by P. J. Hoover
My face heats up, and I wish I could fade into invisibility. Jokes about my mom’s over-protectiveness are rampant at school. It’s not until I turn back around, get my tablet out, and Mr. Kaiser starts lecturing that I feel the new guy’s eyes shift off me.
“Global Heating Crisis.” Mr. Kaiser prints GHC in giant letters on the board in bright orange dry erase marker, underlining it three times. “We’ll finish the year with a month-long series on it.” Mr. Kaiser caps the marker and turns to face us.
I chance a sideways look at the new guy and catch his mouth curve into a smile when he sees me looking.
“How was your weekend?” he says. His voice pulls my thoughts away from Mr. Kaiser and the Global Heating Crisis, and my heart pumps into overdrive. It pushes its way through the filters in my brain and stirs up images of freedom and fun. And darkness.
Breathe. Must remember to breathe. Okay, so he’s perfect, but if my mom finds out I actually talked to a guy like this she’d probably yank me out of public school and homeschool me for the rest of the year. She’s completely over the top when it comes to guys.
“I hung out with my mom all weekend,” I say.
He smiles, and I know it’s a good thing I’m already sitting because, with the blood pumping out of my legs and into my heart, I’d never be able to stand.
“Seriously? You should have asked to go out or something,” he says.
At this, even with my reluctant vocal cords, I actually let out a small laugh. There is just no way he has any idea what living with my overprotective mom is like. It took me running away one weekend for her to ever let me go to public high school in the first place. I was fourteen at the time, and I’d tried everything. Not eating. Not doing my homework. But it was only when I resorted to running away that she finally let up a little.
“That would be pointless,” I manage to say. I glance at Mr. Kaiser, but he’s busy writing the top ten reasons global warming will kill Earth on the board. It’s interesting that his number one reason is the disperser missile because it’s my mom’s top reason, too. She claims the chemicals used to puncture the bubble strip layers from the atmosphere.
The new guy leans in and lowers his voice, and the classroom seems to fade around us. “So you go on, feeling like you have no control? That doesn’t seem fair.”
I stare at him because I have no idea how to respond. He’s looking into my soul and seeing my exact thoughts. It’s like he knows me. But I have no clue who he is.
“Piper?”
I turn at Mr. Kaiser’s voice, remembering where I am. “Yes?”
“I asked how long Earth has been in an official catastrophic state.”
It’s an easy question—the same amount of time I’ve been alive. The same amount of time everyone in this room has been alive with the exception of Mr. Kaiser who’s ancient. “Eighteen years.”
Mr. Kaiser smiles, and I notice out of my sideways vision the new guy isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s looking out the window at a gym class on the soccer field. Misters spray cooling gel into the air, forming a green haze under the UV shade coverings, but the thermometer outside the window is clocking in at one hundred and seven. The new guy watches the game, ignoring Mr. Kaiser. And ignoring me. I vow that the next time I’m in a conversation with the hottest guy on the planet, I will actually say something more engaging. In all fairness, I haven’t had much practice.
Mr. Kaiser picks on a couple of other kids, and then goes into some lengthy explanation of atmospheric stripping. I’ve heard it all before from my mom, so I sit back and let the new guy enter my daydreams—the one place I know my mom can’t get to. I convince myself his eyes still look my way. I imagine he asks me to go out with him, and I even smile when my mom agrees—ignoring the absurdity of this. That’s the nice thing about daydreams—even the impossible can happen. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, what it would be like to be with someone who understood me. I can almost feel his lips on my mouth. I want to savor the moment forever.
“Did you have a fun birthday?”
I snap back to reality and peek over. At least this time, he’s whispering.
“How did you know it was my birthday?” I ask. As far as I know, he’s never seen me before today.
“You told me last week,” he says.
I stare at him and try to form coherent words because this is ridiculous. I’ve never spoken to him in my life. “Do I know you?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m Shayne. Remember?”
