by Debra Driza
My fingers tightened their grip on the metal. “What?”
He slapped one beefy hand on his thigh and ignored my question. “That’s warped, man. Warped. Do you have photos?”
This couldn’t be happening. “You’re joking, right?”
He leaned closer, bringing the smell of sour orange juice and deodorant with him. “Seriously, I won’t tell anyone. Just show me, okay?”
That’s when I realized that no, he wasn’t joking. Yes, he really believed I’d cut off my arm, and yes, he really wanted pictures.
I clenched the green door harder . . . and felt the metal give under my grip. I jerked back like the locker had stung my hand and slammed the door before I could see the damage. Before he could see the damage. I slipped under his meaty arm, fleeing both the locker and his hopeful stare.
Meanwhile, my heart—my something, whatever it was—pounded out a spastic beat. I had to find Kaylee and stop this before it went any further. Before she ruined any chance of me ever coming back to Clearwater High.
I zigzagged through the clusters of students blocking my path and headed straight for the cafeteria.
“Excuse me,” I said, cutting in front of a meandering, hand-in-hand couple. I repeated the words after darting through a narrow opening in a crowd of five varsity-jacketed guys, who were much too engrossed in rehashing a practice to walk at a decent speed.
“Watch it,” one grumbled, while another yelled, “Hey, you can jump out of my truck anytime!” Howls of laughter rang out, along with the smack of a high five, and I knew they were staring. I felt a burst of heat across the back of my neck.
Oh, god. This was worse, way worse than I’d thought. How many people had heard the rumors? What exactly were the rumors? Kaylee had to fix this. She had to.
The only thing keeping me from sprinting into the cafeteria was the knowledge that it would draw even more attention.
I made the sharp right that led to the gaping doorway of the cafeteria. Scores of kids already clustered around tables, pulling water bottles out of lunch bags, making faces at apples, peeling back foil and biodegradable wrappers to peer at their mystery sandwiches. I watched them talk and laugh and eat with friends, smelled the intermingled scent of teen sweat and hamburger meat sizzling on the kitchen grill, and it registered that maybe I should just take Mom’s advice. Go home, stay away from school.
Hide like a trapped animal. Away from everyone. Away from Hunter.
Away from life.
No.
I pushed into the room, past the six long rows of tables to the one by the back window where Kaylee sat, flanked by Ella and Parker. Our table. Except today, my seat was once again occupied by Leslie from homeroom.
Kaylee’s face was averted toward Ella, so I focused on her hair as I took the last few steps. Finding and counting the flyaway strands helped soothe my nerves. This morning when she got up to brush it, I bet she’d stuck out her tongue at her reflection, the same way she did every time she caught a glimpse of those unruly pieces in a mirror. Still the same Kaylee hair, which gave me hope that it was still the same Kaylee underneath.
The Kaylee who’d been generous and kind to the new girl in town. Not the one who’d forced her into the back of a pickup.
After a sudden squeal of laughter, Parker glanced over her shoulder, saw me, and froze with a carrot stick halfway to her mouth. She dropped it and nudged Kaylee. Not to be deterred, I rested my hands on the plastic table and waited.
I didn’t wait long. The other two girls ceased their chatter the second Kaylee twisted my way. Her thin, teeth-covering smile didn’t reach her eyes. “What?”
The distant tone in her voice sent a stab of fear into my gut. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“We’re kind of busy here.”
I looked around the table, to where Parker spun her Diet Coke and Ella inspected her nails and Leslie swirled a french fry in ketchup. Busy. Uh-huh. Why was she acting like this? Beneath the fear of all the attention, of having my secret discovered, another feeling sparked to life. Something hot and dangerous. “It won’t take long,” I said, curling my fingers to keep from shaking her.
Her long-suffering sigh was so obvious. “Fine. I didn’t want to say this, but . . . Mila, you have . . . issues . . . and I’d just rather not be around you anymore.”
