What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  My dad never once showed pride in my efforts. That day was no exception. Instead, he pointed out my flaws and weaknesses, each posing a risk to my life, and, by extension, everyone important to him.

  “I beat you.”

  “Your hits were weak, and I would have been able to break your grip before you’d disabled me,” he responded. Sure, you could have, old man. I watched him wipe the sweat off his receding hairline. He’d long since shaved his beard and wore his hair military style—a stark contrast from the bushy mess he’d kept in my youth, probably due to lack of shears or razors. Although my father had aged as all parents do, he kept a youthful glow about him, or what I like to call the “fire of revenge” within.

  “Well then, perhaps you should get someone else to go back to that hellhole.” I turned to storm out of the sauna he chose for our match.

  “Don’t you dare walk out on me! We have hours of work left. Once you get past the Eco barrier sim and across miles of desert you can rest. Until then, stop whining and focus, or I’ll leave you here, and you can try to get back to civilization intact,” he said, voice raised so high it cracked.

  All kind feelings he’d once displayed vanished the day my mother died, every pore of his body and soul having been devoted to getting us to safety, and then taking down the SCI. I blame the Militants for my dad’s changed demeanor. They took his seeds of disillusionment and blossomed them into a full-out obsession with revenge on the SCI that splintered the Exilers into two factions. Fanatical and practical. Guess where my Dad sided?

  “Will I get birthday cake?” I glared at him, not expecting an answer or the cake. “Happy birthday to me.”

  “Just be happy you’re even able to have a birthday. Your mother’s not so lucky,” he responded, as if I needed the reminder. I followed him out of the shack. We walked a hundred yards to where my “obstacle course” awaited me. Rather than waste time with further argument, I slipped into a thin white reflective suit and protective mask, and squeezed my toes into the grips of the handmade stilts I’d fashioned from desert brush.

  Placement of the stilts through the simulated dead man’s land was crucial. I blocked out everything but the pattern of chemical detonators. This pattern resembled the Milky Way. Any pressure applied on an actual Eco barrier sensor would fog the area with deadly gas. If the gas didn’t kill you immediately, the prolonged reaction to the acid released with the gas would melt the clothes from your body and disintegrate your flesh.

  My dad could only simulate the experience. To live once back in my homeland, I must figure out a way to disable all Eco barriers. Short of that, I need to locate and mentally store each city’s Eco barrier pattern, along with all the other data my father and his cohorts need. Had I not been blessed with a photographic memory, the task would be impossible. But I inherited my parents’ brilliant minds, and so the memorization was easy. I just had to master the physical execution.

  Failure plagued me the first couple dozen times I attempted the Eco barrier sim exercise. I set off my father’s fake chemical “smoke bombs,” choking on the cloud of fumes generated and having to be dragged off the field. However, I refused defeat on my birthday, and, so, that day I used extra care to maneuver the grid, completing my mission in record time, despite the heat and dry brush littering the desert landscape.

  Twelve inches left, eight up, nine kitty corner to the right, back four, sideways to the right fourteen, and so on, three hundred sixty-four steps total.

  My legs ached. Thirst consumed me. It’s been twelve freaking hours since he let me have water.

  I removed my suit, wrapped it around my head in a makeshift sun hood, and ran the final five miles averaging seven minutes per mile to my destination, a small camp. There I coughed bloody mucous until my father had offered me a meager amount of water and dry biscuits.

  He criticized me as he always does. “Your form was terrible. You came within inches of the pressure points more than twenty times.”

  “Whatever. I’d like to see you try,” I replied as I attempted to dislodge hot sand from my sweaty clothes. “I finished, and I want to go home now.”

  “Survive the night without being killed by scorpions or rattlers, and you can return to your cushy life at Aunt Jennifer’s.”

  Present

  Why has my father bemoaned me the life he’d promised my mother I would have? But, ultimately, he’s not really responsible, is he? The Second Chance Institute and their benefactors shoulder that burden. And what is that saying about burdens being lifted off shoulders? That day will truly be a day for celebration. Not just for me—for every Exiler and Second Chancer.

