Larkstorm (2 page)

Not knowing my future career is nerve-wracking enough
.
I
f I had to wait
—
like the rest of my housemates
—
to find out my mate, I…well I don’t know. You can’t exactly study your way to a good mate, the way you can with a job placement.

I look down the table, mentally matching my housemates together
—
it’s a game Kyra and I have been playing since childhood
—
and catch Kyra’s eye. She smiles devilishly before focusing her attention on her food.

I stare at her until she lifts her head to see if I’m watching. “What?” I mouth silently.
 

Kyra gives a subtle shake, no one would notice if they weren’t paying attention. “I’ll tell you later,” she says silently and turns her attention to Maz, who’s demonstrating how to shove six pancakes in his mouth. Before leaving the table, she pecks him on the cheek.

My mouth drops open. I know she’s hoping to be mated with Maz, but to openly kiss him like that? What is she thinking? If they’re caught, there’s no way they’ll end up together. The State will immediately separate them.

I look around. No one else seems to have noticed and, satisfied Bethina didn’t see, I pop a ripe strawberry in my mouth. Within minutes, I finish my bowl and bring it over to Bethina, who stands at the sink, washing dishes.
 

She takes the dish from me, drops it in the soapy water and swats me on the backside. “You need to do a better job of keeping Beck on task. The two of you are late every morning.”

I shrug and scamper toward the stairs.

“He’s his own person, B,” I say over my shoulder, using the nickname Beck and I gave her as children. “I try, but I can’t control him anymore than you can.”

She makes a sort of “Phffft,” sound behind me
,
but doesn’t say anything else as I leave the room.

The main floor is empty
—
Kyra must’ve gone back to her room. I run up the stairs and halfway down the hall, eager to get to the bottom of her strange behavior at breakfast. What she was thinking with that kiss!

Kyra’s room is different than Beck’s and mine. Purple flowers, hearts and ruffles cover every corner, and every time I walk in here I give thanks I share with a boy and not three other girls. I’ll gladly take Beck’s mess over living inside a purple nightmare any day.

On the far side of the room, half-hidden by a frilly bed, Kyra digs around in her closet, her back to me.

“What’s the big mystery?” I ask.

Something drops from her hand as she whirls around to face me. “Oh! Heya
—
you scared me.” She gives a nervous giggle.

“Sorry.” I flop onto her over-stuffed grape of a bed. “So, you going to tell me or am I going to have to torture you?”

She frowns and narrows her eyes, but her voice jokes. “Torture me? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Kyra, I live solely to torture you. It’s my goal in life.” I laugh. “So?”

She grins and pounces on the bed like a cat. Kyra’s always been my best friend. In fact, my earliest memory isn’t of Beck, but of her and me playing on a tree swing, pushing ourselves higher and higher until she jumped. I remember being awed by the way she soared through the air.

“Okay, you promise you won’t say anything?”

“Of course.”

She tugs on her left ear. I resist rolling my eyes
—
sometimes Kyra acts like we’re still little kids.

And yet, I tug on mine
,
a gesture which means I understand what she’s about to tell me is for my ears only. Kyra slips off her delicate, blue wristlet and hides it under a pillow.

My stomach drops. This can’t be good if she’s removing her wristlet
—
it means she doesn’t want our conversation overheard. Which means whatever she’s done is worse than I thought.

Kyra lifts my wrist to take off my wristlet, but it’s not there. I forgot it on my dresser after Beck distracted me earlier.

“Are you two planning on joining the rest of us? We’re going to be late,” Beck says from the doorway, his eyes teasing me.

Kyra sighs dramatically. Lately, everything Beck does annoys her. And she’s not shy about letting us know.

“We’ll be done when we’re done,” she snaps.

I’m tired of their bickering. Or more correctly,
I’m tired of
Kyra’s bad attitude about Beck. He usually either ignores her or grins like whatever she says is hilarious.

I grab Kyra’s pillow and launch it across the room. It hits Beck in the stomach and he doubles over, feigning injury. “You have the worst timing.”

He crosses the room, his blond hair bouncing with each step. “You forgot this.”

From his pocket, he pulls my blue wristlet.

“Thanks,” I say, holding out my hand.

