Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (17 page)

Zap!
My mind freezes in pain before I yell the severing command. “Block!”

Ryder reaches behind him and rights his chair. “We would like hydrangeas,” he says firmly, sitting back down and burning his stare into the funeral director.

“Hydrangeas will be beautiful. How many?” The director’s voice hitches, and he offers what I think is supposed to be a smile.

I block Ryder two more times: once for road rage and once before he kills the kitchen wall again during an emotional outburst.

When Hannah returns his car, she insists (demands) on taking Ryder to the ER to get his hand checked. He’s smart enough not to argue. We’re all back two hours later, with Ryder bandaged and sporting a high-fashion sling.

“What am I going to do without him?” he groans.

Beside him at the kitchen table, Hannah comfortingly rubs his arm. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“He’s all I had. He was my best friend.”

I think about my own dad. Best friend is the last title that comes to mind.

“You have Mya and her family.”

“Exactly.
Her
family. She has her own responsibilities to keep her busy.”

“They’re your family, too,” Hannah says in a softer voice. “And don’t forget about your grandparents.”

Ryder looks around the room. “I feel so alone.” He pauses and then whispers, “I’ve never felt so alone.”

I know the feeling. Unlike Ryder, though, I keep my tears under wraps. My old man would be so proud. This almost makes me want to cry just to spite him.

Poor Hannah looks like she doesn’t know what to do. She rubs Ryder’s back and stays quiet.

I push the shut-up button when my calimeter buzzes. The lights go off, and Ryder and Hannah freeze at the kitchen table like wax sculptures. Ryder’s expression is so desolate, his eyes so dead. He no longer resembles the guy I watched in the flashbacks.

For the first time, I wish the rapid pull would carry me faster. “Willow!” I yell when I land.

No answer.

Wasting no time, I trade clothes (choosing Tate’s favorite dark blue hoodie), dump my backpack on the sofa, and grab the picture frame. With the magic word, it’s back down I go. When I land, I notice my previously disheveled bed is now made, the dark green comforter smooth and perfect the way my mom always wished I could make a bed. Seeing my room back in order makes me hopeful that maybe my mom is doing better.

Knowing I have to go, I don’t waste another minute. I’m in Tate’s backyard after a quick flight. I pass through the empty kitchen and bound up the steps, but the violin stops me. I spin and thunder back down the stairs and into the study.

Tate’s arms aren’t much wider than the violin bow, and her face is still marred by the black makeup. Still, it’s encouraging to see her writing. After she scribbles a few notes in her book on the music stand, the bow screeches across the strings at a speed I’ve never seen. When she whips it away and freezes, the hairs on my neck raise.

I spend too much time watching the music sheets float under the desk. Even before the first vase has finished crunching, she’s grabbing another one.

I don’t remember pulling my energy in, but I’m yelling, “Haze!” an instant later.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

I groan from the fire and try to claw at my new scars, but the paralyzing current won’t release me to extinguish the flames. Frozen, I clench my teeth and force my eyes on Tate.

She falls to her knees after I finally spit the word severing the command. The vase rolls from her hand and thuds on the floor. I stagger back and slide down the wall, even more wrecked than when I blocked Willow. Thankfully, the fire in my scars is gone, because I don’t have the strength to lift my arms to rub them.

Paralyzed by exhaustion, I watch Tate return to her violin and, as if the situation could get any more twisted, I pretend I’m alive with her. “I wish I could have married you,” I whisper when she finishes her song.

She lifts her chin. “Grant?” Her voice is so quiet. Did I imagine it?

She closes her eyes and breathes through her nose.

I use all my energy to crawl to her. “I’m here, Tate. I’m here!” She opens her eyes, and my heart thunders into overdrive.

“Can you hear me?”

She swallows, puts her chin on the violin, and plays another song.

Willow’s nose is touching mine when I open my eyes.

I stumble back, and the sofa clotheslines me at the calves. “Jeez, woman! You scared me!” I say, looking up from my crooked position on the cushion.

She swings my backpack on two fingers. “Forget something?”

Gulp! “That’s actually what I came back for.” My dad would have a conniption if he knew all the lies I was telling lately.

She juggles the granite rock in her other hand. “Cut the crap, kid. You have some explaining to do.”

.

13. We’ll eventually fix that mind of yours

“Can’t you just drop it?” I say to Willow, trying to play it cool while frantically scrambling for an excuse.

“You don’t know me at all, do you?” she asks, pacing back and forth.

“Apparently not, Elite.”

She flings around and points a finger at me. “Don’t even try to turn this on me. Where were you?”

“On my assignment. Where else would I be?”
Please buy it. Please buy it.

She, of course, doesn’t buy this, and juggles my tocket again. “Spill it, kid.”

“I went to see Tate.” Did those words just come out of my mouth? I’ve lost my mind! I shrink back in preparation for Willow’s wrath. This moment was clearly not the best time for my integrity to make an appearance.

“You what?”

Unless I want her to sock me, it’s probably best not to repeat it.

“What? I mean—how? Wait—what?” she stammers, twisting her fingers through her dreads.

“You’re blubbering,” I point out.

“You’re killing me here!”

