by Everly Frost
I waved my arm in the air, flapping the IV line around. “Can I get some help with this, please?”
Dad raced to me, pressing the buzzer for the nurse, helping me back to the bed.
Within moments, the nurse reappeared, but she didn’t meet my eyes as she removed the IV shunt. This time, she wore gloves.
“Where are my clothes?”
“We brought you new ones from home.” Mom looked as if she was about to burst into tears again.
I snatched up the bag and raced into the bathroom, pulling on fresh jeans and a t-shirt.
In the bathroom mirror, my eyes had dark rings under them. My skin was stretched out, strained. If only Josh was still alive. I had so many questions for him: why was he with the Bashers? Why was he trying to take me away? How did he survive his Implosion, only to die at mine?
I pushed through the door to find Mom and Dad waiting. They gathered me up between them, Dad supporting both of us with his big arm reaching across my back, his fingers curling around Mom’s arm. Out of the room and down the corridor, the recovery nurses at their station watched us go. It felt worse than falling in the middle of a performance. Even in the spotlight, I could pretend it was deliberate—bounce right back—but there was no escaping this.
I was too busy watching my sneakers to notice the people crowding the front doors until Dad pushed them open and the shouting hit me.
Lights flashed. News drones hummed and hovered, broadcasting video live into people’s homes, my face splashed across air screens everywhere. Reporters rushed toward me, pushing at each other.
“Ms. Holland! Ava!”
One of them shoved a microphone into my face, hitting me on the chin. My hand flew to my face, aware that it cut me. There was a flash of red as I checked the blood on my fingers before a stranger’s voice intruded.
“Ms. Holland! Is it true you can die?”
I opened my mouth to speak. No comment. That’s what I was supposed to say. That’s what everyone said when they had something to hide. But it turned out I didn’t have to speak because the crowd was suddenly silent.
Only Dad moved, pulling closer to me, still hugging Mom. He squashed me against him, ramming his body between me and the reporters while the guy who’d hurt me gaped at me.
No. Not at me. At my chin. They all were. Waiting for the cut to prove them right or wrong.
I sensed the warmth where the blood continued to pool.
“She isn’t healing.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Is the drone getting this? We need this footage.”
Another reporter shoved in, right up in my face, his voice an accusation. “Is it true that mortality is contagious?”
Then he paled, staring at the blood on my skin as though he’d just realized how close he was to me. He went from white to red as he backed away. “Let the drone get the footage.” Suddenly they all were looking at each other and then at me, their determination to catch the latest headline turning into something else—caution.
Dad crushed me against him, right next to Mom, and barreled sideways through the reporters. They scattered as drones buzzed and swarmed around our heads, trying to wedge between us. My face ended up pressed inward so nobody could see my chin. Except for Mom, whose eyes were filled with tears. She didn’t stop staring at the smears on Dad’s shirt as though there was a scream in her throat that wouldn’t come out.
Finally, security arrived and cleared a way for us. All I wanted was to disappear into our car and wind up the windows. If only I had a hood, I could pull it over myself and hide behind it. I sank into the back seat as the security guard slammed the door.
A horrible, sliding, sick feeling filled my chest cavity. What if the crazy reporters followed us? What if we had an accident trying to get away? What if Bashers blew up my house or my school?
What if I died?
I wasn’t ready to die. I had too much to do yet. I wanted to dance. I wanted to make it to the big league—all the way to the Conservatorium in the northern city, Glade. Hannah and I would go together. I wanted to travel, to leave Dell and see the other cities, maybe even go to the central region and see Evereach’s capital city, Chasm. And some day I wanted to kiss somebody—somebody who cared. But there wasn’t a boy in the world who’d come near me now.
We reached the tunnel and I closed my eyes before it made me remember the ride in Michael’s car. At least, so far, there weren’t any news vans performing stunts of insanity on the road with us. Instead, it was awfully quiet. Mom and Dad didn’t say anything and for an eternity, all I heard was the swish-swish of the tunnel.
When we finally pulled into our driveway, my chin had stopped bleeding, and I couldn’t believe how normal it looked. Josh’s car was parked out on the street as if he was at home. Not dead after all.
By the time I made it up to my bedroom, my heart was about to crack. The sight of my black dress confronted me. It was folded neatly on the top of my bed, washed and ironed.
I quietly gathered it up, took it to the bottom drawer, and placed it beneath everything else, hiding it away from sight, until I could imagine it didn’t exist anymore, that Josh hadn’t died, that I wasn’t mortal, that there hadn’t been fear in the eyes of the reporters when they looked at me.
I crawled into my bed and let go of the well of tears.
Chapter Seven
THE DARK HUE of dusk pervaded the stairwell as I trod carefully on each step. My eyes were red and blotchy and my legs wobbled with the exhaustion of crying myself out. There was a hollow in my stomach that might have been hunger, but no amount of food would ever fill the empty space inside me. I’d passed Josh’s room on my way, and I couldn’t bear to look inside it.
