Before I can respond, he has moved away from the table, and the seat feels exceptionally empty beside me, and my hand feels exceptionally cold. I swallow. I didn’t want to like Wren, not even as a friend. But now we’ve kissed and we’ve held hands…and we’re meeting again tonight. Just the two of us. A date.
A date.
I don’t know how I feel about the whole thing, but I can’t deny the excitement coursing through me. I just can’t.
“It was really nice meeting you,” Maggie is saying from across the table.
Connor adjusts his glasses again. “Really nice meeting you, too. Good luck with the job search.”
“Thanks! Good luck with the computer gig.”
Their eyes linger on each other for a moment longer than they should, and then he is gone and Maggie is a light shade of peach.
I fix her with a stare. “What was that all about?”
“What was what about?”
“Come on, Maggie. You guys were flirting!”
“We were not,” she says quickly, and her cheeks turn from peach to a bright shade of fuchsia. “I have a boyfriend, hello!”
“Yeah, well, Connor seemed a lot nicer than Kyle, and that’s saying something, seeing as how Connor’s a Preme.”
Shit.
What is wrong with me? The words hang between us like sour air.
Finally she speaks. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do you have a problem with Kyle or something?”
I am already in hot water with Hunter. I can’t be in hot water with Maggie, too. “Look, I didn’t mean to say that; I’m sorry. I don’t even know Kyle. Okay?”
Her jaw relaxes. And then her face breaks into a smile. “Why are you even mentioning the fact that Connor’s a Preme? The fact that Wren is one doesn’t exactly seem to be an issue for you.”
“An issue for what? I told you—we’re friends. We weren’t flirting like you guys were.”
She exchanges a look with Emerald. “Don’t think we didn’t see you guys whispering away like schoolkids. That’s flirting where I come from. And did you notice that Long said how much Wren talks about you? Yeah. We noticed, too. Don’t think you’re fooling anyone, okay?”
I am spared from answering by the sight of Hunter pushing through the library door. He returns a stack of books a foot high to the librarian, then, spotting us, takes a seat next to Maggie. He pulls one of the books from the middle of the table under his nose. They are books I’ve selected—all of them full of pictures of life aboveground, all those decades ago. Before it became uninhabitable.
I hold my breath as I stare at him.
“Thought I might find you guys here,” he says quietly. “What’s going on?”
“Eve thinks Maggie’s crushing on one of Wren’s friends, and Maggie thinks Wren and Eve are crushing on each other. They’re fighting about it now, if you care to listen in.”
“Emerald!” I cry. “We aren’t fighting about—about that. Right, Maggie?” I don’t wait for a response; I set my gaze on Hunter instead. “Listen, Wren and I ran into each other a couple of times since the fight. I guess maybe we’re friends. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“It’s no big deal,” he says, his gaze still anywhere but on mine. “That being said, it is kind of strange you’d even talk to him, following that match. He almost killed you. And beyond that, well. We all know your history with Premes…”
He is referencing Jack, and something inside of me grows hot. I push it down again. “It was just a fight, Hunter,” I say quietly. “And yeah, you’re right—there is a history there…but Wren had nothing to do with that. He was just a kid when it happened.”
“True. But between that and Reneeta, didn’t it teach you something?”
Reneeta. It has been a while since I have thought about her. Flowing hair, long skirts, an everlasting smile. She volunteered on the Mean floors, one of the very few Preeminates to make the journey. But she loved children, and so she would lend a hand with childcare from time to time when parents were ill or otherwise detained. Sometimes she would bring us snacks, or even a small toy like a rubber ball. She cared about us.
Until she glimpsed Jack through the door one afternoon when I forgot to pull it tight. And even though I can’t prove it, I’m sure it was her who tipped off the Premes in charge about his existence. She hasn’t been down to the Mean floors since, which is smart. I’m not sure she’d survive an encounter with my father. Or with me.
“Teach me something,” I say carefully. “What?”
Hunter adjusts his glasses and stares at me. “That you can never…never trust a Preme.”
Chapter Nineteen
I walk through the lower hallways of Compound Eleven with a switchblade clasped in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
Dull beads of orange run along the spot where the floor meets the wall, and so it is possible to move through these corridors without the aid of a flashlight, but that isn’t an option for me. In fact, the thought of my flashlight running out of power makes my blood go cold. I really should carry spare batteries, except Lower Means aren’t allotted spares of anything. Essentials only.
All around me, shadows run up the walls and leer at me as I sprint past, Hunter’s words echoing in my brain with every step. He almost killed you… You can never…never trust a Preme…
I force them to the side and concentrate on my footing as I climb to the top floor.
It is no better lit than the rest of the compound, and this surprises me. Usually it is flooded with bright light, and so by contrast it looks darker here than anywhere else.
“Trying to flag Ben down?” comes a voice from behind me. I turn quickly with my knife ready, though I know it is Wren. “Wow, you’re not messing around,” he adds calmly as his eyes sweep over the open blade. “Might want to put that flashlight away.”