“Technically, I’m not.”

“Stop making jokes!” Her face grows two shades darker.

I try to maintain a calm and collected demeanor by sliding my hands into my hoodie pocket and casually shrugging my shoulders in a “it’s no big deal” kind of way.

“Why? How?” she demands.

“Which one do you want me to answer?”

“Both!”

“Because I had to see her. I used my picture frame.”

By her expression, the lightbulb just flicked on. Odd. I thought the idea seemed like a given.

“I can’t believe it!”

“You can’t believe I did it, or you can’t believe you didn’t think of it?” I am relaxed now, relieved to have the secret out of the closet.

Her eyes narrow. “That you did it!”

“Oh, come on. Admit it. You wish you’d thought of it first.”

“No, I don’t! It’s against the rules!”

“I don’t remember that rule.” And who cares, anyway? It’s not like the Schedulers cared when they ruined my life, so why should I follow their absurd rules?

“Hello? Rule number five. You’re still connecting to your past.”

“Oh. Huh.” I look up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I guess there’s that. I thought you were going to say rule number one.”

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t block her?”

Because Willow’s reaction is seriously funny, I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“You did?” She twists her hands tighter into her nest of hair and paces. “What were you thinking? Do you know how bad this makes me look? I’m your Legacy, for crying out loud! You’re preposterous—absolutely preposterous! You’re not cut out for this. Satellites don’t run around breaking the rules.
What is wrong with you?
”

“Are you finished?” I ask when she finally shuts up.

“No, I’m not finished! You’re supposed to be on your assignment. What was your Tragedy doing while you were playing house with your fiancée?”

“I wasn’t playing house!” I take a deep breath to bring my voice back to a normal level. “I went during break. Come on, I’m not that stupid.”

“
Pffttt
.”

“Why doesn’t Tate have a Satellite?” I whisper. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me until now.

“She must not need one.”

I hardly hear her over my pounding chest. I lunge out of the sofa, convinced I’m going to vomit. When Willow pushes me back down, I throw my head between my knees and suck deep breaths.

“Calm down, kid. This is a good thing,” she says from beside me, rubbing my back.

“She needs one,” I muffle into my knees. I lift my head and stare at the bookshelf. “You should see her. She’s a frigging wreck. I had to block her so she wouldn’t destroy the study.”

“Listen to me—you cannot ever do that again. Do you understand? You’re too green to realize the effects this could have.”

“She needs someone protecting her,” I protest.

“If she needed someone, the Schedulers would have given her someone. A impressively high number of people can get through the grieving process on their own.” She pauses for a long time. “You can’t go back there.”

When I don’t answer, she says, “I’m serious. You don’t even have her book to know her path.”

My heart jumps. Turning slowly to Willow, I try to control my heartbeat. “She has a book?”

“Of course she has a book. Everyone has a book.”

“How do I get it?”

“Well, let’s see. You could just march up to the Schedulers and demand it.”

“Really?” I would love to have some words with them anyhow.

She smacks my arm. “No, not really!”

“You’re awfully testy for someone who just reunited with her husband.”

Willow darn near bursts with joy at the new topic. She can’t contain herself, though she tries. “Don’t change the subject.”

A subject change is exactly what I need. If this conversation continues, so will the lies, because I’m not staying away from Tate. “Is he just like you remember?”

“Yeah.” She bites. “My memories came back like a punch in the face. Only good.”

I snicker at her metaphor and follow her into the kitchen.

“Want one?” she asks, holding up a mug.

“Sure.”

She dunks a teabag in the hot water and passes me the cup. I figure now is probably not the time to argue for coffee.

I nod at the colorful new addition on the counter. “What’s that?” I ask, taking a tentative sip of my tea.

“It’s a hydrangea. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I nearly spray hot water out my nose, but choke it down instead.

Willow looks concerned. “You all right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumble, looking away from the bluish-purple flower in the vase. “Wrong pipe.” I fake a cough, and she gives me a funny look. “Where’d you get it?” I ask.

“Troy. They were our wedding flowers.” She taps her head with her finger. “I remember,” she says, obviously thrilled. “So, Reed had another thought about coding. He thinks you’re trying to reach Tate, which I now realize you are,” she adds narrowly.

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.

“I don’t want to hear it. You need to code before you collapse. You look rotten, kid. Are you up for trying again and maybe not thinking of Tate this time?”

Now that I can see Tate for real, I’m open to trying something different. “Why not?”

Willow drops her spoon in the sink and when she heads down the hall, I dump my wretched tea down the drain.

When we’re seated on the mats, she says, “OK, let your mind go blank. I’d love to make a joke, but apparently that actually is difficult for you.”

“Funny.”

“I know, right?”

I close my eyes and after a couple of minutes, I confess, “I can’t get her out of my head.”

“Try counting backward from one hundred.”

This is her advice? She may as well have said start counting sheep.

“You don’t have to do it out loud,” she says to my expression. “It gives your mind something simple to focus on.”

