Parched (19 page)

“Greetings.” The word is so coolly polite, I'm not sure whether to feel annoyed or remorseful. I want to make things right between us. I want to show my somewhat stuffy but mostly decent amigo that he can trust me not to morph into an egotistical monster.

“Hey.” I smile back, dropping my bag to the floor. “How are you?”

“I'm well. And you?”

“I am also well,” I reply. I pause at my chair, placing a hand on it gently. I cock my head at Hunter as if to say, “Is here okay?”

He inclines his head, almost gracefully. “Please.” As I sit down, he's quick to add, “Abel is in his study.” It almost sounds like a warning. The idea that Abel might be here to protect Hunter from my lecherous advances makes me smile, and I have to bite my lip. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” I shake the smile away, and meet his eyes with perfect professionalism. “Should we start on sustainability?”

For the next hour, I do a wonderful impression of a model student. I recite which materials go into which upcycling bins, how compost works, how much water a five-minute shower uses, and how to lower, restrain, and reduce consumption. I stumble a little over some of the
specific bylaws of allowances—having never had a pet, I can't remember if dog food falls under Goods or Pleasure—but on the whole, I do pretty well.

As the dark blue of the evening sky deepens to black, Hunter begins to soften. His posture loses its rigidity. At first, I feel like we're performing some sort of formal interview, but after a while things become slightly more casual. I begin dropping a few sarcastic observations, which in turn invoke a flash of amusement, a smile, and then—victory!—an actual chuckle. Abel wanders in and out of his study a few times, ostensibly to get a glass of water from the kitchen, but obviously to check on us. Each time he passes, Hunter retreats into cold professionalism, but after Abel disappears, I'm able to tempt him back into behaving more normally. By eight-thirty, I feel I've definitely weakened the infrastructure of Hunter's wall of protection. Not dismantled it entirely, but caused a few spidery cracks.

“Very good work tonight, Tess,” Hunter says, deftly folding the thin gold scratch into a neat square.

“You sound relieved,” I say lightly.

“Do I?” he murmurs.

“I don't blame you.” I shoot him a smile that's somewhere between mischievous and self-deprecating, and am relieved when I get a smile back.

“Yes. Well. I, uh . . .” A quizzical half smile, half frown tugs at his mouth as he continues in a low, confessional voice. “I never really know how you're going to behave.”

I burst out laughing. I can't help it. There's something so endearingly honest and old-fashioned about him. His genuine confusion at my wild and wacky ways is undeniably
cute
.

Hunter sits back, bewildered. “See? That's what I mean. I have no idea why you're laughing. Was that funny, what I just said?”

“This whole situation is kind of funny,” I say dryly. “Look, for the record, I'm honestly really sorry about yesterday. That won't happen again.”

“I don't know. You seemed pretty confident,” Hunter says, and I'm surprised to realize he's teasing me. “Maybe you know something I don't.”

“No, I seemed pretty insane, as you astutely pointed out.” I plant both palms flat on the table and look him right in the eye. “Can we just . . . be friends?”

Hunter's face is perfectly calm. “All right,” he says. “Agreed.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

I exhale loudly and close my eyes for just a second. “Thank you. I just—I just really need that right now.”

“Need what?”

“Just—I don't know. Someone to talk to, maybe. Someone normal.”

“And you think I'm normal?” I can't tell if he's pleased or offended.

I scratch my fingernails against the tabletop and choose my words carefully. “I've started working out at this Longevity Hub, right? And the people there are great; really cool and nice. But . . .”

“But what?”

“They've all known each other for ages, so it's hard to fit in. I feel like a bit of an outsider. And they're all so much better than me.”

“Because they've been doing it longer,” he says. “Which is why they know each other so well.”

I sigh. “I guess. I mean, yes, that's right. But it's not just that.” I drum my fingers on the table. “We're all training for this . . . triathlon. And I'm not sure if maybe I'm getting in over my head. I mean, I said I'd do it, and it's sort of like a team thing, so if I pull out, I let everyone down.” I look up at him. “I'm really pushing myself. And I'm not one hundred percent sure if it's the right thing to do.”

