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I SKULK OUT OF CY’S ROOM AT
six a.m. after unwrapping myself from his sleeping arms. I’d stay there until I shriveled up from dehydration and famine if I could, but I can’t. Cy’s very presence makes me forget things, and I cannot forget Dyl.

That morning, a new idea takes shape in my mind. If I can figure out how to bottle my trait into a usable product, I could trade that for Dyl. Maybe we can both emerge from this situation unscathed.

Maybe.

I need to eat and then get to the lab, but first things first. If I can keep the whole me-and-Cy thing secret, it’ll make everything easier. After a quick trip to my room, I’m presentable. A dark blue scarf covers my neck, and I try to keep my face neutral.

Vera, Wilbert, and Hex are all chatting over a breakfast of scones and bagels. I have to admit, it makes me feel fuzzy inside to see them together, like the morning after Argent.

“Look who slept in today,” Vera grumbles. Sounds like an accusation instead of a comment. She’s only two sips into a giant cappuccino, and is thus more Venus flytrap than human at the moment.

“I never pegged you as a scarf kinda girl,” Hex says.

“I was cold,” I say, reaching for a spare mug of tea.

“It’s not cold in here,” Hex says through a mouthful of buttered scone. “Gimme.” One long arm reaches across the table and whips the scarf off in a second.

“Stop it!” I yell, but it’s too late. Wilbert peers at my neck.

“Hey! Who bit you?”

“It wasn’t Callie the Wonder Pig, that’s for sure,” Vera snorts.

I try to ignore them, which becomes doubly impossible when Cy walks in. His face and neck are pristine and unmarked. I stop breathing, just looking at him. Vera, Wilbert, and Hex all hoot at the top of their lungs, catcalling him before he’s even three steps into the room.

“Cyrad, you dog!”

“Woof-woof!”

“Why don’t you chew on her ankles for a change! She needs her neck!”

Cy’s face goes white. I cover my head in embarrassment, as if it will do anything to lessen the howls coming from these three. He makes a quick assessment, and wisely turns around to flee.

“Hey! Where are all your tattoos today? Did she break your machine last night? Rowr!” Vera hollers, trying for one last jab.

“Poor kid. He has no idea what evil torment I have in store for him,” Hex says, leaning back in his chair. He gracelessly sucks a piece of dried cranberry out of his teeth.

“Actually, I think he does. That’s probably why he left,” I say. I reach over to hook two bagels and a jug of pomegranate juice. “See you guys later.”

“Hey, just because you two are all chummy, don’t forget about us, okay?” Vera says.

“Yah. And remember, a person cannot live on hickeys alone,” Hex shouts, probably loud enough that Cy heard it even on a different floor.

Oh boy. So much for keeping us a secret.

• • •

I WORK WITH CY IN THE LAB
for six straight hours, brainstorming ways to turn my trait into a product. Granted, I’ve spent a good portion of that time staring at Cy, slack-jawed at the memory of last night. Events like last night don’t happen to girls like me. We dream of them, and then they happen to other girls. But not this time. Once or twice, I have to suppress a maniacal, toothy smile at the reality of it all.

But soon, doubt seeps into my thoughts. Cy’s been quiet much of the time, keeping to his desk and only talking when I need help thinking through ideas. I wonder if the quietness means he regrets last night, but then I keep catching him staring at me. I’ve been dying to slip my arms around him, but since he hasn’t tried, I haven’t either.

“I’m fried,” I say, rubbing my temples. Searching for a drug that would turn normal chromosomes into little infinity signs has been fascinating, but I still need a break.

“Okay,” he says.

We stare at the space near each other with earnest concentration. I keep thinking he’ll walk out and leave me. Maybe he’s glad he’ll finally be able to get away from me. Maybe—

“Do you want to come to the holorec room with me?” he blurts out.

Oh, hell yes.

I touch my necklace in my pocket and remember to breathe. “Um. Sure. What do you want to do?”

For the first time all day, he touches me. His hand slips into mine and he pulls me toward the door. “C’mon.”

I trot behind him, wondering what he’s planning, but mostly thrilled that he’s got my hand firmly in his. We take the stairs down two levels to the empty holorec room. In its unused state, the white walls are studded at intervals with clusters of tiny holo-lenses. They resemble ebony spider’s eyes.

“Lock door, open on my command only,” he orders.

