by Driza, Debra
“Yeah, you’re right.”
I was relieved by his acceptance, but disappointed at the same time.
“It’d be way more fun sitting in my room playing video games.” Then I heard it, the sarcasm in his voice. “Come on, Mila. I don’t have anything better to do. And if this guy does turn out to be a jerk, you don’t want to be by yourself.”
I shook my head. “I can’t ask this of you. I can’t be that selfish.”
“Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to it than that? Are you upset about this morning, about the kiss that didn’t happen?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I finished off my coffee and looked at a nearby trash can. Calculations of distance, angle, velocity, and wind speed flashed through my mind before I tossed my empty coffee cup—perfect shot, no rim.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Talk about a loaded question. I fiddled with my hands in my lap, with the fraying fabric of my jeans. Waiting for the words to come. “Look, Hunter, I . . .”
My throat tightened, trapping the rest of the sentence inside. I pictured the horrified look on his face when I answered him honestly. Him backing away in disgust.
I coughed and tried again. “Here’s the thing . . .”
I closed my mouth without finishing my thought and Hunter’s eyes glazed over, like his mind was suddenly someplace else. The bench creaked as he vaulted off it, tossing his cup into the trash can at the same time. He headed toward the waves.
I guess he was fed up with me.
“Hunter,” I whispered into the stillness, but of course he couldn’t hear me.
The space inside my chest shrank, or at least it seemed that way. Because all of a sudden, this enormous pressure smashed and shoved at my synthetic heart, my stomach, everything, until it felt like they were flattened, distorted into much smaller shapes. Should I go talk to him? I wondered, as I watched him pace back and forth at the water’s edge, kicking up sand with his steps. Or should I just leave, make my way to the bus station on my own? Or maybe—and here was a timely thought—maybe I should never have called him in the first place.
The cramp in my chest intensified as I slid off the bench and my shoes sank into the warm sand. I walked over to where Hunter now stood with his arms at his sides, just staring into the dark blue water beyond. I reached for his closest hand, and laced my fingers with his. But even though we were touching, I felt his distance. It was like a Grand Canyon of distrust was forming between us, and it was all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I said, softly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come with me.”
That was the truth.
“Then why won’t you let me?” he muttered.
One manufactured heartbeat. Two. By the time I got to three, I hoped I could give him an explanation, anything that might make this easier—for the both of us.
“I . . . if I told you, I don’t think you’d understand.”
Hunter had traveled across multiple states at the drop of a hat to help me, and yet this was all I could bring myself to say.
When he didn’t reply, I started to pull my hand away, but then I felt him curl his fingers more tightly around mine and the panicky stomach-plunging-to-my-feet sensation that had taken over me a minute ago subsided.
I just didn’t want him to hate me.
A ragged sigh erupted from Hunter, and like we were somehow connected, the easing of his tension flowed into me, through our linked hands. He turned and he drank in my features like he could absorb every tiny line and curve. Read every lie.
His voice was barely audible over the sound of the ocean surf. “My dad walked out when I was nine. My mom got remarried when I was eleven.”
He dropped my hand and stuffed his own into his pockets, kicking at the sand beneath his feet. “You know how when some dads walk out, the mom makes up a story about why? Something nicer than what really happened?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Not my mom. She and my stepdad don’t believe in sugarcoating. So when she thought I was old enough, she told me all about him. How he had a drug problem, got arrested. Went to jail and repeated the same mistakes again and again after he was paroled. Finally, he realized having a son cramped his style, so he stole her spare cash, her jewelry she’d inherited from her grandmother. Stole her wedding ring, which she took off every night to clean. Then he bailed.”
Oh my god. “Hunter, I’m so sorry. I had no id—”
But he held up his hand. “Let me finish. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you because—you’d think because of her being so honest, I wouldn’t want to find him, right? Wouldn’t want to get to know him? I mean, what kind of kid would want an asshole like that in his life? But I do. I feel like something is missing—like, how can I know myself if I don’t know my dad? Even if he’s a total douchebag.”
He gazed off into the distance again. His next words were so soft, even my superior auditory functions had to work overtime so I could hear. “Sometimes, I think I would have been better off if she’d lied. Because now all I can wonder is—what if I turn out like him? What if there’s something wrong with me?”
A fierce protective instinct flooded my nonheart. I wanted to assure him that there was nothing wrong with him, not even close. That he would never turn out like his deadbeat father. But I held my tongue while he continued to talk.
“My point is, I do understand. I know what it’s like to want to find someone, your family. There’s this part of me that hopes maybe my mom got it wrong. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe he had to leave us for the good of mankind or something, just pretend to be bad. That’s what always happens in comic books, anyway.”
He rubbed one hand down the back of his neck and exhaled. “It’s just . . . I get it. I know what it’s like to be searching for your family. I want to help you. You have the courage to do what I’ve only ever thought about doing. I know it’s scary, but what I don’t understand is you calling me to come here, just to push me away.”
“I promise it has nothing to do with you,” I told him. “It’s all me.”
