Read Online Delirium: The Complete Collection by Lauren Oliver - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren Oliver
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Besides, I’ve never actually touched skin-to-skin with a stranger. But he’s just standing there with his hand out, so after a second I reach out and shake. The moment we touch, a tiny electrical shock buzzes through me, and I pull away quickly.
“It’s short for Magdalena,” I say.
“Magdalena.” Alex tips his head back, watching me from narrowed eyes. “Pretty.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the way he says my name. In his mouth it sounds musical, not clunky and angular, the way my teachers have always made it sound. His eyes are a warm amber color, and as I look at him I have a sudden, flashing memory of my mother pouring syrup over a stack of pancakes. I look away, feeling ashamed, as though he has somehow been responsible for dredging the memory up, has reached in with his hand and wrenched it from me. Embarrassment makes me feel angry, and I press on, “I do know you. I saw you yesterday in the labs. You were on the observation deck, watching—watching everything.” Again, my courage fails me at the last second and I don’t say, Watching me .
I can feel Hana glaring at me, but I ignore her. She must be furious I haven’t told her any of this.
Alex’s face doesn’t change. He doesn’t blink or drop his smile for even a fraction of a second. “Case of mistaken identity, I guess. Guards aren’t allowed in the labs during evaluations. Especially not part-time guards.”
For a second longer we stand there, staring at each other. Now I know he’s lying, and the easy, lazy grin on his face makes me want to reach out and slap him. I ball my fists and suck in a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I’m not the violent type. I don’t know why I’m feeling so aggravated.
Hana jumps in, breaking the tension. “So this is it? A part-time security guard and some ‘Keep Out’ signs?”
Alex keeps his eyes on me a half second longer. Then he turns to look at Hana as though noticing her for the first time. “What do you mean?”
“I would have thought the labs would be better protected, that’s all. It doesn’t seem like it would be too hard to break into this place.”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “Thinking about making the attempt?”
Hana freezes, and my blood goes to ice. She has gone too far. If Alex reports us as potential sympathizers, or troublemakers, or anything, we’re in for months and months of surveillance and investigation—and we can kiss our chances of passing the evaluations with decent scores good-bye. I picture a lifetime of watching Andrew Marcus fish snot out of his nose with a thumbnail and feel queasy.
Alex must sense our fear, because he raises both hands. “Relax. I was kidding. You don’t exactly seem like terrorists.” It occurs to me how ridiculous we must look in our running shorts and sweaty tank tops and neon sneakers. Or at least, I must look ridiculous. Hana looks like a model for athletic wear. Again, I feel a fit of blushing coming on, followed by a surge of irritation. No wonder the regulators decided on the segregation of boys and girls: Otherwise, it would have been a nightmare, this feeling angry and self-conscious and confused and annoyed all the time.
“This is just the loading area, anyway, for freight and stuff.” Alex gestures beyond the line of cargo sheds. “Real security starts closer to the facilities. Full-time guards, cameras, electrified fence, the whole shebang.”
Hana doesn’t look at me, but when she speaks I can hear the excitement creeping into her voice. “The loading area? Like, where the deliveries come?”
In my head I start praying, Don’t say anything dumb. Don’t say anything dumb. Do not mention the Invalids.
“You got it.”
Hana dances on her feet, shifting her weight back and forth. I try to shoot her a warning look, but she avoids my eyes.
“So this is where the trucks come? With medical equipment and . . . and other stuff?”
“Exactly.” Again I have the impression of something flickering
“It’s short for Magdalena,” I say.
“Magdalena.” Alex tips his head back, watching me from narrowed eyes. “Pretty.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the way he says my name. In his mouth it sounds musical, not clunky and angular, the way my teachers have always made it sound. His eyes are a warm amber color, and as I look at him I have a sudden, flashing memory of my mother pouring syrup over a stack of pancakes. I look away, feeling ashamed, as though he has somehow been responsible for dredging the memory up, has reached in with his hand and wrenched it from me. Embarrassment makes me feel angry, and I press on, “I do know you. I saw you yesterday in the labs. You were on the observation deck, watching—watching everything.” Again, my courage fails me at the last second and I don’t say, Watching me .
I can feel Hana glaring at me, but I ignore her. She must be furious I haven’t told her any of this.
Alex’s face doesn’t change. He doesn’t blink or drop his smile for even a fraction of a second. “Case of mistaken identity, I guess. Guards aren’t allowed in the labs during evaluations. Especially not part-time guards.”
For a second longer we stand there, staring at each other. Now I know he’s lying, and the easy, lazy grin on his face makes me want to reach out and slap him. I ball my fists and suck in a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. I’m not the violent type. I don’t know why I’m feeling so aggravated.
Hana jumps in, breaking the tension. “So this is it? A part-time security guard and some ‘Keep Out’ signs?”
Alex keeps his eyes on me a half second longer. Then he turns to look at Hana as though noticing her for the first time. “What do you mean?”
“I would have thought the labs would be better protected, that’s all. It doesn’t seem like it would be too hard to break into this place.”
Alex raises his eyebrows. “Thinking about making the attempt?”
Hana freezes, and my blood goes to ice. She has gone too far. If Alex reports us as potential sympathizers, or troublemakers, or anything, we’re in for months and months of surveillance and investigation—and we can kiss our chances of passing the evaluations with decent scores good-bye. I picture a lifetime of watching Andrew Marcus fish snot out of his nose with a thumbnail and feel queasy.
Alex must sense our fear, because he raises both hands. “Relax. I was kidding. You don’t exactly seem like terrorists.” It occurs to me how ridiculous we must look in our running shorts and sweaty tank tops and neon sneakers. Or at least, I must look ridiculous. Hana looks like a model for athletic wear. Again, I feel a fit of blushing coming on, followed by a surge of irritation. No wonder the regulators decided on the segregation of boys and girls: Otherwise, it would have been a nightmare, this feeling angry and self-conscious and confused and annoyed all the time.
“This is just the loading area, anyway, for freight and stuff.” Alex gestures beyond the line of cargo sheds. “Real security starts closer to the facilities. Full-time guards, cameras, electrified fence, the whole shebang.”
Hana doesn’t look at me, but when she speaks I can hear the excitement creeping into her voice. “The loading area? Like, where the deliveries come?”
In my head I start praying, Don’t say anything dumb. Don’t say anything dumb. Do not mention the Invalids.
“You got it.”
Hana dances on her feet, shifting her weight back and forth. I try to shoot her a warning look, but she avoids my eyes.
“So this is where the trucks come? With medical equipment and . . . and other stuff?”
“Exactly.” Again I have the impression of something flickering
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