Whispers in Autumn (10 page)

“Listen, Althea. I did lie to you, but I didn’t make up what I heard, I swear.”

His bright, sky-colored eyes beg me to understand but don’t offer me a reason. Past experience insists I can’t give in to the desire to trust him without risking everything, without being carted away Broken myself.

I shake my head, ponytail swishing back and forth. A shiver works its way across my skin as the cold air brushes my bare neck. I pull my sweater tight around me. He’s waiting, and curfew is bearing down on us. “Then tell me the truth.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than someone to trust, but…”

My breath catches in my throat. “Someone to trust?”

Waiting for his response nearly kills me. It’s the same thing I’ve searched for since I learned to read that stupid note. Something that’s never truly been mine, not even during those three years at the Hammonds’. If only I could get a read on him, find a reason to follow my instinctive pull toward him, maybe I could let my guard down.

His face closes up, leaving me on the wrong side of a slammed door. “I can’t tell you.”

The words crush me. He might as well be standing on top of my chest instead of talking to me from several feet away. Lucas’s eyes convey fear bordering on desperation so intense I look away. They mirror the feelings fighting for my attention.

“Why? Why not?”

“I just…I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Lucas heads next door, leaving me alone on the street. I may as well be the only person on Earth. It takes a full five minutes to convince myself he’s not coming back.

After the brief respite granted by Lucas’s presence, the solitude is unbearable. It’s made everything worse instead of better. We’ve spent just a few moments together, but after having him talk to me at Cell, wait for me after, tease me about my name, returning to the silence is torture.

Miserable to the point of physically shaking, refusing to listen to the voice of reason assuring me that not trusting Lucas is the right thing, I hide along the side of the Morgans’ house. No one is around to see, and it feels surprisingly good to give in to the water for a moment. It winds down my cheeks and drips off my chin. A drop lands on my hand and I lick it off.

Curfew lurks minutes away, so I gather myself and walk around front, part of me hoping Lucas will be loitering outside. The street looms empty in the twilight, turning that hope to ash.

A figure waits on the Morgans’ steps, short legs stretched out in front of him. The sight of Deshi clenches my stomach as nerves buzz in my ears. There’s nowhere to go, but the desire to run tempts me anyhow.

He stands as I approach. “Hey, Thea.”

I don’t bother correcting him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

I tilt my head, asking a silent why as one horrible possibility after another rushes through my mind.

“I know it’s almost curfew, so I’ll get right to the point. Will you go to the Autumn Mixer with me?”

Deshi smiles a little bit shyly, making me feel almost guilty for avoiding him when he seems to need a friend as badly as I do. But as much as I’d like to get out of the date with Lucas, going with Deshi would be worse. Just standing here talking to him sends my heart into a race with my lungs. And not in a good way.

“I, um. Well, Lucas already asked me.”

Deshi steps down from the porch and walks toward me, stopping only inches away. He stares at me,
through
me, before offering a rueful grin. He reaches up to brush my hair back behind my shoulder, making my skin crawl. I resist the urge to retreat, smiling with what I hope is apology and not repugnance.

“The rumors are true, then,” he murmurs. “How interesting. Well, see you tomorrow.”

He leaves me to suck in the chilly air and try to compose myself. Something isn’t right about Deshi. He smiles all the time. He acts normal, except for the occasional off-kilter musing. The way he watches, though. The way he makes me feel cold. An indefinable and alien quality runs underneath his normal exterior.

I haven’t forgotten his arrival in Danbury coincided with the Wardens’.

Whether it means he’s working for them, or if he simply recognizes a difference in me akin to his own, one thing feels true—he’s dangerous.

CHAPTER 10.

I wish for the millionth time there was a way to ditch the mixer tonight.

Since we’re rarely allowed out after five p.m.—a rule that goes for adults as well as children—the Mixers an exception and therefore exciting for everyone involved. Even though we fought, Lucas’s company is welcome after existing in almost complete silence these past days.

