Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (5 page)

She stepped off the
stool and walked a few feet then turned around. The group murmured its
approval.

“And what are those
ruffles, André?”

André smiled. “It’s a
fabric, Mrs. Lilian. It has to move.”

“Can you tighten that
up along the side?”

“Quit nitpicking,” said
her father. “He’s done a fine job.”

“You have no idea how
camera flashes can amplify these imperfections,” said her mother.

“
Imperfections?
”
scoffed Dravin, one of her parents’ friends, as his vulture-like eyes inspected
Amber favorably from behind his glasses. “All I see is perfection.”

“Quiet,” said her
mother. “André, do you have any brighter lights? I can’t see anything properly
in your cave of a studio.”

André brought out two
halogen lights on stands and they, like the eyes of her dozen admirers, were
trained on Amber’s body.

“Congratulations,” said
her mother. “You’ve wrapped her in vinyl.”

“There needs to be
luster,” said André.

“Can it be charmeuse?”
she said.

“Mrs. Lilian, the dress
is done,” he said. “We’re just making the final adjustments.”

“Then do it again,” she
said.

“But there isn’t enough
time,” he muttered.

“Can we put padding in
the cups?” said her mother.

André scowled.

“Ignore her,” said her
father. “The dress is flawless.”

“It is
not
flawless,”
said her mother.

While they bickered,
Amber wandered into the corner and stared at herself in a mirror. Her hair was
pinned up so every part of the dress could be seen, admired, and scrutinized
for flaws. Just like her.

The silk was
whisper-light on her skin, barely touching her, but not so loose they couldn’t
see what she was shaped like underneath. It was André’s most appealing design
so far—and probably the one she’d wear on her eighteenth birthday, although the
thought made her stomach squirm.

She couldn’t stand the
idea that once she met her half—once she
belonged
to him—she would never
again be considered her own person. Irresistible as she was in André’s dress,
she felt the urge to rip it off and don baggy sweatpants. The worst part,
though, was she doubted there was even a single seventeen-year-old in the world
who could empathize with her.

Well, maybe
one
seventeen-year-old.

Amber realized she was
about to start thinking about Aaron all over again and sighed in frustration.
She had thought about him way too much ever since he came to her school last
week. But that
wasn’t
because she liked him. He was a jerk.

She just couldn’t
figure him out, and though she didn’t trust him at all, she wished she had told
him what she knew about the missing boy from her high school—at least to get it
off her chest. Now he probably thought she was hiding something. Which she was.

And
why
did she
care what Aaron thought? For all she cared, he could curse her name in his
sleep.

Dravin appeared behind
her, his half
at his side. “He’ll be lovesick when he sees you,
sweetheart.”

“Fine. As long as he
doesn’t puke on me,” said Amber.

He ignored her tone.
“With you at his side, he’ll be chosen as the heir.”

“Dravin, please do your
scheming with my father,” she said.

Amber caught his half’s
eye in the mirror and regretted it immediately. There was a reason Dravin
usually left his half home when he visited. The woman’s unfocused eyes lolled
between them, only loosely timed with their speech.

Amber averted her gaze,
but not before her lips curled with disgust. Dravin must have read her
expression.

“That’s not polite,
sweetheart.”

“She’s gross.”

If the comment stung,
Dravin didn’t let it show. “I was born in the early days, sweetheart. Before they
understood premature contact. We first touched when we were only three days old;
her body wasn’t ready . . . her channel tore open and she lost most of her
clairvoyance.”

The detachment in his
voice chilled Amber. “Aren’t you even upset about it?”

“You were almost like
her, you know. Only your parents were more . . .
skittish
.” He said it like an
insult.

“Yeah, well not
everyone’s perfect,” said Amber. Despite her biting tone, her face flushed.

He was right.

Dravin and his half
were victims of juvengamy. They had been forced together as infants.

So had Amber’s parents.

And as a pureblood,
descended from an unbroken lineage of juvengamy halves, so had Amber.

At least that’s what
they told her. She and her half were separated before she could remember.
Before any permanent damage could happen to her channel . . . she hoped.

Amber heard shouting
behind her and turned around. Her parents were yelling at each other now.

André sat in the corner
while his half, the studio’s other designer, massaged his shoulders, throwing
mutinous glances toward Amber’s mother. André and his half
were both
men. Homosexual halves
did occur, though not as often as heterosexual
halves.

Suddenly, Amber’s
mother slapped her father and marched toward the exit, toppling one of the
halogen light stands. The tripod crashed to the floor and the bulb popped. On
her way out, she shouted over her shoulder, “I don’t care if you don’t sleep,
André. I want another dress next week.”

 When she got back to
her purse, Amber had a missed call from Tina Marcello, Dominic Brees’s
girlfriend, and a message asking if she wanted to hang out, maybe watch Pueblo
High School’s rugby tryouts.

Definitely. She could
use some time with someone normal.

***

“
Well?
”
said Buff furiously as he and Aaron hobbled to the stands after rugby tryouts,
both of them drenched in mud. Behind them, the goal posts sank into the mist.

“You
saw. I scored three times,” said Aaron. “You tell me why your coach is an
idiot.”

“Buddy,
what was that bullshit? You’re a ball hog; you didn’t pass once. Have you ever
even played rugby?”

“Just
drop it,” said Aaron.

“No
bullshit,” Buff grabbed his shoulders and faced him, “the closer it gets to
your birthday, the more you creep me out. Look, Buddy, I know you’re freaked
about that stuff in your head, but it’s not the end of the world, okay?”

Aaron
shrugged off his best friend’s hands and continued walking.

