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And then she’s gone.
Water pours from the metal ceiling overhead. In my hand, forgotten until they were all I had left, are the paintbrushes Amy had used to keep her hair in place. Harley’s paintbrushes.
I snap them in half and toss them into the pond.
33
AMY
A SPLATTER OF RAIN ON MY SKIN. AND JASON’S THERE, AND WE almost kiss. But it’s not rain, it’s my steamy shower, and it’s not Jason, it’s Elder.
My head thunks on the tile of the shower stall, warmed by the steam.
I don’t know what to do.
I wrap a towel around myself as I leave the bathroom. The chart I painted on the wall grabs my attention, and I stand, dripping shower water on the matted carpet as I stare at it. It doesn’t help. I still can’t see any connection between me and Mr. Robertson.
I have never felt this lost—this alone—before in my life. All the people who should be with me—my parents, Jason, my friends—are gone. Without them, the ship feels empty and small—I feel empty and small.
I should go to the cryo level and guard my parents. I shouldn’t have left Harley there. It’s my parents down there, not his. He has no ties to this.
But I saw the longing in his eyes when we left, and I don’t want to be the one to pull him from the stars.
And I don’t want to be the one alone down there, in the coldness of death.
I sit on the edge of the bed, unwilling to lie down.
I cross the room to the chair by the window. I glance back at the bed, the covers wrinkled but not pulled back. My first night here, Elder sat in this very chair while I slept there.
I pull my feet up into the chair and wrap my arms around my knees. I fall asleep facing the window.
There is no sunrise. The big yellow lamp in the center of the ship’s roof flicks on like a light, and it is day.
My head feels fuzzy, like I can’t wake up all the way. I grab a glass of cold water from the bathroom, but it doesn’t help. If anything, the world is fuzzier. I’m so tired. Of thinking, of worrying. There’s only one way I know to stop the babble in my head.
Luthe, the tall man who watches me too closely, is the only person in the common room when I go through it to the elevator. Does he ever sleep? It almost feels as if he stays in the common room just so he can stare at me and make me feel uncomfortable. I want to turn around and tell him to keep his eyes to himself, but he’d probably like the attention. He scares me a little, anyway.
The day is only a few minutes old. Without a proper sunrise, it doesn’t feel like early morning, just regular daylight, the same it will be at noon or a few minutes before dark. Still, even though it looks like nearly the entire level is sleeping, I stick to the rural areas, jogging past the cows and through the rows of corn with tassels that tickle me as I brush by. After ten minutes or so, I pick up the pace, willing my body to enter the zone.
“Why do you like to run, Red?” Jason asked me after our third or so date, after we had started kissing, but before I’d worked up the courage to tell him I despised the nickname “Red. ”
“I told you. I love that moment when you get totally focused on running, when all you are is pounding feet. ”
Harder. I have to run harder.
“I guess I can get that. ” Jason leaned in for a kiss, but I was already focused on tying my shoestrings, and all he got was a cheek.
I looked up at him. “And I want to win. ”
“Win?”
I can outrun these memories. I just have to go faster. The cornfield stops against a low fence. Sheep stare at me from the other side. I skid in my turn, racing along the fence.
“Yeah. Win the New York City Marathon. It’s kind of my dream. ” I was avoiding his eyes now not because I was focused on adjusting my socks, but because I’d never told anyone about this before.
“The New York City Marathon?”
“Yeah. It’s a big deal. One of the best marathons in the world. Over twenty-six miles, through all the boroughs. But to run it—I mean really run it, not just show up and get to the end—well, you have to be good. ”