  “Night is the blotting paper for many sorrows.”

  —Author Unknown

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kira

  Whatever uncharacteristic sweetness Blake had offered in the canyon quickly disappears the moment we enter the gym in our workout clothes and find Tristan and Bailey waiting for us.

  “Welcome back,” Tristan says. “Hey Blake, want to lift with me? Think you can bench more?”

  “Uh, no thanks, I’m going to run,” Blake responds. Thinking this must give him license to address me, Tristan wedges his way between us, pushing Blake aside with his right arm, and putting his left arm around me.

  Tristan licks his lips. “I missed you while you were off canoodling with what’s his name in the canyon. We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other.” He looks me up and down like I’m a slab of beef at the local steak house. I check him out in return like he’s some sort of dead guy brought back to life. Oh wait…

  Bailey wastes no time, grabs Blake’s arm. “You run. I’ll follow. I love a good chase.” Looks like it’ll be a long night for both of us.

  “Look,” I respond, staring into the big brown eyes I once loved so much which don’t have the same glisten for me they used to have. “Tristan is it? I got a chance to know your girlfriend, and she seems pretty cool. And, I’ve got a mandatory workout to get to, so…”

  “I’ve got a killer circuit I can show you.” He ignores my hints. “I’ve whipped every girl here into shape.” He starts to point at several girls and I note that he seems to only point out the exceptionally pretty ones, certainly not every girl. My eyes turn to plead for Blake to interfere, but he’s already up to full speed on one treadmill, while Bailey’s slowly walking on the next one.

  “I love Tristan’s circuit. Give it a try,” Bri says, appearing out of nowhere. Of course you do. When I was forced to take cheer, gymnastics, and dance as my mom’s clone-in-training, Briella played soccer and softball. In sixth grade, she grew from five-foot-two to five-foot-eight and took up basketball and volleyball. Her skills in both only improved as she grew another couple inches by eighth grade. She has the height and looks to be a model, though she could easily crush one. In contrast, I was all toothpick until ninth grade when I finally sprouted and curved. This secured me a coveted spot on the Carmel Valley High varsity cheer squad my sophomore year—or maybe my tumbling skills secured me the spot, I’ll never know. But I never topped five-foot-six.

  “Yeah, okay, fine. Circuits it is.” Tristan leads me over to an area by the free weights and weight equipment. I follow along as he takes me through a routine of squats, chest presses and flies, tricep and bicep curls, lunges, leg extensions, crunches, and more. He’s shocked that I pick it up so quickly, and use the right form. Of course, I can’t mention that I watched him do the same circuit dozens of times and suffered through it with him just as many. Every expression and grunt he makes rings familiar, not to mention his obsession with form, and resting no more than thirty seconds between sets, and the way he slides his hands over his stomach ripples after doing crunches as if there’d be an immediate improvement. The only thing missing to complete the déjà vu is the kisses between sets, and the thing added to create maximum awkwardness is periodic glares from Bri and Blake.

  “What do you think?” Tristan interrupts my thoughts.

  “About w
hat?” I mumble. I’m not sure I’m ready to make small talk with him.

  “About all of it. Your new digs, the school, the people, the workout, me,” he says. That all?

  “Oh,” I respond. “It’s a bit early to make judgments on anything a few hours in.”

  “You are an amazingly beautiful girl.” He looks like a used-car salesman as he dishes the compliment. “There’s something about you that is really…familiar and appealing. I can’t decide what it is, but I’m going to figure it out.” Could it be possible that some part of him remembers me, too? That he still feels a connection? Spud said that the Second Chancers often feel connected to the person they were last with…Well, Tristan, in his stupidly drunken state that night, kissed both Bri and me. I’m not sure how to respond to the flirting, though. A shower comes to mind, as the thought of kissing a dead guy still oozes creeper vibes from head to toe, just as I told Bailey and her vamp-seeking friends the night of her party.

  “Thanks, I guess, for the inappropriate compliment and the workout. I’m going to go do some stretching so I don’t feel like a pretzel tomorrow.” And so I can shake off the willies.