I shake my head because he must be messing with my mind. “Not really.” But I decide to play along with it.
He gives me the cutest little smile like he’s got a secret he’s dying to tell me. Like we’re co-conspirators in a plot to take over the world. And I believe for a second we are. He flips a stylus in circles over his fingers—a skill I’ve tried a hundred times and never been able to master. He makes it look easy.
“We’ve been sitting by each other all year,” he says.
I glance around the room and notice half the girls in the class staring at him. But he either doesn’t notice them or doesn’t care. It’s like he only has eyes for me.
“So what’s my name?” I whisper back, and this time I manage to smile at him even though my throat feels like it’s about to lock up.
“Piper,” he says. When it comes out of his mouth, it’s like he’s trying to taste it.
“Mr. Kaiser just said it,” I say, realizing it wasn’t a very good question.
“That’s true.” And then his eyes meet mine, and I see red specks inside the brown irises. They almost seem like they’re moving, but it’s just the fluorescent lights from overhead playing tricks.
I swallow and hold his gaze. And something creeps through me from my ears all the way to my little toes, stopping and settling around my middle for so long I know my heart’s about to thump out of my chest. It only takes me a second to name it. Desire. Like I’ve never felt before. Like I’d do anything for him. Which makes absolutely no sense; I’ve spoken all of three sentences to him—well, at least as far as I remember. But yet it’s there.
His hand moves like he’s about to reach over and set it on my desk. But then he bites the side of his lip and stops. “Don’t let your mom get you down. You have a whole future ahead of you.”
Can he know I dream of a future without my mom?
I try to respond but find I can’t open my mouth. I tear at my mind, wishing brilliant words would form there, but I come up empty. And Shayne seems content to let the conversation go and sit in the awkward silence. After a minute, I force myself to break his eye contact. My mom will kill me. I should get up and move somewhere else. My mom would want me to change seats. She’s told me a million times that guys can’t be trusted. But he seems convinced I’ve been sitting by him all year, so what’s the harm in one more day?
I look back over at Shayne. He smiles, and the red specks are gone from his eyes. I blink a few times, but they’re still not there. I must have imagined them. Just like I’ve imagined not knowing him. He turns back to look out the window and starts flipping the stylus again on his fingers. Mr. Kaiser drones on about the conspiracy theories behind global warming which range from normal things like people not recycling plastic to the more absurd ideas like carbon dioxide being pumped into the atmosphere by an alien race trying to take over Earth. I sit back and listen to all the craziness about the Global Heating Crisis and wait for class to end.
Chapter 3
Study Hall
When class is over, I shove my tablet in my backpack and stand to leave, wondering if Shayne will talk to me on the way out—not sure what I’ll say, though anything will top the wonderful conversation I carried on earlier. I’m not actually sure it qualifies as a conversation. But when I look over, the chair next to me is already empty. I glance toward the door, hoping I don’t look obvious, but there’s no sign of him. He either ran from the room or disappeared into thin air.
My heart regains a normal rhythm as I hea
d to the library, but as I walk down the hallway, I can’t help but look around, hoping to catch his eye or even a glimpse of him. I stop at the water fountain, swipe my FON, and drink until the fountain turns off. I swipe my FON again, taking another turn. The water is warmer than the air around me, but my throat’s dried out over the last hour, so I don’t mind as long as it’s wet. I wipe my mouth and stand up, glancing around. Shayne is nowhere. But I do run into the girl with the gel allergy from Friday. Her blisters have dried up to the point that they’ve crusted over which makes me glad I thought to bring the aloe salve for her also. She thanks me like a million times and then heads to the bathroom to put it on.
Chloe’s already waiting for me in the library. Her dark hair’s shorter than it was on Friday, and she’s got it pulled under an emerald green bandana so just the ends stick out. She’s worn a bandana every day of the four years I’ve known her. I remember asking her why on the shuttle home from school the first day I met her. She’d laughed and said, “Because it looks good on me.” And Chloe was right, though the bandana has nothing to do with it. She’s got the body of someone who hasn’t missed a day of exercise in years, and blue eyes the color of stormy water.