We don’t have to be friends. I haven’t forgotten the lie or his refusal to come clean about it. But maybe spending the evening together will give me a chance to learn whether he’s like me or just simply crazy.

It takes longer than normal for me to get ready; I’m finishing up just as a knock comes at the door. My hair cascades down my back instead of hanging in its typical ponytail. Mrs. Morgan even curled it again. Checking the mirror one last time, I feel good about my light blue dress, white cardigan, and canvas tennis shoes. I descend the stairs hauling my anxiety along as an unwelcome burden.

The Morgans and Lucas stand in the foyer looking uncomfortable; my stomach flip-flops at the sight of them. They’re all shifting feet, smiling at one another in silence as they shake hands. The scent of the au gratin potatoes we had for dinner hangs in the air. The foyer light makes Lucas appear to be under a spotlight, the subject of an interrogation, and the image might amuse me if we weren’t so close to being subjected to that very thing.

Mr. Morgan catches sight of me, his eyes lighting up. “Thea, you look beautiful! Have a good time. I’ll expect you home no later than nine.”

He kisses my cheek and shuffles back into the living room to watch tonight’s inane, Other-produced movie. Mrs. Morgan gives me a tight hug, then pecks my date on the cheek before joining her Partner, leaving Lucas and me alone.

Lucas raises his eyebrows. “How come he can call you Thea?” He waves a hand and shakes his head before I can answer. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You do look pretty, you know.”

I scrunch up my nose as if the compliment disgusts me, even though it definitely does not. “You don’t have to say that. They can’t hear you.”

“I mean it.” Lucas grabs my hand and pulls me out the door.

He doesn’t drop it as we walk into town, not even when two Wardens pass us on their patrol. I think about pulling away, but people do think we’re courting. I want to bring up the argument we had the other day, but the simple phrase
I’m still angry with you for lying
sticks in my throat. No one gets angry. People don’t fight. Even though I shouted at him and he knows I was mad, there’s a good chance he’s forgotten or explained it away. That’s how people deal with me when I act wrong. They simply look past it.

Except Lucas has never once looked through me, around me, like everyone else. Deep down I know he hasn’t forgotten our argument. Whether Lucas is a Dissident, too, or simply a strange, lonely, Broken human boy, he’s as different as I am.

He still holds on tight to my hand as we enter the bowling alley ten minutes later. It’s hard to tell if his hand is even cold anymore—mine may have warmed it up. I guess he’s taking this whole act pretty seriously. After all, he only asked me here because people
think
we’re courting, not because we are.

Our Cellmates buzz about, a few pausing to point and whisper as we enter. Discomfort wraps around me and I concentrate on not sweating. Lucas squeezes my hand as though he can feel it.

He shrugs at my questioning glance. “You get warmer when you’re nervous. Don’t pay attention to them. They’re excited for us.”

It’s true, I decide as my eyes slide over their faces. Their expressions reveal good-natured envy, and longing, but also giant smiles. Even Brittany, here alone after Greg Broke, grins from ear to ear. After a few moments they stop looking.

No one bowls yet; most just mill around, unsure what to do. Five Wardens are scattered evenly around the room so they won’t miss a thing. Lucas tugs me right over to the middle lane, settles me on the cushioned bench, and walks away to get us shoes. The building is older than any of the town’s houses or the Cell, and it smells like sweat and feet, among other things. The sound of our voices, hard-soled shoes clicking on the wood floor, and the thunks of heavy balls hitting the trays echo off the concrete walls as our Cellmates settle in for the evening activity.

Lucas returns with two pairs of shoes and two balls, which he dumps on the motorized belt next to our lane. “The pink one is yours.”

“How come I get the pink one? Just because I’m a girl?”

“You want the blue one?” His cheeks color and I almost feel badly for teasing him.

He really is handsome. Lucas’s chest spreads into sturdy shoulders, arms that I suspect would make me feel protected from the whole rest of the world. He’s taller than me, maybe by as much as four or five inches, and those blond curls give him a playful, open appearance that begs to be trusted.

