by Zoe Cannon
But Heather had seen her go through this a year and a half ago. She knew what it looked like. She knew how to fool Becca.
“I’m not a dissident,” she repeated. Her voice, unlike Heather’s, remained steady. “Let it go.”
Heather clenched her hands tighter as they pulled back into the parking lot of Investigation 212. “Then I can’t do anything for you.”
As soon as Becca parked the car, Heather escaped out the door. Becca was left staring after her, left with nothing but questions and the sick feeling of having let something slip from her grasp.
Chapter Twelve
“Okay,” said Micah as they walked along the outskirts of the park. “Most embarrassing moment.”
Becca pursed her lips, thinking. “Second grade. We were having a class party, and I tripped and fell face-first into the cake. It was ruined, of course, and everyone blamed me.” She laughed a little at the memory. Maybe a fake laugh, maybe real; she wasn’t sure. It was getting hard to tell the difference. “You?”
Micah was quiet for a moment as he thought. A lamp flicked on as they passed underneath it, bathing the area around them in a cozy yellow glow as the sky darkened. They passed the bulletin board, and Becca glanced at it out of habit. No flyer from Jameson. Well, of course there wasn’t. What had she expected? The usual ad for Future Perfect Books had disappeared, too—Internal must have sent someone to take it down.
“Junior year,” he finally said. “I thought I saw my girlfriend behind me in the cafeteria, so I spun around and kissed her, trying to be suave and romantic—only it wasn’t her, it was some girl I didn’t know, and she thought it meant I was interested in her. So she gave me her list of all the reasons I wasn’t good enough for her, and did it loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear.” He shuddered. “Your turn.”
The rest of the lights blinked on, one by one. Becca caught herself scanning the newly-illuminated faces around her. Doing what she normally did when she came to the park. Searching for Jameson.
She forced her eyes to the ground. “Greatest fear.”
Micah answered that one right away. “Not making a difference. Seeing everything that’s wrong in the world and not being able to do anything to change it.” His voice was soft, but his words lingered in the hush of the evening air. “You?”
She spoke as quietly as Micah. “The same.” It wasn’t Internal that scared her the most. It wasn’t the thought of dying deep within the underground levels. It was the idea that it might happen before she had a chance to do what she had set out to do. To fight Internal. To counteract the harm her mother did every day. To change things for the better.
“It’s too bad you’re not coming with me,” said Micah. “What we’re doing… we’re going to change things.”
From interrogation analysis? she almost asked. Petty of her, wanting to poke at his inability to remember his cover story, wanting to test him to see what he would say. But seeing how carelessly he could afford to treat his secrets brought out a small mean-spirited streak in her.
“It’s your turn,” she said instead. She tucked her hands inside her sleeves as the evening air bit at her fingertips.
Micah reached for her hand. His fingers curled around hers, and some of the tension faded from her body as warmth traveled up her arm.
Micah gestured her toward a bench beside one of the lamps, set apart from the playground and the walking path. Together they walked the few feet to the bench and sat down. With a line of trees between the bench and the rest of the park, it almost felt like they were here alone, in some private space nothing else could reach.
But it wasn’t real. Only a few feet and a handful of leafless trees separated them from the rest of the world. One of those women walking the path probably worked for Surveillance. That man pushing his kids on the swings could have been in Investigation 212 a few days ago arguing for her arrest.
And Micah was more of a danger to her than either of them.
Still, she kept her fingers twined around his, held on to him as if whatever this was between them could be real.
“Okay, I’ve got one,” said Micah. “What do you think you’ll be doing ten years from now?”
Becca tensed, the warmth of Micah’s hand forgotten. Nothing. I’ll be dead. Ten years—an almost inconceivable length of time. Some infiltrators survived that long—Heather’s parents had lasted almost twenty—but from what Becca had learned, it didn’t happen often.
In ten years, she would be twenty-eight. Her mom had gotten married at that age; she hadn’t gained her reputation as an interrogator yet, wouldn’t for at least another ten years. Her life had only just been getting started.
Strange to think her own life would be long over by then.
It didn’t make her regret her choice. Not exactly. It was just… strange.
Micah was still waiting for an answer. “Working in some quiet little corner of Processing, probably.” She kept her tone light. “Still trying to convince everyone I’m not going to suddenly turn into some genius interrogator like my mother. You?”
But he didn’t answer the question. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked instead.
“Go ahead.”
He traced his thumb in slow circles along the back of her hand. “Something’s been bothering you since we got here.”
She had done everything right. Pushed her problems to the back of her mind and her mask to the front. For a little while there she had almost forgotten to worry about her mother. And still, Micah had seen through her. Just like always.
Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about it for long. In a week and a half, he would be off learning how to torture kids, and she wouldn’t need him anymore. This mess of warmth and longing and guilt, this brief taste of human connection, would be over.