“You got a haircut.”
She touches her hand to the bandana and smiles. “It was getting out of control.”
I laugh and sit down. “I don’t want to hear it.” As if she knows out-of-control. My blond hair grows curlier and longer by the day, and getting it cut only seems to make it grow faster. My mom always says it’s like the plants we sell in the Botanical Haven: thick and full and gorgeous, and she combs it for me each night. I view it as a burden and stick it in a ponytail as soon as I get to school each morning.
“You’re late,” Chloe says. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a box wrapped in red-striped paper and tied with a bright red ribbon.
I smile when she pushes it across the table to me. I look at the present, itching to open it, but also bubbling over to tell her about Shayne. She beats me to the punch.
“I have a total new crush,” she says, and instantly my heart tightens. What if she’s talking about Shayne? I think I’d crumple in on myself and die on the spot.
“Who?” I ask.
“Reese. From Physics. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed how smoking hot he is until today, but we got teamed up in this lab activity, and I swear he flirted with me the entire time.”
“Who’s Reese?”
Chloe rolls her eyes. “You know who Reese is. Tall. Blond hair. Looks like he could squash an army tank.” The blue of Chloe’s irises deepens when she talks about him. I’ve seen her act this way before. She crushes on someone new each week.
I shake my head because I can’t place someone named Reese. “I don’t think I know him.”
“Totally your loss.”
Maybe my memory is just slipping. Or maybe I’m losing it. “Do you know someone named Shayne?” Just thinking about him sends a chill straight down to parts I don’t want to mention. At least not to anybody but myself.
Chloe purses her lips. “Sure. I mean, I think. What’s he look like again?”
I give Chloe the PG-13 rated version. I tell her about his thick black hair, and about his brown eyes. I mention his perfect build. I even tell her about how we talked. But I leave out the part about how he made me want to run away from my contrived life and do something exhilarating. And I certainly don’t tell her about the overwhelming urge I felt to be with him like I’d never wanted anything before. I may tell Chloe almost everything, but some things are way too personal to even tell your best friend.
Chloe shrugs. “I think I know who you’re talking about. He’s okay.”
My chest relaxes. My mom may never let me go out on a date with a guy, but that doesn’t mean I want my best friend dating someone I could fall in love with on the spot.
“Anyway, this all seems kind of perfect if you ask me.”
“In what way?” I ask, pretending I don’t know.
Chloe smiles and grabs my hands across the table. “I could date Reese, and you could date Shayne.”
A weird, queasy feeling moves into my stomach, and I realize I have butterflies. The thought of actually going on a double date. I could sneak out when my mom wasn’t looking. But then reality asserts itself and squashes the butterflies. It’s a life I’ve dreamed of since I knew the difference between boys and girls. But it’s also a life my mom will never let me lead. In no uncertain terms, my mom has told me I can’t date. Like not even work on homework together with a guy. Ever. Though more and more I wonder how long ever really is. Does she seriously expect me to live my entire life with her and never do anything for myself? As much as I love my mom, she’s psychotically oppressive, and each day that goes by makes her issues all the more evident.
“Good idea, right?” Chloe’s testing me.
I look down and pull my hand away, pushing some of the unruly hair that’s come out of my ponytail behind my ear. “Please.”
Chloe fixes her eyes on me. “Please what? You’re eighteen now. You have a life of your own. Your mom does not own you.”
I know it’s true. And I love Chloe for saying it. She’s always trying to get me to venture out. To escape from the stifling force which is my mom. But I always do what my mom says. I always have.
“She’s just got this way,” I say. A way of laying on the guilt of how she raised me alone my whole life. Of how she kept me hidden from a criminal father who wanted to steal me away. A father who’d gotten close a few times; nearly succeeded. But my mom had protected me. Made sure I was safe.