Turning left into the open plan kitchen and living area, I sighted across the dining area to the windows on my right and further down to the lounge with the double-width windows at the end. I half expected them to be barricaded against hordes of reporters camped out around the house, blinds drawn against drones seeking new footage, but everything was quiet except for the air screen and Mom chopping carrots close by in the kitchen. She had a bag of them on the table and a stainless steel bowl full of precise carrot chunks.
As soon as she saw me, she flew to me and gathered me up in a hug. I kissed her cheek, but a fresh stream of her tears washed my kiss away.
Then I heard the screen.
“Urgent diplomatic meetings are being held around the world tonight after the confirmed final death of teenager Joshua Holland, who was stabbed in the heart by fellow student, Michael Bradley, last night at Dell city’s Terminal games center.”
A picture of Josh appeared on the right-hand side of the screen as if he could have been standing there in front of us. I leaned against the table, holding my breath, feeling like I was outside myself, looking in.
Mom pulled me closer, shaking her head, her hands trembling in mine. “They’ve been running the story over and over and I can’t seem to turn it off because every time they show him…” She tried to breathe. “It’s like he’s still here.”
The reporter ran a hand over his pale forehead. “President Scott will travel to Seversand tomorrow to speak directly with Seversandian President, Elissa Vale, about these events. The Delaney Recovery Center is refusing to release Joshua’s medical records for privacy reasons. These scenes are from outside the center today, as Joshua’s sister, Ava Holland, left with her parents.”
There I was, lurching backward as the microphone hit my chin and the reporters hushed. The footage zoomed in on my face, onto the blood on my fingertips. A reporter right next to the drone whispered, “She’s still bleeding,” and then Dad barged in front of me and scooped me up out of view.
I sank harder against the table. At least they didn’t know Josh was with the Bashers. Or, if they did, they weren’t saying so.
The newsreader reached for a glass of water and the footage swiveled to a woman with fine blond hair. She said, “The Attorney-General will announce tomorrow whether
the city intends prosecuting Michael Bradley for Joshua’s death. It would be the world’s first murder trial.” Her eyes grew wide as if to punctuate her words. “The Terminal is refusing to confirm whether or not there’s footage of the death. No doubt they’re hoping for a favorable decision, not only for the sake of their shareholders but also because Michael is the son of Robert Bradley, scientist and Vice-CEO of the Terminal.”
The first newsreader shook his head. “The Terminal has cautioned against panic, insisting that the games facility is completely safe.”
I couldn’t stand it. “It’s not safe! The intercom was broken. I couldn’t even call for help. It was only because of Michael that anybody came…” My voice broke since Michael was the one who killed Josh in the first place.
Mom’s face crumpled.
“Mom … I’m sorry.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She brushed the hair from my face. “You didn’t kill him. None of this was your fault.” She exhaled as though she was struggling to speak, as though there was more she wanted to say, but couldn’t.
The newsfeed continued with a panel of guests, and suddenly their words broke into our conversation. A woman with wiry hair wrapped around her head in plaits said, “They’re saying it’s probably a genetic disorder, but what if it isn’t? What if it’s a disease carried in the blood of these people? I mean, can it spread? Are we really safe? What is the President doing to protect us from this?”
“He’s rushing off to Seversand to try and stop a new war,” another panel member interjected. “Our economy can’t take another hundred years of destruction at the hands of those Seversandian savages.”
The third panel member vigorously nodded his head. “International peace agreements have been in place for hundreds of years and it’s all very simple—every year each country proves that its children can regenerate and no country goes to war. I’m just going to come right out and say what every other person in Evereach is thinking: that girl is a threat to national security and she should never have been allowed to leave the recovery cen—”
Mom’s hand shot to the control panel and switched the air screen off.
I stared at where the images had been.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Mom tried to smile, but she was very pale. “Just … go back up to your room. Okay? I’ll bring your dinner to you really soon.”
Her face was a maze of sadness and, behind it, something else. Something scared and full of regret. I wished Dad was back already, although I didn’t know where he’d gone since he said that his work had given him the week off.
When I reached my room, I dialed Hannah’s number. As I listened to it ring, I stared out of my window. Mrs. Hubert’s house was still pitch black, but lights flickered down the street. Somebody drove into their garage. Somebody else walked their dog past the end of the street.
I’d give anything to be normal again.
Hannah wasn’t picking up and neither was her message bank. I checked the number and tried again, but with the same result. I paced and paced beside my bed until I wanted to drop to the floor like the carpet could suck me up and twine around me and I’d cease to exist.
I couldn’t stay in my room anymore, but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me out of the house. There had to be somewhere I could go. Then I remembered—the dance studio would be open late for practice. Only the hard-core dancers went on Saturday night and they wouldn’t pay any attention to me. I could blend in, melt into a patch of dance floor, and dance all my pain away. Maybe that’s where Hannah was right now. I’d give anything to talk to her, to tell her everything, help me figure it all out.
I threw my hair back into a bun and checked the cut on my chin. It had closed and was just a pink line now. I wondered if it would always be there or if it would go away. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. I slapped on makeup to cover the effects of crying until I didn’t recognize myself. Shoving my purse and phone into my dance bag, I pushed open my window and grabbed the fire stairs that lay flat against the side of the house, giving them a shove until they reached the ground. Just as I was about to head out across the garden, headlights turned into our street and shone toward me. I ducked behind the nearest garden bed, recognizing Dad’s car as it pulled into the driveway.
