Reaching for my gun and sword, I hold them outstretched at the crowd until they part and allow me through. The guards’ footsteps pound on the corridor just a few feet behind us. We have little time before we’re sentenced to either a life of imprisonment or death. My legs pump faster, and sweat drips from my forehead. Hands grab at my jacket. I thrust my elbow behind me and up, fighting off the unseen attacker. A horrid crunch indicates I caused damage, probably a nose.
“Fire in the hole,” cries Ros as she twists around and throws a can of tear gas that she was hiding goodness knows where.
I move an arm over my nose and mouth as the wisps of smoke curl around us. In a few strides we’re clear. The coughing and splattering fades as we keep moving, no longer pursued.
Ben reaches the door first and jabs at the button over and over until it opens. Ros and I burst into the corridor after him, our feet thundering against the metal grate floor.
“This way,” Ben shouts, taking a right.
We follow him down the darkened corridor, snaking left and right until, thank god, the orange sign for the escape pods glows in front of us.
Ben pushes his fingers into his hair and curls them around the strands. “There’s only one pod.”
Crap. Only two people will fit.
Footsteps echo from the corridor we’ve just exited.
“Just go,” I say.
Ros opens her mouth, but I stop her before she has a chance to speak.
“We don’t have time to argue,” I say, already backing away from them. “I’ll head to the south escape pods and meet you back on the ship.”
As I run, my thoughts keep switching from the danger I’m in to Juliet Capulet. My body itches with need for her. And despite our families being at war, I can’t deny that she’s an innocent in all this. I can’t fulfill my father’s plan. Oh, I am fortune’s fool.
Juliet
My quarters close in on me I pace back and forth. With shoes abandoned, my feet slap against the steel floor. Ty’s face flashes in my mind and I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. An eye for an eye, that’s the way this war is always fought.
My heart thrums in my chest, the realization that the man with whom I’d shared the most tender moment of my life is Romeo Montague, space pirate and sworn enemy to my father. The grievance should lie with our fathers, but our very names pit us against one another.
I press my hand to my mouth. How many more must die? Everything is a disaster. Ty is dead, and Romeo…my father will kill him. Of that I have no doubt. I can’t allow it. I will die before I let Romeo suffer the same fate as Ty and all those before him. This feud has already cost too many lives.
Flipping on the security panel in my bedroom, I flick through the cameras around the space station. I must find my father and beg him to spare Romeo’s life. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if I have to concede to his demands and marry Paris. My hands tremble, but if I’m to save Romeo, I must make the ultimate sacrifice.
A grainy picture of my father in the station’s east wing flickers onto the screen. If I’m quick, I can get to him before he moves on.
Creeping to the door, I press my ear against it. No sound carries from outside and I take my chances and open it. No one lurks beyond. I glance at my shoes, but if I am to make it to my father, I have no time to put them on. Barefoot, I step into the bright lights of the corridor and break into a run.
By the time I reach the east wing, guards teem from every door. I catch snippets of their conversation. My insides squirm in a mix of jubilation and apprehension—they have yet to capture the space pirates. Too caught up in finding their quarry, the guards pay me no attention as I streak past.
Turning into the next corridor, I find my father barking out orders. Crimson blotches pop up on his face when he sees me.
“Juliet, return to your quarters immediately.”
“Father, I need to speak with you about the space pirates,” I say yanking on his sleeve.
My father wrenches his arm from my grasp. “There’s nothing to talk about, Juliet. They killed your cousin and once they are found, they’ll be sent to the cells to await execution.”
I lace my trembling hands together, fully prepared to beg for their lives. “Please. There must be some other way. Too much blood has already been spilled.”
My father grits his teeth, spittle flying from his mouth as he says, “I will show no mercy to any Montague. This is a war, Juliet. Death is to be expected.”
“If you spare their lives, I’ll marry Paris. The promotion will be yours and you can finally oversee the entire galaxy.”
My father’s eyes narrow to tiny slits. “You try to bargain for the Montagues, blackmail me into releasing them? How dare you! Make no mistake; you will marry Paris regardless of the space pirates’ fate. Now return to your quarters immediately.”
“I’d rather be dead,” I say in a low steady voice, ignoring the cold creeping into my toes.
The muscles on my father’s jaw ripple as they always do when he’s made up his mind to kill someone. He turns his back on me, taking my threat as an idle one. It will never end. The killing, the oppression, the fate to which we are doomed. Unless I can flee. Backing away, I turn and run. I know every crook and crevice in this space station and every means of escape. I just need to find Romeo before my father does.
Romeo
Pressing my back against the wall, I wait for the guards to pass. The dark storage area offers me a brief slice of respite. Pushing the door open I creep into the corridor and make a break for the stairs. If the blue prints we analyzed are correct, they should lead me straight to another set of escape pods. I close my eyes and retrace the steps I was meant to take—to return for young Juliet. I can’t leave her here. The feud lies not with her and she seems so unhappy. If I can just make it to her…
Slapping my palm against the button, I wait for the doors to open. The green light switches to red, and orange words blink onto the screen—access denied.