Hunter sits back in his chair, eyebrows drawn in thoughtfully. The tips of his fingers tap lightly against his mouth. He looks like he's musing over something a lot more serious than my concerns with the “Longevity Hub.”

“Do you trust the people at the Hub?” he asks.

I blink fast. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, I think so.”

“They'd tell you,” he says, “if you were in danger of hurting yourself? Doing something your body wasn't ready for?”

I have to swallow, and clear my throat. “Yes. They'd tell me.”

“And you want to do the triathlon? You like that sort of thing?”

“Well, I haven't exactly done one before,” I hedge. “But so far I like it. I like the training. And it seems important. Healthwise,” I add quickly.

“Then I think you should stick with it,” Hunter says. “It sounds like your biggest obstacle is your own insecurity. But I bet if I asked your friends at the Hub, they'd tell me you absolutely fit in and you're absolutely ready.”

He's right. Kudzu have shown nothing but faith in me. Naz is prickly, but she's only one person out of a couple dozen. Everyone else just wants to help. “I just hope it's as important as I think it is,” I say cautiously. “It's a lot of work for something that ends up being”—life-threatening?— “a waste of time.”

“But only you can be the judge of that,” he says. “And you strike me as someone who has a good grasp of what's important and what's not.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You're smart.”

The hairs on my arms prick up a little. “Thanks,” I murmur, smiling self-consciously. “I, um—I liked the way you said that.”

He tips his head to the side, smiling at me quizzically.

“Sometimes when my best friend—or maybe, former best friend—used to say that, it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment. Even though I'm sure she didn't mean it that way.”

“Former best friend?”

I wince, although a part of me knows I said that because I knew he'd ask about it. “Her name's Izzy. I caught up with her a few days ago, and it didn't end well. We had a fight.”

“What about?”

I regard him, sitting very still in my chair. I'm not about to break the law again. I choose each word with precision. “About Eden,” I say. “And the Badlands. We used to be the same. But now . . . Now things are different.” I pinch my fingers on my forehead, pressing them into my skin. “Maybe I overreacted,” I say with a frustrated groan. “Maybe it was stupid to fight. It's just—she's just—”

“Different,” he supplies quietly.

“Yeah.” I sigh heavily. “But we were friends for so long. How can that just change?”

“Because people change,” Hunter says. “And friendship is based on shared values. It sounds like you have more in common with the people at the Hub than with Izzy.” His voice softens with kindness, eyes bright with genuine compassion. “You're being too hard on yourself. People change, and a year in the Badlands would change anyone. You've had experiences your friend will probably never have. You see things differently now. Take, for example, the scratch.” He gestures at it, in front of us both on the table. “What is it to a regular Edenite?”

I shrug. “I don't know—an everyday thing. Something you think you can't live without but you actually can.”

“And what is it to someone in the Badlands?”

I finger the thin gold scratch, raking my fingernails over its surface to produce a soft
vvvvvv
sound. “Something you'd fight for.”

“Exactly. The meaning and value you've assigned to things has changed,” he says.

His face is open and warm, displaying no judgment whatsoever. People do change. I'd changed. I didn't mean to hurt Izzy. I wrap Hunter's words around me like a cozy blanket.

“I have to go,” he says, glancing at the clock. “I have to go over some notes with Professor Rockwood before I leave.”

I'm surprisingly disappointed when he gets up. But before he disappears into Abel's study, I say, “Hunter.”

He turns to face me. In the glow in the living room light, I can see the finest spray of freckles across his nose, only noticeable because his skin is so pale. I'm not sure why I called after him, and in the absence of anything planned, I just blurt out, “I really like talking with you.”

He smiles, a warm and almost delicate smile. “I like it too, Tess.”

For a moment the air around us feels twenty degrees hotter. Then his expression undergoes a complete metamorphosis. A myriad of emotions seems to flash across his face at once—confusion, embarrassment, nerves. He spins around and barrels straight into the wall with a muffled crash.

“Are you okay?” I gasp.

