No, Faith thought, I don’t troll the online nerd threads.
Faith tried to listen to Buford until another message scrolled across her screen.
I’m Hawk. And you are?
Faith ignored Hawk and went back to work, tapping out notations and tagging them to the screen with her finger. She tapped the corner of the screen on the Tablet, and a menu appeared, from which she chose a drawing stylus. A square of soft light appeared on her desk next to the lightboard, and she began drawing the outline of a face. She was very good at faces and usually only needed to get a really good look at people once in order to draw them.
She looked around the room for a subject, taking in the new students, and her eyes landed on a guy in the back row. He wore skater shoes, skinny jeans, and a tight V-neck T-shirt. His hair was thick and black, and to her surprise, he was writing. With a pen. In a notebook. He seemed to be ignoring his Tablet.
She sent a message to Hawk and began drawing with her finger.
Who’s the caveman in the back row?
A moment later, Hawk answered.
Dylan Gilmore. He doesn’t talk too much. At least not to me. Also, he’s an a-hole.
Faith stole one more glance. The profile of his face and upper body revealed a strong chin and muscular arms. Please be tall, Faith caught herself thinking. Whatever he was working on, he was really into it. And his head was moving up and down. It looked to her like he was listening to music, not to a lecture. But that wasn’t possible. The Tablet wouldn’t let him do that during a lecture.
There were three more messages from Hawk before the lecture came to an end. When it did, Faith turned in her chair.
“Please don’t do that while I’m in the middle of a class. Buford is tough, and Shakespeare is confusing.”
“No problem, I can chill. Suuuuperchill. What was your name again?”
Faith rolled her eyes and got up to leave, but then she thought better of the idea and turned back. She could have worse things than a friend who was really bright and knew how to hack into a Tablet.
“It’s Faith. And no more messages during class, okay?”
“Totally, yeah. Got it. Faith.”
It dawned on her then that Hawk was probably a lot younger than she was. They were glomming the classes together more and more, because there didn’t seem to be a good reason not to. Faith was a junior, and by the looks of this little guy, he was probably a freshman.
“How old are you?” Faith asked as they walked out of the classroom.
“Seventeen. Okay sixteen. I mean, I’ll be sixteen in practically no time.”
There was a long pause in which Hawk decided she was going to find out soon enough.
“I’m thirteen.”
“Are you sure you’re not nine? You look like you’re nine.”
“Ouch,” Hawk said, holding his heart. “That one stung.”
Faith punched him on the arm. A low punch was required to miss the side of his head.
“Just kidding. You look at least eleven.”
“Really? Thanks!”
They laughed as they entered the corridor and looked both ways. Faith could imagine what it had been like when there were 2,000 students and 75 teachers. The energy must have been amazing. As it was, the place felt like a morgue. A few bodies moving between doors, a very low hum of voices.
“I wonder how long they’ll keep this place open,” Faith asked.
“Hard to say,” Hawk answered, making a note on his Tablet, which he had snapped to small and held in his delicate palm. “But I’ll see what I can find out.”
They were about to part when two tall figures arrived, entering the corridor from the far end of the building. At first Faith only saw their silhouettes against a bright window behind them. There was a confidence in these walking shadows that seemed out of place at Old Park Hill. As they came closer, Faith realized it was a guy and a girl, and that they were at least her own age.
“Who . . . ,” Faith started to ask, but Hawk was already on it. “Wade and Clara Quinn,” Hawk said, leaning in a little close to catch the scent of Faith’s perfume while he thought she was distracted. “Believe it or not, they’re in the Field Games, representing the outside. They’re scary smart, too. Also a-holes.”
Faith was starting to think Hawk thought everyone at Old Park Hill was an a-hole. But she didn’t mention it, because Wade Quinn was staring at her. His sister had peeled off, but Wade’s eyes were locked on Faith. It was like there was no one else in the world. The closer he got, the better looking he was, until he was standing right next to her and she was doing something she rarely ever did. Faith Daniels, five feet eleven, was looking way up at a boy.
“How tall are you?” she said without even thinking. It just tumbled out of her mouth unexpectedly.
Wade smiled, blond hair falling down around blue eyes.
“Tall enough,” he said. “I’m Wade.”
“Hey, Wade. How’s it going?” Hawk asked.
Wade didn’t look at Hawk or answer his question, but he nodded at him, never taking his eyes off Faith. They were having a moment, both of them instantly attracted to each other. Their eyes kept making contact, then dashing quickly to the floor or a locker. Wade loved tall girls, the taller the better, and he liked the way Faith’s hair fell over one bright eye like she was toying with him. For Faith, it was Wade’s light-blue eyes and the curl of his lips. She could imagine staring into that face for hours just for the pleasure of looking at it.
“Cool,” said Hawk, like he and Wade were having a conversation they clearly were not having. “I’m good. I’m really good. This is Faith. She’s new.”
Wade’s sister, the other half of the Twins, arrived beside him. She was almost as tall as he was, and gorgeous. She had surprisingly short hair that focused gawkers on her athletic, chiseled face. And her long, lean body offered plenty of curves, too.
