Rise (2 page)

And now I find myself in my parents’ living room, leaning against the door, a headache pounding its way through my brain.

My mom is in the kitchen. The clinking of utensils against porcelain and the sound of gushing water travels to my ears. As expected, I find her washing dishes. Her blond hair—almost the exact shade as mine—is pulled tight into a ponytail. She’s wearing one of her pretty flowery dresses with the big bow in the back, which only serves to remind me how tiny my mom is. And how delicate. How she shouldn’t be doing what she’s doing with the Underground. But if not her, then who?

And, of course, without her, I’d never have met Evie.

Mom must hear me, because she spins around, her arms covered in soap bubbles—almost the same color as her skin—to her elbows. Her face drains of blood, turning a sickly white as it fills with alarm; that instinctive look we all get when something surprises us.

That must have been what my face looked like when Evie first came upon me tonight.

But then my mom smiles and her whole face brightens, even though she presses a still soap-covered hand over her heart. “Timothy!” Her tone is chastising, but she’s still smiling. “You scared me.” Then she says the same thing she’s said every time I’ve startled her since I can remember. “I thought you were a rat.”

And for the first time in hours, the guilt eases a little and I’m able to recite the part I always say. “I’m an awfully big rat.”

“But a cute one.” She eyes me now, her mother’s gaze catching all the hidden signs of the stress tearing me apart. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s the use of having a dishwasher if you never use it?” I ask in answer, hoping to distract her. I know better, but I can hope.

“It’s soothing. It calms my nerves.” She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s going on? Did Evie not come?”

I sigh. “She did.”

She frowns at me. “Then what’s the problem?”

I don’t answer. In truth, I don’t know how to tell her that I almost ruined everything she and the others have worked so hard for.

So I settle for the one thing I’ve become really good at. A half-truth. “I’m just tired. All this sneaking around and pretending is exhausting.”

Her eyes soften before she turns back to the sink. “I know, sweetheart. But just know that you’re doing the right thing.”

For a moment, I don’t say anything, carefully trying to figure out how to word my thoughts. “It just doesn’t feel right. Lying to her all the time. Not telling her what Mother is doing. Having to pretend that every time she ‘forgets’ something it’s just because she’s daft, when I know damned well she isn’t.”

“Language, Timothy!” she says, but there’s no heat behind the words. Still, I apologize.

For a second, the sounds of clinking stop, before starting up again. “I can’t pretend to know how this must make you feel. But just remember that you’re doing this for her.
Remember wha
t Mother is doing to her and what she
will
do to her unless she’s stopped.”

“But that’s my point. Shouldn’t Evie know? Maybe she could help. More than I can. She’s actually right there with Mother.”

“That’s why we can’t tell her,” my mom says quietly. “She could tell Mother what we’re doing.” My mom turns to me. “You know this, Timothy.”

“I do know. But if Mother
is
doing to her what we think and if she
is
planning to do…that,” I can’t even say it, it’s just too heinous, “don’t you think Evie would want to know? That she’d side with us once she did know and that we’d actually stand a chance against Mother?”

She stares at me as if I’ve suddenly grown a second head or lost the one I already have. “Have you forgotten what Mother is doing to her? Even if she sides with us, which she probably would, there’s no way she could keep this from Mother.” She pauses and runs a soapy hand over her head. “Even if she wanted to.”

“We could—”

“No, Timothy, we can’t.” She spins back around to the sink and attacks the dishes with a viciousness I’ve never seen from her before. I almost feel sorry for the plates. “We can’t risk it.” She pauses in her assault on the dishes. “I can’t risk you.” She resumes her onslaught.

With an exasperated sigh, I run my hands through my hair and tug on the strands, then turn and step from the room.

“Make sure your nice suit is ready for tomorrow,” my mom calls, as if we hadn’t just been discussing something important. “The Suitor tea is tomorrow. You don’t want to be late.”

