by Trisha Leigh
Still, he said that without Greer’s help, Pax would have died from an infection.
“What do you mean?” Pax’s posture remains stiff, not languid the way it was when I met him, but the Healers say that will go away in time.
“It’s complicated, but the humans had not been caring for the environment the way they should have and the planet was starting to heat up. In a strange way, our coming here might have saved your world.” Vant shrugs, pink tingeing his cheeks.
I take a deep breath. “So what do we do?”
Greer steps forward. She’s still mostly sad, but sometimes she laughs now. I think we all do, but it’s often hard to recall the last time.
She opens four portals in the warm morning air, less sticky in South Dakota than it was in Texas. Lucas and Apa disappear through one, Vant and Pax though the next, then Deshi and Pamant go. Finally, Flacara and I step through the last portal, emerging on a hot summer beach.
“What now?” I ask her again, since I didn’t get an answer the first time.
Flacara sits cross-legged on the beach and I join her, not caring when hot sand sticks to the backs of my legs and catches in the hem of my sundress. The sundress reminds me of the one Cadi gave me in the magic summer vision last autumn, and for the first time in a while, the memory of Cadi and Ko conjures a grateful smile.
“It’s simple. The element of fire, of summer, is inside you, Althea. You’ve felt it, and you’ve used it to your advantage. To heal the planet, you must share your gift.” She plunges her fingers into the sand, nodding at me to do the same. “Close your eyes, and reach out with your heat. It’s deep, still. The unrest. But you will feel it tipping the wrong way. The warmth slides too quickly toward cold. Tell me when you do.”
It takes several minutes, and my frustration has started to build when a chill akin to Lucas’s touch tickles the tips of my fingers, steals warmth from under my palms. “There! I feel it.”
“Good.” I don’t open my eyes, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Now, pull it back. Like balancing a seesaw as a child.”
I do what she says, and I feel her help me a little to keep it steady. Then she lets go, and I open my eyes. “We did it?”
“You did it, Althea.” She smiles, and it’s radiant and sad at the same time. “I hate that I have to leave you, but it is for the best. And I thank you. For being my daughter, for showing me that love can be a more powerful force than strength or knowledge. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Will we still be able to… to talk? Now that you’re leaving?”
Surprise and gratitude war for supremacy on her face, but neither win. “I don’t know how far the abilities of the mind can stretch. We’ve never attempted such a thing.”
I lean over and give her a hug, not because I think she expects me to, but because I want to. “I hope we can,” I whisper, laying my head against the thudding heartbeat in her chest.
Epilogue
It’s early morning, and my eyes open to find the Morgans’ bright orange comforter staring me in the face. I sigh and roll over, scratching Wolf behind the ears while he watches me, a worried expression in his mismatched eyes.
The guilt and the grief are always the worst when I first wake up. Images of our friends, of Katie and Laura, Christian, Mark, and all the rest, broken and gone forever, march across my mind, refusing to leave no matter how hard I will them away.
Leah’s face and Griffin’s are the hardest to see. The ones that trusted us, who cared for us, and who had faith we could do this impossible thing—save everyone.
The idea that we could have done more, could have understood what we were dealing with a little better, sounds a little less like the truth every day, but it doesn’t go away.
It helps to give in to the memories for five minutes before I get out of bed while Wolf’s wet nose and companionable presence can help ease the recurring horror. It’s September now, but it’s still warm and the trees outside my window burst with vibrant green leaves. After my shower and daily dose of jasmine shampoo, I throw on a knee-length sundress and a cardigan, along with a new pair of faithful canvas tennis shoes.
Perched on the edge of my bed, I tug my star locket out and unhook it so I can see the pictures inside. Fire gave me a photo of my dad. When I asked, she gave me one of her, too. Their faces remind me of lots of things, such as where I came from and how hard I fought to be here now, but also to not ever settle for less than everything.
“Althea! Breakfast! You’re going to be late!” Mr. Morgan hollers up the stairs, even though he rarely has to wake me up.
The nightmares do that, and even though I can sleep now without fear of my mind being invaded, sometimes it’s still hard. I snap the locket closed and finish drying my hair with my hands, even though Brittany says it’s weird and I should use a blow-dryer like everyone else.
My door swings open, even though no one knocked, and Jas stands in the doorway. Her midnight hair is a flyaway mess and a tiny hand perches on her six-year-old hip. “Mr. Morgan said breakfast, Althea. You’re late.”
“Am I late, Jas? What are you going to do about it, huh?” I shake off my melancholy and creep toward her until she squeals and streaks into her own bedroom, which used to be a spare. She lands on the bed and I tickle her until she begs me to stop, then braid her silky hair and put her in jeans and a T-shirt instead of pajamas.
“Breakfast?”
She nods, her emerald-green eyes luminous as they look up into my face. Then she pinches the inside of my elbow and leaps down the last three stairs, landing with a crash at the bottom.
Jas is teaching me a little about resilience every day. It’s exhausting sometimes, but it’s also fun getting to know what it might have been like to grow up with a little sister. I’m trying to enjoy it while I can, since they think a university—which turns out to be where kids go to learn more after Upper Cell—high school—will be up and running again by the time I’m ready to attend, a year from now.
