One Past Midnight (12 page)

Dex watched me with a hopeful glint in his eyes. He would only pester me and ask questions if I refused, and
I hadn't been quick enough to blurt out an excuse. And besides all of that, I needed to do something that was normal. So I painted on a smile and said, “Sure. A movie sounds great.”

Dex had planned the whole day, parking in a garage and then walking us toward a French bistro, where he'd already made a reservation. I tried not to let that irritate me and instead to embrace the sweetness of the gesture, but for some reason I failed to gush very convincingly.

The bistro was named
Le Bon Goût
—Good Taste—and it was one of the most expensive lunch spots in Boston. Dex was out to impress.

We talked about our plans for the year ahead. About Harvard. Dex slipped in the idea of us getting a place together after freshman year. I tried to hide my frozen reaction—after all, it was the natural progression. Just not usually so soon. It was even one that I wanted. At least . . . I thought I wanted.

Lunch was delicious, both of us feasting on fish and sharing a crème brûlée for dessert. I smiled, even laughed, and desperately tried to ignore the thoughts that threatened to dominate my mind: the downfall of my other life, the sadness of knowing my parents hadn't believed me, had not even given me the chance to explain.

I'd been locked away. And now I was polishing off crème brûlée.

The waiter came over and started to clear our plates.

“
Bonne?
” he asked.

I smiled. “
Oui, merci. Tout était délicieux!
” I replied, the words rolling off my tongue.

The waiter's eyes sparkled. “
Votre accent est presque parfait
,” he said, complimenting my French.

My smile widened. “
J'aime la langue. J'ai été l'apprentissage toute ma vie
,” I replied, telling the waiter that I loved the language and had been learning it my whole life.

He beamed in response. “
Oui. Pas assez de gens réalisent les avantages de parler une autre langue. Vous pouvez prendre la compétence partout avec vous.
” He gave me a small bow even as I sat there, stunned by what he'd said.

The waiter turned to Dex. “Please excuse me. Your friend is very lovely and so few of our customers speak French so well.”

Dex didn't look impressed. “Yeah. She's amazing.” His expression grew sour and even a touch threatening as he added, “And she's my
girl
friend.” He passed the waiter money for the check.

The waiter smiled, unperturbed. “Of course.” He glanced at me again and left the table.

“What did he say?” Dex asked, trying to hide his irritation at not knowing. But I couldn't be bothered placating him.

“He said it was such an advantage to know another language. That a person could take the skill anywhere once they had it.” I stared into space.

The waiter was right. Languages could go anywhere.

For the life of me, I couldn't say what movie Dex and I saw. I can't remember watching any of it—I was too busy trying to stay afloat in my flooded mind. Dex didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps he did and didn't know what was wrong. Either way, he drove me home afterward and I did my best to keep up with the small talk. By the time he pulled up in front of my house it was starting to get dark, and I felt guilty that I hadn't given him the kind of day, or attention, he'd obviously envisaged.

He walked beside me, unusually silent, to the front door.

When I stopped and turned to him, he tilted his head. “Are you okay, Sabine?”

I nodded. “I'm fine. I just think I'm still a little tired after the party on Friday night and . . . I don't know, nervous about graduation and finishing school.”

He exhaled. “Yeah. Change can be daunting. But there's no point holding on to things just because it's scary to take the leap and move on. Once people do, I figure they rarely look back. You just have to know when the time is right.”

The thing was, I totally agreed with what Dex was saying. I just didn't know what that meant for me—or my lives.

I leaned in toward him and he responded, closing the distance and giving me a kiss. It lasted eight seconds before I morphed it into a hug.

“On the other hand,” Dex said cheekily, “sometimes it's important to hold on to the good things. And you're my good thing, Sabine. I'm never going to let you go. I'm looking forward to moving on . . . to
our
future. There are some things I'll be more than happy for us
both
to say good-bye to.”

I was glad we were hugging so he couldn't see me cringe. I knew he was talking about our ever-nearing graduation night; that this was his way of telling me he hadn't done “it” before. I'd generally figured that out for myself. We'd been together for two years and Dex wasn't the type to cheat. He'd been understanding and patient and I wanted to give him all of me, but thoughts of us fumbling through our first time flashed into my mind and I felt my brow furrow. Then, out of nowhere, the image in my mind changed—the
person
in the image changed—surprising me.

I pushed the thought aside.
That
was not what I wanted. I don't know how Ethan had wormed his way into my head, but he wasn't going to stay there. He was
not
part of my plan—of any plan. Now, more than ever, I had to stay the course.

And that meant I had to finish the tests. There was no other option.

I pulled back from the embrace and looked into Dex's
eyes. “Me too,” I said, because it was time to start saying good-bye to some things.

And that's when I decided that graduation night and being with Dex was exactly the right time to start the rest of my life. Because if the final test went the way I was starting to believe it would, then the day after in Roxbury . . . everything was going to change.

Mom was setting the table for dinner. Just two places, which was a relief. I didn't think I was up to seeing Ryan or Lucas tonight.

Mom was a great cook, but she preferred desserts. So we snacked on grilled cheese sandwiches followed by one of her famous peach tarts. Baking was one of the only things that really soothed Mom, so I always made sure I ate every last crumb and told her how delicious it was. If I could manage it, I'd even dig in for a second helping just to see the twinkle in her eye.

“So you and Dex are spending a lot of time together lately,” Mom hinted.

I shoveled a large spoonful of tart into my mouth and nodded.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine, you don't have to tell me about your boyfriend. I just want you to know that I think he's a lovely boy. The two of you are a good match.” She lifted her glass to salute her approval.