“Fine. I'm fine,” he stutters, stepping back. After another awkward glance in my direction, he turns and darts into the study.

Hunter's advice stays with me. I resolve to have faith in myself, and it makes the next few weeks of my life some of the best ever.

I love spending time at Milkwood. I love the muggy hike at the beginning of each day, and the way my boots start to find the path that Ling knows so well. I love the first glimpse of Moon Lake, and how the clear morning light makes it shine like a diamond. I love the looks of genuine enthusiasm my arrival inspires in Benji and Lana. I love being part of a mission team. I love watching Achilles work on cracking the Liamond system and listening to Bo play the guitar. I even love how much Naz doesn't like me.

The messy shared bedroom, Achilles' darkened tech room, the unwieldy veggie garden—everything about Milkwood feels more and more like home. By comparison, the clean streets of Eden seem unimaginative
and sterile. As Ling puts it, we live how we want to live at Milkwood, like the rabbits that run wild in the woods.

One day I arrive to find everyone choosing code names; Kudzu never uses real names on missions. “What's yours?” I ask Ling.

“Samurai.” She grins, miming a sword fight.

Benji and Lana pick each other's; Benji is Monkey. Lana is Angel.

Naz picks Bulldog.

Achilles wants to be Big Daddy.

“No,” Ling says flatly.

“Why not?” he protests.

“Because it's silly and this is serious,” she says, exasperated. “Pick something else.”

“Dr. X.”

“No.”

“Chilly Willy.”

“
No
.”

“Gyan's Lovechild, Tranq 'n' Wank, Guilty As Charged, I'm With Stupid.”

Ling smiles sweetly. “You can just be Stupid.”

Achilles sighs. “Fine. I'll be . . . Spike.”

I pick Storm. I've never seen a real storm. I think I'd like them.

After a few weeks, Gem and Kissy show me the Kudzu stream. I've never seen anything like it. Streams are soft and pretty: pastel clouds that soothe and relax. The Kudzu stream is a shove into oncoming traffic, a wake-up call.
No new life until all life is equal
leaps out, demanding the viewers' attention. A spiky black-and-red design tells the story, with names changed to protect the guilty. Diamond-shaped boxes make the connection between artilects, Simutech, Moon Lake, and the Badlands.

It's not just the coolest thing I've ever seen, it's also the most eye-opening. An uncensored, unauthorized stream. Edenites won't know what hit them.

Naz and Ling will have razers at Simutech. I won't. Our plan doesn't involve razers, Ling tells me, so it's unnecessary and dangerous to have me wielding the powerful weapons. When I push as to why she and Naz will have them, she allows that in a worst-case scenario, she only wants the two most experienced people on the team using them. She can tell I'm disappointed, so as a compromise, she'll teach me some basic fighting. When I tell her I already
know
how to fight—a year in the Badlands, remember?—she just shrugs. “Then hit me.”

I shake my head wryly. “I'm not going to hit you.”

“I know,” she says, with a cheeky smile.

Okay. Challenge accepted. I pop one fist out lightly.

She whirls out of the way. “Told you.”

I laugh, impressed. But this time, I'm going to try. I lunge at her again, quick as a fox. Again, she disappears from the end of my fist, spinning behind me. With a vise-like grip, she grabs my wrist and yanks it up behind my back. I gasp, relenting. “Okay, okay!”

She lets me go. “See, the thing about—”

Before she can finish, I swipe her legs out from underneath her with mine. She lands on her butt, and instantly I'm on top of her, arm against her throat. This time, I win.

She's laughing as I let her go. “What's so funny?” I ask.

“You fight like Naz.” She pulls bits of leaves out of her hair, grinning at me. “Dirty.”

I grin back. “Let's go again.”

And so I learn how to fight. As Ling puts it, it's more about how to defend yourself or overpower someone bigger or stronger than you. I learn that if someone chokes me from behind, I'm to lean forward, pull their arms off me, then spin around to knee them in the balls. “All the power in a choke hold comes from the thumbs.” Ling shows me. “But you don't want it to become strength versus strength. You want to use your speed and agility to get out of it.”