Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (12 page)

“Sorry?” I question, mentally punching myself in the face for fixating on her lips.

“The Schedulers knew that mole would kill you.”

“Oh. Right.” Hoping I’m not getting red, I dart my eyes back to the sketchbook and flip through a few more pages. “How many assignments have you had?”

“I’m on my eighth.”

“How long do they last?”

“Depends. My first assignment lasted a little over a year. My second was over three years. It varies by Tragedy.”

“Do you miss your Tragedies when your assignments are done?”

She looks confused. “Miss them? No. Didn’t Willow tell you about Maintenance?”

I shake my head. “I guess we haven’t gotten to that yet.”

“We still check in a couple of times a month. I’m surprised Willow hasn’t told you. What have you guys been doing, anyway?”

“Coding has been giving me some trouble.” That’s not completely a lie.

“Huh. From what I hear about your blocking skills, I would have thought coding would be a breeze.”

From what she hears? What’s with this place?

“You’ve heard what the others are saying, right?” She gauges my expression. “You haven’t? I feel another bet coming on.”

“No way! I’m not betting with you anymore,” I say, hoping my voice sounds like I’m joking.

“Word is, you’re the most promising blocker we’ve had. No other Satellite has ever performed three blocks on their first day. Sounds like Willow really put you through the wringer.”

“You could say that.”

“That’s so unlike her.”

“What—being insane?” I ask.

Clara laughs. “Seriously, I don’t know how you lasted three times.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Willow was trying to kill me.”

“Now you’re being dramatic.”

No, she definitely wanted me dead.
“Maybe a little.” I close the sketchbook and slide it back to her.

“I’d better get going,” she says unexpectedly. “I need to code before heading back to my assignment.”

“Oh, OK.” I’m surprised to feel a little disappointed.

“Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“I enjoyed this,” I say, my words astonishing even me.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” she teases.

“I’m sorry. I just…I don’t want to give you the wrong impression about us. I mean, me…or me and you,” I stammer.

“Are you seriously giving me the it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech?”

“No. Well—yeah, I guess so. But I do mean it. Any guy would be a fool not to want you.”

She remains way cooler than me. “So I guess you’re a fool, then?”

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. “I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.”
Or ever again.

“I can appreciate that. You’re a nice guy. And hot, for what it’s worth,” she adds. Sincere amusement overcomes her, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s nice to see
you
blush for once.”

She presses her lips against my cheek before I’ve even realized she’s gotten up from the table. The faint scent of peppermint makes my stomach tighten and for just an instant, it was like Tate was the one kissing me.

“Thanks for the nice conversation,” she says.

My index and middle finger slide across my skin where her lips were pressed. When Clara disappears through the archway, whistles and catcalls come from the middle of the room.

“Grow up!” I yell to Willow’s table when I find my voice, turning quickly away when I see the scowl on Rigby’s face.

.

9. You’re not going to hurl, are you?

“How was your date?” Willow asks on our way to the field, because I successfully avoided her table after Clara left. Getting food and hiding at a deserted table in the back of Benson was a smart decision, considering Rigby’s foul mood.

“It wasn’t a date, and it was surprising decent,” I reply.

“I told you Clara was cool.”

“Have you seen her drawings?”

“Yeah. Incredible, right?”

I agree and hold the courtyard door open for Willow.

“Looks like they haven’t forgotten our spectacle,” Willow says when everyone parts like the Red Sea for us.

“I was trying not to notice,” I mumble under my breath. I keep my eyes down and follow Willow’s stomping feet to the highest row of bleachers, making sure not to look at Rigby.

“Nice try,” I say. “I would have picked the first row.” At least then we wouldn’t be subjected to watching everyone stare.

Willows barks at the rubberneckers, “Your faces are going to get stuck like that if you’re not careful.”

The spectators couldn’t care less and continue to gawk and whisper.

An unfamiliar woman, who by her attire just dismounted a horse, shuts them up. “Good afternoon. For those of you who don’t know me, which is most of the new Satellites, I’m Wynn. I’ll be standing in for Jonathan today. He sends his regrets.” She paces the edge of the field while she talks and her long ponytail bounces with each step. Her tall, curvy build is similar to Tate’s. “Legacies, continue working with your Satellites on blocking. I will be available if you need assistance.” She looks down at her clipboard. “Willow and Grant, please join me.”

After rudely stealing a few more glances, the crowd disperses, and Willow and I hop down the cedar planks to Wynn. Crossing the field with Shane, Rigby looks over his shoulder at me and his glare is so nasty, I can feel the burn of it even when I look away.

“Grant, it’s a pleasure. Jonathan tells me that you did exceptionally well with blocking,” Wynn says. Her handshake is stronger than most men’s. “Willow, fantastic work thus far. You’ve been cleared to begin displacement training.”

“Sweet! Let’s go, kid.”

“Fantastic work thus far?” I repeat to Willow when we cross the field, grateful to be heading in the opposite direction of where Rigby and Shane are working.

“Not bad, being cleared after one day. I’m sure that’s a record,” she says, a compliment I’d swear she was giving herself.