“You’re locking us in?”

“You’ll need to concentrate. That’s all. My intentions are honorable, I swear.”

I smile uncertainly. I kind of wish his intentions weren’t honorable, but oh well.

Cy leads me to the corner of the room and opens up a closet hidden in a panel. He digs through a mess of equipment. The orange bot comes out exuberantly, offering us both bottled water.

“No, not now. Back.” Cy waves it away, and the bot forlornly returns to the closet. Cy digs a little further and tosses me a pair of weird, flat-bottomed sneakers.

“Huh,” I say, holding the sneakers. Not exactly a box of chocolates, but I’ll take it. They only faintly smell of teenage boy. Lucky for me, I don’t have Marka’s sharp nose right now.

“They’re a little old. Mine, actually, from when I was a kid, but they should fit you.” Cy starts putting his own pair on and yells out to the room.

“Load the Gunks program, please. Let’s try a five-one.”

The lenses turn on, flickering with the light of a million microscopic sparks, creating the illusion of trees and a small stream nearby. A picturesque blue sky complete with wispy clouds pops on overhead. Birds tweet, the stream sings its trickle, and the far end of the room is replaced by a sheer rock wall that rises at least sixty feet high, carved through with horizontal crevices and gaps. I even smell crushed pine needles and honeysuckle.

“Are we having a picnic?” I say, spinning around and enjoying the scenery.

“Nope. We’re climbing.” He points to the sheer rock face.

“Oh noooo, no, no.” I have a healthy respect for gravity and what it can do to me, particularly when falling off cliffs. Even holo cliffs.

Cy weaves his fingers into mine and draws me closer to the wall. “It’s not as scary as you think. Look.” He guides my hand past the mirage of stone. I touch an artificial hold, shadowed under the façade. It’s angled to perfectly match the holo crevice. Above it, I see shadows of other man-made holds moving in the treadmill matrix to conform to the holo program. “It’s on a treadmill. You’ll only ever be a few feet above the real floor and we’ll start easy.”

“What’s the point? I know I’m going to fall.” Ugh, I sound like my dad.

“Then you fall. And you get up and try again.” He starts to put on a belt with a chalk pouch attached. “But it’s best not to fall in the first place.” I must be wearing an expression of frozen fear, because his demeanor softens when he glances up. “That was a joke. You know? Best not to fall . . . Oh, whatever.”

Ha-ha. So not funny. “I’ll bet you take all the girls climbing, huh?”

Cy stops messing with his belt. “I’ve never taken anyone climbing before.”

“Not ever?”

“No one really wants to go climbing. With me, at least,” he says uncomfortably.

“Maybe you should ask them. With Hex’s arms, he could climb El Capitan in five minutes.”

“Why bother? They don’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Maybe if you gave them a chance, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Cy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” He takes a huge breath. “You’re being . . . kind of . . .”

“A pain in the ass?” I finish the sentence for him. Except when it comes to doing big-sister nagging with Dyl, I’m usually the girl who doesn’t rock the boat. Ever. This is weirdly an enjoyable thing for me.

“Yes. So can we do this now?”

“I shall endeavor to try,” I say loftily. I watch him step here and there, marveling at how easy he makes it look. Without his tattoos, his arms almost gleam under the artificial sun. I’m only able to deflect him one more time before I give in, taking my first step onto a thin ledge. I inhale a measured breath, and start looking for the next place to put my hand.

Cy shows me how to find the best toe- and handholds. He points out ways to get creative with planning my way upward. And every step of the way, he’s by my side, watching over my progress, urging me to push myself up with the strength of my legs, instead of my fingers.

“Always use your strengths. Actually, even your weaknesses can be strengths.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, grasping a jutting shelf of stone. “My hair is not going to help me get to the top of this ridge.”

“Silly,” he says, locking one hand on a crevice so he can reach out with the other to tuck some wayward frizz behind my ear. “Your body. You’re light and small. And strong.”

“I’m not that strong.”

“Zel, you smashed through a triple-paned window, almost broke Hex’s tooth, and nearly outran someone twice your size, with your Ondine’s curse and all. I’d say you’re strong.”