The bad news is, it’s going to be in Iowa. More cold weather.
In the kitchen, Mr. Morgan burned the cranberry pancakes. Again. Instead, he gives us a rueful smile and we pour bowls of cereal, eating them at the round table. He puts his dish on the floor for Wolf to finish off the milk, then straightens his tie. “What do you think? Too much blue?”
“Yes,” Jas answers automatically.
I roll my eyes at her, then wrinkle my nose and pretend to study his ensemble even though he only has two ties. “You look handsome.”
He musses my hair and kisses the top of my head, grabbing our dishes and rinsing them in the sink. “You have a game today?”
“Yeah. You coming?”
“Of course.”
I joined the soccer team. I don’t know why; I’m not very good at it. The Monitors—the teachers—encouraged us all to get involved in an afternoon activity. Brittany’s cheerleading, a new and horrifying concept as far as I’m concerned. Lucas is playing a sport called baseball, and I like going to watch him whenever I don’t have a game. He’s not very good, either.
We don’t have anyone to play games against, just other kids from our own team. But the adults say that will change. Probably not for me, but maybe if I have children one day, there will be more cities and more teams for them to play against.
“I’m coming, too!” Jas exclaims. “I’ll be your cheerleader!”
“Jas, you’re not being a cheerleader, okay? Do something else.”
“I like the pom-toms.”
“Pom-poms,” I correct.
She grabs her inhaler—the thing that fixes her breathing problem—off the counter. I hear her race through the living room, calling a good-bye over her shoulder before the front door slams.
Sadness encroaches again as I walk through the living room at a slower pace, past pictures that include Mrs. Morgan. It makes me think of the other houses in this city and others, where people are staring at photographs of kids and their partners who will never come home. Maybe the
y’ll never even know what happened to them.
My backpack’s light, since this is the first day of school. The start was delayed about a month while the adults reconfigured everything, settled on what would be done about our lagging history and English education. It was decided that everyone my age would repeat their last year and take only the subjects they’d never had before, and the kids younger than us would start learning all subjects.
Outside on the porch, autumn sunshine mixes with a crisp breeze, forming the promise of winter. It’s not so bothersome now that I can keep myself warm.
“You’re going to make us late, and I happen to know it doesn’t take any time at all for you to look so beautiful.” Lucas smiles at me from bottom of the steps, sunlight ringing a bright wash of gold around his head. The circles under his eyes betray his own trouble getting over the past several months. Everything we lost. Everything we saw.
I snort at his cheesy statement, then open my arms and fall against him, letting him pick me up and kiss me on the mouth, even though Mr. Morgan doesn’t like it. For that reason, we usually keep our greetings brief and save the real kissing for stolen hours at the park, but this morning I press deeper into him. His quickening heartbeat under my palm matches my own, and when we ease away a few minutes later, it takes a moment to remember where we are.
“I love you, Lucas Belgarde.”
“I love you, Althea Davies.”
It’s weird having last names that are ours. Pax, Deshi, and Lucas all decided to use their human mother’s last names, while I took my dad’s. Deshi went back to Portland, choosing to live with his family there for his repeated last year. Pax decided not to return to the Sanctioned Cities at all. He went with a small group of settlers who wanted to return to South America, where his mother lived, and said maybe he’ll come back after a few months.
As hard as it is for all of us to be apart, being together reminds him too much of Leah, I think.
We’ll see him this summer, when we do our first stint for the Round Table. That’s what the adults are calling their reestablishment board. They all think it’s hilariously clever, though I don’t understand why. I like the concept, though, that no one is in charge and everyone can be seen.
Anyway, they won’t let Pax stay gone. We’ve been approving every plan, as far as setting up the boundaries and leadership in this fledgling society, but things are rolling now and the Table agreed to let us finish our education. Over the summer we’re traveling to the Sanctioned Cities and taking the children in Primer and Intermediate Cell out into the Wilds. We’re supposed to tell them our story, and teach them about plants and animals and surviving.
Thinking about it makes me tired, but Lucas thinks it might be fun.
“So, ready for our second shot at last year?” Lucas asks, setting me away from him and taking my hand.
“Senior year.”
“Right, senior year,” he tries again, although some words are foreign to us still.
“Are you two coming, or what? You’re always dawdling, I swear,” Brittany hollers from the end of the block, hands on her hips.
We walk faster to appease her, because that’s what everyone does, and in a few minutes we reach the front door of Cell—school. Loud chatter and banging lockers fill the hallways, and when Lucas drops my hand and goes one way to his world history class, Brittany and I are alone.
She’s crabby this morning, frowning for no reason. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, nothing. Had a fight with my mom about whether or not I can go visit Sophie this summer.”
“Would she let you go if I’m going?” I ask, grinning.
“You’re going somewhere this summer?” She frowns harder, obviously annoyed that her plans aren’t living up to mine.
“Yeah. Lucas, Deshi, Pax, and I start our jobs this summer. Modern History Council.” I poke her arm, mostly to bug her. We’re also included on the Environmental Council.