And she would have the location of the reeducation center. That was the important part. She had to remember that. None of the rest mattered, because in a week and a half, she would have enough information about the center—location, size, defenses—to put together the rest of her plan. To work out how to rescue Kara and stop the program from becoming official.
To find out whether it could even be done.
“No,” he said, and she jerked guiltily, sure that he was answering the question she hadn’t spoken aloud, but he was only correcting himself. “Something’s been bothering you all week. Ever since that investigator came to get you at work.”
She could be honest. Telling him about her mother wouldn’t give anything away. She could confide in him, the way she hadn’t confided in anyone for so long. She could cry on his shoulder, or whatever it was that people did, and permit herself the illusion that she wasn’t completely alone, that Jameson’s death hadn’t taken away her only possible support and left her stranded. She could let him in, let him closer, let him comfort her.
But that was the problem, right there. Let him in. Let him closer.
He was too close as it was. If she allowed herself this, she would only crave more, and more, until she forgot that none of this was real, until she forgot that nothing mattered but her mission.
She wanted him too much already.
“You never did tell me what that was all about,” said Micah. “What did the investigator want?”
She shrugged. “Nothing important. He just wanted to talk to me about one of my transcripts.” Her mask was a glass wall between them. She could see him, but he couldn’t reach her.
This isn’t real. She wouldn’t let herself forget.
Micah pulled his hand away. She shivered. She hadn’t realized how much that small bit of warmth had been blocking out the cold until it was gone.
He tucked his hands into his pockets. Maybe the sudden cold had shocked him too. “You’re closing me out. Just like you always do.”
“I’m not—” But there was no point. He might not know what the mask concealed, but he knew it was there, and no excuses would change that.
“Look, you don’t have to talk about it if yo
u don’t want to. Tell me it’s personal. Tell me it’s none of my business. But don’t throw that wall up in my face.” He brought his gaze to hers. “And don’t lie to me.”
She looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want an apology. I want…” He fumbled for words. “I want you, Becca. Not the armor you’ve hidden yourself in. Not the face you show everyone else. You. And if you can’t give me that…” He paused. Drew in air. Steadied himself like he was preparing for a blow. “I’m not going to spend the next week and a half throwing myself at that wall.”
Her hands were numb, but not from the cold. “You’re breaking up with me.”
“I’m giving you a choice.”
A choice. Between her mask and him.
Between her mask and her mission.
She spoke her next words so quietly she could barely hear herself. “My mother is under investigation. For—” She choked on the word. “For dissident activity.”
Under other circumstances, the expression on his face might have been funny.
“But…” He sounded like there wasn’t enough air in his lungs. “But your mother is…”
“Yeah.”
“Did she… is she… do you know…”
“She’s innocent. I don’t doubt her at all.” Her eyes felt heavy, like she was about to cry. But no tears came. “The investigators won’t care what I think, though.”
“Why do they think she…” His voice trailed off again.
She pulled her arms in close, trying to strengthen the wall, trying to take it down. “I’d rather not talk about that, okay?”
“Okay.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him as she sank into his warmth. “It’s okay.”
Kara, she thought. This is for Kara. For all the kids in the reeducation center. I’m not doing this for me.
But she couldn’t lie to herself.
* * *
“So what’s this training going to be like?” asked Vivian. “Six months of learning how to pick apart interrogations—I think I’d die of boredom.”
They sat around their usual table at Lucky’s, huddled over a massive order of wings. Becca had her back to the wall, with Micah next to her, squeezed in too close and not close enough. Across from them, Vivian pointed a chicken bone at Micah almost accusingly, while beside her, Ramon eyed the pile of wings as if plotting his attack strategy. And at the end sat Heather, staring down at the table. She hadn’t spoken a word since Becca had gotten here.
“They haven’t told me much.” Micah reached past Becca for a wing. “I won’t really find out until I get there.”
“Enjoy your wings now,” Ramon advised through a mouthful of food, “because in ten more days, you won’t see this place again for six months.”
“Or longer.” Micah lowered his hand from his mouth, with an expression on his face like he had abruptly lost his appetite. “I don’t know what happens after the training is done. I’m probably going to be staying out there.”
Vivian scowled. “You’re coming back.”
“It’s not really my—”
“You’re coming back,” she repeated. “Or else.” She dropped the bone she had been holding; it hit her plate with a resounding clink. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? This is making me depressed.”
They ate in silence for a moment.
“I heard the most ridiculous rumor today,” Vivian finally said, visibly willing herself to smile. “You’ll appreciate this, Becca.”
Becca went still. Beside her, so did Micah. Heather looked up from her plate, eyes darting warily between Vivian and Becca.
Vivian continued, oblivious. “Some idiot tried to convince me that Raleigh Dalcourt—Raleigh Dalcourt, of all people—is secretly in league with the dissidents.”
They know. Becca slammed her mask into place with an almost physical force. She couldn’t listen to this, couldn’t talk about this. Not here. Not with them.
“It’s just a rumor,” said Micah, too quickly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Becca bit her lip to keep herself from snapping at him to shut up. Why couldn’t he have left the lying to her? At least she knew how to do it.