I—what? “Issues? I have issues? Why, because I told you I didn’t want to sit in the back of the truck, but you insisted? Just so you could have some alone time with Hunter?”
Kaylee’s surprised brown eyes finally met mine—she obviously hadn’t expected to be called on that—while the other girls squirmed.
“Uh, we’re going to get some drinks. Do you want anything, Kayls?” Ella asked, her narrow face even more pinched than usual from worry.
“No thanks.”
I waited until they left before sliding into Parker’s empty chair. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Kaylee, why are you doing this to me? I thought we were friends.”
The left side of her lip curled. “You and Hunter looked cozy enough last night on the way to your house—I bet he’d be more than happy to be your friend.”
I reeled back. “Are you kidding me? I could have died, Kaylee, and all you’re worried about is that Hunter was nice to me?”
Where was the Kaylee I’d met when I’d first moved here, the one who’d welcomed the awkward new girl into her circle of friends? Because this version of her felt like a stranger.
Kaylee’s chair screeched back as she tottered to her feet. “Whatever. Parker told me not to trust you. I should have listened.”
Her high-pitched voice, attention grabbing to begin with, doubled in volume by the time she finished. It carried. Conversations muted; heads from four, five, six tables away turned to see what the commotion was all about.
“Lower your voice,” I hissed.
I realized my mistake when I saw her eyes narrow, saw the mutinous pucker of her lips. I tried to backpedal. “Kaylee, please—”
“Why?” Her shout drowned out my last-ditch attempt at curtailing drama. In a sweep of voluminous purple sleeves, she spread her arms wide. “It’s not like they won’t find out sooner or later,” she continued, at that same desperately loud volume. So loud that I wanted to shove my hand over her mouth and drag her out of the cafeteria. But that would only draw more attention. I had to act, though. Before she—
“Why not just tell them you’re a fr—”
My foot moved fast. In a blur of motion, I hooked her ankle, sweeping her legs out from under her. Her scream rang out as her head flew back. Her hands flailed wildly, and she smacked her cup on the way down, splashing Coke all over her lavender shirt. She hit the faux-wood floor butt first.
The stunned silence and gasps only lasted a second before the laughter started. A table of boys catcalled, and I heard a girl shout, “Good going, Grace!”
Dazed, Kaylee blinked up at me. Probably trying to figure out exactly what had happened. That made two of us.
The sight of her, sprawled across the dirty floor, in between chair legs with her shirt drenched in brown liquid, tore at my stomach. I’d done that. Without any intention, without any thought beyond making her stop. But how?
I shoved aside my disbelief and stepped forward. The least I could do was help her up. But as I moved, something flashed behind my eyes. Not a memory, not this time. Words. Luminous red words. They flickered, appeared only for a millisecond before vanishing, but oh, god, even that was a millisecond too long.
Target: Down.
The horror clenched my chest like a vise, squeezing until I only had one thought left.
Run.
And that’s exactly what I did. While Kaylee struggled to her feet, I turned and ran. Fled the room, my actions . . . and those flashing red words that I hoped with every fiber of my being were a stress-induced hallucination. Or a fluke. The likes of which I’d never, ever see again.
As the sound of my feet smacking linoleum echoed through the halls, I realize
d Mom had been right.
I never should have come back to school.
Twelve
Despite my mad dash back to Greenwood Ranch, when I arrived, our Tahoe sat in the driveway like a big green warning.
Great.
I considered hiding on the grounds for a while, avoiding the lecture of badness that awaited, but that was just delaying the inevitable and, worse, potentially sending Mom into a panic when she couldn’t track me down. I might as well face the somber, guilt-trippy music and get it over with.
I stuffed my hands into my pockets and climbed onto the porch. The door whipped open to reveal Mom, her blue eyes raking over my outfit before narrowing on the backpack slung over my shoulders.
“I was just going to check for you in the stables . . . but I see that won’t be necessary.” Her voice didn’t rise, and the way she opened the door wider in invitation seemed calm enough, but the white knuckles on the doorknob didn’t bode well.
