Across Carina (29 page)

“Maybe it’s just how Perunda operates,” Sal finally replied. “If these people don’t know any different, then seeing memories could be as normal for them as breathing. The question is if it’s a good or a bad thing for us.”

That sounded more like Sal.

He stared at one of his reflections until his eyes flickered back to hazel.

I pressed the button for the second floor, but the elevator didn’t move. I tried the third floor, and still nothing.

“I think seeing memories could be a good thing,” I said. “Maybe it helps the people understand each other.”

Sal tried the fourth floor without success.

“Or maybe,” he said, “they use their memories to excuse bad behavior.”

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“Because they see everyone’s past mistakes and figure that since there’s no way to hide anything, they might as well get away with what they can.”

“Hmm.”

We pressed every button until one finally worked—the one for the twentieth floor.

The doors closed, engulfing us in ourselves. As we began to ascend, my eyes wandered to one of Sal’s reflections. Our eyes met briefly, but then he turned away.

“Don’t use it on me,” he said. “I want to get to know you naturally.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I retorted. “And it only works if we lock eyes, you know.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Fine,” I said. “Don’t look at me then.”

He sighed. “I won’t.”

I smirked because I knew that he wanted to look at me. We would each have to steal glances when the other was unsuspecting, and it was sort of thrilling, like a game.

But something killed the thrill. It was a song trickling into the elevator. The same three notes played in a sluggish, dark tone as a woman began to sing with mismatched vigor.

“The sky is yellow,

and so are your eyes,”

said the girl to her mother

as they walked down the street—

to meet

her godfather,

to meet

her godfather.

“Hey, Mommy, what’s he like?

Hey, Mommy, what’s he like?”

“Don’t ask questions

or I’ll beat you like I did last night.”

“Hey, Mommy, what’s he like?

Hey, Mommy, what’s he like?”

“Don’t ask questions

or I’ll beat you like I did last night.”

Sal and I backed into a corner. The elevator pushed up and then pulled down, and the doors opened with a
ding!
I stepped dizzily onto the marble floor.

We found ourselves standing at the end of a hallway. At the other end was a door, half open. There was a light shining through it, and chatter and laughter was skipping our way.

We walked toward it, our shoes squeaking beneath us. Just before we reached the door, it opened fully, revealing a boy who looked a little older than we were. He was grinning.

“Have you come to play?” he asked us.

“Play what?” I inquired.

“Truth or Dare!” he replied. “Hurry in! We’re about to start another round!”

“Children’s game,” I muttered, and then I thought of Garrett—but the memory faded all too quickly. He never held still long enough for me to paint him in my heart.

The boy linked arms with Sal and me and pulled us into the room. We were greeted by an intimate group of young people, all around our age. They were sitting in circles on the floor, standing in the back of the room, and draped across the sofas, happily entwined.

The boy suddenly turned to me, and we locked eyes. I started to see one of his memories. He was walking into the house for the first time. I watched him for a few seconds, and then the scene cut out. He had already turned away from me and was addressing the group.

“Everyone, this is Jade and Sal! They’ve come a long way to be with us tonight, so let’s make them feel welcome!”

The group applauded, and several people called us over to join them. Sal and I were ushered to one of the sofas, where a couple sat up and parted to make room for us.

The boy who had introduced us disappeared behind a curtain at the back of the room. A minute later he reemerged with two drinks in hand. He gave one to Sal and one to me.

“Drink up!” he said. “Your turns are next!”

He seemed unconcerned with the fact that we were not from Perunda.

Sal and I exchanged looks, but then I turned away so that he wouldn’t accuse me of harvesting his soul.

“What is this?” I asked, waving my glass at the boy. “And who are you?”

He laughed, his cheeks flushed.

“Silly me, Jade—I’m Trevor! It’s a pleasure to meet you. And to answer your question, what’s in your glass is none other than the most delightful grape drink you’ll ever taste.”