If I’d known Eli would be waiting for me in my parents’ apartment when I woke, I would have risked going back to mine the night before, despite being past curfew.

But instead I sit at my mom’s kitchen table, my breakfast plate untouched and steam drifting up from my coffee, while I try my best not to glare at the man in front of me. His movements and expressions always remind me of Evie, but other than the requisite blond hair and blue eyes, he’s nothing like her. He’s tall—taller than my father—and broad-shouldered. His eyes are always weary, his gaze never lingering in one spot for long before moving onto the next area. They’re full of deception and lies, and the hardness that’s come from living for so long here. Under Mother’s rule. And leading the Underground.

He shouldn’t be here. In my
parents’
home, acting like he owns the place, and me, just because he’s in charge of our little group.
I can’t help but fume a little
, knowing it was my own
mom
who’d brought him here. Who’d shared the conversation I’d had with her last night. The one who’d asked him to talk some “sense” into me.

Another woman, my mom’s friend and fellow Underground member, Evangeline, is here, too. She stands in the corner near the fridge. Her face is placid, but her eyes are swirling with emotion as she stares at me.
She
reminds me of Evie; she is a direct contrast to Eli.

Her eyes and hair are the exact color as Evie’s
; ice blue and honey blonde. And just like
Evie, she has a small frame that appears deceptively fragile. Her hands never lie still, even when she appears to be perfectly calm. And I know from experience she sees far more, and is entirely more intelligent, than you’d think at first glance.

Eli sits down across from me and leans back in the chair. “How long have you been working with us, Timothy?” His voice is utterly calm and that, more than anything else, makes the warning bells clang. He reminds me of Evie so much in that moment.

I sigh. “All my life.”

He leans forward and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on their tips. “So…would you say you’re pretty vested in what we’re doing here? You know what we’re doing and why? And what would happen should we fail?”

I nod.

“And you understand that everything that happens here is on a need-to-know basis and that everything that you’ve been trusted with is only extended to you as a courtesy because of who your parents are and what they’ve done for us?”

Again, I only nod.

“Then why would you think that telling the girl anything would be a good idea?”

The way he refers to Evie as “the girl” makes me bristle, and the words slip out before I can control them. “Because she deserves to know. And she’s not just ‘the girl’. Her name is Evie, which you very well know.” I stare daggers at Evangeline. “And contrary to what you think, she’s human. Despite her being raised how she was, she’s filled with more kindness and compassion and love than every single person in this room. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn’t even hesitate, I’m sure, to tell you,” I move my gaze to encompass all the people in the tiny room, “
all
of you, what she knows. No matter what the risk to her would be. She
needs
to know.”

“You’re in love with her,” Evangeline says. Her voice is quiet, but she might as well have screamed it, the way everyone turns to her, then to me.

I open my mouth to object, to yell at her that she doesn’t have a clue what love is, but I can’t force the words out. So I slam my mouth shut and press my lips together.

“Have you lost
all
of your senses?” Eli demands. I don’t answer him, but that doesn’t seem to matter because he goes on. “She may be flesh and blood, but she’s
not
like us. She’ll
never
be like us. And if the roles were reversed, don’t think for one second that she’d care about you. You’d just be a means to an end. That’s what she was taught. That’s what they
all
were taught. She’s been made to think that way and you’re a fool if you think that you can change that.”

I shove to my feet, knocking the chair over in my anger. “You don’t know her like I do,” I shout. “She’s not what you’ve made her out to be. She’s not just a…a
thing
you can move and manipulate however you want, like a chess piece. And if
you
think differently, then
you’re
no better than Mother.”

“Timothy, maybe you should sit down,” my mom says with a tug, and a hard pinch on my arm, when she sees the look on Eli’s face, but I shake her off.

“You
are
a fool,” he says and pushes back from the table to stand. He walks to the door—past me—but stops just behind me. “You will
not
tell that girl anything. You will continue along the path that we’ve planned. And I will hear nothing more of this moronic idea to tell her anything. If you can’t follow my directions, I will remove you from your position and replace you with someone else.” He continues to the door, pausing just before opening it. “I will know if you’ve said anything to her.”

