“My mom’s illness racked up a lot of debt,” I say. “When she died, I was left with all of it. Over two-million credits. Obviously, the payoff projection exceeded my lifetime by far.”
She hisses a sharp intake of breath. “That’s rough. What’s your active sentence?”
“Reality candidate and psychological study.”
“Whoa, no shit!” Molly’s eyes are wide as she squints at the air around me. “So we have cameras following us?”
I nod.
“I’d say I have to watch my mouth around you from now on, but it’s rare for a random citizen’s lifestream to get picked up by a producer, much less watched by anyone.”
“Really? You mean there’s a good chance no one is watching me?” It’s basically what Darren told me yesterday, but part of me wondered whether he was just humoring me. Maybe he was right.
“A really good chance. I knew a girl who did coding for one of the Reality channels, and she told me all about it.”
I feel a weight fall from my shoulders. It’s not like I’ve given much thought to my role as a Reality candidate, but it feels good to know I might be maintaining some semblance of privacy after all. “What’s your sentence?”
Her face falls, then screws into a bitter grimace. “I’m on the draft for the military.”
My eyes go wide, taking in her slight frame, her single arm. “The military? Doing what?”
She rolls her eyes. “Probably being bait.”
“Don’t you have to train or something?”
“I’m sure I will if I’m officially drafted for an assignment. Until then, I wait with my fingers crossed that I work off my probation before that happens.”
My mouth hangs open, and I’m once again aware of how lucky I am with my sentence. “That’s why you work so hard.”
Her face finds its wry smile again. “Five years left!”
Five years. Her debt must not be nearly as great as mine if she only has five years left to pay it off while working one full-time job. Still, I’m amazed by her.
My heart begins to race as I see the rail platform just ahead, and I find myself looking for a familiar smile.
“There’s that look again,” Molly says. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”
My cheeks flush. “I’m supposed to meet someone here.”
She raises her brows and elbows me playfully in the side. “A lover? Aren’t you too young for that?”
I laugh. “Not a lover. A friend.”
“The kind of friend who plasters a stupid smile on your face all day?”
“A boy,” I confess. We’re on the platform now, and the next rail is due any minute. My heart sinks when I don’t see Darren anywhere.
“Don’t let me get in the way,” she says with a wink. “If he isn’t here by the time the rail is ready to leave, I’ll go ahead without you.”
I see the rail now, rounding the bend in the distance. It feels silly not to catch it when it’s right here. No one dawdles on their way back to the Public District. In fact, if an enforcer sees me, he could make me get on. Still, there’s a chance Darren meant to catch the next one since I am running earlier than I told him I’d be. “Okay,” I finally say.
There’s still no sign of Darren as the rail closes its doors, and I see Molly waving from behind one of the windows. As the rail speeds down the tracks, I’m left alone on the platform, wondering if I’m being stupid.
The next rail comes a half-hour later, and there’s still no Darren. This time, I don’t hesitate to get on. I don’t have clearance to be out past Public curfew tonight, and I’m not about to let some boy who can’t keep a schedule get me in trouble.
I’m glaring all the way home, feeling wave after wave of disappointment on the rail, on the bus, on the street to my building. Why do I even care? It’s not like it was supposed to be a date. Yet, I find myself stomping up the stairs of my building as if I could crush my disappointment with every step. When I enter my room, I swing my backpack onto my bed, then sink into the mattress alongside it.
This is why I don’t have time for a crush. It’s maddening. It’s distracting. I don’t like the way I feel right now. But then I remember what Molly said, how she thought I was slow before. I remember the fog that filled my mind the last couple weeks. The way I feel now might be annoying, but it’s better than the alternative.
Maybe Darren is a jerk who stood me up. Maybe I’ll never see him again. But something about him woke me out of my stupor, and I can’t regret that.
After a while, I get up and move to the desk where I rifle through my meager food items. I should have gotten food for dinner with the time I wasted waiting for Darren. When I lift my eyes to check my reader for the time, I catch myself in the mirror. There I am, as haggard as I was the day I entered this room—wisps of stringy blond hair in a frizz around my face, dark bags under my dull, tired eyes. I feel ridiculous for thinking Darren wanted to hang out because he might like me. Why would he like me like this?
With a grumble, I turn away from the mirror and check the clock on my reader. There’s just enough time for me to make it to the store and back before curfew if I hurry. I grab my backpack and swing open the door.
I freeze. Outside my door, fist raised as if poised to knock, stands Darren.
CHAPTER NINE
At first, I’m stunned, lips threatening to twitch into a surprised grin. His smile comes first, that playful, crooked smirk, and I’m reminded of what it felt like to think about him all day, only to be stood up on the rail platform.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”
His smile falters, but he lifts a plastic bag, holding it between us. “I brought dinner.”
I deepen my glare, refusing to look at the bag. “I didn’t agree for you to show up at my room ten minutes before curfew for dinner.”
“I know,” he says, his tone apologetic. “I thought I’d make it to the platform in time, but my appointment took way longer than it usually does.”
“Appointment?”
