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These blue eyes.
This gaze that destroyed everything I knew and loved.
She stares at me with the same shock and horror.
And then her gaze changes into panic and what looks like hatred.
So does mine.
In sync.
Her hands start pushing at my chest, and I drop her out of my arms so abruptly that she stumbles onto the wooden floor. She cowers slowly toward the other two, who sit on the floor, shivering and smoothing their hair, staring at everyone gathered around.
I look away. It’s me, Bo, Owen, Guff, Jeok, and Kristen.
Maddy, barefoot and wearing a loose summer dress, darts in and halts, smoothing her wet hair with her palms and gaping at the girls.
“Whoa.” She stares with a foolish grin on her lips like Jesus just arrived.
The dim light in the lounge makes it even more surreal.
This is a bombshell.
Nightmare before Christmas.
A bad joke.
Her.
I want to tell Bo to get her the fuck off this side of the island. But then on the other side of the Divide is the Chancellor. Archer fucking Crone. Why am I not surprised that he finally brought her here?
This gotta be a bigger trick than the Change itself.
The three girls get rid of the life vests but sit on the floor in puddles, staring up at us.
“They will stay till morning,” Bo says. He clicks the lighter and lights a joint. “Then we’ll decide.”
“Wait. Decided what?” Jeok asks, fists on his waist. “They don’t belong here.”
“Wait.” It’s the pretty girl talking, the one with the bronze-toned skin and braided hair. “We are on Zion, aren’t we?”
She has her elbows planted on her raised knees as she stares around. This one is fearless. I can tell. She is too relaxed like she just came back from a mud run.
Callie sits with her head down, wipes her nose with the back of her hand, then glances up at me. And as soon as our eyes meet, she glances away, and my heart beats like a war drum.
Fuck…
“Yeah,” Bo echoes as he leans on the doorway, smoking slowly. “On the wrong side of it.”
He runs his fingers through his long dark dreads and spits out a piece of tobacco.
I hear muffled voices from outside, and several more people peek in, then gape with the same astonishment as they start crowding the Common Lounge. There are low straw-filled mattresses around and a table, but the three girls sit on the floor like they are prisoners.
I try to process my feelings and can’t. I feel hatred at what happened four years ago, at Callie being a coward back then. And I feel the familiar jolt of excitement that I always felt looking at her. Like she was a little star winking at me from the sky.
This is fucked up.
I try not to look at her, but I want to study her, to see what changed. Because I haven’t seen her in four years—not a single post from her social media.