Instead of giving it to me, Beck wraps it around my wrist. His fingers linger on the underside of my arm, shooting ripples of electricity across my skin. His eyes latch on to mine before gently letting go of my wrist.

Kyra clears her throat. “What happened to being proper?” she asks with disdain.

Beck ignores her. “C’mon, Birdie, I already grabbed your stuff.” He disappears through the doorway and I get up to follow him.

“
What
was that?”

I turn to Kyra. “What?”

She narrows her eyes. “Have you two been doing things in that room of yours you shouldn’t be?”

Heat flares across my cheeks. “No! Of course not. It’s not allowed.”

Kyra shifts her eyes away from me. “He’s your mate and you’re going to be bound soon. Why don’t you? I would if it were Maz.” When she looks back at me, I can tell she’s upset. “You
share
a room, Lark. The State doesn’t care if you kiss or take off all your clothes. Or even sleep in the same bed
—
which I know you do.” She purses her lips. “Chastely of course, since we’re talking about you and Beck.”

She’s right. I do sometimes climb into Beck’s bed. But I always have
—
ever since we were children. It’s nothing unusual for us. But I shouldn’t when no one else is allowed to.

“We have to set an example
,
” I mumble and cast my eyes down. Kyra knows how I feel about being special. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

She places her finger under my chin and lifts my head. Her deep brown eyes search my face as if daring me to look away. “You don’t like him that way,
do
you?” It’s not so much a question as a statement.

I draw my brows together. Of course I like Beck. I like him more than I should – at least until after our binding. When he’s near me my heart races and I’ve been spending too much time lately imagining the press of his lips on mine.

I open my mouth to tell this to Kyra, but my parched throat aches, and no words come out.

Life without Beck is unimaginable.

So why can’t I say it?

2

Except for Kyra and me, everyone stands in the entryway. While we wait for her, I watch my housemates. Nervousness runs through the group. Today’s tests determine our entire future:
o
ur jobs and who my housemates will be bound to after their birthdays. While I worry about a desirable job placement, my friends worry most about who they’ll be paired with.

But I understand their nervousness
—
bindings can only be undone by death. There’s no way around it, so you better hope you like the State’s selection. Even if your mate dies, if you already have two children, the State won’t allow you to rebind. It’s part of our zero population growth policy.

Anxiety builds in my chest as I realize that in three months, everything is going to change. We won’t be waking up here, to the smell of Bethina’s wonderful breakfast; we won’t be able to run down the hall to ask each other for help on homework; we won’t be together.

It’s all coming to an end.

“Deep thoughts?” Beck’s breath tickles my cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, briefly, enjoying the feel of him so close to me and wanting more.

I’m such a hypocrite. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially when I tell Kyra not too. I shift away from him to maintain the appropriate amount of distance.

“I was thinking about the bindings.”

Beck clears his throat. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s soon, you know.”

He nudges my shoulder in agreement and runs his hand over my arm. I shiver, despite being wrapped in layers of clothes and a heavy jacket.

“Are you excited?” His voice is soft in my ear.

“About what?”

“Our binding.”

My mind races ahead to three months in the future, when we’re bound, and he’s mine
—
forever. When I can finally tell him how I feel without worrying about breaking rules. My heart skips as I feel Beck press against me, my back into his front. And then my mind locks
—
the images vanish. There’s nothing there.

His lips graze my cheek when I turn my head to look at him. Embarrassed, I twist away from him in what I hope isn’t a too-obvious movement. “No. Just bindings in general.”

Around us, our housemates jostle each other while the stragglers finish slipping on their outdoor gear. We always walk as a group to school. That’s the rule. Even with security measures, you can’t be too safe with Sensitives roaming around.

“Kyra!” someone calls out. “You coming or what?”

But instead of Kyra, Bethina answers. “Can everyone go into the living room? There’s a delay request.”

I dart my eyes around the room and frown. A delay? That’s unusual. The only other time that’s happened is when the last Head of State died in a Sensitive attack. Beck raises his eyebrows at me.

“Did we miss the morning announcements?” My lip trembles slightly as I speak. I don’t remember seeing the school updates.

Beck shakes his head. He understands what I’m asking. “I’m sure everything is fine. Bethina would have told you otherwise. Privately.”