“You need to get over it,” Chloe says.
She’s right. I am eighteen now. I have a whole life ahead of me. Chloe wants me to go off to California for college with her, but my mom insists I should stay here in Austin, go to UT, live at home. Chloe and I laugh and plan, but I never really think it’s possible. Still, maybe being eighteen will make a difference.
“I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself,” I say. I may want to explore new horizons, but I’ve never done it before. I motion to the present on the table; it’s so thin it’s hardly a box at all. “Can I open it?”
“Of course.” Chloe gives me her best bubbly smile. “Happy birthday!”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Not that I’m complaining. With being homeschooled, I never got many presents from friends growing up.
Chloe rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Piper. How was your birthday? God, it sucked that I couldn’t come over. But we were stuck in that stupid dome all weekend.”
“My mom made me the greatest cake,” I say. “You would have loved it. And then, you know how my mom always goes out scavenging seeds?”
“Doesn’t she have enough yet?” she says.
“Not according to her.” My mom has seeds stored up to keep us with live plants for three hundred years. If I ever have grandkids, their children’s children should always have fresh flowers growing. “Anyway, when she left, you know that girl Melina I’ve told you about?”
“The one who hardly wears any clothes?”
“Yeah,” I say. “She brought me this old box. Told me she saw it in a flea market and bought it for me.”
I don’t tell Chloe, but it was weird, because as soon as Melina handed it to me, I couldn’t wait to open it—like it was wired right to my brain. The second she was gone, I locked the door and ran my hands over the etched surface of the box. It was small and round with a background of coal black, but around the entire perimeter, painted in red, were images of birds and flames.
I lifted the rounded lid and looked inside, and there amid the ebony interior, sat a single red feather. It called to me, beckoned me to pick it up. It knew my name. I felt like it was a part of me, tugging at my heart, and I set the box down and picked up the feather, and letters started swirling around in my mind. A jumble of Greek characters, blending together and forming words; I had no idea what they meant, but it was like they were trying to tell
me something. Trying to give me some sort of message. But all I could see was a red feather and an empty box. And before I could catch them, the letters drifted away, and the feather burst into flames and burned to ash.
I don’t tell Chloe about the feather because it’s just too freaky, but I give her all the other details.
“Did you hide the box?” Chloe asks.
“Under the bed,” I say.
“That’s a horrible hiding spot.” She slides her present over to me, and I pick it up and begin untying the grosgrain red bow, running my fingers over the ribbed lines. When I finish untying it, I knot it around my ponytail.
I unwrap the paper and open the lid of the wafer-thin box. But when I look, I’m not sure what to make of the piece of paper tucked inside. I pick it up and unfold it. It’s about an inch wide and has a bunch of Greek letters on it. Greek letters like I saw when I held the red feather.
I hold it out to Chloe. “What is it?”
Chloe licks her lips and smiles. “The design for our friendship tattoos.”
“Tattoos!”
Chloe nods. “Yep. We’re finally going to do it.”
Getting a tattoo has been my ultimate dream. A permanent sign of rebellion against my mom. Something that will last forever, like my friendship with Chloe. We’ve talked ad nauseam about the tattoo—where we will get one, how much it will hurt, what it will be. But I’ve always doubted that I’d truly follow through. “Get real,” I say. And I fold the piece of paper and put it back in the box.
Chloe grabs it. “I’m serious.” She holds the paper open to me. “It’s Ancient Greek.”
Goose bumps rise on my skin even though the eco A/C is anything but cool. “What does it say?” I feel like I should be able to read the letters, to piece them together into a word that won’t quite come to the forefront of my mind.
Chloe shrugs. “Giving or surrender or something like that. I looked it up.”
I squint at the design, still trying to read it. “How’d you decide on it?” As much as we’ve talked about tattoos, we’ve never been able to agree on exactly what to get.
