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Xander leans closer. Blue eyes holding mine, hand hovering next to mine. I close my eyes, both to shut out the pain in his gaze and to stop myself from turning my hand up, weaving my fingers through his, leaning forward, meeting his lips. I open my eyes and look at Xander again.
“I came up on the screen, too, Cassia,” he says quietly. “But he was the one you chose to see. ” And then, quick as a player making his last move, he turns away and pushes through the doors. He leaves me behind.
Not at first! I want to tel him. And I still see you!
One by one, the people I can talk to have gone. Grandfather. My mother. And now, Xander.
You are strong enough to go without it, Grandfather told me about the green tablet.
But, Grandfather. Am I strong enough to go without you? Without Xander?
The sun shines down on me where I have chosen to stand. No trees, no shade, no height from which I can look down on what I’ve done. And even if there were, I cannot see for the tears.
CHAPTER 28
At home that night, I take out the green tablet again. I know what it can do for me; I saw what it did for Em. It will make me calm. That word, calm, sounds impossibly beautiful, gloriously uncomplicated. A water-smooth word, a word that can take the edge away from fear, gloss it over, make it shiny. Calm. Gentle.
I put the tablet back in the container and snap it shut, turning to another kind of green next to me. My framed piece of dress in its bit of glass. I wrap my hand in one of my socks and then press down, hard. A faint snap. I lift my hand.
It’s harder to break something than you would think. I wonder if the Society is finding this to be true of me as wel . I put my hand down again, push harder.
It would be easy if no one watched, if no one could hear me. If these wal s weren’t so thin and my life weren’t so transparent, I could throw the glass against the wal , smash it with a rock, destroy with abandon and noise. I think the glass would make a glittery sound when it broke; I would like to see it burst into a mil ion pieces and shine al the way down. But instead, I have to be careful.
Another long silvery crack runs across the surface of the glass. Underneath, the smooth ice-green cloth is undisturbed. Careful y I pul the pieces of glass apart, lift the largest one up, and pul out the fabric.
I take off the sock and hold up my hand. I’m not even cut, not even bleeding.
After the scratchy wool of my sock, the silk feels cool in my hand, luxurious, like water. My birthday began with the water, I think as I fold the material, and I smile.
After I’ve tucked both the fabric and the tablet container into the pocket of tomorrow’s plainclothes, I climb into bed with that image in my mind.
Water. I wil drift away tonight on my dreams. That way the datatags won’t pick up a thing in my mind except me, Cassia, floating on the waves, letting them carry my weight for a little while.
The Officer is not at hiking today.
Instead, we have a junior Official who bites his words out quick and fast, as though he thinks this is how the Officers speak. His eyes sweep over us, happy with the power to oversee, to direct. “The decision has been made to shorten leisure activities this summer. Today’s your last day of hiking. Take down as many of the red flags as you can and knock over the cairns. ” I glance over at Ky, who does not seem surprised. I try not to let my gaze linger on his face, try not to look for answers in his eyes. We were both polite and normal on the air-train ride to the Arboretum this morning; we both know how to perform when we’re being watched. Al the time I wondered what he thought of me running away from him on the Hil yesterday. What he wil think of me once he finds out about the sort, and if he wil accept the gift I want to give him today.
Or if he wil do to me what I did to Xander and turn me away.
“Why?” Lon asks in a whine. “We spent half the summer marking these paths!”
I think I see a faint smile on Ky’s face and I realize that he likes Lon. Who asks the questions no one else wil ask even though he never gets an answer. It strikes me that this is a kind of bravery. A wearing-down kind of bravery, but bravery nonetheless.
“Don’t ask questions,” the Official snaps at Lon. “Get started. ”
And so, for the last time, Ky and I begin to climb the Hil .
When we are far enough onto our own path that no one else can see us, Ky grabs my hand as I reach to untie a red cloth from one of the shrubs.
“Forget it al ,” he says. “We’re going to the top. ”
Our eyes meet. I’ve never seen him look so reckless. I open my mouth to say something but he interrupts me. “Unless you don’t want to try?” There’s a chal enge in his voice I haven’t heard before. His voice isn’t cruel, but he’s not just curious. He needs to know the answer; what I do now tel s him something about me. He doesn’t say anything about yesterday. His face is open, his eyes alight, his body tense, every muscle saying It’s time. Now.
“I want to try,” I tel him. To prove it, I lead the way along the path we’ve marked together. It isn’t long before I feel his hand brush mine and when our fingers intertwine I feel the same urgency he does. We have to make it to the top.
I don’t turn around but I hold on tight.
As we break into the last part of the forest, the part we haven’t charted, I stop. “Wait,” I say. If we’re real y going to clear this Hil , I want to pul out the last tangles and twists so we can stand on the top free and open.
Behind the patience on Ky’s face I see worry, worry that we aren’t going to make it in time. Even now, the whistle could be shril ing below us and I wouldn’t hear it over the beating of our hearts and the sound of our breathing in and out, in and out, the same air. “I was scared yesterday. ”
“Of what?”
“That we fel in love because of the Officials,” I say. “They told you about me. They told me about you, the morning after my Match, when your face came up on my microcard by mistake. You and I knew each other al along, but we never did anything about it until . . . ” I can’t finish my sentence, but Ky knows what I mean.
“You don’t throw something away just because they predicted it,” he protests.
“But I don’t want to be defined by their choices,” I say.
