by Melissa West
“What?”
“Nothing.” I look down. I want to ask him about Gretchen but wonder if she would rather I not. Maybe they haven’t worked out their feelings and I don’t want to be the one to make it awkward between them. So, unsure of what to say, I just stare at him, remembering how it used to be—simple, easy. Even now, I feel so normal with him. Just me. I wonder if he, like Jackson, senses the changes in me. I avoided the topic at Jackson’s. I’m not ready to talk about what’s happening to me or what the changes suggest. For now, I have enough to worry about.
The elevator doors pop open, and we’re escorted into the atrium. It’s the shape of an octagon, with alternating silver and gold walls covered with ornate framings of past American presidents. The atrium leads to a grand marble staircase, sloping down into the main ballroom where hundreds of round tables, topped with the most expensive linens and silver available, circle the dance floor. From this view, we can see all the guests, all the splendor. I’ve been to these sorts of things before, but they were nothing like this. With the orchestra music playing below and so many eyes on us, for a moment I feel like royalty, like nothing is wrong with me.
Law smiles at the onlookers as we descend the stairs. I take the final step off the staircase and wish I could turn back. In front of me stand my parents, along with Alaster Krane, the European president, and to his right, his creepy son, Brighton. He’s the worst kind of guy. At last year’s ball, he got drunk, blurted out that I was too pretty to be a commander, and then smacked my backside. He didn’t expect what came next—a blow to the face.
I walk over to President Krane, intentionally avoiding Brighton, who seems fixed on staring at me until I look his way. My parents have yet to notice I’m here, but then they all turn and grin at Lawrence and me.
“Oh, there you are,” Dad says. “I’m sure you remember President Krane and Brighton.”
I nod to both of them. Brighton is handsome for sure, with his dark skin and equally dark hair. Too bad he’s a total lemur. I wish he’d bother the African heiress, who seems to appreciate his forwardness, and leave me alone. I scan the room for her, curious if she’s in attendance, and find her chatting it up with Qwen, the Asian heir. They’d make a nice couple…if international marriages were allowed.
Law and I stand post for another few minutes before the president and Brighton move to the next group of attendees. I release a long breath when they leave. The last thing I want to do tonight is hang around Brighton. I wait until they’re out of earshot and lean in to Law. “Where are the others?”
“No clue; time to eat.”
The lights dim, and we take our places. Law ends up sitting at the presidential table, while I meet my parents at one of ten Engineer tables. Murmuring starts around the room. The Ancients. The attacks. What we plan to do. Finally, President Cartier rises from her seat and moves to the front of the ballroom, preparing to address the crowd.
“Thank you,” she says as everyone quiets down to listen, “for joining us yet again for a celebration of food and dancing on this very important day. It is necessary that we remember why we celebrate. Remember, dear friends, peace is not a guarantee and humanity must always prosper. No matter the costs.” All eyes focus on President Cartier, all movement and noise cease. She stares with fierceness into the crowd, and then suddenly her face breaks into a wide smile. “Now, let’s eat!”
Dad clears his throat beside me, ignoring the gaze of the people at our table. Everyone in the crowd doesn’t miss whatever President Cartier meant by her speech—Dad knows. I switch my attention to Mom, whose hands are shaking in her lap. This isn’t good.
I search the crowd, curious if Jackson was invited as an Op trainee, and find him at an Engineer table three back from my own. His eyes burn holes into President Cartier, never leaving her. It must be hard for him to be in the same room as his mother, knowing she won’t speak to him, knowing she likely doesn’t even recognize him.
My gaze drops to my plate, and I glance up only when spoken to. Luckily, I’m not the only one mesmerized by the food. It’s as exquisite as the ballroom. Essence of butternut squash soup with a seared sea scallop. Fire-roasted corn cilantro and buttered leeks atop a lump crab cake. Roasted beet carpaccio with creamy goat cheese and aged balsamic. Grilled fillet of beef with caramelized red shallot, potato rösti, and white asparagus. Everything tastes amazing, and if I weren’t focusing on not throwing up, I might actually enjoy it. Finally, when I can handle no more, they bring the dessert.
I scoop the last bite into my mouth just as the lights flicker. The help enters to disassemble the tables and escort the older attendees to a lower level. This is it. The leaders will have the perfect opportunity to sneak off to meet without anyone noticing.
My eyes dart around for Law, and then Jackson, but both have disappeared. The meeting will start any minute, and it does me no good to get there after they’ve made the decision. I move through the crowd, keeping my eyes peeled. The lights dim and the band sets up at center stage. They look more rugged than usual. All leather—well, composite leather—clothes, purple-black hair, and a mix of silver and gold tattoos.
Drumbeats fill the air and the lights dim until we’re almost in the dark. Colorful lights flash across the room and most everyone rushes to the dance floor, their bodies causing shadows to dance across the walls. I strain to see around me, fearing Jackson and Law went to the meeting without me, when I feel someone touch my shoulder and I whip around to see Jackson, a finger to his lips. He points to the steps and motions for me to go left while he goes right.