“Yeah, tonight was my meeting with the chemists I’m assigned to for probation. I thought we’d be done before eight, but I barely made the nine o’clock rail.”
His excuse smooths some of my irritation, and I’m starting to smell whatever food he brought with him, making my mouth water. Still, it’s nearly curfew. “You can’t be here this late. You’ll get in trouble going home.”
“I have extended curfew clearance,” he says, his smile returning. “I have it set for all my workdays since I have to stay late on occasion. I was off early tonight for my appointment.”
I stare at him, debating how to respond. Part of me wants to stay angry, send him home, and be done with him. The other part of me feels warm at the thought of him coming to see me, even though our original plans fell through.
His expression softens. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the rail platform on time. I would never do that intentionally. When I realized I’d be late, I knew I had to find you.”
I furrow my brow. “How did you know what room I’m in, anyway?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t. I saw you make it to this floor the first night I walked you home, but I didn’t see which door you went to. That would have been...”
“Stalkerish?” I can’t help but grin.
“Exactly!” He laughs. “This was about to be the third door I knocked on trying to find you. I’ll be lucky if one of your neighbors hasn’t called an enforcer already.”
I sigh and step aside, allowing him to enter my room. “Fine. But don’t expect the best accommodations. My room is—”
“Way nicer than mine,” he says, eyes roving the walls of my tiny room until they fall on my desk. “Wait, you have a heating plate? And a fridge? No way! I have to heat and store everything in the community kitchen at building four.”
“Really?” I never considered my room to be anything but bare and cold. The apartment I lived in with my mom in the Second Public Housing Center was slig
htly bigger and cleaner than this one.
Darren sets the plastic bag on my desk and begins opening containers, filling my room with rich aromas. I put my backpack on the floor and look over his shoulder, seeing a sandwich cut in half, a somewhat wilted-yet-fragrant salad, and a fluffy bread roll. My eyes go wide. “Is that...Select food?”
He nods and flashes me a conspiratorial grin.
“You brought Select food into the Public District?” I say in a rushed whisper. “How did you even get that?” While Publics are allowed to purchase and consume what food we can afford while working in the Select District, we are not allowed to take any of those purchases home with us. Darren has clearly broken this rule, not to mention buying a meal far greater than a Public would ever spend credits on.
“I have my connections,” he says, not bothering to whisper.
I want to argue, to tell him how much trouble he could have gotten in, but I’m too hungry, eyes fixated on the cheese that stretches between the two halves of sandwich he’s pulling apart. It’s nothing like the fluorescent yellow, plastic-like slices you find at the Public grocery store. This is real cheese, likely made from real milk. Probably milk from a lab-grown cow, but milk nonetheless. After endless days of reconstituted pasta and oats, nothing sounds better.
We sit on my bed, facing each other from opposite ends, savoring the food. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in months, maybe years. The only thing that could be better than this is Elite food.
After we finish, Darren collects the garbage and packs it back into the plastic bag, then shoves it into his backpack.
“Don’t worry, I’ll dispose of the evidence,” he says as he returns to his seat on my bed.
I find myself stuck in awkward silence, wondering what to say now that we’ve finished eating. I haven’t been alone with a boy since before I broke up with my last boyfriend almost a year ago. Before that, we hardly did anything but make out. We didn’t eat dinner together. We didn’t hang out alone in my room. Oddly enough, it was easier to be around someone I didn’t have any real interest in. With Darren it’s...well, I don’t know what it is, but it’s different.
Sitting across from him, seeing the way his curly hair falls over his eyes, watching the curve of his lips when he smiles, brings to mind the contrast between us. He’s bright, smiling, hopeful, kind. I’m sulky, sharp, and fraying at the edges.
My voice comes out small. “Why are you here, Darren?”
He looks startled. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you want to hang out with me?”
He studies me for a moment, and I feel suddenly naked, afraid he’ll finally see me clearly. I expect him to peel away in revulsion at any moment. But he doesn’t. He smiles. “I don’t know. I just do. Haven’t you ever been...drawn to someone?”
I shake my head. “Not as a Public. What’s the point? Socializing is hardly allowed, and we barely have time to do so when we are. Besides, Publics can’t get married or start families. Not without a heavy fine, at least.”
He laughs at this. “There’s a lot that can happen between two people leading up to marriage and starting a family.”
I blush at the images his words conjure, but I say nothing in reply.
He continues, “And just because we have to work harder to get where we want to be, does that mean we shouldn’t enjoy life along the way?”
I ponder his words. It does feel wrong to enjoy life as a Public. In fact, I’m afraid to enjoy my life. I’m afraid if I feel content, I’ll stop trying. I’ll stop working my way up the rungs. I’ll stop trying to reach the goals my mom wanted for me. Rise up, my sweet one. You are worth more than this.
I’m afraid I might forget I’m better than this.
Darren moves a few inches closer to me, shaking me from my thoughts. His knee is brushing mine, making my heart race. His eyes burn into me. I want to look away from them, but they feel like a magnet, locking me into their depths. “Claire, I like you. Is that okay?”