“Okay,
be a prick. Fine.” Buff walked in stiff silence next to him.

For
a week, Aaron hadn’t stopped thinking about Amber. Clearly, she didn’t belong
with Clive, yet she acted like they were unofficial halves or something . . . and he
was beginning to hate it.

But
his birthday was way too close to risk getting hung up on her—only nineteen
days now. Besides, whether Clive Selavio, Aaron, or someone else entirely was
Amber’s half would be revealed on March thirtieth, and no one could do a damn
thing about it.

So
why was it so hard to let her go?

 “Hey—”
Buff nodded toward the stands, “look who came to watch.”

Aaron
glanced up. It was Tina Marcello, but when he saw whom she was with, his skin
tingled.

“And
who might
that
be?” said Buff, suddenly very interested.

The
two girls were sitting right where they had left their backpacks.

***

Amber
wore a baby-blue sweater, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, damp with mist.
Her hair glistened. Aaron stopped right in front of her.

“
You
again?” she said, making no attempt to sound excited. Aaron wondered whether
she’d consulted Tina about him or whether they’d concluded separately that he
was a jerk. Maybe they could form a club with Emma Mist.

Aaron
wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and his sweat ran red down his
fingers. A cleat must have nicked his forehead. He lifted the bottom of his
shirt and wiped away the blood.

Amber
blinked. “Do you really have to do that right in front of me?” she said.

“What
are you doing here?” he said.

“Oh,
so it's okay for you to lurk by my car and ambush me after practice, and it's
not okay for me to watch the tryouts?”

“Fine.
Next time I’ll leave your phone in the trash,” he said, “and just so you know—”
he nodded over his shoulder at the rugby field, “I got distracted back there.”

“It’s
not like I came to watch
you
.”

“Oh
yeah?” he said. “Who’d you come to watch?”

Buff
pushed him out of the way and held his hand out to Amber. He put on his most
dignified expression, which wasn’t much. “Buff Normandy.”

Amber
took his hand and smiled. “Amber.”

“So
you like rugby, Amber?”

She
shrugged, and her eyes darted to Aaron. “It’s okay,” she said.

“I
didn’t really need to try out—” said Buff. “I’m actually already on the team.”
He chuckled, and his cheeks reddened. “Actually, I was last year’s MVP.”

“Knock
it off,” said Aaron. “She’s a friend.”

Buff
stepped in front of Aaron, blocking him. “You got any plans for later?”

Aaron
smirked and rolled his eyes, and Amber glanced at him again. She smiled too.

“Could
you please leave us alone now?” said Tina, wrinkling her nose. “You guys
stink.”

A
lined notebook lay open on her lap, which Buff snatched and proceeded to dangle
above her head.

“Buff—”
Tina lunged for the notebook and missed. “Give it
back
!”

While
they squabbled, Aaron scanned the bleachers for his backpack. He had left it
right here. He inhaled, and his chest stung. More sweat drizzled into his
mouth.

Then
he saw it stashed under the bench, shoved out of the way right behind Amber. He
leaned over her, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Excuse
me—you’re in the way.” He reached past her.

But
she refused to budge, and his shoulder brushed her cool skin. He felt her tense
up. Aaron flexed and dragged his backpack onto the bench next to her. She
stared at the spot of mud he left on her arm, then at him.

“What
makes you think I’m your friend?” she said.

“I
didn’t say you were,” said Aaron.

“You
did two minutes ago.” She glanced at his forehead. “I think you need a
Band-Aid.”

Blood
dripped from Aaron’s chin. He wiped his forehead with his shirt again—it came
back bright red.

“I’m
fine.” He unzipped his backpack. Then he grabbed the collar of his shirt and
pulled it over his head. Caked mud and sweat stuck to his skin. He crumpled the
shirt into a ball and wiped his face another time. That was when he noticed the
bruises along his rib cage.

While
his shirt was off, Amber stole a glance at his torso, then quickly averted her
gaze and fixed her eyes firmly on the horizon—until a grunt from Buff made them
both look in his direction.

“Buddy,
she’s scouting for Breezie!” he shouted, staring wide-eyed at the players’
names written neatly in pink ink in Tina’s notebook. “And why isn’t my name
here?”

“Buff,
forget about it,” said Aaron. “She doesn’t know jack—”

“Huh
Tina? Why isn’t it on here?” Buff repeated.

There
was a dark glint in Tina’s eyes. “Because your GPA is below the league minimum.
You won’t be allowed to play.”

“That’s
not true.”

“Is
too.”

Buff
tore out the page, ripped it into little pieces and dropped them on Tina’s lap.
“No more of this bullshit,” he said, grabbing his backpack.

“You
freak!” said Tina, staring at the scraps.

“When
we play rugby, Breezie’s going to need more than just a cheat sheet,” said
Buff, kicking the riser on the bench.

“Well
that was lame.” Tina brushed the scraps of paper into a puddle and grabbed her
purse. “Amber, let’s get out of here.”

“Hang
on,” said Buff, “let me get Amber’s number.” He rummaged in his pockets for his
cell phone, came out empty-handed, then unzipped his backpack and started
digging out crumpled wads of schoolwork.

Amber
gave him a coy smile. “Buff, you hardly know me,” she said.

Buff’s
face reddened. He stood and scratched his head. “Maybe I should give you my
number instead,” he said.

“She
doesn’t want your number,” Aaron scoffed.

Amber
shot him a glance. “Maybe I do.” 

Meanwhile,
Tina made a point of sighing loudly.

“I
got it an idea!” said Buff. “Buddy, give me your phone. I’ll get her number
that way.”