Reluctantly, I do as she suggests, and the last number I reach is seventy-three before the blackness around me changes. I recognize where I am immediately and shift to look at the tree stand supporting me. Twenty feet below, the wooded area opens into a vast field covered with dead leaves. Birds and squirrels go about their business as if I’m not here. Then, what has to be the world’s highest-scoring buck walks into the clearing. He moves slowly, and I watch his muscled body, entranced. I’ve never seen a buck like him, except maybe in a dream.

I want to stand, to draw my bowstring back, but my muscles are jelly. Surprisingly, not being able to shoot the creature doesn’t bother me. Just watching him is enough.

“Come back, kid,” Willow’s voice eerily echoes from far away.

I take a deep breath, squeeze my eyes closed, and then open them.

“Well?” Willow asks, wide eyed and just a foot from my nose.

I flinch back, a little more dramatically than necessary. “I think I did it.”

“No Tate?”

“No. No Tate.” I swallow and remind myself to calm down. I’ll see her soon.

Willow bounces up and pulls me with her. “Awesome! How do you feel?”

“Good.” Physically, anyway.

“Yes!” Willow throws her arms up in victory. “We’ll eventually fix that mind of yours.”

I roll my eyes. “My mind is fine.”

“Your mind is definitely not fine! In fact, your mind is probably the furthest thing from fine I’ve ever seen. Now your
body
—Clara seems to think that’s pretty fine.”

“Willow!” Heat crawls up my cheeks.

“What?” she asks innocently and then snickers. “Clara told me that was a surefire way to embarrass you.”

“Yeah, speaking of Clara—what’s up with the Elites?”

“What’s that have to do with Clara?”

“She’s the only around here who tells me anything. She may as well be my Legacy.”

“She’d love that.”

“Come on, Willow—first the Rebellion and now this? How come you don’t tell me this stuff?”

“It’s not important to your training,” she says, all businesslike.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s up with the gag order? Tell me more about them.”

“Not much to tell. There’s a team of seven. When one’s close to retiring—in this case, me—this place goes crazier than Mardi Gras. It’s all the rage,” she mocks. “Anyway, the Schedulers watch everyone extra closely since all the little stunners are preoccupied with who will be selected. So you’d better start following the rules.”

“They’re watching us?” I hope she doesn’t hear the panic in my voice.

“Kid, someone can always be watching. By your performance in training the other day,”—she looks away from me—“you are proving to be very good. If they haven’t started watching you yet, they will be soon. So no more trips to Tate!”

“Being an Elite sounds a little self-serving,” I say, ignoring her demand. “No offense.”

“None taken. It’s nothing more than a title. For me, it’s been more of a curse than anything.” Seeing my questioning expression, she continues. “There were loads of others more worthy of the position, so I’ve always felt like I need to prove myself.”

“Who chooses the Elites?”

“The Schedulers. Which is kind of funny, with all the buzz around this place.” I obviously don’t get the joke, so she elaborates. “Since being an Elite is decided at conception, the Schedulers could stop squashing everyone’s hopes by just posting an eternal list of them. It would spare everyone a lot of unnecessary anxiety.”

“Why do you think you were chosen?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe so someone else wasn’t.” She smirks and jabs my arm. “Anything else, while you’re picking my brain?”

“Yeah. I fell through a door at Tate’s house.”

Willow sticks her fingers in her ears and sings, “Not listening.” She removes her fingers and looks around like she’s checking if the coast is clear. “I don’t want to hear about your illegal adventure.”

“Fine, whatever. For the sake of argument, let’s say I was on my assignment. How’s the movement thing work? I mean, I can lean on a wall, but walk through it a second later.”

“You’re overthinking it, kid. Take a chair, for example. You approach it knowing that you’re going to sit on it, so you need that object to be solid. If you needed to pass through that same chair, your mind would no longer consider it a solid object. Mind over matter.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But what about people? Consciously and subconsciously, I’d prefer them not walking through me.”

“I know. It’s creepy, right? I’ll never get used to the confirmation that I’m a ghost. People, as well as animals, are different. Mind over matter only works on inanimate objects.”

“So say, hypothetically, that you wanted to move an object. Can it be done?”

“
Hypothetically?
” she questions.

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Willow’s not convinced. “In that case, you’re talking about something different.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m even telling you this.”

“Come on—share the goods.” I hope my smile is innocent enough to be persuasive.

She takes the bait. “It requires a boatload of concentration. You need to hone in on your energy like your blocking and wrap the filter around the object you want to move. At that point, you can physically touch an object. Smaller, lighter things are obviously the easiest.”

“What’s the largest object that’s been moved?” I ask out of curiosity.

“I’ve heard it was a boulder, but that’s all hearsay. Moving is difficult. I’m not saying it’s impossible for someone to move something so large, I just have a hard time believing it. The concentration and strength needed would be fierce.”

“A boulder. That’s awesome!”

“You’re such a dude. Anyway, if—
hypothetically
—you wanted to try something like this, please be careful. It’s extremely important that we stay invisible. That’s a tough thing to do when objects start floating through the air. Got it?”

I cross my fingers behind my back. “Yeah, sure.”

She studies me for a few seconds. “What am I going to with you, kid?”

Willow dumps me at Benson on her way to Programming, but not before making me change clothes and brush my hair.

“Behave,” she warns at the arched doorway.