“Does this mean I don’t have to block you today?”

She nods, and my shoulders relax.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!

“Today we’re displacing,” she says.

“Which is what, exactly?”

“It’s how we travel. We’re going to visit one of my Tragedies.”

“That reminds me,” I interrupt. “Clara told me about Maintenance. What happens with you, since you’ll no longer be a Satellite?”

Defensively, she answers, “I’ll always be a Satellite,” then lightens her tone. “I won’t be getting any new assignments, but I’ll still continue Maintenance.”

“For how long?”

“Until the end.”

“The end of what?”

“My Tragedies’ lives, ignoramus,” she says.

I don’t have the energy to acknowledge the insult. “Then what?”

“Then I enjoy eternity with my husband, I suppose. Even then, I’ll still come around to check in on the other Satellites. Being a Satellite is forever, kid.” She pushes her shoulder against mine while we walk. “Even you may realize how cool it is one day. Now, back to displacing. You’ll need a personal belonging from your Tragedy—a ‘tocket,’ as we call it. One will be supplied to you when you’re cleared from training.” Willow stops, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a plastic beaded bracelet. “This belongs to Hope. You’re able to travel with me because her assignment is closed.”

Willow grips one side of the bracelet and extends her arm. “Go ahead,” she urges me.

Reluctantly, I wrap two fingers through the small loop.

Willow winks. “I think you’re going to like this. Displace.”

The grass drops out from under us, and we plummet like skydivers without parachutes, connected by the cheap bracelet. Wind howls in my ears. I’d scream like a girl, but thankfully, my voice has been stolen. The last thing the lunatic beside me needs is more ammunition to razz me.

When I’m half a second away from tossing the contents of my stomach, my feet hit the ground hard enough to throw my balance. Willow leaps in front of me, grabbing my shoulders. After a minute, she asks cautiously, “How are you feeling?”

“A little sick,” I groan, swallowing down the lingering nausea and breathing in the smell of worms.

She jumps back. “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good, because I
so
hate that!”

When I step forward and lose my balance, Willow grabs my shoulders and pushes me back. “Easy, kid—let your body adjust. Displacing takes a little getting used to. Kinda wild, huh?”

“You could say that.”

A minute and a lot of deep breaths later, I successfully step from the shiny pavement onto a leaf-covered lawn. My head jerks to the large house to my left when the front door opens. A trail of people come out, saying good-byes and carrying small coolers and foil-wrapped dishes. Not one of them acknowledges our presence.

“I gotta say, you’re proving to be a natural,” Willow says, gaining my attention back.

When Willow starts walking, I follow. Oddly, the wet leaves don’t move under our feet. She stops and looks up at one of the skyscraper trees close to the two-story house.

“This is my favorite place to watch Hope.” She bends her knees and then disappears.

“Willow?” I ask into the still air.

“Come on up, kid.” She’s perched on a high branch with her legs swinging under her.

“How?”

“Jump.”

It seems too simple. “That’s it?”

“Would you prefer a ladder?” she sneers.

Hesitating for a second, I push off the wet ground, rocketing skyward.

Willow’s hand closes like a vise around my ankle. “Easy. You’re stronger than you realize.” She yanks me down to her branch.

“So, no one can see us?” I ask, jumping when a squirrel runs overhead.

“Nope, we’re invisible. Phenomenal, huh?”

“Not sure about phenomenal. Weird, for sure.”

“There you go again with your extensive vocabulary.”

Sheesh. “Unconventional, then.”

Willow smirks. “Follow me.” She steadies herself on the branch like a gymnast on a balance beam before leaping through a glass window.

I’m barely familiar with displacement and she’s throwing this at me? Repeating her movement with much less grace, my mind calculates the improbability and stops me before going through the window. My feet land on the narrow sill, and I lose my footing.

Willow’s hand appears through the glass and catches my arm. “Careful, kid.” Her voice sounds muffled through the window. She tugs my arm hard enough to drag me through, and I like the constricting pressure about as much as being dropped from the sky.

I right myself in the lime-green bedroom. The smell of what I guess to be pizza lingers in the air. “Couldn’t we just use the door?”

Willow, too busy beaming at the teen couple sprawled across the oversize bed, doesn’t answer.

The emptiness in the pit of my stomach spreads out like a thick puddle of dirty oil. Tate and I would do this same thing, especially after my treatments increased. In our case, there was less flirting and more vomiting.

“She’s doing so great!” Willow says proudly.

“It must be hard, huh?” I ask, hoping to take my mind off missing Tate.

Willow stares at the giggling girl. “Hmm?”

“Leaving all this.”

“I’m not leaving,” she argues. “I get to check in.”

“I know, but it’s going to be different, right?” To spare my own feelings, I’ve plainly hurt Willow’s. Ugh, me and my big frigging mouth.

Her gaze shifts to the fuzzy pink rug at the foot of the bed and she chews on her lip. “Yeah, it’s going to be tough.”