I make my way around the crowd to the stairs, glancing behind me briefly before ascending to the top. When I get there Law and Jackson are standing close, their tones both hard, like they’re arguing. They shut up when they see me. “Try to be less obvious next time,” I say. “Care to share what you’re talking about?”
Law presses the elevator button. “We’ll explain later, right, Jack?”
Jackson shoots him daggers and says through clenched teeth, “Of course.”
There’s no time for me to push the issue, because we’re already exiting the elevator into Law’s house. He waves to the guard outside the elevator and then directs us upstairs, as though we’re going to his room, but as soon as we’re out of sight, he dips left, leading us to a door at the end of the hall. He slides his keycard, and the door opens to another set of stairs. We slip into the open room just inside the door and wait as the door clicks closed. The stairwell is tight, barely enough room for two people to stand side-by-side. It drops one flight, then there’s another open room like the one we’re in with two doors, one to the right and the other to the left. I assume they lead to the main level, but there’s another flight of stairs that shoots down from that landing, and where it goes I’m not sure.
“Okay,” Law whispers. “Someone should stay here as watchman—or watchwoman in your case, Ari.” He grins as though he made the wisest crack on the planet.
I roll my eyes. “Funny. So, who’s staying here?”
“Well, shouldn’t it be you, Law?” Jackson asks. “Considering you’re the one with access to this stairwell?”
“I thought of that, but if we’re caught down there it would be better for Ari or me to be caught than for you.”
I can see the logic working through Jackson, and finally he sighs. “Fine, but what’s our warning call?”
Law smirks. “How about honesty. Scream honesty and we’ll know someone’s coming.”
Jackson looks like he might deck Law but instead grinds his teeth together. “Then go already. Hurry back.”
We get past the second landing and down the next flight of stairs before I tug on Law’s arm, stopping him. “What was that about?” I whisper.
“Ask him.” Then he places his finger to his mouth. “We’re almost there.”
Law tiptoes down the final flight of stairs, which ends at another landing. There are three doors at the bottom, one on the right and left, then a set of double
doors straight ahead. He slides his keycard in a scanner beside the double doors and then ushers me into President Cartier’s private office. The room is dark except for a few recess lights, and even though there is no one there except us, I can’t keep chills from racing up my spine. This is so risky.
Her office reminds me of Dad’s—bookshelves line three walls, windows the fourth. A giant mahogany desk sits against the windows with a matching mahogany chair in front of it. Beyond the desk, there is no other furniture in the office.
We edge past the desk toward another set of double doors, opposite from the ones we just entered, when I hear a voice that stops me cold—Dad, thunderous and angry, booming from the other side. “The situation no longer lends itself to negotiations,” he says. “I vote for an immediate attack as soon as final analysis can be made.”
“But how accurate is your data?” a voice I don’t recognize says, but his accent suggests that he works for President Krane. “Do you understand the ramifications on human life if you are wrong? Humans could die right alongside them! We need more research. Send your findings to our lab. Let us test your theory.” His tone hints that he thinks the European labs are more qualified than ours, something I’m sure doesn’t go unnoticed by Dad.
Law’s eyes meet mine. He knows Dad isn’t going to let the conversation die there, but before Dad can argue, the African president chimes in, her voice meek compared to the others. “I would prefer to compromise with Mr. Castello. Are you sure negotiations aren’t possible?”
Everyone starts talking at once, until finally President Cartier silences them. “I’m afraid not, Ninkini. Our attempts have not been successful. And of course, all research will be shared among the four major Chemists labs. Now please remember, we must stay a united front if we hope to succeed. The attacks continue daily; we have no choice but to respond. Can we all agree an airborne tactic is best?”
A muffling of agreement comes from the room, and then a clicking sound against the double door sends Law and me racing back to the secret stairwell and up the two flights of stairs until we reach Jackson. Law pushes us out the main door and then slows to a walk, his breathing as heavy as mine. “So, it looks like they’ve made a decision,” Law says to Jackson. “Airborne attack.”
“Hmm,” Jackson says. “Do you think satellite missiles?”
Law shakes his head. “I can’t say for sure, though I know they’ve talked about that before.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “Cybil said the strategy would involve xylem, something that prevents its healing ability. Did you get a gold keycard to the lab?” I ask Law and he nods.
“Yeah, the research there tells me this isn’t a traditional attack. It’s something more inventive than that. I don’t think they plan to use missiles. I think their plan is biological.”
We stand in silence for several minutes, trying to find the answer, when finally Law says, “This is crazy. We aren’t going to figure it out tonight. Let’s get back to the party before someone notices and then start fresh tomorrow. Work for everyone?”
Jackson wavers but eventually agrees. We time our entrance back into the party so it doesn’t look obvious. When it’s my turn, I weave my way through the crowd in front of the band, everyone jumping and singing along. I decide I should keep away from Law and Jackson for a bit and, unsure of what else to do, head to the bar for some water.
It’s overcrowded, so I stand to the side, waiting to be helped, when an arm yanks me backward. I stumble as I’m dragged back, back, back. Finally, I wheel around and see Brighton, who looks like he’s stolen two or ten of the adult drinks. He jerks me toward him, kissing me hard before I’m able to wiggle free and punch him in the face.