  “What’s inappropriate about calling you beautiful?” He gets his sweaty, shirtless body a little too close for comfort, and reminds me how much taller he is than me. If I expected to see scars from where he’d been stitched back together, I’d be disappointed. There are none, just the same swathe of chest hair he has always had.

  “Well, uh, you have a girlfriend, and I’m with Blake,” I explain. His eyes narrow and he shakes his blonde curls.

  “Until I Cleave, I’m not tied down to anyone. I still have a month before I’m eighteen, and, until then, I have time to convince any girl, including Bri and you, to Cleave me before someone else decides for me.” I shake at the thought. I’m speechless and just motion that I’m going over to stretch, leaving before he has the chance to say anything else. I quickly get into a yoga pose, eyes closed.

  “It’s okay, you know.” I hear Bri’s voice. “I don’t blame him for being interested.”

  I stare at her incredulously. “No, it’s not okay. At least, I’m not okay with it. I think if you’re with someone, you’re with them and only them. From experience, I can assure you that anything else just leads to disaster and heartache.” I may sound a little bitter, still burned by their stunt the eve of Winter Formal. It’s hardly fair since she has no memory of that night. For me, I only have one positive memory of that night and I would like him to be the one to reappear. Every other person I remember being blown to smithereens at that party is here but not Ethan. In some ways, it’s worse to think that he lived and never contacted me, than that he died and is resurrected here on Thera. He probably left the party, went straight to his girlfriend, and never looked back.

  Bri cocks her head and gives me a look of pity. “Soon enough we’re going to be Cleaved for life, so I guess I want to make sure it’s right. And it wouldn’t be right for Tristan and me if he’s into someone else. He’d just be miserable. I knew the moment I first saw him that he was the guy for me, but it doesn’t happen that way for everyone. Last day I thought we would Cleave but Tristan was pretty teebed so I let him sleep it off,” she says. This conversation sucks. How did I get to a place where I’m defending her relationship with Tristan and mine with Blake? And what exactly is “teebed?” I went through all our cupboards and didn’t see a drop of alcohol anywhere.

  “Any guy would be crazy to not be into you. You’re gorgeous,” I say with all honesty. “And given Blake and I have only been here a few hours, it’s pure craziness to even be talking about Cleaving or anything of the sort. I’m just trying to get through the first night, you know?”

  “Yeah, sorry,” she responds, though I can tell she’s still concerned about it. I dare to look around and can see both Tristan and Blake’s eyes focused my way, though Bailey’s over there trying hard to distract Blake. My feelings are a jumbled mess. How can I ever make sense of dead people made alive, impending lifetime Cleavings and the implications thereof, my fake relationship with Blake, and back-to-life Tristan hitting on me? I rub my temples and fight off a migraine.

  I continue my stretching and my situation analysis until Blake shrugs off Bailey and comes to offer me a towel. He stayed shirted tonight as if he’s embarrassed to be seen shirtless in the same vicinity as Tristan’s bodybuilder physique.

  “Thanks. How was your workout?” If I expected an answer, he disappoints, shrugging his shoulders as he winces. “Nothing’s changed,” I add, trying to reassure him. Why’s he so worried about our stupid, fake relationship anyway?

  He leans in to give me a light kiss on the cheek and whispers. “Sure it has. I’ll walk you back after showers.” I open my mouth to object, but he puts two fingers against my lips. His defeatist attitude irks me big time.

  Can he really think I’ll give up my entire life back on earth, as pathetic as it has been recently, to live with my dead high school boyfriend here on rule-heavy Thera? Sure, I still have feelings for Tristan. How could I not? My life revolved around him before he died but not always in a positive way. If I wasn’t sure Tristan was the one after more than a year, how could I hope to decide that before his eighteenth birthnight? Those last few weeks before Tristan died had been a lot more negative than positive. If Blake should have any concerns about competition with our fake relationship, it’s with Ethan, not Tristan. A perfect fantasy boy’s way more dangerous than a very imperfect, two-timing ex. Just thinking about Ethan makes my heart ache in a way that neither Blake nor Tristan can. With some effort, I re-bury the memory.