Closing my eyes, I weigh up my options. Left will take me back the way I came and straight into hoards of guards. Right will lead me to the back to the airlock we boarded on—a place that’s monitored at all times. Security will be even higher and there’s no way I’m getting anywhere safely via that route. Each way to Juliet is blocked.
I curse my father for getting me into this situation. Because of his desire to control the galaxy’s trade routes I’m done for. I lean back against the locked door. There’s no way out. Again, I find myself wishing for freedom. Perhaps death isn’t such a terrible fate.
The door hisses and I stumble back as it opens, landing hard on the floor. A petite hand slides around my wrist and pulls me up. Juliet’s face reddens from the effort. My heart flutters, her beauty stealing my breath.
“This way, but we must be quick,” she says.
Locking her fingers in mine, she races up the stairs.
“You still wish to leave with me?” I ask. “Even now that you know who I am—a Montague?”
“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks. “It is simply something tagged onto us when we’re born. My father is a tyrant, a rogue that has wormed his way into a position of power. And your father—all he wants is safe passage through this galaxy and the ability to trade on each station. The Capulets are at fault.”
Stopping at the next level, she turns to me, her green eyes wide and wistful. “The Montagues, you, Romeo,” she says brushing her fingertips across my jaw. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. You are not the evil here. Present me to your father, and together we will find a way to end my father’s reign.”
“My god, you are incredible.” I press my lips to hers in a chaste kiss. When I draw back, a tiny smile quivers on her face. With Juliet on our side, my father will annul the bounty on her head. I imagine the pride he’ll look upon me with when I return with a new ally in the form of the Capulets’ daughter herself.
“We must go now,” she says, tugging at my sleeve. “The escape pods are just
through this door.” She opens the divide and pops her head out. “The way is clear.”
Hand in hand, we sprint toward the pods.
We arrive at the secondary dock, our breathing labored.
“I’ve dreamed about doing this so many times.” She opens the panel and enters a code. The craft’s door opens. “But I never knew where to go. Now I’m glad I waited.”
Climbing in, I hold her close as we wait for the door to shut. I force myself to break our embrace to enter the sequence for the launch to engage.
Gruff voices break the silence and a hand slams against the glass. Several guards punch at the pod. My eyes flicker to the countdown. Five seconds remaining. Juliet trembles beside me and I pull her close. The launch engages and the pod separates from the station.
“To freedom,” Juliet whispers.
Cupping her face, I smile. “To freedom.”
The Scarf
Christina June
But jealous souls will not be answered so.
They are not ever jealous for the cause,
But jealous for they’re jealous. It is a monster
Begot upon itself, born on itself.
—Othello
The scarf was red. A wine, not a fire engine. Omar gave it to Darcy on their one month anniversary, which in high school time is worth a couple of years. I remember how happy she was, how she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him smack in the middle of the hallway because she didn’t care who saw them, and how she told him it was “just perfect.” So perfect that she never took it off, almost.
It appeared in school yearbook photos. She pinned it under her costume during drama club productions and wore it to every lit magazine banquet. Darcy even went as far as wearing it at the pool. With nothing more than her bikini. When you got close to her, say sitting next to her in the car or the cafeteria, it became clear that the scarf had taken on so much of Darcy’s perfume that she probably never needed to apply it again.
People knew Darcy by the scarf. Even people who didn’t know Darcy knew the scarf. It was just part of who she was. I’d heard someone say the scarf even had its own Twitter account.
Which is why it was so very strange to see it somewhere other than around Darcy’s neck. Ivan, my tall, strapping, blond boyfriend of Russian Cossack lineage—something I liked about him entirely too much—was clutching my friend’s scarf when I came back stage to check on the follow spots. Years of technical work with the drama club earned me the position of stage manager for Marlow High School’s Student Government Election Night Celebration.
“Hey Ive.” Ivan was walking, always with his cocky swagger, toward the men’s dressing room a.k.a. the place the soon-to-be president-elect, Omar, and his running mate, Caleb, were hiding out before the big announcement, which would be a surprise to absolutely no one. Omar actually participating in the election was just a formality. Ivan had been serving as their campaign manager for the last several weeks.
Ivan and Omar had been best friends since fourth grade. The story went that a bully threw a ball at Ivan’s head while poor Ivan was reading a book at a picnic table. The bully missed, but Omar charged the kid, gave him a bloody nose, and got suspended. When Omar came back to school, Ivan thanked him and asked him why he’d defended him. Omar just shrugged and said the smart kids shouldn’t get picked on. After that, they were like Batman and Robin. Some kids affectionately called them Ebony and Ivory—Ivan’s pale translucence was the exact opposite of Omar’s warm golden brown skin.
The butterflies that always appeared in my stomach when I saw Ivan—even after six months of dating, which was practically marriage at our age—began fluttering and my mouth went dry. He was just that pretty. When he heard me call his name, he paused and turned slowly toward me, scarf in fist.
My eyes flicked to his hand. “What are you doing with the scarf?” The scarf.
“Oh, just taking it to Darcy. I found it on the ground and I wanted to return it to her. I doubt she’d want to be without it, especially tonight.”