“Holy shit, you’re tall,” said Faith. It was rare for her to encounter a girl this much taller than she was. Clara Quinn had to be six feet two.
“Thank you,” Clara said, studying Faith from top to bottom. “I think.”
She nudged Wade on the shoulder to get him moving, and the two of them continued down the nearly empty corridor. Wade turned back.
“Nice pants.”
And then he was gone around a corner.
Hawk glanced behind Faith, checking out the pants.
“Those are definitely nice. Did you order them from the Western State? I can get things a lot cheaper from the Eastern State. I know; it doesn’t make any sense, right? Which is why it makes sense.”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you later then.”
Faith started walking away in a love-crush daze, searching for her next class, and Hawk called after her.
“Be careful, Faith. The Twins are pretty intense. Better to stay off their radar.”
But it was too late for Faith Daniels.
She’d only been at Old Park Hill for two hours, and she’d already fallen under Wade Quinn’s spell.
Chapter 2
Grade School Break-in
Faith lived in Bridgeport Commons, which at one time had been an upscale place to raise a family. There were hundreds of houses and complexes surrounding a man-made lake in the middle, and Faith lived in one of the narrow, three-story units at the edge of a tree-lined sidewalk. The development included paths for running and walking, a pool, and even a grade school at the far end where all the little kids could get an education safely without venturing very far into the world outside. If she walked out of Bridgeport Commons and took a left, the mall where Faith had sat and purchased a song was only ten minutes away.
By the time Faith was born, Bridgeport Commons had been mostly vacated. A man lived alone at the end of the block, but otherwise the twelve-unit building Faith called home was empty. She didn’t know for sure, because she hadn’t grown up there, but she had a sense that the neighborhood had once been home to a thousand or more people. Now there were maybe a do
zen, scattered around the lake, unwilling to move to the Western State until they were forced inside for good. The ones who remained were mostly cleanup crew, preparing new space for the ever-expanding Western State. But for the most part, the people who remained outside the Western State did so at their own peril. They were off grid, on their own, living day-to-day on what they could find. Food was scarce, and medical services were nonexistent. The idea was not to force people into the States, but to wear them down. Sooner or later almost everyone gave up, and then the State system would swoop in and take anyone who wanted right into the comforting arms of modern living.
The lake had been taken over by about a million weird-looking black birds with oversized web feet and white beaks. They were like prehistoric animals, slow and not very smart, barely able to fly. Once when Faith was six, she’d watched as a black car drove into the neighborhood and one of the birds had run, flapping its lame wings, across the street. The bird was two feet off the ground and moving fast when the car hit it with its grille. Faith never forgot the sound it made, a terrible thunk, and the way the bird flopped forward in slow motion, landing on the pavement like a bag of sand. She had been surprised to see the car keep going around the corner and out of sight.
Faith was thinking of the strange, dead bird as she walked along the lakefront with Liz, the two of them holding hands as they sometimes did. It was Liz who had first taken Faith’s hand on one of their walks at night, and it had felt tingly and dangerous that first time. Faith didn’t know for certain why they kept doing it, but she thought it was because they were both afraid. Afraid of being alone, of leaving, of waking up one day and finding that the hand they were reaching out for was no longer there. And also, there didn’t seem to be any reason not to hold hands. No one was watching. No one knew. Faith wished that wasn’t true, but it was.
“It feels empty tonight,” Liz said. “More so than usual.”
Faith knew Liz was nervous. She would talk about Noah endlessly, but it terrified her to think that Faith might find someone, might fall away from her and never return. She pulled Liz closer, bumping shoulders, and Liz smiled up at her.
“I don’t think he likes me. Why would he?” Faith asked. A week had passed, and while Hawk had become like a shadow stuck to her side, Wade Quinn had been elusive.
“Of course he likes you,” Liz said, pulling playfully on Faith’s hand. “You’re skinny and tall and blond, and you’ve got some boobs on you. He’s just nervous is all.”
“I’m glad you’re not being superficial about this,” said Faith sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want him liking me for my brain.”
“He’s sixteen. I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking about your brain.”
Faith shrugged it off, but she smiled, too. She had seen Wade in the halls and had even caught him looking at her. And he’d messaged her a totally lame but very cute drawing of a flower after seeing her wear a yellow T-shirt with a single white daisy on the front, a daisy Faith had painted onto the shirt herself. There had been a short series of Tablet messages during the week. She hadn’t said anything to Liz about the messages, and as they came to the edge of the lake where the grade school playground sat, she thought of what they’d said.
Wade: Where do I land on a scale of 1 to 10?
Faith: A solid 8, 2 if you’re drawing daisies. What about me?
Wade: Eleven.
It had gone quiet after that, and she wasn’t about to turbo anything. Better to wait him out than to dive in and scare him off.
Liz let go of Faith’s hand when she saw the swings, and they both started running. Only one swing was attached on both sides, and they had long made a game of racing as soon as their feet left the path and touched the grass. The first one there rode, the second one pushed. They were evenly matched and often arrived together, each of them grabbing a chain on either side of the swing and arguing over who would swing and who would not.