“Like when Kyra’s brother was killed?” I choke out and force my eyes shut. The memory of Kyra curled
up
in a ball, sobbing for days still breaks my heart. Her brother had been caught outside the secure zone by Sensitives. He didn’t have much of a chance.

Beck’s arm cradles me to him. “Don’t let your mind run away from you, okay?” He guides me toward the living room. “Let’s hear what Bethina has to say.”

But my mind can’t stop thinking of the worst scenario: Something has happened to Mother. Every morning, without fail, she delivers our daily address. I don’t think there was one today.

From the stairs, the pounding of feet announces Kyra’s arrival. When she skids to a stop, she waves a slim, silver tablet at us. “Sorry, guys. I couldn’t find my book.”

A groan rises from what’s left of our group. Kyra loses her book every morning.

“What’s going on?” she asks, noticing half our housemates are absent.

“The State has issued a delay,” Bethina responds. “Please go to the living room.”

I’m lucky. Unlike other students who only see their parents six times a year, I see my mother every day. Well, see her on TV. I haven’t actually visited with my mother more than a handful of times in my life. Running the State requires most of her attention. But if something happened to her, an accident or another assassination attempt by those vile Sensitives…

“Heya, stop it. She’s fine.” Beck disregards the rules and pulls me closer to him. Pressed against him, the trembles wracking my body are more obvious. “Take a deep breath, Birdie.”

He’s right. No need to expect bad news. It could be anything.

Except it wouldn’t be the first time Sensitives attacked a member of State
—
or my mother. And the attacks have become more frequent lately as the State continues to round up their leaders and put them on trial.

“Why doesn’t the State just lock them all away? It would be safer,” I say. “Sequester them somewhere
—
maybe in the Midlands
—
far from the rest of us.”

Beck stops and stares at me. “Not all of them have committed crimes, Lark. You know that. Besides, if the State locked them all away, who would do the menial jobs?”

“All I know is they hate us. They want us dead.” I lean against the couch, holding my arms tight across my stomach, and wait. My breakfast threatens to make a return visit if I can’t keep myself together. I bend forward, folding over on myself, and feel Beck’s hands rubbing my back.

“That’s just like them,” I hear Lina say. At first, I assume she’s talking about the Sensitives, but then she adds, “They can do whatever they want, while the rest of us get punished for so much as hugging.”

“Stop it, Lina. Lark’s upset
,
” Ryker, one of Beck’s good friends, says to the blond girl next to him.

She crosses her arms. “Right, I forgot. We can’t criticize Lark and Beck. Because they’re so
special
.” She adds emphasis to the last word. “They can do whatever they want.”

I jerk my head up and narrow my eyes, prepared to answer her, but Beck stops me.

“It’s not worth it.”

I nod. I don’t have the energy anyway.

Bethina paces in front of an empty wall. Deep lines form across her forehead and she taps her orange Singleton wristlet. A screen materializes on the wall. “I was told to have you all watch this.”

We wait as the screen turns from black to static. Finally, an image appears
—
a pretty woman with clear blue eyes and pale blond hair pulled into a fashionable twist fills the screen. Mother. My stomach flips and settles. She’s fine. Beck was right. I was worried about nothing.

“Good morning, students. We’re very sorry for the delay and for keeping you from your assessments.” Someone near the window snickers. “We received reports of unauthorized Sensitive activity in your area. Even though our security forces are confident all is well, please practice the utmost vigilance today. Do not hesitate to activate your wristlet if you sense danger.” Nervous chatter floats around the room as Mother smiles out from the screen. “You may resume your routine. May your day be peaceful and prosperous.”

I train my eyes on the now black screen, waiting for the rest of the report
—
the listing of captured Sensitives, policy updates, travel advisories, something. But no. Mother doesn’t reappear and the screen fades away.

Unsure what to do, my housemates and I give each other puzzled looks.

“That’s it?” Maz asks.

Bethina’s shoulders round forward, like a heavy weight presses between them, as she moves toward the living room doors. “It appears so.”

“If there’s nothing to worry about, why tell us?” Beck asks.

“The State always thinks of your safety first. They trust you to assess the risk appropriately.” She repeats the phrases she’s said to us so many times over the years. But instead of reassuring me, my insides knot together again.

Something’s not right.