“Zo!” a voice calls out, and we both turn toward it. Her classmate Devi waves her over, and Zo looks at me and smiles hopefully.
“Go ahead,” I say, tugging on one of her curls.
“See you after class,” she says as she walks away.
The train station is built along the coastline, high above the ground. A long row of glass chutes extends to the platform overhead. Commuters weave around one another on our way toward them. Disks rise through the chutes in constant rotation, just big enough to hold one of us at a time. I walk up to a chute, stepping through the arched opening and onto a disk. The pressure of my feet on its surface activates its movement, and I surge into the sky. For five seconds, I’m enveloped in total silence; then I’m surrounded by all the chaos the platform holds. I scan the crowd, looking for Mirabae, but I don’t see her anywhere. She’s always had other friends. I don’t mind. It makes it easier to hide all the things I can’t tell her.
I walk to the edge of the platform, looking down at the ocean through the tracks below, watching the waves as they crash to the shore. My classmates Suwana and Ranthu rush past, leaping down onto the tracks. They crouch on the rail closest to the platform, balancing on their toes. The train winds around the contours of the coast. It looks like a snake, an eel, coming closer and closer.
“Now!” Ranthu shouts, and they jump back just as the train glides into the station. Everyone spreads out across the platform, gathering in groups of four in front of each compartment. Nava, Sundi, and his boyfriend, Izo, stand behind me. The panel in the center of the compartment slides up and I slip into a seat.
“I’m just saying,” Nava says, settling into the seat next to me.
Izo leans his back against the window and stretches his legs into Sundi’s lap.
“We know what you’re saying,” Izo says, already bored.
“I’m just saying,” she says louder, as though they didn’t hear her. “It is super important.”
“We know,” Sundi says.
“I mean, this decides everything,” she goes on. “Right, Li?”
She turns to face me. Her lips are bright red, her nails painted to match.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“The exam,” she says impatiently, like I should already know what she’s talking about. “The test basically determines our entire lives.”
“Yeah,” I say, staring through the windows at the city, my stomach turning. How we do on the exam affects our placement—the better our scores, the higher we’ll rank in the Forces. I need to score in the top five percent to be considered for a position as officer.
The test will be hard for everyone, but it will be harder for me. My memory is not as strong as my classmates’. Abdoloreans are capable of absorbing unbelievable amounts of information at a rapid rate. I listen as hard as I can during class, trying to retain everything our magister says, but I still have to study to make up for what I miss. No one can know how hard I work to keep up. No one can know why I go straight home after school. I let people think I’m shy and my dad is strict, and that works, most of the time.
The train pulls into city station and the doors lift. We stream out onto the platform and into the streets, heading toward the amphitheater where our classes are held. Flowers sneak through cracks in the sidewalk, the bright petals of begonias and snapdragons, delphiniums and sweet peas. They hang from doorways, they creep across walls, reminding me that something alive exists beneath the city’s unforgiving mass.
The buildings are so tall I have to tip my head back to see where they end. Some are made entirely of glass, others of metallic squares that ripple like waves. They sit close together, sweeping up into the sky. I slip through the spaces between them, walking along narrow pathways until I reach the amphitheater.
The building looms above me, perfectly round and blindingly white. I walk through the doors and through the spiraling hallways, all the way to the top floor. Everyone enters the room in a rush. Usually we’re separated into smaller sections, but today all of Level Four is together for our final review before tomorrow’s exam.
Mirabae is already inside, slouched in a seat near the back. I sit down beside her. She reaches into the pack by her feet and pulls out two jars of juice, both a murky green.
“For you,” she says, holding out a jar to me.
“Thanks, Mir,” I say. I take a sip, then spit it back out. “What did you put in this?”
“Grapefruit, spinach, apple,” she says excitedly. “And blueberries. And garlic. You don’t like it?”
“It’s awful,” I say apologetically.
She takes a sip.
“Oh, it’s terrible!” she cries. “Stop drinking it.”
“I’ll totally drink your horrible dirt juice,” I say, and smile at her. Mirabae can never resist a challenge. She raises her eyebrows in a perfect arch and holds her glass up to mine, clinking the two together.
“I’ll finish it if you do,” she laughs.
“You’re on,” I say, and start to chug.
We choke down as much of it as we can, watching each other to see who can drink more. Mirabae is the first to stop, only halfway through the jar.
“I can’t drink any more of this,” she says, wiping her hand across her mouth. “Stop, Li, it’s too gross.”
We laugh and settle in our seats as Magister Sethra walks into the room, her crimson robes sweeping the floor. She has a shock of white hair, and her face is lined with deep wrinkles. On anyone else, they would look severe, but she looks dignified. I think about the rings of trees, how they mark years passing, the way they represent a lifetime of wisdom.
“Good morning,” she says. “For those of you who aren’t in my usual section, I’m Magister Sethra, and I will be conducting your final review today.”
The lights dim. Everyone who was talking falls silent, looking up at the screen that spans the room. Magister Sethra begins to speak, quickly and without pausing.
“We will begin today’s review by looking at the molecular structure of energy as it pertains to transmutation and oxidation.”