“I’ll tell her you’re going. She likes you, for some reason.” Brittany gives up being snotty and gives me a real smile, then tugs me down the hall.
Greer appears out of nowhere, stepping straight out of a wall.
Brittany stumbles backward, then tries to cover her surprise by snapping, “Would you please just use the front door like everyone else?”
“I prefer reminding people that I’m better than them.” She grins at me. “How are you, Althea?”
“Good. Are you really going to school?” She said she’d see me the first day, but I hadn’t believed her. Warm excitement pours through me at the possibility.
“My mom taught me lots of stuff, but I’ve never been to school. It might be fun.” She shrugs and opens the door to English literature, and Brittany and I follow her inside.
We’re reading A Separate Peace, which both amuses me and makes me sad, because it reminds me of Pax.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the title, about how for the boys in the book being at their school had given them a peace separate from the troubled world. It didn’t work out for them, I think, because we’re all threads in the same piece of fabric. Those moments on the beach with my mom taught me that no part of the planet can be steady on its own—you can’t yank on one thread and not expect to unravel something else. There must always be balance, a counteraction, from the opposite side. Their school could never be peaceful while the world was at war; that imbalance crept into all the corners and upset everyone’s ability to thrive.
Instead of working toward a separate peace in each of our cities, or our schools, or families, we’re trying to maintain a balance while humanity figures out how to reestablish itself on Earth. The adults talk excitedly about having a second chance, about all of the mistakes that were made before—mainly that it’s not okay for some people to be happy while others suffer. It tips the balance.
I don’t understand most of the references or the intricate details of past disagreements, but I like that everyone’s talking. We’re going to have a together peace. It’s the only way.
***
Lucas meets me after school. We walk to the park and settle near the boundary where we first met Cadi. He shakes out a blanket we keep hidden in a tree and the two of us lie back on the soft down, staring up at the sky. My hand fits inside his as though it belongs there, and even though there’s no nervousness between us the way there was when we first met, touching him still excites me.
“How was your day?” he asks, turning onto his side and scooting against me.
I twist my head his direction and smile. “Good. It was nice to see Greer. What about you?”
“Same. I mean, on one hand, it’s good to be back here and to kind of have normal days. But it’s also strange. We’re not normal. Sometimes it feels like we’re pretending.” His lips twist as though he isn’t sure he’s saying it right.
“We’re not pretending. This is only part of our lives, but I like it. It’s nice being able to be here with you, to focus on mundane life for a while without people expecting things from us all the time.” We’ve spent the past two months surrounded by adults, all wanting something from us. The decision to be involved is still the right one, but it makes me feel caged.
“You like being here with me?” he asks, a sly smile turning up his full lips.
“Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” I reply, mimicking his playfulness and feeling really, really happy.
When his cold mouth covers mine, playfulness recedes, replaced by heat. The scents of summer and winter tangle on the autumn breeze as Lucas makes me forget that we’re in the park, that we’ll never be done being responsible, that our lives will never be only our own.
My fingers curl in his shirt, drawing him closer so I can wrap my arms around him. He slides a hand to the back of my neck, lifting my face to his, and I tilt it back, as hungry for his touch as he is for mine. We stay that way for a while—there’s no curfew, and even though we’re technically under the roof of adults, they don’t police our comings and goin
gs.
It’s kind of hard to tell the kids who saved the world that they have to be home at a certain time. That’s one side effect I don’t mind at all.
Lucas pulls back but leaves his hands wrapped around me. In his arms, the temperature is perfect—a pleasant warmth that tickles and comforts—and I snuggle even closer. His eyes darken when we lose track of time like this, and in them I see love and desire, and a seriousness that belongs to him as surely as his scent.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“That we never made promises before because we didn’t know what would happen. And maybe we still don’t, in the sense that the future can change. But I promise I’ll always love you, Althea. That will never, ever change.” He swallows, a blush pinking his cheeks. “You’re amazing. All of this, everything we’ve been through, and your heart, it’s still sweet. Not angry. Not hard. Good.”
His words spill happiness through my blood like sunshine, and I lean up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. When I pull back, his eyes are wet.
Lucas leans his forehead against mine. “I’m so stupid lucky.”
That makes me laugh, and I kiss him again, slower this time. “I’m lucky, Lucas. To have you love me. If I’m not ruined, it’s because you kept my heart alive.”
He lays me back on the blanket and we get lost for a while longer as the sun sinks toward the horizon, leaving an autumn chill in the air outside our strange pocket of warmth. Later, as we say good night between the Morgans’ and the Crawfords’ picture-perfect houses, I think about us being symbols for the humans.
Sometimes when I don’t feel worthy, I think of the men whose faces adorn Mount Rushmore. They weren’t better than everyone. They made mistakes, fought with their families in private, and probably often felt as though they weren’t fit to lead.
But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what they stand for, what people remember.
It will be the same with us. We are only us. We will grow up, live our lives, and die. We’ll make plenty of mistakes along the way, but people will remember what we did when we were seventeen years old. How we saved the planet. And that’s okay.