I shoveled another spoon into my already full mouth and nodded between chews.

Mom smiled. “Okay, I get the picture. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I'm very . . .“ She straightened in her seat. Mom never did these conversations well. You know, the ones with “feelings.” She cleared her throat. “I'm glad you'll be going to Harvard. I would have missed you if you'd gone to a college far away.” And with that she stood and cleared the plates.

“Love you too, Mom,” I mumbled through a mouthful of tart as she walked to the kitchen.

Before I had a chance to swallow, my cell phone rang.

“Hello,” I said, my voice barely audible.

“Sabine? Hello? Are you alive?”

Miriam.

“Maybe she's with Dex,” Lucy snickered.

“Or under him,” Miriam added.

It was time for our Sunday night conference call.

I rolled my eyes and swallowed as much tart as I could manage. “Peach tart, you tarts!”

They both laughed.

“Well, did he or did he not take you to some fancy restaurant in the city today and then to the back row at the movies?” Miriam demanded.

I sighed, thinking of the not-so-successful date.

“So . . . ,” Lucy prodded, her voice sounding a little breathless. I could just imagine her sitting on her bed, bouncing up and down eagerly.

I considered telling them that it hadn't gone so well. But that would only get back to Dex one way or another, so instead I did what I did best.

I lied.

“It was great. Dex pulled out all the stops and took me to
Le Bon Goût
for lunch. You guys know how much I've wanted to go to that place. Best of all, even though I was still a bit tired from the party, Dex was just a sweetheart. He talked about Harvard, about our future . . .”

“About graduation night,” Lucy chimed in.

I laughed. “He might've mentioned it. All in all, it was pretty perfect.”

“Well, that's Dex for you; he
is
the perfect guy,” Lucy said.

“So true,” I agreed.

In theory.

“Aw, you two are so made for each other,” Miriam said, boarding the we-all-love-Dex express. “You know that of everyone, you two are the ones who'll make it. I can just see it now—Mr. and Mrs. Dex Holdsworth.”

“Ah,” I stammered. “One step at a time.”

“That's right, Miriam. At least give them a chance to have a test drive first,” Lucy teased. I didn't respond to that. I didn't need to—they were too busy laughing.

I really didn't want to be having this conversation, but I kept my tone light and willing, and Lucy and Miriam maintained most of the banter. Eventually I fell into old habits and found myself giggling along with them—gossiping about potential scandals and what everyone else would be doing after school. If nothing else, my friends had given me back
me
—the Wellesley me—for a time at least. An hour later, exhausted from laughter and allegations, we hung up.

As I called out good night to Mom and headed to my room, I glanced at my watch and shuddered. Two hours until the Shift—and all I had left to do was think about what was waiting for me on the other side.

After I'd had a shower, flipped through the Harvard course guide, and even cleaned my room, I still had an hour to go and my hands were trembling. I'd never shifted knowing that I was going back to a drugged version of myself. The idea terrified me, and once again I had to run to the bathroom and throw my head over the toilet. Peach tart is disturbingly self-preserving.

I don't know how many times I was sick, only that it was a new record. As the minutes ticked by, my level of anxiety built. I had absolutely no way to prepare for what was to come, and no way of controlling it after the Shift.

At the best of times, I hated shifting from one life to the next. I'd worked hard over the years to perfect the routines that meant I had to face as little of this panic as possible. This time, even more so than shifting with Dex's tongue down my
throat, that one small element of myself I usually had control over had been stolen from me.

I threw up again.

Finally, determined not to shift back to Wellesley tomorrow night to find myself hunched over the toilet mid-vomit, I forced myself to my feet and shuffled back to bed. I slid between the sheets just in time to take a series of shaky breaths before midnight struck and I shifted.

As soon as I was back in my Roxbury body I felt the dead weight. It was like being paralyzed while sinking in water. I couldn't move.

I. Couldn't. Move.

My eyes were shut and I couldn't access the muscles in my body that would open them. I wanted to thrash around, shake myself, slap myself. I wanted to scream. But my mind, completely alert, was imprisoned in an inert, silent chamber of a body. And then, whatever it was that was coursing through my system, the drug that had originally put me under started to catch up with me. No, chase me.

I don't know how long it took from when I shifted. Even though it felt like a lifetime, it was probably only seconds before the drug with its cotton-wool-like suffocation stole my conscious mind, melting it back into a sedated state.

Just before my mind slipped into oblivion, I thought I felt a pressure on my hand, as if . . . as if someone was
holding
it, squeezing tight.

A noise woke me. First my eyes fluttered, then my fingers twitched lethargically. I heard the noise again and realized it was voices. Slowly my mind cleared. I was in Roxbury, in the hospital. My parents had had me admitted. I'd been sedated. By Ethan.

I opened my eyes to a slit. Everything was blurry, but I could recognize my parents. As my vision sharpened I saw they were talking to two men: Dr. Meadows and a man I didn't know. Then I saw another figure beyond them, leaning against the door frame. I almost started when I realized it was Ethan. Slumped against the door jamb in his dark jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, his hair as unruly as ever, he didn't look like he belonged.

“It's up to you, John,” Dr. Meadows said, addressing my father. “If you want her transferred to another facility that's better equipped for this type of thing, I totally understand. Otherwise, she can stay here. Dr. Levi has offered his services and he's one of the best. He stops by on a daily basis to tend to some of the other patients, and he's offered to add Sabine to his rounds,” he explained.