Vivian looked from Becca to Micah and back again, blood draining from her face. “Oh, god. I’m sorry, Becca. I didn’t know.”
Becca should have known better than to think something like this could stay hidden for long. Had the rumors reached 117 yet? If not, it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time until whispers trailed through the office after her, until she couldn’t take a step without meeting another suspicious gaze.
It doesn’t matter. Only the mission matters. As long as she survived long enough to stop the reeducation program—as long as she was still protected—
But would she be, now that the news had gotten out? Milo Miyamoto had managed to protect her from the other investigators. Could he protect her from the whole of 117, from a building full of people who worshipped the ground her mother walked on, people who would no doubt be desperate for any alternate explanation?
“She’s under investigation,” Becca answered, her voice perfectly flat, perfectly calm. “That’s all I know.”
Only a raised eyebrow betrayed Ramon’s surprise. “I had wondered what was making everyone in Public Relations run around like the proverbial headless chickens. Now it all makes sense.”
“But it’s a mistake,” said Vivian. “I mean, it has to be, right? Do you think someone is setting her up?”
Vivian was able to express doubt. Becca didn’t have that luxury. With Heather she had risked it out of necessity. With Micah she had risked it out of stupidity and trust. With Vivian and Ramon, she wouldn’t risk it. “Investigation will find out what’s going on.”
“You can’t possibly think it’s true, though.” The chicken bone came back up, pointed at Becca this time.
“Investigation will find out,” Becca repeated.
Hurt flashed in Vivian’s eyes. “Do you think we’re going to report you or something if you say she’s loyal? We don’t treat our friends like that. Right, Heather?” She poked Heather, who gave a short jerk of a nod without looking up from the wing she was slowly skinning. “We didn’t think Heather was a dissident because of her parents, and we’re not going to think you’re a dissident for saying something we all know has to be true anyway.”
“It’s okay, Becca,” said Micah, placing a hand on her arm. “They don’t bite. Really.”
“You’re one of us now, remember?” Vivian gave Becca a significant look, one Becca knew was a reminder of the deal they had made.
Vivian had kept up her end of the bargain. Now Becca had to keep up hers. Treat them like friends. Trust them.
But if she gave them this… if she doubted Internal in front of them…
If she opened up to them like this…
You opened up to Micah.
And she shouldn’t have. She had only done it so he wouldn’t walk away. So she wouldn’t lose her only way of finding the reeducation center.
Liar.
Defending her mom wouldn’t make the others suspicious. That was an easy excuse, but it was a lie. After all, no one had batted an eye when Vivian had said her mom must be innocent.
Defending her mother wouldn’t make them suspicious… but that didn’t make it any less dangerous.
Letting them in, no matter how briefly, would give them that much more of a chance to see past her mask. To see her. To see what she really was.
And despite Vivian’s talk about her being one of them, Becca didn’t doubt that their loyalty would end where her disloyalty began.
They are not your friends.
She didn’t have a choice, though. Not after the deal she’d made with Vivian. She had to let them in.
You’re still a liar.
She wanted to let them in. Wanted to have friends, even if just for tonight.
Jameson’s voice haunted her, warned her. Give nothing away. She shoved the voice
angrily to the cobwebbed corners of her mind. He had no right to give her advice. He had failed, and now she was alone.
She didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, speaking just loudly enough for them to hear her over the bustle of the restaurant. “I know she’s loyal, but that won’t stop Investigation. They think she’s a dissident, and… and I think they can prove it if they try hard enough.”
The others sat silently, watching her, studying her. Seeing through her. She tried to shrink into her skin, but she couldn’t escape their attention. Surrounded. She had to get out of here, go back to her apartment, hide someplace safe where she could be invisible again…
But the thought of leaving made her feel hollow and desperate inside. And that wasn’t suspicion in their eyes. It was sympathy.
Micah squeezed her arm. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Anyone with half a brain in their head will know Raleigh Dalcourt can’t be a dissident,” added Vivian. “This won’t last a week.”
“Think about it,” said Ramon with a smile. “Public Relations would never let Investigation create all that work for them.” He gave her a solemn nod. “Your mom will be safe.”
She wished she could believe it.
But right now it didn’t matter whether any of it was true. All that mattered was that they had said it. That for this moment, she wasn’t alone.
“Hey, Heather,” said Vivian. “Don’t you have anything to—”
She stopped midsentence.
Heather had her knees pulled up to her chin as she swayed precariously back and forth on the tiny chair. Her whole body shook. Tears streamed from her closed eyes down her cheeks and around her hands. Her mouth opened and closed in giant gulping sobs.
“Heather?” said Micah. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Vivian shook Heather’s shoulder. “Heather. Talk to us. What’s going on?”
Heather didn’t answer. She didn’t even open her eyes.
Becca knew what Heather’s tears looked like. Noisy and theatrical and mostly for effect. Nothing like this.