I swallow. Of course he is right. Being out of bed at this time of night isn’t prohibited, only frowned upon. But sneaking onto the Preme floor and into the Oracle is prohibited, and attracting the guards’ attention needlessly isn’t exactly intelligent.
So I turn it off, and we are cloaked in blackness. I can’t see Wren’s face—the beads along the floor are too dim, and my eyes are used to the unfriendly glare of the flashlight. I feel blinded in a world where everyone else can see. I feel vulnerable, exposed.
“The knife, too,” he says quietly.
I am still. All of a sudden, Hunter’s warning flashes in my mind’s eye. He almost killed you. I take a step back and bump into something that sends my pulse racing. It’s only the wall, but now the darkness claws its way into my mouth and down my throat until I can no longer breathe. I can feel hands snatching at me just like when I walk through the Bowl before a fight, and they pull me down, drag me lower—
“Eve!” His hands are on my face, and for a moment I think maybe he is covering my mouth and that is why I can’t breathe. That he is dangerous and mad and murderous. But then I realize they cover only my cheeks and he is speaking and his voice is smooth like butter. “Eve. Hey, come on. It’s me. It’s me.”
I breathe deeply to force oxygen to my brain. My eyes adjust to the darkness so that I can see the outline of his face, and I know he stands close with his eyebrows pulled together.
“Deep breath, Eve. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Calm down.”
I realize I am still clutching the open knife, and clumsily I snap it shut. “Why can’t I have the knife out again?” I ask tersely.
“In case we run into a guard. In case you trip and stab yourself in the eye.”
I push the knife into my pocket.
“Take my hand,” he says, and I do. He clutches it tight and leads me forward through the blackened halls. My heart thumps uncomfortably in my chest as we go. But I feel better now that he is by my side.
Does it make me weak, to be sooth
ed by his strength? One thing I have always prided myself on—one thing my father drilled into me from a young age—is being self-reliant. I take care of myself and I defend myself and I protect myself, too. And now my hand is tucked into his much larger hand, and he is guiding me forward, and he has promised not to let anything happen to me. To me.
It feels wrong, all of it. But it feels good, too. It does. It feels good to let someone else be strong for once.
Fast and heavy footsteps echo behind us, and every cell in my body squeezes into itself. Wren pushes me against the wall, and his hand lies flat against my stomach, forcing me to be still. The footsteps fade into the distance, and I feel the pressure of his hand, its warmth reaching through my thin T-shirt. I can see his eyes through the darkness, just, and they flash onto mine and then away again as he draws me forward once more.
Danger never lurks far in Compound Eleven, even on the Preme floor.
When we reach the door, he is the one to punch in the code. He saw my fingers last time, then, and he put it to memory as I knew he did. He pushes me through, and immediately I turn my flashlight on and swing the delicious light it casts around the small room. Empty.
“We survived,” he says heavily. In the glow of the flashlight, his cheeks look hollow and his eyes flash like warning signs.
“Barely,” I mutter.
“Let’s get upstairs before anyone sees the light under the door.”
I nod and put the flashlight between my teeth as I climb the ladder, swing open the trapdoor. I am not self-conscious today; I am too pent up with adrenaline and fear.
The Oracle is brighter than I expected, considering it has no lightbulbs—no beads, even. I look up and see that it is something coming from above that is offering brightness, and I turn my flashlight off to better see it. White dots that almost shine. Millions of them. And a large circle, also white but smudged with a fingerprint of gray: the moon. This is the night sky. Vast and brilliant and majestic.
Wren closes the trapdoor and stands beside me. He is staring at the side of my face, but I can’t look at him. If a mirror stood in front of me, I couldn’t look at it, either. “How do you manage during the blackouts?” he asks, and his voice is sharp.
“My knife and flashlight. Any other questions?” My voice is every bit as sharp as his, and I move forward so that I stand directly in front of the glass. So that he is behind me.
“I’m not judging you, but—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” I snap.
He laughs darkly. “If you would let me finish, I was going to say that there’s something going on with the solar panels. They aren’t collecting energy like they used to. It means the blackouts are going to continue; they may even get worse.”
“So I should just get over it, right? My fear of the dark?”
“I’m not saying that,” he says in a low voice right next to my ear. It makes a chill race up and down my spine.
“Look,” I say, “as long as I have my flashlight and my knife, I’m fine.”
“What about right now? Are they enough light for you?”
I can feel his chin bump against the top of my head, and I know he is looking up at the stars.
In truth, the fear that lurks in the back of my mind rears its head whenever I cast my gaze away from the brilliantly lit night sky. The Oracle itself and the grounds outside are smothered in velvety darkness that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright. But I am not going to tell him any of that.
“Of course,” I lie.
“I’ll walk you back to your place later,” he says, and his voice has lost the edge that was there earlier.
“Not a chance.”
“Unfortunately for you, I insist.” He moves forward so that he is standing beside me, our arms touching. After a moment, he asks, “How come you haven’t told your friends about…this. Us.”
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what this…is.” My heart begins to race, but now I don’t know if the cause is the darkness or something else entirely. I take a deep breath. “And I don’t need an escort back to my cell, thanks. I already told you that.”