“You go ahead,” Liz offered, even though she’d arrived first. “I feel like pushing tonight.”
Faith climbed aboard, leaning back and staring into the starry night. Liz put one hand on each side of Faith’s hips and pulled Faith close, then slowly pushed her away and let go, her hands empty in the cool evening air.
“How much longer do you think we can stay out here?” Liz asked, knowing it was a touchy subject.
“I don’t know. A long time, I think.”
Faith’s long hair bunched up around her face as she swung back and felt Liz’s hands on her back, pushing her away.
“I’m not so sure,” Liz said. She looked off into the darkness in the direction of the Western State, which waited for them a hundred miles away.
If Liz could have seen Faith’s expression, she would have known that Faith didn’t want to talk about leaving. She never wanted to talk about leaving. The Western State would let them stay as long as they wanted. But it wouldn’t do anything to help anyone on the outside. Help from the States had long since vanished.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we went there?” Liz asked.
“It’s not up to us. If our parents want to go, we’re going. But I don’t think they’ll want to leave for a long time.”
Faith’s Tablet buzzed in her back pocket, and she took it out, holding on to the chain with one hand while glancing at a familiar message from her mom.
Don’t stay out too late;
you know how your dad gets.
Faith was not close to her parents; none of the kids who remained were. They mostly interacted with their parents through their Tablets—little messages sent back and forth—and stayed to themselves. Faith didn’t know if this was how it had always been; but it was what she knew, and it felt normal.
“Did you see the posting today?” Liz asked, stopping the swing.
“Yeah, I saw it. There’s no way it can be that good.” They started walking again, moving toward the grade school.
Postings were video messages that arrived on all the Tablets carried by people outside the States. For Faith and Liz, their messages came from the Western State, because they lived in the western half of the country. It was a little bit like getting a note from heaven; and every time you got one, there was another glorious feature, and more friends and family were already there having the time of their lives while you were stuck on a farm in Oklahoma watching the corn grow.
“But what if it is?” Liz asked. She pulled out her Tablet as she walked, which Faith wished she wouldn’t do. “What if they really do have all the things they say they do? Sometimes it feels like our parents are just plain stupid.”
Faith didn’t answer, because she didn’t agree and she didn’t want to get into an argument. The posting had talked about new features, features you couldn’t get unless you went there. That’s what the postings were always about. Never about anything wrong with the State, only about how amazing it was. Mostly the State announced things like zero unemployment; zero crime; sources of synthetic-food, which tasted better than anything grown next to a forgotten lake full of brainless, flightless birds; the massive entertainment domes with a million things to do; the sporting events; the clean water and endless opportunities; everyone living to a hundred, some to one fifty.
“I don’t know; it always sounds so final, like heaven, but in a bad way,” Faith said.
Liz laughed.
“Have a little faith, Faith. Maybe it is like heaven, and we’re the last of the unlucky, idiot holdouts.”
“Maybe,” Faith muttered. She was going to say something else, but she came up short. She could hear movement off to her left in the darkness that sounded larger than a flightless bird.
“Who’s there?” Liz yelled, and she grabbed Faith’s hand again. Liz thought about running, because the one thing about the outside that really bothered her, the thing that always made her think twice about the idea of going to the State, was the Drifters. She’d never seen them, but she’d heard about them. Bands of people, like gypsies, rolling through empty spaces,
picking up strays.
“Maybe we should go back to your place and lock the door,” said Liz. “We could listen to some music, watch some shows.”
“We’ve got weapons!” Faith yelled into the night. “Better move along, find someplace else to go. Beat it!”
There was movement again, and Liz practically jumped into Faith’s arms as she dropped her Tablet in the grass. A figure began moving toward them, hunching low, the glow of a Tablet leading the way.
“Run!” Liz yelled, leaving her Tablet in the grass as she started pulling Faith back toward the lake.
“Hey, Faith, it’s me,” a small, nervous voice said.
When Faith heard the voice, she realized that it wasn’t an adult who was hunching low—it was just a short boy. “Hawk?”
“Yeah, totally. It’s just me! Nothing to worry about. You’re fine.”
“You little urchin!” Liz said. “You scared me half to death!”
Hawk crouched down and picked up the abandoned Tablet, now in its large configuration, and held it out like a peace offering. Liz finally let go of Faith’s hand and grabbed her Tablet, holding it over her head, ready to clobber Hawk.
“Liz, don’t—he’s harmless. Just calm down.”
“You two a thing or what?” Hawk asked.
“What? Are you insane?!” Faith yelled. She glanced at Liz, who looked doe-eyed and confused but didn’t say anything.
“Whew! Okay, cool,” Hawk said. “You guys are just hand-holders. I get it; that’s cool.”
Hawk reached over and took Faith’s hand, gawking like an idiot; and Faith was so dumbstruck that she just stood there, shaking her head at Liz.
“Harmless. He’s like a frog.”
Faith had to use her other hand to remove Hawk’s grip of steel.
“What are you doing out here, Hawk? How did you even know where we were?”
Pulse Page 2
