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Authors: Lissa Price
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room even though I can’t see him. “He sounds a little congested.”
She hurries over to check on him. I open a drawer on one of the overturned desks in my fort and slip my pad inside; then I face the collection of my drawings taped to the wall. Starters with layers of torn clothes clinging to their thin frames, water bottles strapped across their bodies, handlites on their wrists. Institutions, including the worst one, number 37, with its thick walls and barred gates. Enders with their white hair, most with surgically perfected faces, some with wrinkles, many with grotesque faces, yelling and threatening us with their canes. Starters fighting over an apple. Ender marshals ZipTasing a helpless Starter. Our sick world.
Callie returns and pulls me away from my mental nightmare.
“He’s quiet now.” She absentmindedly tugs on a lock of her hair. “Listen, could you watch him tomorrow?”
“Where’re you going?” I ask.
“I just have something to do. Something personal.”
I nod. It’s especially tough for Callie because of Tyler. Things are bad enough without having a seven-year-old brother who’s constantly sick.
“Girl thing?” I ask.
She shrugs.
Enough teasing. She’s obviously not going to tell me where she’s going. “Sure. I’ll watch him.”
Later that night, when I slip out to fill the water bottles, I make a detour to the third floor. I find Florina, a friendlie, and ask her if she’ll sit with Tyler tomorrow.
“Where’re you going?” She cocks her head and her dark bangs fall into her eyes.
“Out.”
“With Callie?”
“She has something else to do,” I say.
Florina’s lips turn up in the slightest of smiles. “Okay, Michael. But you owe me.”
I slap her raised hand. “Thanks, Florina. You’re the best.”
“Now, how would you know that?” she asks in a flirty tone that makes me nervous.
The next morning, Callie leaves our building. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and go to the second-story window down the hall from our space. I look down and see her pausing to scan the street for renegades. Good girl. She’s always careful.
Then she rushes across.
I run to the stairs and take them two at a time. I hurry through the empty lobby and go out the front door.
I feel guilty. I did promise Callie I’d watch Tyler. But when we go out together, she’s willing to leave him with a friendlie. She just hasn’t met Florina yet.
Callie’s a block away. I scan the streets in all directions and see no one. Not a lot of foottraffic in an abandoned industrial park. Of course, that doesn’t mean no one’s hiding. I shift my backpack to my other shoulder. It’s heavy with several makeshift weapons. I know Callie can fend for herself. She’s strong and smart. But two are always better than one.
I keep my eye on her, staying light on my feet, ready to duck into an entranceway if she should turn around. She doesn’t.
I follow her for an hour as she works her way north. We go through neighborhoods full of boarded-up houses. Whenever Callie reaches a red-tented house emitting its telltale chemical odor, she puts her sleeve over her mouth and crosses the street.
Along the way we pass Enders with their signature silvery-white hair, their badge of honor for longevity. The pharmaceutical companies couldn’t manage to make enough vaccine to save the Middles like my parents, but they can make sure Enders live to at least two hundred.
I focus on Callie, her hair reaching halfway down her back, water bottle bobbing on its strap slung over her shoulder.
Some friendlies approaching from the other direction stop to talk to her. I hide behind the porch of a vacant house. When I peer out, I see them leave her and walk back the way they came. Strange. Callie doesn’t continue walking; she just stands there on the sidewalk, alone, as if she’s waiting.
Then I see a guy coming toward her. He looks about my age, but he’s dressed older.
Who is this guy? Does she know him? Expensive
She hurries over to check on him. I open a drawer on one of the overturned desks in my fort and slip my pad inside; then I face the collection of my drawings taped to the wall. Starters with layers of torn clothes clinging to their thin frames, water bottles strapped across their bodies, handlites on their wrists. Institutions, including the worst one, number 37, with its thick walls and barred gates. Enders with their white hair, most with surgically perfected faces, some with wrinkles, many with grotesque faces, yelling and threatening us with their canes. Starters fighting over an apple. Ender marshals ZipTasing a helpless Starter. Our sick world.
Callie returns and pulls me away from my mental nightmare.
“He’s quiet now.” She absentmindedly tugs on a lock of her hair. “Listen, could you watch him tomorrow?”
“Where’re you going?” I ask.
“I just have something to do. Something personal.”
I nod. It’s especially tough for Callie because of Tyler. Things are bad enough without having a seven-year-old brother who’s constantly sick.
“Girl thing?” I ask.
She shrugs.
Enough teasing. She’s obviously not going to tell me where she’s going. “Sure. I’ll watch him.”
Later that night, when I slip out to fill the water bottles, I make a detour to the third floor. I find Florina, a friendlie, and ask her if she’ll sit with Tyler tomorrow.
“Where’re you going?” She cocks her head and her dark bangs fall into her eyes.
“Out.”
“With Callie?”
“She has something else to do,” I say.
Florina’s lips turn up in the slightest of smiles. “Okay, Michael. But you owe me.”
I slap her raised hand. “Thanks, Florina. You’re the best.”
“Now, how would you know that?” she asks in a flirty tone that makes me nervous.
The next morning, Callie leaves our building. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and go to the second-story window down the hall from our space. I look down and see her pausing to scan the street for renegades. Good girl. She’s always careful.
Then she rushes across.
I run to the stairs and take them two at a time. I hurry through the empty lobby and go out the front door.
I feel guilty. I did promise Callie I’d watch Tyler. But when we go out together, she’s willing to leave him with a friendlie. She just hasn’t met Florina yet.
Callie’s a block away. I scan the streets in all directions and see no one. Not a lot of foottraffic in an abandoned industrial park. Of course, that doesn’t mean no one’s hiding. I shift my backpack to my other shoulder. It’s heavy with several makeshift weapons. I know Callie can fend for herself. She’s strong and smart. But two are always better than one.
I keep my eye on her, staying light on my feet, ready to duck into an entranceway if she should turn around. She doesn’t.
I follow her for an hour as she works her way north. We go through neighborhoods full of boarded-up houses. Whenever Callie reaches a red-tented house emitting its telltale chemical odor, she puts her sleeve over her mouth and crosses the street.
Along the way we pass Enders with their signature silvery-white hair, their badge of honor for longevity. The pharmaceutical companies couldn’t manage to make enough vaccine to save the Middles like my parents, but they can make sure Enders live to at least two hundred.
I focus on Callie, her hair reaching halfway down her back, water bottle bobbing on its strap slung over her shoulder.
Some friendlies approaching from the other direction stop to talk to her. I hide behind the porch of a vacant house. When I peer out, I see them leave her and walk back the way they came. Strange. Callie doesn’t continue walking; she just stands there on the sidewalk, alone, as if she’s waiting.
Then I see a guy coming toward her. He looks about my age, but he’s dressed older.
Who is this guy? Does she know him? Expensive
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