Chapter 20

Something keeps me from returning to Cenric’s studio for the next week. He’ll know I saw the sketchbook and I can’t bear to face the stiff formality of his rejection. I keep seeing his face close against me in the garden and a leaden feeling settles in my stomach. Part of me wants to confront him about the drawings but the other half doesn’t. I want them to mean something to him and I’m not sure they do. And so I avoid seeing him, avoid knowing I’m just another one of his subjects and not a friend he cares about.

Instead, I stay at TWOC and visit the library. I dig into the network files but I don’t find any trace of Henrik or the other orphans. I complete my course work and I cheer the team on at handball. I nod and smile at lineup, I suppress the urge to provoke Head. I’m a model student.

I’m heading back to my room after a late evening of study when I hear two of the proctors talking in the staff office. I stop by the open doorway and cock my ear towards the room.

“It’s just going to get worse, you know,” the first voice says. It’s a man.

“That doesn’t mean we can do anything about it,” says the second. The voice wavers and it sounds like the person has been crying. I realize it belongs to Ms. Hiller.

“You and I can’t do anything about it,” says the man. “But there are other’s out there who can.”

“Brandt! You have to stop talking about that. If they find out, you’ll be tried for treason.”

“I’m not a traitor Marcie. I’m just saying. The Conservationists are going too far. We might as well live in a cattle pen. There’s no venue for discourse, there’s no public vote. What happened to American democracy? What happened to the wisdom of crowds?”

“I try to stay out of politics.”

“This isn’t politics. It’s basic human rights.”

“The Conservationists are just trying to make our lives better. Peaceful.”

I hear Brandt laugh. It sounds low and bitter. “Our lives are robotic, not peaceful. We’re told what to do, when to do it. You can’t have an independent thought without some government official jumping on you. Look at you. You think you’ll get that birth license in this lifetime? They only grant licenses to the highborn. They’re trying to breed us out so they can create their perfect paradise of automatons.”

I hear Ms. Hiller give a soft sob and I feel guilty about listening in on their private conversation. I had no idea she wanted to have a baby. Maybe that’s why she’s working in welfare. It’s a poor substitute looking after someone else’s children but I guess she doesn’t have many options.

“I can’t believe that’s true,” Ms. Hiller says after a moment. I can hear the quaver in her voice as she tries to suppress her tears. “I just can’t. It’s too evil.”

Brandt makes a noise of disgust. “You’re a lemming. Just like the rest of them. You’ll sit by while they take away every freedom and thought we have. You’ll hand it over gratefully!”
“Brandt, shhhhh. Someone’s going to hear you.”

“And then I’ll disappear just like the kids in this facility? Just like all the others? Where do you think they go Marcie? You’re not asking the right questions. You don’t want to.”

“I don’t know how we’re related,” Ms. Hiller says. ”I don’t know where you get this rebellion from. You’ll be lucky if it doesn’t get you killed.”

“And you’ll be lucky if you don’t calcify into one of their machines.”

“Brandt!” I hear the scrape of a chair and I dash away from the door before I’m caught eaves dropping. I duck around the corner and slow to a walk, trying not to look guilty. I glance over my shoulder but I’m alone in the hallway.

Jaela, Rosalin and I are sitting in the cafeteria picking at our oatmeal. The room is half full and I realize there are many less children than there were three years ago. I chide myself for being self-absorbed for so long and only noticing now that someone has pointed it out.

“I think there’s something going on with the missing kids,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“What do you mean?” Jaela asks. She sniffs at her oatmeal and then puts the spoon back in her bowl untouched.

“I overheard two of the proctors arguing yesterday and they said something about the missing kids. That they’re disappearing.”

“That’s not news Arela,” Jaela says. “We already figured that one out.”

“Did they say why?” Rosalin asks.

“No, but they made it sound… I don’t know. Dangerous. Like there’s someting going on at TWOC.”
“You mean a conspiracy?” Jaela leans in closer. “I love a good mystery. Do tell.”