“You’re going to see your husband again, though. That’s gonna be pretty excellent.” I go overboard with my enthusiasm.

She looks up at me like a scared kid. “What if I suck?”

“What?”

“I mean, what if I’m a terrible wife? It’s been so many years…” She trails off.

“Come on, you’re an overachiever by nature. You’ll be great,” I assure her. “Although you’re probably going to annoy the snot out of him. Poor guy.”

Willow’s expression brightens about half a notch. “I’m a little jealous of you.”

“Me? Why?”

“You haven’t forgotten her,” she says in a whisper.

I silently pray that I never will. “That’s just because I’m broken or something.” I smile to try and lighten the mood.

“Part of me wishes it had been like that for me with Troy. There are still so many holes in my memory. What if some pieces are lost forever?”

“They’ll come back,” I encourage. I hope, for her sake, that they really will.

She looks back at the girl, and I maintain my silence to avoid saying anything else that might upset Willow.

She elbows my ribs. “Let’s check out before I get all emotional. How about some more maneuvering practice?”

Anything to get out of here. Make-Out City is making my chest ache even more.

“Follow me.” She winks and disappears.

Now or never, I decide, before running headfirst into the pane of glass.
Pain
of glass is more like it.

When my feet are clear, I turn sharply to avoid the oak branches stretching toward me. I land in the neighboring yard with a thud; felt, but not heard. At least I’m standing. I stay rooted in place for a second, trying to grasp how differently my muscles work here.

When I jog across two lawns to Willow, my body feels light, like it doesn’t want to stay grounded.

“Nice dismount, but your landing could use some work. Overall, though, not bad. Ready?” she asks, pinning her dreads into a knot. The yellow glow from the streetlight makes her look even more freakish. “Take my hand,” she orders.

When I do, she says, “Displace.”

We hurl upward so fast that I’m nauseous again. If the g-forces weren’t pinning my arms down, I’d cover my ears to shut out the screaming wind.

“Woo-hoo!” the frigging maniac yells.

I don’t open my eyes until we stop. Abruptly.

My feet are planted like concrete on Willow’s floor when she releases my hand and circles around me, inspecting me like I’m an alien. “You good?”

Doubting that my voice will work, I nod my answer.

“Cool, let’s jet,” she says, and it’s back to the training field we go.

Pairs of Satellites are blocking, or at least trying to, on the expansive lawn. Even from across the field, Rigby’s face is easy to read. I’d guess this wasn’t his only missed block today. Either that or he’s still upset about Clara. I’m hoping it’s the former and not the latter.

Wynn catches us at the bleachers. “Welcome back! How was your displacement?”

“It’s an interesting way to travel,” I reply.

“The kid’s a natural,” Willow beams.

“Fantastic. Keep it up and you’ll prove Jonathan right.” After a pause, she looks at Willow. “Although, he’s rarely wrong.”

“Rarely?” Willow questions.

Wynn smirks and grabs my right hand with both of hers. “Wonderful to meet you,” she says, bowing strangely. “That’s all I have for you both. Willow, please oversee him in displacing to his Tragedy later today. I expect Jonathan will be back for your next session.”

We say our good-byes, and Willow and I walk back to the building.

“Feel up to coding again?” Willow asks when we’re through the lobby.

Is she serious? Like I’d pass on an opportunity to see Tate. “Sure.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t think you’d be in a hurry to let me try again.”

She presses the elevator button. “I’m not. Unfortunately, time is no longer a luxury.”

In her room, Willow kicks off her combat boots and heads down the hall. I can’t believe she’s being so cool about this.

I sit on the thin mat, close my eyes, and an instant later, I’m in the place I’m meant to be. I kiss the top of Tate’s head and she sighs. Her hair smells so familiar, so good, but is messier than usual. When she lifts her head to kiss me, I immediately pull back.

I gasp and push against her shoulders. “Tate, your eye!”

Her hand reaches up to her left eye as if she’s understood me. Her bruised, swollen flesh is an awful combination of purple, black, and blue. What the hell happened?

With feather lightness, I rub my finger along her swollen skin. My hand jerks back when she launches from the bed and rips wildly through the room.

“Damn you, Grant! You left me when I needed you!” She violently snatches a frame off my dresser and groans, but when she looks at the picture, she becomes calm again.

Dear God, she’s going all Jekyll and Hyde on me.

I jump off the bed and look over her shoulder at the ridiculous photo. Like always, she looks too amazing in the photo to be with a guy like me. I complained profusely when she made me board the children’s train at the zoo and the look on my face shows that I was not happy. How and why she tolerated my whining is still a mystery.

With her head down, Tate cries softly and a tear splats on the glass.

Her hair curtains her face and I pull the curls back to rest my head on her shoulder. Goose bumps raise on her arm and I try and rub them away. “I’m here,” I repeat in whispers. Desolation and guilt dig into me like eagle talons grip prey. I would do anything to take Tate’s pain and add it to my own, anything to stop her tears.

“No!” she yells, suddenly violent. The frame hits the wall with the sick crunch.

A shiver quakes through me before the lights go out.