Everyone is still, their eyes focused on the formulas that flash by on the screen.
“The process of nuclear reaction requires the presence of an outside particle, while radioactive decay requires no outside particle at all. These are separate and distinct chemical processes, yet the outcome of both is the same: atoms of one element change into the atoms of another element entirely.”
We have studied how one chemical transforms into another, how one small shift can create an entire universe. My father’s world rearranged the moment he took me in, and that in turn changed Zo’s world. When my human parents died, my own world became structured around that loss. There are so many lives that someone could lead, one thing giving way to the next.
I realize that my mind is drifting and look up. A boy is staring at me from across the room. I don’t recognize him. He must be from a different section. His hair is so blond it’s almost silver. His lips are full. His jaw is strong, his body long and lean. Even from far away, I can see the green of his eyes, unwavering and clear.
He leans back in his seat, keeping his eyes on me. I feel my pulse quicken beneath my skin. A list of chemical compounds appears on the screen, but I barely see them. I look at my legs, smooth the folds in my dress. I look back up. He doesn’t blink. I look down at my hands, run my tongue over the sharp ridges of my teeth. The boy shifts in his seat, one knee bent. He leans forward and lifts his fingers so slightly it almost doesn’t register as movement. He waves.
“Did you see that?” I whisper to Mirabae.
“See what?” she whispers back.
I look at him again, but he’s staring up at the screen. It’s as though nothing at all has happened.
“Li,” Magister Sethra says, and everyone shifts their attention to me. “Is there something you would like to share?”
Behind me someone laughs under their breath.
“No, Magister,” I say, my cheek
s flushed. “Sorry for the interruption.”
The screen before us fills with maps of all the galaxies, graphs charting out the luminosity of the stars.
“In that case,” Sethra says, the corners of her mouth turning up in a slight smile. “You can see here that our system for stellar classification is based on the varying spectral characteristics of the stars.”
The rest of review passes slowly, one hour after the next slipping past. I will myself to concentrate on the screen, to focus on what Magister Sethra is saying, but her words blur together. All I can think about is how that boy looked at me. Stopping myself from peeking over at him takes all my concentration.
Finally the screen darkens and the lights turn back on.
“Good luck in your final preparations.” Magister Sethra smiles at us. “I will see you tomorrow for your exam.”
Mirabae and I walk out of class together, moving through the halls until we’re standing outside. We meet Zo in the courtyard, then sit down by the willow trees, waiting for the rest of Mirabae’s friends. Cailei, Akia, and Braxon walk across the courtyard. A jolt rushes through me, reaching from my heart down to my fingers—next to Braxon is the boy who was watching me. They stop in front of us, their bodies casting long shadows in the sun.
“Hey!” Mirabae says excitedly, motioning for everyone to sit.
The boy sits down next to me. He turns to face me. His eyes are an even darker green than I thought. They glitter as they catch the light of the sun. Maybe I imagined him looking at me. Maybe it wasn’t even real.
“I’m Ryn,” he says.
“Li,” I say.
“Ryn’s new,” Akia calls over.
My heart beats against my ribs and I wonder if he can hear it. I look at Mirabae, but she’s too busy talking to Cailei to notice anything at all. Cailei’s hair is pulled into a bun; the sides of her head are shaved. She sits with her arm wrapped around Mirabae’s shoulders, her legs stretched out lazily in front of her.
Braxon settles onto the ground in one fluid motion. He looks older than sixteen, one of those guys who is all muscle and already has a beard. Everything about him is broad—his chest, his shoulders, his hands. He’s always bothered me. I try my best to avoid him most of the time.
“Li,” Braxon says, his smile predatory. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Ignore him,” Akia says, rolling her eyes.
“I will,” I say, and everyone laughs.
“We’re going swimming,” Cailei says.
Ryn is watching me from the corner of his eye. “You should come,” he says.
“Li never comes out,” Mirabae says with a wave of her hand, doing my work for me. But today I don’t want it to be so easy.
“We should get home anyway,” Zo interjects, offering me another easy out. But again, I don’t take it. I don’t know what’s happening, but I turn back to Akia.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Out to the Cove.”
The Cove sits on the farthest point of the Bay, nestled between the cliffs, far away from the city. I’ve never been there before. I think of what waits for me at home: studying, dinner with Zo, more studying. I could go, I think, watching the light fall over Ryn’s face. His lips twitch. He smiles.
“I’m in,” I say casually, as though this is something I do all the time.
“You are?” Mirabae and Zo say at almost the same time.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, like it’s not a big deal. “Let’s go. You too, Zo.”
Her eyes widen, first with trepidation, then possibility. I’m not the only one who misses out on afternoons at the Cove. We stand up and start to walk away from school. Zo pulls me aside.
“Dad’s going to notice we’re gone,” she whispers, glancing around to make sure no one’s listening.
“He’s working the night shift,” I remind her. “He won’t know a thing unless you tell him.”
Mirabae turns around, noticing that we’ve fallen behind.
“Are you two coming or what?” she calls out, her smile wide.
“Yes,” I call back, staring at Zo. “We’re coming.”
Zo says nothing to contradict me.
“Finally!” Mirabae says.