Groaning, he looked up at the sky. “I can’t believe you said that.” Then he dropped his head and skewered me with his gaze. “Look, if you’re not into me, just say so.”
I barked out a strangled laugh. “Actually, the problem is I like you way too much.”
Hunter tried to hide a smile, but wasn’t able to squash it before I could notice. “And how is that a problem exactly?”
I could stand here all day, ticking off the reasons. And I’d spent the last twenty-four hours batting them away like a persistent swarm of mosquitoes. But I’d made a decision. Being together wasn’t for the best. As much as I wanted to protect him, I couldn’t guarantee that I would be able to. Hunter’s safety mattered above everything.
Even the truth.
“It just is,” I said.
“Can’t you give me one day?” Hunter asked. “I need one day to show you that having me around is a good thing.”
“Hunter, I—”
“If you want me to go after that, I swear I won’t argue with you,” he went on.
I was so touched by how hard he was trying to persuade me that my throat locked up, refused to work for a minute.
One day. Hunter thought it was enough time, but I knew otherwise. Life could go from beautiful to ugly in a fraction of a second.
“Also, Tennessee is on my bucket list! You can’t deny a man the chance to check off something on his bucket list,” he added, his eyes wide and pleading, like he was scrambling for more excuses to give me.
There it was again. Laughter. Coming out of my synthetic belly, traveling out of my fake lungs, and then carrying on the wind. The corners of my lips turned up into a smile, and I was happy.
Legitimately, authentically happy.
How is that a problem exactly? Lately, happiness—even just a shred of it—had me
buying into the lies I’d told. Not only to Hunter, but also to myself.
One more day. Everything will be fine.
“Okay, but I think you might need to revise that list,” I said, finally giving in. “It sounds kind of lame.”
Hunter smiled—the quirky, lopsided grin that hooked me back in Clearwater—and slipped an arm around me.
“I can’t think of anyone better to help me with it than you.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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FOUR
I should have been panicked, or ready to attack at the slightest provocation. The way I’d felt when Mom and I were on the run. Today was no different than the day we tried to cross the border into Canada, or get on a plane to secretly fly out of the country.
But on the first leg of what Hunter dubbed “The Bio Daddy Road Trip,” all I could feel was relaxed. Ridiculously relaxed, given the circumstances.
Hunter insisted on taking the first turn at the wheel, and as he steered, we talked. Or rather, he talked, clearly a not-so-subtle but considerate attempt to keep my mind off my traumatic personal life. He talked about his manga collection, San Diego, the friends he’d left behind, more manga. How much he missed the ocean but not the traffic. How he hoped that he could take me with him to visit someday.
“You’d love it there. We could go to the beach, stay late, and have a bonfire. Then the next morning, we could drive up to the mountains and go for a hike. My friend’s dad has a cabin in Big Bear, so we could stay for free. It would be amazing,” he said with a sigh.
“Especially if we could read some manga while we were there,” I teased. “Seriously, though, it sounds amazing.”
And it did. Once I found Grady and put together the broken pieces of my past, then I had . . . nothing. No plans, no family, no idea of what my future would be like—only that I’d be constantly looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Even so, the fact that Hunter liked me enough to include me in his visions of the future . . . it meant everything to me.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding back into my seat.
“Just because?” Hunter asked. With a sudden boyish grin, his fingers traced over the spot. So endearing that I was tempted to kiss him again.
“Just because,” I said.
Over the next few hours, I still kept a careful eye on the cars around us, and performed quick scans whenever we stopped. But that never seemed to stop me from enjoying myself. Like when we pulled over for an impromptu Slurpee—
Me: “Why is there a tiny shovel on the end of the straw?”
Hunter: “What, they don’t have Slurpees in Philly? There’s always a tiny shovel on the end of the straw.”
Me: “So you don’t know either.”
Hunter: “Just drink your Slurpee.”
—or flicked water at each other while Hunter washed the bugs off the Jeep’s windshield. Times like these, I could almost forget the reason we were on the trip in the first place.
To pass the time, we played a game where we took turns naming animals in alphabetical order. As it turned out, Hunter liked to take a little creative license.
“Hare,” I said.
“Icky bird.”
I folded my arms. “You’re making that up.”
He shrugged, his face a picture of innocence. “Am not. They’re indigenous to Tibet, and they were named for the sound they make during mating rituals. Icky, icky, icky.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Oh, no. I don’t kid about icky birds.”
“You could have just said ‘iguana,’ you know.”
“But then the icky bird would have felt slighted.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll let that one slide. We wouldn’t want to offend such a prestigious Tibetan avian species.”
He turned to grin at me. “Now you’re getting it.”
By the end of the game, we’d both done more laughing and fabricating than anything else.
“Wow, I haven’t played that since I was a kid,” Hunter said, once we’d finally settled down.
“Did your parents teach you?”
A pause. “No, my friends’ parents did on the way to soccer meets.” A lengthier pause, and then, “do you ever wish you had a brother? Or a sister?”