Guilt rocketed through me. They’d be so worried if they discovered I was gone, but I couldn’t stay in the house. I had to get out.
The garage door opened and closed.
I ran for it down the street, my sneakers slapping the footpath. I didn’t breathe until I turned the corner, and even then I kept running. The cold air on my face felt good and so did the sense of movement. I could finally control something, even if it was just my feet. The studio’s neon sign gleamed ahead and I raced up the steps, pausing to catch my breath at the top.
Ms. White had plastered a new poster of the Conservatorium on the wall outside the studio. It was a vibrant picture of a dance platform surrounded by trees, an open air auditorium. Deep in the distant background were the mountains of Starsgard. I peered at the image and the outline of the majestic Starsgardian towers rising into the sky. Each tower was built on top of a mountain peak and they seemed so serene, so mysterious. I wanted to reach out and touch them, as though I could soak up some of that calm and transport myself there. Away from here.
I shook my head and made my way into the studio. It was brightly lit and soft music played. Two ballroom dancers practiced lifts over to one side, and a ballet dancer warmed up at the bar. I padded to the bench at the side and began a brief warm up, since the run had done most of that for me already, then I pulled out my music and turned the volume up, starting into an old contemporary routine that I’d performed several years before.
Finally, everything blurred. The pain of the last two days disappeared. No more crazy rose buds, scorpions, and medical tests. No more mortality. Josh could be alive again. He could drive off and make me late for class as many times as he liked and I’d forgive him every time. As I danced, my body finally did what I wanted, moved the way I wanted it to. It wasn’t my enemy anymore. It wasn’t going to kill me.
Without realizing, I spun into Ms. White and lurched backward, yanking out the earbuds. “Ms. White! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”
I reached out to steady us both, but she jerked away from me.
“What are you doing here?” Her eyes reflected shock as she twitched away from my touch.
“I-I’m practicing.”
“You shouldn’t be. I told your parents already. You can’t dance here anymore.”
The fear on her face consumed my whole vision.
I shook my head, my chest heaving. “I’m one of your best dancers.”
“Not anymore, Ava.” Her expression softened to deep pity. “You’re … different.”
I sucked in a breath and hurried to argue with her. “I still heal like everyone else. I do. Really. Just slower, that’s all.”
“No, Ava. You’re mortal. What if you cut yourself…” She glanced around. The other dancers had stopped practicing and were staring at us. She lowered her voice. “You could be contagious.”
“It’s genetic,” I said, not believing what I was hearing. “I have a gene, not a disease. I can’t hurt anyone. You have to believe me.” I reached out to her, but she shrank away from me. I stared from her face to my hand, hovering in the air, and let it drop.
“I’m sorry, Ava, it’s not me you have to worry about. Nobody will dance with you. Every single parent has rung me already, threatening to pull their child out of my class.”
“I can’t believe it…” I met her eyes. “You really want me to go.”
Ms. White nodded, her braid flapping behind her waist, her mouth forming a resolute line. “I need you to go. Please.”
I looked past her to the door and caught my reflection in the mirror. It all crashed down on me—the Mirror Room at the Terminal, Josh’s body, Michael pulling the knife out of his own heart and plunging it into my brother’s. I whirled, and my reflection whirled with
me. For a second, the knife was in my hand again, dripping his blood onto my shoes.
I rushed past Ms. White and scooped up my bag on the way to the door. I fled down the stairs and around the darkened corner, pounding the pavement as fast as I could.
Nobody would let me dance. Nobody.
A clawing pain jabbed in my chest as if she’d ripped out my heart. How could I not dance? The thought terrified me. It was all I wanted to do. It was everything. It was me.
I gasped, pumping my arms, wondering what else they wouldn’t let me do now. Where else they wouldn’t let me go. The voices of the panel members on the air screen echoed around and around in my mind.
They never should have let her leave the recovery center.
My head spun so hard I didn’t see the road or the streetlights, or the cars going past, or the stars in the sky. I almost missed my house. It looked so dark and sad.
I wished I could run on and never stop. I struggled not to collapse, but I had to get inside and crawl under a blanket and try to breathe. I made it to the window, kicked off my shoes, and dropped my bag onto the floor. My bed waited for me like a magic cloud that would suffocate the world. As soon as I pulled the covers over my head and curled into a ball, I heard the door open.
“Sweetheart?” It was Dad’s voice. “Are you awake?”
I didn’t want to answer, but maybe Dad would understand. Maybe I could tell him what Ms. White said. When I was little, he’d come to all my dance recitals, he’d even hired a drone to record all my practice sessions. He’d called me his moonbeam, and he’d looked so proud of me.
“Honey? I’m sorry, but you have to take this medicine. The doctor said it would help after the tests.”
I pushed the tips of my fingers out of the covers, trying to get hold of myself long enough to talk. Sliding the covers to the side, I sat up, everything screaming inside my chest. “I’m awake.”