The door shuts behind him; a sharp click stands as the punctuation to his remark.

Evangeline follows his path, stopping next to me, and places her hand on my shoulder. “Your actions are admirable, Timothy. Evie is lucky to have you as her champion.” She follows Eli without saying anything else, but I know what she didn’t say.
Don’t muck it up, because she needs someone like you.

I flip open my pocket watch and wince. I'm late! Damn! Even though I only think the curse, I glance around to make sure no Enforcers are around. I've never trusted that
they can't read minds. Their uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere at the worst moments almost begs the fact
that they can.

I pick up my pace. I don't run, per se, because it's frowned upon
, but I'm as close to running as you can get without actually doing it. My fellow Citizens move out of the way when they see me, but it's not because they don't want to keep me from whatever I'm rushing to—or away from. It's because they don't want to be caught near me if an Enforcer
sees me rushing.

I know, because I'd do the same.

As I pass the last booth in the Bazaar, I slow my pace. No matter how late I am, it’
s not wise to run into the Palace Wing. There is entirely too much security blocking the tube between Sector Two and
the Palace Wing, and any infraction, even one so minor as running, is a sure way to end up one of the missing.

The Guard standing at the podium merely glances at me before signaling me to go past him. Another reminder that I’ve come too far, worked too hard, to stop now.
I walk quickly through the tube that separates the Palace Wing from Sector Two. Today the water outside the tube glows a brilliant blue and the fish are like jewels. It never fails to remind me how lucky we are to be living in such a beautiful place
, even so dark as it is.

I hurry out of the tube and down the hallway to the elevator.

Inside I use the shiny metal walls to double-check my appearance to be sure my rush through Sector Two didn't wreak havoc on my hair or clothes. Mother expects a certain presentation and showing up even slightly disheveled would be akin to social suicide. A
fter the exchange with Eli this morning, that’s the last thing I want to do.
I'm pleased to see there's not so much as a speck of dust on me or a hair out of place.

As soon as the doors open, I rush out and follow the corridor to the sitting room where Mother hosts the tea parties for Evie—
Miss Evelyn
, I have to remind myself. She’s only Evie in private.
I'm not exactly a fan of the tea parties, but if I want to continue to be one of Miss Evelyn's
Suitors, I must continue to go to them and make a show of absolutely loving them.

Blech!

Miss Evelyn's voice drifts out through the open sitting room door and I smile; she's talking about how pretty the roses are now that they're in full bloom. Even though her voice is much more formal, and wispier, as if she really does want everyone to think of her as daft, her voice automatically makes my stomach tighten as it had yesterday evening. I have to admit that spending this time with her—even if it is horribly structured and chaperoned and completely unlike the secret, stolen times we have together—is worth any number of hours pretending to like lukewarm tea and chit-chatting about frivolous topics like what flowers are blooming in her gardens, who's Coupling with whom, and—Mother help me—her cross-
stitching.

I make another adjustment to my clothes, swallow the lump in my throat, and step through the door.

As always, just seeing her makes me smile. She’s beautiful, with her soft honey-blond hair that never stays where she wants it to and her ice-blue eyes that have a way of warming when she's really smiling. Not that fake stuff she does when she's in Daughter of the People mode, but really,
truly smiling.

It gives me a little thrill to think that I might be the only one who ever gets to see it.

Almost instantly I force the thoughts away, as I remember the Guards and Enforcer standing around the small room. They, of course, have noticed me immediately, and stand at attention. The Enforcer does nothing, but I can feel the distaste pouring from her.
Now Miss Evelyn isn't the only reason for the nerves twisting in my stomach.

It makes me think of how easily Evie turns from the girl she was yesterday into Miss Evelyn, the girl
she is now. Maybe Eli is right
, after all.