My breath catches in my throat. He likes me. With my dull complexion, my sagging shoulders, my frizzy hair. It isn’t possible. “Why me?”
“I may not know you that well, but I know you’re more than you think you are.”
“How do you know?”
He lifts a hand, brushes it against my cheek. I have to force myself not to pull away, clenching my teeth to keep from trembling. “I just know.”
We are frozen like that, our eyes locked, his hand on my cheek. I want to lean into his touch, to inch my way forward until my lips meet his, just to know what they feel like. What would he do if I did? I think about giving in to his words, to let myself feel happy, to sink into this moment where he is smiling at me like I’m beautiful, where I’m about to let my heart unfurl and break free from the cage I’ve locked it in.
We both move toward each other, a nearly imperceptible distance. My eyes lock on his lips.
Then all goes black.
Eleven o’clock. Lights out.
Darren’s hand remains on my cheek a few seconds longer, before I feel him pull away. His laughter fills the room, shattering the beautiful tension between us with an equally beautiful sound. “Way to kill the mood, right?”
I find myself laughing with him, reaching in the dark for my reader to give us some light. We find our readers at the same time and meet each other in the middle of my room. I can no longer see him clearly, but I can tell the warmth in his eyes remains as he moves closer to me. Then he utters the last words I want to hear. “I should head home. Let you get some sleep.”
I nod. “Thank you for dinner.”
“I won’t be late next time,” he says.
Next time. There’s going to be a next time. My heart does a flip at this.
He smiles. “Here, let’s swap contacts so I can send you a message if I need to.”
I give him my contact code, and he gives me his. Messages cost credits for Publics, so I know I won’t be hearing from him much, but it does give me a sense of relief. Of connection. He wants to get to know me, to continue whatever it is going on between us.
He likes me.
My room feels empty when he leaves, and I crawl into bed, seeking the warmth that remains from where he was sitting. I’m staring at the black ceiling, replaying the moment when our lips were only inches apart, when something bright steals my attention. I look across the room at my desk where my reader is illuminated. With shuffling feet, I cross the space between my bed and desk and check the screen.
Darren: Ride to the city together tomorrow? 7am at the bus outside building 1?
My heart hammers in my chest, and I type my reply without hesitation. Yes.
CHAPTER TEN
We ride the bus and rail together the next morning, as well as on the way home in the evening. We talk. Sit next to each other. Smile at each other when it’s too loud or too crowded to talk. Walk side by side until work or home makes us part ways. It makes the weekend—when I work my double shifts at the restaurants—all the more awful since our schedules don’t line up and I’m not able to see him at all.
At least I have Molly to keep me company at the Salish. It’s the only thing that gets me through my early morning shift at the Four Corners Bistro, where I’ve still yet to make a single friend. Knowing I have Molly to talk to and ride home with in the evening helps take my mind off Darren.
By Sunday, I feel like I’m starving from my lack of him, though I force myself not to let it distract me, and somehow manage to keep up the quick pace of work I began last week. That’s when I finally tell Molly about Darren since I feel like I’ll explode if I don’t hear his name. Talking about him out loud to another person feels equal parts exciting and terrifying. It feels like speaking about him solidifies that he’s real. It also makes me feel like I’m going to jinx things if I say too much. But I can’t help it.
I don’t, however, talk about Darren with the women at the hotel laundry room on Monday. Our camaraderie isn’t like mine and Molly’s. We banter, berate,
and lament. We don’t talk about the beautiful stolen moments that make our lives better.
After my laundry shift is over, I rush to the rail platform, nearly bursting with excitement at the prospect of seeing Darren again, but the message I find on my reader crushes me with disappointment. There’s a leak in the building he does janitorial work at. He’ll be working late to help clean it up. I’ve never felt my shoulders sink so low. I’m about to shove my reader into the depths of my pocket when another message comes through.
Darren: What time do you leave tomorrow?
I respond: Early. 6 AM.
I stare at the screen, holding my breath until his response pops up: I don’t work until 9 but I have to see you. I’ll ride with you early.
My smile feels like it will stretch my face in half. He has to see me. Has to.
I feel like I’m floating as I make my way home and into my apartment. By the time I crawl into bed, my eyes feel raw, my body aching from my long workdays over the weekend. My one night of delicious sleep happened almost a week ago, and its benefits are long gone. Exhaustion tugs at every corner of my body, and I want to sleep. I do.
But I can’t. And I don’t.
THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER tossing and turning all night, I shuffle from my bed, shivering despite me not feeling cold. In fact, I feel way too warm. And my limbs feel like they’ve grown twice as heavy overnight. Sleep. I need to sleep. My eyes fall momentarily on the two bottles of pills—both untouched—on my desk. I consider taking the antidepressant, just for the sheer possibility of it boosting my energy, but the thought leaves me as quickly as it came. Today is another double shift of dishes at the restaurants. If there are any weird side-effects, my day is screwed. Besides, I don’t feel that bad. Not bad enough to take a pill from an eight hundred credit bottle.
Twisting Minds Page 6