Of course Darcy would want to be wearing the scarf Omar gave her during what might be the most important and exciting moment of his short life. I bet she was walking around the auditorium floor in the black suit she bought just for the occasion, ready to burst, either from excitement for Omar or because the damn scarf was missing from her neck.
“Do you want me to take it to her? I can probably find her faster.”
Ivan shook his head, his almost-white hair brushing his brow. “No need. I want to congratulate her anyway. There’s always a strong partner behind any successful candidate.” He winked at me. My heart skipped a beat. He always knew exactly the right thing to say to make me melt into a puddle.
“Sure thing.”
Ivan bent and kissed me chastely on the cheek. I straightened his navy blue tie, and he disappeared into the dressing room. The door closed behind him with a soft snick, and I continued farther back stage to check on the lights. Once I confirmed they were positioned correctly for the candidates’ entrance, I went back out into the fray of excited students and faculty.
Election Night started several years ago when the school decided to hold mock events that mirrored an actual presidential election. They held debates. Students campaigned with videos and social media. Votes were cast for a full day and the teachers counted and verified them for hours after the school day ended. Election Day always ended with a big celebration where the principal announced the winner on stage in front of the whole school. Of course, the loser would give a congratulatory speech and the new president-elect would give a hopeful “we got this” speech and everyone would cheer and then gorge themselves on cookies and punch thanks to an army of eager beaver parent volunteers.
Last November, I stood with Omar and Darcy, his arms wrapped around her middle, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, and listened to the President-elect speak; Omar declared it would be him on the stage senior year. And he got his wish. He usually got what he wanted, and not because he took it, because it fell in his lap. All the girls wanted to date him and all the guys wanted to be him. Or ride his coattails. If he wasn’t such an incredibly nice guy, I’d probably hate him.
I spotted Darcy sitting in the back row of the first section of seats. Her bare legs were crossed and one foot bounced in the aisle, almost impaling my thigh with her black stiletto heel.
“How you doing, Darce?” It took her a second to register I was speaking to her.
“Oh, hi Em. I’m okay. Just nervous.”
“Obviously.” I pushed past her and took the next seat over from the aisle. “You don’t have anything to be worried about, though. You know he’s got this in the bag.”
Darcy shook her head and pulled her long auburn ponytail over her shoulder. “No, I know. I’m not worried about that. I’m just nervous that the end of the election won’t be the end of Omar’s bad moods.”
I made a sympathetic pout. “Still rough?” In all the time I’d known him, Omar seemed to have a perpetual positive attitude. But in the weeks since the election began, he had become agitated and even abrasive, especially toward Darcy. She’d called me more than once late at night, baffled about where his paranoia was coming from.
“I just don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “Whatever’s going on with him, I think he’s taking it out on me because I’m the easiest target. I guess. This morning, he even insinuated that I’ve lied to him about where I’ve been when we’re not together. Like I would ever actually do that.” Her voice was full of hurt.
I knew Darcy as well as Omar did. We’d been friends since middle school. She wouldn’t lie. To anyone. It wasn’t in the fabric of her being. She was the most loyal and devoted person I knew. Doubly so when it came to Omar. Which meant something else was wrong.
“It has to be the election then. The stress of campaigning while trying to keep up his grades. And play football. And write college essays. People lash out when they’re tired. I mean, what else would be botherin
g him? You wouldn’t do anything to ruin your relationship in a million years.”
She didn’t look convinced and resumed bouncing her foot. “Omar’s been rude to Caleb too, so I don’t think it’s just me. I’m actually a little worried about what happens tomorrow when this whole circus is over and they have to actually work together.” Darcy laughed ruefully and shook her head. “He’s got no reason to snap at either of us. We’re the people he should be running to when he’s stressed, right?”
“Definitely. Ivan too. He hasn’t mentioned anything about O acting weird, but I can ask.” Hearing her vent made me selfishly relieved that Ivan and I were solid. We’d never even had a fight. Not once.
Darcy waved me off. “No need. I’m hoping this will be the end of it. The win should make him happy, right? He’ll relax and everything will go back to normal. I mean, this is just a blip on the radar screen, not anything life-shattering, right? He’s just worn out. That’s not his fault. It’s going to be fine.” She sounded like she was trying to assure herself, more than me.
“Fingers crossed.” I crossed mine as I stood up and smushed past her again. “See you on stage.” I paused next to her when I realized her neck was still bare. “Oh, Darce, speaking of Ive, did he find you?”
“No, I haven’t seen him all night. Why?”
I didn’t mention what was missing. I didn’t want to make her any more stressed. “He just wanted to congratulate you.”
She smiled weakly and I padded back to the front and up onto the stage. I almost smacked into Mrs. Sharma, the Election Night advisor, who was coming out of the wings with two wireless microphones in her hands.
“Emerson!” She stepped back from me so we wouldn’t literally bump chests. Luckily we were able to avoid a collision. Mrs. Sharma smiled at me sheepishly. “I suppose everyone’s a little jumpy tonight, eh?”
“Right.” I smiled back at her.
Never Be Younger: A YA Anthology Page 4