“Like wine?” I asked.

“Wine?” Trevor repeated.

Sal took a swig of his drink before setting it on the end table. I downed mine, and it was delightful, just as Trevor had promised.

The cool, smooth liquid slid down my throat and settled into my stomach, spreading ease throughout me. Every muscle in my body relaxed.

If this is their version of alcohol, it works much faster than what we have on Earth.

“Who lives here?” I asked, leaning back.

The girl beside me piped up. She had two red braids and freckles for miles. She was adorable, but highly intoxicated. She was holding one glass in her hand and had three empty glasses in her lap.

“Anyone who needs a place,” she said to me. “Can you imagine? Everyone here is so kind.”

I scanned the room.

“Nobody owns the house? Is it just the few of you?”

“Oh, no,” she whispered, like it was a secret. “There are other people here, but they live on different floors. My friend went to visit someone on the nineteenth floor yesterday. Well I think it was yesterday. Anyway, she hasn’t come back yet. She must be having so much fun!”

She shook her hands and squealed, collapsing against the sofa.

Sal leaned across me to speak to her.

“When did you first get here?” he asked.

She met Sal halfway, sloshing her drink in my lap. She didn’t even notice, but I didn’t care. I dabbed my finger on my pants and tasted the purple stain.

“I don’t remember,” she told Sal. “No . . . wait . . . I do. It was yesterday. I’m sure of it. I was just out with my friends, looking for a party, and then we found one right here in this big house! And it never seems to end! It’s a blast!

“Okay, you should take your turn next. What are we playing? Oh, right, Truth or Dare!”

Trevor rushed to the center of the room. “Indeed, Jade is next!”

Everyone started to clap, including Sal. Though his hands were slapping irregularly as he looked around the room. He had barely touched his drink.

When the clapping stopped, Trevor pointed at me.

“Truth or dare?” he asked.

I hadn’t played Truth or Dare since middle school. In all of my time in Carina, these were the stupidest circumstances that I had found myself in.

I considered sitting the game out, but another wave of calm poured over me. I decided to play a few rounds and then maybe try to troubleshoot the elevator with Sal.

I walked over to Trevor. Sal watched me from the couch, his mouth open and hair disheveled. His cheeks were sunken and white.

“Take a nap!” I mouthed at him, and then I averted my eyes.

In my peripheral vision I watched him watch me until he slowly but surely nodded off as I had instructed. He deserved a proper sleep.

“Jade!” the group cried. “Truth or dare?”

I laughed. “Oh, right, I pick dare!”

I still had some of my wits about me, and I didn’t want to answer any questions in front of everyone. Trevor had likely seen enough of my mind when he’d met me at the door.

Everyone was clapping again. They were welcoming, indeed. I bowed for them, and they cheered.

Trevor took a deep breath.

“I dare you . . .”

He trailed off, and the group hushed in anticipation.

“I dare you, Jade Callaghan, to answer a question.”

“I chose dare!” I contended.

“And I’m daring you to tell the truth,” he said.

Agitation bristled on my tongue.

“Fine,” I said. “I guess you couldn’t think up a good enough dare. What’s your question?”

Sal was passed out on the couch and of no help to me. He had girls on all sides of him. They were crouched, with faraway eyes and breathy sighs, ready to pounce on him at any second.

“What are you most afraid of?” Trevor asked me.

I didn’t look at him. I jumped from one face to the next.

“That’s a broad question,” I said.

“Not really.”

He stepped back, facing me at an angle. Suddenly everyone in the room shifted their attention to something behind me.

I turned to see what they were looking at, but there was nothing there. Yet, when I turned back around, they were all still focused on the space behind me. Clearly I had missed something.

I turned again, more quickly this time, and I saw a flash of light. It appeared to slip behind me. I started spinning in circles, trying to catch it, but it kept a step ahead—brightening and dimming in the corners of my eyes. It was then that I realized the light was projecting from out of my back, and trying to get a look at it was like trying to lick my elbow.