Sure enough, once the door closed and sealed us in, she whirled, wiry arms crossed against her gray sweatshirt, feet shoulder-width apart and firmly planted. “Don’t make me put a tracking device on you.”
As she drew in a breath to berate me even more, I held up a hand. “I’ve got it, okay? Going to school was a stupid thing to do. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
With her startled expression giving her an owlish look behind her glasses, I ran for my bedroom and slammed the door.
I threw myself on the fluffy comforter. Nothing could persuade me to leave this house ever, ever again. I’d eat, sleep, and take up soap opera watching to pass the time. Maybe ride a horse or two, and act out pretend conversations with my imaginary friends.
And then Hunter’s text at three thirty-two p.m. changed everything.
Want to go out tonight?
I stared at the five words. Stared, and waited for my logic to laugh, no, guffaw, at the idea of meeting him after today’s fiasco. Even if I wanted to go, escaping this house would mean a huge operation in subterfuge. In fact, after today, I could see Mom carting me with her everywhere, on the tiniest, most boredom-inspiring errand, maybe even snapping a horse lead on me, just to ensure I didn’t pull another unauthorized school visit.
I waited for the logic, but instead got his sweet smell, the way his mouth curved slightly higher on one side than the other. The tiny mole that doubled as a dimple. And, most importantly, the way he made me feel so real.
The exact opposite of the way I’d felt today in the cafeteria.
Target: Down.
I pulled the comforter over my head but couldn’t block out the memory. Was this what I had to expect from here on out? I shivered, despite the warmth of the thick down fabric.
If so, then I had to see Hunter. I had to.
He was the only thing that could keep me from turning into a monster.
Under the safety of the covers, I texted him back.
Sure. Meet me @ the end of the driveway @ 7:30
His return text brought a smile to my face. A facial movement that, after the cafeteria fiasco, I’d been sure would disappear from my repertoire forever.
Then I closed my eyes and planned my escape.
Thirteen
By seven twenty-five, doubt had started to set in. I was halfway down the driveway, crouching by a tree and shoving my feet into my tennis shoes. I’d slung them over my neck and crept out the front door barefoot to avoid detection. With sunset hitting earlier and earlier the closer we edged to October, the sky was already pretty dark. Still, I worried that any second, Mom would look out the kitchen window and spot me.
Once my shoes were on, I hesitated, the full force of my actions slamming me like a brick wall. What if I was making another terrible mistake? What if this date blew up as badly as school had today? I looked over my shoulder, at the safety of the guesthouse, then stabbed a button on my phone to make it light up. Hunter’s last text appeared a moment later.
Can’t wait
The same warmth as before spiraled through me, overpowering any lingering doubts. No, this was the right choice. I crossed the remainder of the distance to the street, determined to revel in the slap of chilly air on my cheeks, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, and the Hunter-filled night ahead of me.
I slowed to a walk just before I reached the dirt road. Headlights arched in a quarter turn onto our street, and within fifteen seconds, a Jeep rumbled to a stop beside me.
The window slid open, and Hunter’s head popped out. “Sneaking out?” He smiled, that amazing, silly, blue-eyed smile that melted away any second thoughts. Now we just needed to get out of here. Before Mom found out.
“Something like that.” I hurried over to the passenger door and slid inside, closing my door and snapping my seatbelt as swiftly as possible. “Okay, let’s go,” I said, silently urging Hunter’s right foot to push down on the gas.
He shot me a bemused glance but shoved the gear into first. A moment later, we were on our way.
The Jeep smelled like a mix of the cinnamon air-freshener strip and something sweeter. I counted five wrapped squares inside the center console—three pink, two yellow—atop $1.08 in spare change. A few empty wrappers brightened the backseat floorboards, along with three discarded Monster soda cans.
“Candy and caffeine?” I said.
He reached behind his seat blindly, felt one of the cans, and winced. “Meant to clean the car.” Then he plucked a pink square from the console. “Want one?”