He rubs his jaw and grins. “Love it; hit me again.” I back away, but he matches my steps. The music is too loud behind us for anyone to hear. My eyes scan the abandoned hall, searching for a door, exit, something, and come up empty. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds. Still, there’s no way his reflexes are as good as mine.
“Look,” I say, hoping to reason with him. “I don’t know what you’re doing. But I’m going back to the party. Okay?” He doesn’t say anything. I inch backward, spinning around to run, when he grabs my hair, dragging me deeper into the hall. I cry out, and then heat strikes my chest, burning through me, like a flame turned on in my soul.
I flip over him and thrust my hand into the back of his head. He hurls forward, but it’s not enough. I kick him again and again and again.
Someone screams from the entranceway. Then I feel arms wrap around me. “Ari, what are you doing?” Jackson lifts me off Brighton and carries me through a doorway I didn’t notice before. It’s a plush room with a large bed in the center and not much else.
“Answer me,” Jackson snaps.
“What?” I ask.
“What were you doing out there?”
“What are you talking about? I was trying to get away from Brighton, and then you found me. What’s your deal?”
He studies me, and then his shoulders relax. “Nothing. I must have…I don’t know. I thought…” He sits on the edge of the bed and peers up at me as though I’m someone else.
“What’s happening to me, Jackson?” I say, breathless and tired. “And for once, can you just be straight with me?”
He ignores the question and walks toward the door. “We should get back out there. Dance or something.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”
He spins around, his eyes wild. “I don’t know what’s happening, okay? None of this should be happening. None of it.” His head shakes as though he’s fighting to keep from saying more.
“None of it?” I feel the weight of his words smashing into my chest. “You mean us, don’t you? You’re such a hypocrite! You want me to trust you, yet say I can’t. You act like you care, then push me away. I’m not built that way! I can’t just turn off my feelings.”
“Well, you should! Trust your instincts, Ari. What do they tell you? To trust me? I’m betting not. I can’t be trusted.”
My face burns with anger and frustration. “What’s this really about? You say I can’t trust you. I think the problem is that you don’t trust yourself. Why? Why do you hate yourself so much?”
“Because they own me. Why can’t you see that? What I want doesn’t matter, and the sooner you separate yourself from me, the safer you’ll be.”
“I don’t care,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I know you’re worried. I’m worried, too. But I can’t help it. I care about you. There, I said it. I care.”
Jackson lifts his head, his expression so cold it sends a chill down my spine.
“Don’t.”
CHAPTER 19
Now that I passed Op testing, Dad canceled our morning training permanently, which would normally be a relief, but this morning I wanted to work off some of my frustration…and anger.
I cried myself to sleep waiting for Jackson to arrive. He never came. I considered going back to the Unity Tree, but I couldn’t let my dignity drop that far. I told him how I felt. There’s nothing else I can do. And now that the sadness has buried itself deep in my heart, anger has taken its place.
I enter the main hall at school, my eyes straight ahead, unfocused. I don’t want to see him. We’ll go back to the way things were before. All business. All animosity and sarcasm. And I’ll pretend that I don’t feel like he shot me in the heart.
Gretchen finds me and loops her arm into mine. “Guess what?” she asks, practically beaming.
“What?” I say, the word almost a whisper.
“Wait, what’s wrong?” She eyes me with concern.
“Nothing.”
Gretchen starts to press me for more when Jackson rounds the corner. He stops. I cut over to my locker as though I’m computerized, void of any emotion.
“Ari…” Gretchen whispers. “Jackson is staring at you. No, wait, he’s coming over. He’s coming over!” she squeals, shaking my arm.
<
br /> Within seconds, I feel his presence behind me. I close my locker, swallow hard, and turn around, faking disinterest. “Yes?”
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“I think you said enough.” I turn back to my locker, afraid if I continue to face him I’ll either cry or hit him.
He edges closer, so close I feel his body against my back, his breath on my neck. “Please. Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Ari, please…” He tries to turn me back around, but anger lashes through me and I jerk away, my emotions taking over.
“What do you want from me, huh? I told you how I felt. You don’t feel the same. It’s fine. Let’s move on.”
Jackson glances around and then back at me, lowering his voice. “You didn’t give me a chance to finish. You stormed off. And then I wasn’t sure you— It’s— Look, I’m sorry. I overreacted. I was stupid, a coward…but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the same way.”
I open my mouth to argue and then snap it shut. “What did you say?”
He brushes my hair from my face, and then before I can say another word, he kisses me, ignoring the crowd of people in the hall. I want to lose myself in the moment, but the presence of everyone around us comes into focus—the jocks who worship Jackson, the stupid girls who chase him, Gretchen…Law. Oh no, Lawrence. I pull away and look over at him. His face is hard, unreadable.
Jackson stiffens and steps between us in a flash. “Don’t even,” he says, shaking his head at Law.
“I think Ari and I should have a conversation this morning. You know, the truth. Ever try it?” Law smiles. I hate that smile. He’s being cryptic and mean, two things so rare in Law it’s impossible to miss them now.
Jackson sputters, his face growing tense. Everyone in the hall freezes, anxious, waiting to see what the two most popular boys from opposite sides of town will do.