I stopped spinning and waited for something to happen. Everyone was still staring at me, and I had become as curious as them.

After a minute, the light stretched to the ceiling and widened enough for me to crane my neck and see. It was highlighting a large portion of the back wall—a makeshift screen. An image flickered onto it, and suddenly I was watching the fire.
The
fire.

The scene played for a few seconds and then abruptly changed—to me crying in a ball on the bathroom floor. I was clutching a torn photo of Garrett, bony and shaking like a starved animal.

After another few seconds, the scene changed again. This one was silent and in black and white. My parents and Tyson were standing in front of our house, straight-faced and holding hands. There were two graves before them. Wind was blowing all the leaves off the trees, and the grass was tall and dry.

The scene faded, and the light collapsed into my spine. I felt it in a single shiver.

My eyes fell to the floor. The room was quiet, and I could feel everyone looking at me. My teeth hurt from clenching them, and my cheeks were hot—burned by the parts of my mind that nobody should have been able to see.

Trevor nudged me.

“Answer the question,” he said.

He was no longer smiling, and I no longer felt welcome.

“What do you fear?” he asked.

“She’s afraid to be happy!” someone shouted.

I didn’t look up to see who.

I staggered to the couch and pulled Sal to his feet. His eyes opened as he stumbled out of sleep, almost knocking me over.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“We’re leaving,” I said, steering him to the door.

Trevor stepped in front of us.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Down,” I said.

“You can’t just go down. You have to stop on each floor.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll reach the bottom soon enough.”

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

He turned back to the group, clapping his hands twice.

“All right, who’s next?”

In the hallway, Sal stopped to catch his breath. He clung to me for support.

“How long was I asleep?” he asked. “I feel completely dead right now.”

“Maybe five minutes,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m exhausted. I need more sleep. You should get some too.”

“Well let’s do it on another floor, please.”

I hurried to the elevator with Sal limping behind me. In peeks over my shoulder I tried to explain what had happened during Truth or Dare, but he was barely cognizant.

“So you guys were watching a movie?” he mumbled.

“
No!
”

I slammed the button for the elevator. The doors opened, and we stepped into infinity.

Right away I noticed that there was something different about my appearance. Sal’s, too. I tried to discern what had changed.

“Wasn’t I wearing a white tank top?” I asked.

Sal slumped against the wall, shaking his head.

“No, it was always gray. I helped you pick it out.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well what about your hand? What is that on it?”

I pointed at the little black teardrop that had appeared just below his wrist.

He looked down at it.

“They stamped our hands so that we could get into the party, remember?”

I pulled up my denim sleeves and found an identical teardrop smudged below my left wrist.

“I must have forgotten,” I said.

I pressed the button for the first floor. As Trevor had warned, the elevator didn’t budge. Grudgingly, I selected the floor just under us, and the doors closed.

It was going to be a long ride to the bottom.

On the nineteenth floor, the elevator opened into a small, windowless lobby. Across from us there were two steel doors filtering the sounds of music and a booming crowd.

“Let’s keep moving,” I said, pressing the button for the eighteenth floor.

But the doors didn’t close.

I looked at Sal, who was in the corner wiping his eyes, still trying to wake up.

He shrugged.

“Maybe we have to go into the room first and
then
come out and try the next floor,” he said.

I thought about it for a moment.

“Good point.”

We left the elevator and pulled open the steel doors. We had walked right into a nightclub.

The doors closed loudly behind us, but nobody from the packed dance floor looked our way.

There were people everywhere. Guys dressed in shorts and neon V-neck tees and girls wearing boots and bikinis and wings. They were all waving their arms in a sea of glow sticks.

A DJ on a high steel platform, only accessible by ladder, was spinning dubstep as strobe lights flashed red, purple, green, blue, and then white in sequence.