I don’t disagree. Why not live with the idea a little while? We resume our climbing, slowly making our way up. Tiny trees have found rootholds in the crevices, and I try to respect them as if they’re real, maneuvering around them. The pretend ground below gradually falls away from us. It’s a great illusion. It really feels like I’m ten or so feet above the ground, but in reality it’s only about four. After fifteen minutes of this, I’m already halfway up, all the while breathing deeply and regularly to feed my muscles. I’m proud that I haven’t fallen off once because of a bad decision.

“So am I torturing you?” he asks, using the back of his hand to wipe away the faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

“I’m fine. Better than fine,” I say, smiling. I let one hand go to wave around at the trees and the sky. “This is really amazing.”

“Look at you, showing off one-handed! Okay then, let’s take it up a notch.” He looks over his shoulder at the room. “Split wall. My side, five-five, her side, five-three.”

“Why can’t I do the five-five?” I say.

“It’s too hard.”

“I have nothing to lose, right?” I look down. It seems like a leg-breaking fall, but I know it’s not. I wish everything in my life were like this—pretend horrors, with nothing substantial behind them.

“You got it.” Cy orders the walls at the same level. Immediately, the cracks and crevices blur and change. The angle of the wall is no longer vertical in places, where the wall curves toward us in a nauseating only-mountain-goats-allowed kind of way. The obvious hand- and footholds are gone. I see where I have to go, but I have to plan carefully, one crack at a time.

“Here, start with your right foot.” Cy points.

I shake my head. “Don’t show me. I want to figure it out myself.”

Cy produces one of those frowny smiles of approval. “Well, okay then.”

It’s hard. So much harder that the earlier program seemed like a simple ladder in comparison. After only five minutes, I start grunting with effort, reminding myself to breathe harder. My fingers are already fatigued and my toes are screaming from cramps. My big, baggy Cy-shirt is thoroughly damp, clinging to my biceps and upper thighs in all the wrong ways. I find a deeper ledge to rest on and start tugging at the edge of my shirt.

“Ugh. Get this offa me.”

“I’ll halt the program so you can jump off,” he offers, but I shake my head.

“No, if we were really climbing, I wouldn’t have that luxury.”

“Man, you are taking this pretty seriously.” Cy climbs closer, insinuating his right foot between my feet and securing his left hand closer to me. He helps me free one arm from the shirt, and then another. The fake country air deliciously chills my exposed arms. Cy tosses the shirt to the ground, where it disappears under the fake brush well below us.

“I never realized how confining a shirt could be,” I comment, wiping my upper lip. With just a clingy tank top and leggings on, I’m so much freer.

“Yes, fewer clothes are always a better option,” he murmurs. He’s right by my ear. The heat of his face warms my already sweaty cheek.

“What would you rather me wear? A black turtleneck and skirt?” I tease.

Cy swallows loudly. “Oh. You mean Professor Weisberger.”

“Yes. Is it just a coincidence that one of your teaching holos looks like me?”

“No. Your dad programmed her like that.”

I twist around to face him, dropping my jaw. “Really?”

“Yeah. I had no idea she was modeled after you. He never talked about you or showed us any pictures.”

“And my dad put my holo image in a tight black skirt and heels?”

“Uh, no. That was me.” Cy’s cheeks turn the slightest shade of pink. I bet he wishes he’d gone for the tattoos this morning. He fumbles with his bag of chalk and hands me a small lump to crumble in one hand, then another. His hands must have gotten suddenly sweaty, like mine just did.

“So,” I say casually, “do you have some sexy librarian fantasy that I don’t know of?”

Cy stays mum. I must have completely teased him into silence. He seems intent on resuming the climb, and grabs a handhold closer to me, as if he’s going to cross over to my right side.

I stare at the wall before me, but I can’t concentrate. Cy’s body is so close, with one leg between mine, and two arms are outstretched in a web around me. He’s hot and sweaty, and I’m hot and sweaty, and just as I’m wondering if I stink to high holy hell, his lips touch my neck.

I don’t move. His lips cruise across the nape of my neck, up, then down to find the top of my shoulder.

“You want to know the truth?” he whispers between neck kisses. “Yes, I have fantasized about Professor Weisberger. And no, it has nothing to do with the librarian clothes. In fact, there are usually no clothes involved at all.”

Cy’s lips circle back to find my earlobe and I shudder, shaking from head to toe. Cy stops abruptly.

“I’m sorry. I’m totally freaking you out, aren’t I?” He pushes away from me, giving me some space.