I stole a glance at his profile while he drove, but his eyes remained intent on the road.
Images flashed in my head. My face, only not mine, staring me down right before we had to race through an obstacle course designed by a madman. Her quizzical expression when I tried to talk about Mom. Her insistence that we were sisters of sorts. Sisters who competed to see if one would have her entire existence erased, with the push of a few buttons.
A chill wrapped around me like a night breeze. “No,” I said. “Not really. Why? Do you?”
A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw, a stiffness echoed in the way his shoulders squared against the seat back, and the curl of his fingers on the wheel. He waited a tick, then deflated. “Yeah, I do. Mainly just to have someone to talk to at home. My parents come and go a lot, and they’re . . . well, let’s just say they’re all over the place with their attention. One minute they’re all in my business like I’m ten or something, but the other fifty-nine, they act like I’m forty and don’t need anything from them. Sometimes I pretend that I have a brother, and we make fun of how weird they are while we hole up in my room and watch really shitty TV.”
The tiny lump that had started forming in my throat grew in thickness, but I swallowed it away. I’d give anything to have Hunter’s dysfunctional little family.
At least he knew them. At least they were alive.
“Do you ever feel like that? Like you just wish you could rewrite history, somehow, to make it play out more in your favor?”
I reached across the seat and rested my hand lightly on his cheek. He leaned into my palm, and my heart swelled. “Every day,” I whispered. “I wish I could change the past, every single day.”
His eyes met mine, and something flared between us. My heart catapulted in my chest while suddenly, I became aware of how close his thigh was to mine, and of his scent, and the thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers, speeding up its pace.
I let my hand fall away, coughed to clear my confusion. Car. Driving. Not crashing, really important. “None of us gets to decide where we come from, but we can choose where we go from there.”
I wasn’t sure where the words had originated, but once I uttered them, they felt right. I couldn’t allow the circumstances of my creation to drag me down. Nothing could change that. But that didn’t mean my entire life was predetermined. I had choices, beyond what Holland envisioned for me.
And I’d be damned if I let him steal my life from me, like he had Mom’s.
“You think so?” he said, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
“I do. I also think that your parents suck, if they don’t realize what an amazing person you are.” He didn’t say anything, but the right side of his mouth turned up. “And, for the record—I’m always available to watch bad TV. In fact, hold that thought . . .”
I rummaged through my bag, pulling out the pen and paper I’d taken from the motel. I scribbled on the top sheet, tore it off, and handed it over. “Here you go.”
He unfolded it on the steering wheel and read, his smile turning into a full-fledged chuckle.
I owe you one entire day of room holing-up and all the shitty-TV watching your alphabet-game-cheating brain can handle.
Mila
“So I might get another day with you, huh?”
I stared at the stretch of road ahead through the windshield and beyond, avoiding the traveled road in the rearview mirror. “I’m thinking about it.”
Later, we switched positions. I could tell Hunter was getting tired as the sun lowered in the sky, because he talked less and instead zoned out to whatever song was playing on the
radio, his eyelids slowly lowering. Finally, the steady hum of the tires must have lulled him, because his eyes closed and his face turned soft with sleep.
As I stared at the long, monotonous road ahead, I quickly realized that I didn’t like it when Hunter slept. It left me with too much time alone with my thoughts.
Way too much time. Enough time for me to replay images from the past that I’d happily erase from my memory for good.
Android parts, everywhere. Me, wading through piles of discarded arms and legs and other bits of machinery masquerading as human, their skin dry and lifeless under my hands. Flames, roaring in my ears, red-orange waves licking the floor by Mom’s bound feet—and the impact my shoulder made when I hit the glass separating us. Lucas’s body, crumpling when I struck him in the kidney with my fist—even though it was the last thing I’d wanted to do.
All part of Holland’s sick, sadistic tests. All for nothing when he ordered me terminated anyway.
Remembered terror tore through my body—the horror of not knowing what was happening to Mom while I was locked away in the tiny, barren cell in Holland’s compound . . . and the never-ending heart stab of realizing that now, she was gone. Was that pain ever—ever—going to go away?
Mom had told me I was brave, only she had called me Sarah. A part of me was so determined to figure out who this mystery girl was, and the other part didn’t want to know. What I knew now was horrifying enough.
As the tires rolled on and Hunter slept, I played our escape scene, over and over again. What could I have done differently? If I’d taken a different route through D.C.? Not made that desperate, wrong-way turn on the Kutz Bridge?
The road blurred before me and I took a vicious swipe at my eyes.
If you want to help me, you know what you can do? Live.
Mom’s voice, already losing strength then but filled with a surprising ferocity.
Live.
I straightened in the seat, pushed my shoulders back. Everything Mom had done had been for me. To give me a chance to really live—in whatever capacity that meant.
I wasn’t about to let her down.
I pushed the button on the door, and the window whirred. The fresh air whipped me in the face, full of damp earth and, yes, some smoky car exhaust, but mostly the slightly sweet decay of leaves falling from trees. Crisp—chillier than I’d expected.