“Eve, your entire body was shaking.”
I turn and start to walk away from him, but his hand lands on my shoulder. “You’re human. It’s a good thing, trust me, so long as you can handle the blackouts.” He sighs. “So, about the other…”
“Hunter thinks I shouldn’t even be friends with you. You know, after what happened to my brother.”
His body goes rigid, and his eyes flash. “Since I happen to be a Preme? Do Maggie and Emerald feel the same way?”
I shrug. “They don’t care so much. But, you know. You’re a Preme; I’m a Lower Mean. The two don’t exactly go together.”
“Says who?”
There is a gurgle in the back of my throat that sounds close to a laugh. “You know as well as I do that it’s true.”
“It doesn’t bother me.” His hand finds the small of my back. “For someone who craves freedom above all else, you seem remarkably willing to fall in line and follow the conventions of this stupid compound.”
“I do not,” I say quickly, and my eyes race to his. But there is no malice there as he watches me. He seems to study my face under the light of the stars, and I feel my cheeks turn pink. Thankfully they are hidden by blackness. I force myself to stand straighter and raise my chin. “I don’t…I don’t care. About that. About us being from different floors. It’s the rest of the compound that would.”
My parents, for one. After what they endured with Jack at the hands of a Preme, they would probably disown me. And the rest of the Lower Means would brand me a traitor—particularly the older generations. The ones who have lived through decades of injustice, who vibrate at the very sight of a Preme, who lead the protests and demand better for our kind from the elite. Yes, if they were to find out, there could be trouble. And then there are the Premes themselves. Their snide comments and sour looks are something I could endure, sure. I might even revel in them. But it would give me no joy to see them leveled at Wren.
Marriage laws, too, are unforgiving. The only way a Preme can marry a Mean is if the Preme forfeits his or her status and relocates to the lower floor. It’s the same thing between a Denominator and a Mean. For obvious reasons, then, such unions simply don’t happen.
Then there is Hunter. Given his reaction to our friendship, he cannot know about this—whatever this is. Not now and not ever…
See? It’s the others in the compound I’m concerned about. I don’t care that Wren is a Preme. Of course I don’t. But maybe I am not speaking the entire truth. Maybe after years and years of knocking the Preme floor and all those who inhabit it, of distrusting them and labeling them as evil, I am worried those closest to me will brand me a hypocrite.
Maybe more than anything, I’m worried that I am a hypocrite.
Then his fingers touch my face and I don’t care if I am a hypocrite or not—I am too distracted by the fluttering in my stomach, like a million butterflies are beating their way out. It is a strange saying, that. Civilization hasn’t seen a butterfly for decades, but still the expression persists.
“What are you saying, Eve? You don’t want…us? This?”
I press my face into his fingers. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m not saying that at all.” My voice is low.
“So, you do want it.”
I take a deep breath. Be brave, Eve. “Of course I do,” I say hotly.
His fingers wrap around the back of my head, and he moves closer. His lips tickle my forehead as he talks. “But?”
“But…well, I told you. Maybe the rest of the compound doesn’t.” Now my voice is impossibly quiet yet steady.
“What if we keep it between us, then. Just for now.” His is steady, too. “Until people get used to the fact that we’re friends.”
> My fingers shake, but it isn’t from the dark. “I’d like that.” I’d like that very much.
He nods. “Okay.” He pulls his head back a few inches and smiles. “So it’s official.”
But instead of smiling, I remember that in less than five weeks I will be gone from Compound Eleven, and gone from Wren, too.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
Instead of responding, I fill the little remaining space between us and press my lips to his. I don’t want to think of the end—not right now. It is just the beginning; surely it is too soon to be thinking of the end.
I kiss him harder than before. I kiss him until every last negative thought dissolves into darkness. My fingers are steady now, and they push down his chest and under his shirt. The skin of his back is smooth as silk, and as I draw my hands up I feel muscles rippling below. He almost killed me, it’s true, but he didn’t…and he won’t. And feeling his raw strength doesn’t make me feel weak, not in the slightest. I am strong. And Wren’s strength makes me even stronger.
Every cell in my body begins to scream, but this time it isn’t from terror. Instead they are white hot and screaming for more. But he pulls away, and his lips are on my forehead again, and his chest beats up and down with his breaths. “God, Eve,” he groans. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“I don’t know. I was just enjoying myself, I guess.” My fingers dance across his back like they never want to touch another surface again.
“Mmm.” Suddenly, he is still. “You realize the moon is currently behind some clouds and it’s significantly darker in here…”
“So? Maybe the dark isn’t so bad when it’s just the two of us.”
“Is that a fact?” he asks, and I can hear in his voice that he is smiling. He sits down on the Oracle floor and pulls me with him. I sit on his lap with my arms still strung around his waist. It is impossible to keep my lips away from his, and we kiss again, slower this time.
“Uh, Eve?”
“Yeah?”
“This is a very dangerous position. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to contain myself, and I take it from the fact that you haven’t so much as kissed another guy before, you’d like to take things slow.”
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 15