I eyed the tiny square labeled Starburst and wondered if I’d ever had one. “Sure.”
As we drove down the street and the chewy sweetness unfurled in my mouth—just one more thing I had to thank Hunter for—I stole a glance at him. Perfect. He was just so unbelievably perfect, in a totally nonobvious way. His untucked maroon buttondown brought out the blue of his eyes, while the khakis made him look like he’d stepped out of a trendy clothing catalog.
When he shifted to stop, his fingers grazed my arm, the one I’d “injured” yesterday. I flinched, mentally cursed my idiocy, then overcorrected by sitting very, very still.
Please don’t notice. Please don’t notice.
He noticed.
His sideways glance burned right through my arm, intensifying the no-oxygen squeeze in my chest. Right then I realized I’d made a mistake. A huge one. His eyes would peel back my skin, layer by layer, and expose the obscene, repulsive monster underneath. He’d see the fiber optics and neuromatrices, the phantom sensations. See the irony of me craving oxygen I didn’t need, see the ugliness that made me ill just to think about. All the things iPod Man had waxed on about in that southern drawl would be revealed, plunging Mom and me into danger.
I stared straight ahead and summoned all of my willpower to keep from grabbing for the passenger door handle.
Deep breath in—of course he couldn’t see through my skin. That was impossible.
Deep breath out—a few days ago, I would have thought being an android was impossible.
Deep breath in—maybe I still did.
Deep breath out—if not, at least I could pretend.
By the time Hunter pulled onto the highway, I’d grabbed the reins of my control and yanked them tight. “Your mom—she overprotective or something?” he asked.
You have no idea. “What, the sneaking out gave me away?” I said, followed by a breezy laugh that sounded remarkably authentic. A light, steady stream of headlights glared through the windshield, heading the opposite way. Back toward the ranch, where I’d left Mom behind.
Mom. She was all alone at the ranch, under the false belief that I was there. Something coiled deep in my stomach. Or where my stomach should be.
Through the passenger window I stared out into the vast nothing that was rural Minnesota at night, balling my fists in my lap. I had to stop this, this crazy self-assessment every time I felt something human. Questioning my sensations, my organs, all the little details that went on under my skin—it only made things a thousand times worse.
The computer thing. Right.
“What about your parents? Are they strict?” I said, desperate to steer the conversation into safer territory.
He shifted in his seat, rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Uh . . . no. They aren’t around much.”
My concern must have registered on my face, because he laughed. “It’s no big deal. My dad travels a lot, and Mom likes to go with him.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Sorry your parents are gone a lot? I’m glad you don’t care? At least your parents exist outside of your programmed memories?
Silence ticked away for a few more minutes, until he asked, “Bad day?”
Bad day. If only it were as simple as that. Bad day implied something finite—that after a good night’s sleep, you’d wake to a new morning full of possibility. To a fresh start.
What it didn’t imply was that you’d wake up every day from here to eternity, only to realize you were trapped in the same nightmare.
“If I lied and said I was having the best day ever, would you believe me?”
“Let’s see,” he said, followed immediately by “No.” Then, “Is it your mom? School?”
He tilted his head slightly to the side, in what I’d gathered was an unconscious effort to enlist gravity’s assistance in removing the hair from his left eye.
At this point, I felt like I had to give him something. And he’d undoubtedly hear about the cafeteria scuffle tomorrow anyway. In the scheme of things, it was the safest to reveal, and yet . . . what could possibly be more embarrassing than admitting Kaylee and I had fought over him?
I toyed with the edge of my shirt.
“Promise you won’t think I’m really lame?”
His eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Promise.”
I cleared my throat. “Well . . . Kaylee and I got in this huge fight. Over . . . you.”
After I said it, I squeezed my eyes shut, like blocking out his expression would magically repel any trace of embarrassment.
“Huh.”
Too noncommittal to make me open them yet, though I did detect a hint of levity wrapped around that one syllable.