Finally, I think, and fall into step with everyone else.
We walk until the city is far behind us, turning down the narrow paths that lead into the forest. Mirabae, Akia, and Cailei swing from the branches of the trees. I’m dismayed to see Zo walking with Braxon, her laugh carrying through the air. To distract myself, I pick flowers as I go, weaving them together, stringing them around my neck.
“So,” Ryn says, walking up beside me. “Mirabae said you don’t come out much.”
“Not really,” I admit, and I feel my stomach drop.
The leaves sway on the trees overhead. He reaches his arms up, trailing his fingers over the branches hanging over us. “Why not?”
“My dad is kind of overprotective,” I tell him, the excuse I always use. “He’s strict about us going out.”
Ryn’s quiet, and I realize that he’s waiting for me to say more.
“It’s how he’s always been,” I add. “He’s raising me and Zo by himself, so I think he worries we’ll get into trouble.”
Ryn glances at me. “What happened to your mom?”
“She and my dad were some of the first inhabitants of Earth. She contracted radiation poisoning and died right after my sister was born.”
This is the story I’ve been trained to tell. It’s the story of Zo’s mother, and though I don’t remember her, I know she took me in and raised me as her own daughter. She got sick weeks after Zo was born. During the Abdoloreans’ first few years on Earth, emissions levels in the atmosphere were uncontrollably high. Radiation poisoning was a common death, before Abdolorean scientists developed geoengineering techniques to reverse the atmospheric damage. Those who died are thought of as brave pioneers of a new world. Their loss was for the greater good. It’s barely even registered. They existed, then they didn’t, and everyone moved on with their lives.
“What do you do, staying home all the time?” Ryn asks.
“Mostly just stare at the wall,” I say wryly. He laughs. The wind whirls past and I feel the way the forest moves.
We walk through the woods, passing by the quarry, an empty basin long abandoned. The machines used for mining have rusted over, their wheels flat, their yellow paint flaking. They look like monsters left to lurk behind the trees, their claws stretched out like reaching arms.
“Actually, I read a lot,” I amend, looking down into the deep yawn of the quarry as we circle around it. “My dad’s a scientist in the Interplanetary Research and Development Program, so he has a lot of good books, mostly on the outlying galaxies and planetary systems.”
“Cool,” Ryn says, like he really means it.
We reach the edge of the forest, coming up on the Cove. The trees grow thinner around us. The dirt gives way to grass; the grass gives way to sand. We walk between the curves of rocks, looking out at the ocean. I feel something loosen in my chest as I slip onto the shore. Ryn turns to face me, so close I could touch him.
“Let’s swim, Li,” he says, walking to the shoreline.
I walk behind him, stepping into the footprints he makes in the sand. I study the jut of his shoulders, the curve of the back of his neck. He dives under the waves, but I stay back on the shore. He swims past the edge of the cliffs, past everyone else in the water. He is farther and farther away from me. I couldn’t reach him now, even if I wanted to.
Zo comes up next to me and we stand at the edge of the water. We let the ocean lap over our feet. “Look at this place,” she says, taking it all in.
The ocean is the deepest blue, the sand as white as bone. I see kids I know from class shouting and laughing and diving off the long line of rocks far out in the water. Nava stands on Sundi’s shoulders. Ranthu and Izo run through the sand. Cliffs rise high above the water, curving around the shore, the waves crashing wildl
y up against them.
Mirabae races across the shore, laughing as she goes. She dives into the water in her bra and shorts, waves rushing over her body. Tiny bubbles rise to the surface as her gills flicker. She’s underwater for a minute, then more; then she surges into the air.
Zo slips her dress over her head. As she does, I see the flash of her tattoo, a crescent moon, high up on the inside of her arm. I have the same one, only mine is hidden low on my hip, where no one can see it but me. She heads into the water, her black hair floating behind her.
I keep my clothes on and follow her out. The water rises to my knees, my chest, my shoulders. I plunge beneath the waves and open my eyes. It takes a moment for everything to come into focus. Once it does, I see the slow sway of everyone’s limbs in the water, their bodies moving to keep them afloat. I stay underwater for as long as I can, then come up to the surface, careful to keep my breathing even.
Mirabae is right—the water feels amazing. It’s peaceful, so unlike the swimming my father made me do when I was younger. He attached weights around my arms and legs to keep me underwater. He held me down when I struggled, his hands pushing on my shoulders as I thrashed. I’ll never let you drown, he would say after I came up gasping, but there were times when it seemed like he would. All his training was worth it, if only for moments like this. I glide up next to Mirabae, my body moving smoothly through the water.
“That boy is watching you,” she says once I reach her, her voice lilting. “Ryn.”
I can’t stop myself. I turn around and look. He’s out by the line of rocks in the distance, talking to some girls I don’t know, but his eyes are on me. I resist the urge to dive underwater and hide.
“Hey,” Mirabae says, watching the clouds move across the sky. “What do you think of Cailei?”
We tread water, our arms and legs moving in slow circles.
“I don’t know anything about her,” I say. “But she seems nice.”
Mirabae smiles. “I think she’s into me.”
The Last Girl on Earth Page 2