  After Blake vanishes from sight, I scurry to the girls’ locker area. Tristan heads my way. I pretend not to hear him call my name and close the door behind me. A shower soothes my sore muscles before I change back into my school uniform. I find Blake waiting for me outside the complex and, for the first time, I wish I knew how to skateboard, as our travel time “home” would be cut dramatically. We walk silently past the spot where I passed out earlier, and I curse Spud under my breath.

  “So, you’re not talking to me?” I ask him finally. “It kind of seems like we should have more than ever to talk about.”

  “Not now, Kira.” I jump ahead and turn to face him all in one step, so that he has to stop. “What?” he demands.

  “What has you so upset? So I worked out with Tristan. I felt stuck because Bri told me to, and as you said, it’s not like they know the history, so I was trying to do my job and be nice.”

  “You looked like you were having a real nice time.” I guess this is Blake jealous, and I really don’t want to fight with him about it given I hate fighting under any circumstance. His emerald eyes and body language are fiery. It breaks my heart that he’s mad, and my heart can’t stand any more destruction tonight. I motion him towards me as if I want to whisper something to him and I kiss him lightly on the cheek. He smells like Theranberry soap and shampoo.

  “What was that for?” The whoosh of skateboards behind us interrupts my thoughts, as I turn to see them screech to a sharp stop. My silent wish for instant teleportation goes unfulfilled, and we are left face-to-face with Bri and Tristan yet again. Tristan looks ridiculous on a skateboard. He just doesn’t have the body type for it.

  “Wow, you’re only getting cheek? You’ve got to go for the tongue action,” Tristan tells Blake. I chuckle since I never had the guts to tell Tristan how much I hated his throat-seeking “tongue action.”

  “Uh, gee, thanks for the advice,” Blake mumbles.

  “Want to join us for dinner?” Tristan offers.

  “Thanks, but not this morning,” I say quickly. “Can we get a rain check? We’re still getting settled and have someone stopping by later to make sure everything is well stocked and in order.”

  “Sure.” He gives a smile that tells me he’ll keep asking until we say yes. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  “Uh huh.” I think of how many tomorrows of this I’m going to have to endure b
efore I get to go home. I wave to Bri as the two of them push off their boards and distance themselves within seconds.

  “Promise me something.” Blake mesmerizes me with his eyes.

  “What?” I ask not being willing to make a promise I can’t keep.

  “We need to talk. There’s stuff about me you don’t know…that might make you hate me.” He avoids eye contact.

  “Why would I hate you?” I knew it. I knew there was stuff he wasn’t telling me, and that I couldn’t completely trust him. It must be bad if he thinks I’ll hate him.

  He leans his forehead into mine and stares at me. His eyes look a little watery.

  “Spill.”

  “Not now. But soon. We’ve got to get back. It’s time for your mental breakdown.” I know that our sunlight quota is nearly up. Blake jogs up the hill. As I contemplate our “date” with Spud and my pending meltdown, my feet feel heavy. I struggle to finish the climb to the top of the hill, falling well behind Blake. He patiently waits for me.

  “Hey neighbors,” I hear and look up to see Tristan and Bri, which quickly snaps me back to reality. You’ve got to be kidding me. They put us next door to them? Blake looks as thrilled as I do to see them watching us from their balcony, separated only by a half wall to ours. “How awesome is it that you guys are right next door?”

  “So awesome. Bastards are going to pay,” Blake mutters. He then says, more pleasantly, to our neighbors, “We’ll see you guys tomorrow. I think I’m going to go cook this beautiful lady some dinner.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up the ramp to our house.

  “What? Doesn’t she know how to cook?” I hear Tristan saying. Neither of us responds, and I’m relieved when the door shuts securely behind me. I stumble into the living room. Blake pulls me down onto the couch and into his arms. The tears start streaming and I release the emotions I’ve been holding in all night.