see? The canyon lights are useless covered with mud. And the zip lines are way too high to reach.
Smaller brush, cacti, and unknown objects join the landslide and pummel me as they make their way towards the river of death below. I can feel the roots of my Theranberry bush loosen and tell that they won’t hold me much longer. Where’s a city worker on a zip line when you need them? I scream for Blake and for help until my voice fails me.
Twenty or thirty minutes later the rain abates from barrels to merely buckets and visibility increases. Enough to barely make out a human life form headed my way. The voice reveals that Blake has come to rescue me. He’s on a rope ladder a half dozen feet to my left.
“Kira, listen to me. You’re going to need to dive for it. Wait until I get farther down and I’ll catch hold of you,” he shouts, his voice shaking.
; I attempt to dislodge myself from my destabilized Theranberry bush enough to slide sideways towards the rope. I get washed down ten or fifteen feet before I feel Blake’s hand grab me and swing me towards him. Once I feel the rope ladder solidly beneath my feet, I let out a cry of relief and embrace Blake.
“What were you thinking? Why’d you run off by yourself like that?” he asks. I can only see the outline of his face, but can tell he’s upset.
“Lara. She explained how she got pregnant. They took her eggs. Just like they took my eggs. You and Spud were right,” I say, barely whispering, my throat raw.
“Oh crap,” he says.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“Maybe the procedures are similar?” he says. “Maybe we’re jumping to conclusions we shouldn’t without proof.”
“It’s possible. I mean they never did a second procedure to implant an embryo back in me like they did with Lara,” I say. Perhaps Blake is right. The procedures could be similar.
“They couldn’t do that anyway until you’re Cleaved. If you got pregnant you’d have to be Exiled.”
“Uh huh. More reasons to avoid Cleaving like the plague,” I say. He looks upward at the huge climb ahead of us.
“Well, perhaps instead of freaking over something we can’t prove or control, we should try to get out of here so we can live to see our labies,” he says.
“Labies?” I ask, confused.
“Lab babies—labies,” he says, his futile attempt to make a joke of it.
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