“I’m joking, Lucas. It’s fine. I like pink.” I catch his eye and smile.

His face breaks into a heart-stopping smile and I forget to wonder anything. “You got me. Know how to play?”

“I haven’t for years. None of my parents like it very much.”

“None of your parents?”

Man
. The slip happened without me realizing it. He makes me too comfortable, and this mistake drags up that horrendous memory of the Monitor in Portland, the one I turned quivery after I talked about the Others while cleaning her room after Cell.

I take my cue from Lucas, the way he acts like everything he says or does is normal, even when it isn’t. “I meant neither of my parents. Neither of my parents likes to bowl.”

“Do you guys have room for a few more?” It’s Brittany, and I’ve never been so happy to see her porcelain doll face.

Lucas’s eyes linger on mine for another second before he answers her. “Of course. The lane holds six.”

She nods and skips off, presumably to get a ball and more people. I sit behind the computer, making a valiant effort to figure out how to enter our names. It’s a good excuse to keep my face turned away from Lucas, too. The computer is foreign and old-fashioned and I give up after several minutes, my mind not able to focus on the task at hand. Instead I watch my Cellmates as they begin to play.

Another voice, smooth and confident and familiar, interrupts. “Room for one more?”

Deshi. Again.

I don’t respond and Lucas intervenes. “Sure, of course, Desh.”

“Thanks. I’ll grab a ball.”

He swaggers to the racks of bowling balls. The bright lights illuminate the strange gold, or maybe bronze, color of his skin. Not like a tan, though. More yellowish.

A pinch releases me from my trance.

“Ow!” Rubbing the inside of my upper arm, I glare up at Lucas.

“You’re staring. It’s rude. Get up; you don’t know how to work that thing.”

Obeying stings because he’s right. He slides into the seat and starts punching buttons. Our names, along with Deshi’s and Brittany’s, appear on the screen. Brittany returns, Leah and another blond girl I don’t know trailing behind her.

The sight of Leah stuns me. I don’t know when she got back from her refreshing but this is the first I’ve seen her. She seems the same, not better or worse. I stare as she leans close to Lucas, looking over his shoulder as he types their names into the computer. Her chest rubs against his shoulder blade and he stiffens. She retreats a bit, that strange nonsmile painting her lips. From what I overhear, her personality still teeters a bit off-center, her tone of voice leaning toward accusation more often than not. Whatever the Others did to her, it doesn’t appear to have changed anything.

Deshi returns, strutting by me and stirring up the air. His rich, wet-earth scent wriggles into my mouth and nose, depositing a deluge of questions along with it. I can’t get over the smell of him and search his face again for anything kindred. Nothing.

Lucas walks up and puts a hand on my shoulder, watching as Deshi drops his heavy ball onto the belt.

If anyone harbors doubts about our courting, they won’t after tonight. Knowing whatever’s between Lucas and me is just for show should make tonight easier. But it turns out it makes enduring his forced affection even worse. I don’t want to think about why.

I’m up first, so I stand and pick up the pink ball, extricating myself from Lucas’s touch. The ball feels awkward in my hands; it’s been years since I’ve bowled. Concentrating, or trying to, I manage to knock over a few pins. After my second throw all but one pin lie prone on the polished wood. Hitting them feels good. I’ve felt like smashing something for days.

Leah goes next, shouldering me hard on her way to the lane. I stumble and fall onto the cushioned bench.

She smiles, and I swear venom drips from her teeth. “Oops. Sorry, Morgan.”

Right
.

Deshi’s name displays next. His grace steals my attention as forcefully as it did the first day I met him. He moves with smooth purpose, as though his feet hardly touch the ground, and knocks down all ten pins on the first try. My brain tries to make sense of Deshi, to reconcile all that I know and suspect, while more of our Cellmates roll their balls down the polished wood lanes. He’s very friendly. People are more used to him now, but he’s not really one of them.