I frown at her. “There’s nothing to tell. It’s not like they laid it all out for me. They didn’t even know I was listening.”

“How do you find out then?” Rosalin asks. “Will there be something in the network?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve been browsing the system for a week now and nothing stands out.”

Jaela sighs. “It sounds like the plot from a tele-drama. You’re probably making this a bigger deal than it is.”

I shrug. “Maybe, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than Henrik and the others being adopted.”

“Well, you better get on it Sherlock,” Jaela says and pushes her bowl away uneaten. “Before one of us goes missing.”

Later that night the three of us are in the rec room watching the credits roll on the medical tele-drama.

“How do you know if a boy likes you?” I try to ask it casually but the two of them pounce on me immediately.

“Ooohh! You’re seeing a boy?” Jaela squeals.

“Who is it?” Rosalin demands.

I hold my hands up. “It’s no one. I’m just asking a theoretical question. As preparation for when the time arises.”

They both look at me skeptically.

“You’re sure there’s no boy?” Jaela asks. “Someone you don’t want to tell us about?”

I smile slightly. “No, no boy. Do you think I’d be hanging out here with you if there was?”

“Hey!” Rosalin says.

“Ouch!”

Jaela looks disappointed and I feel guilty for a second. I don’t know why I’m not telling them the truth about Cenric. Maybe because I don’t know how to untangle him from all the other things I haven’t told them about.

“So?” I ask feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

“It depends,” Jaela says.

“On what?”

“On the boy,” she says. “If they’re childish, like all the boys in here, they’ll pretend like they hate you. They’ll make fun of you, trip you in the hallway, that sort of thing. Totally immature.”

“And if they’re not childish?”

“Well…”

“You don’t know, do you?” I ask, laughing. “I guess there aren’t a lot of good examples, are there?”

“Not all the boys here are like that,” Rosalin says.

“Well I can’t think of any,” Jaela says.

“What about Jacobo?” Rosalin asks.

Jaela scoffs. “He’s as bad as the rest of them.”

“Except that he writes poetry,” I say. “That’s totally romantic.”

“They don’t have to write poetry,” she says. “If a boy likes you, he’ll find a way to be with you, talk to you. He’ll be interested in what you say, he’ll want to help you with things.”

“Wow Rose, you sound like an expert. Where are you keeping all these eligible young men you’ve been studying?”

Rosalin flushes. “Come on you two. We watch enough tele-drama to know how this works.”

“That?” I motion to the mod screen. “That’s scripted for our viewing pleasure. I wouldn’t call that qualified relationship advice.”

Rosalin shrugs. “I think boys are like us. They just want someone to be interested in them, someone to talk to about things.”

“You sound like you’re describing my brother!” Jaela insists.

“She left out the kissing part,” I say.

“Why are you two ganging up on me?” she asks. “You’re the one who wanted to know.”

I laugh and hold my hands up. “All right, all right. I surrender. I did ask.”
“And you’re sure there’s no boy?” Jaela looks at me suspiciously. “Someone on the outside?”

“If I met a tall, handsome stranger would I keep it from you?” I say and feel my guilt stir again.

“What about the man from the riot?” Rosalin asks.

“What man?” Jaela says. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Tell me now!”

I explain how Harlow saved me from the riot. Jaela’s jaw drops open.

“How could you not tell me about this? Now that’s romantic! What’s his name? Where does he live?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” I say obliquely. I feel like I’m straying into precarious territory. “He was very mysterious.”

“Is he cute?”

“Oh very. Tall, dark and handsome, like I said. Hazel eyes, a kissable mouth.”

Jaela pretends to swoon on the recliner. “He sounds divine. When do you get to see him again?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Probably never.”

“Girl, you shouldn’t let the good ones get away.”
I laugh at her. “J, don’t we have better things to worry about? Graduation is five weeks away.”
“You should never be too busy to flirt with an eligible man, especially one who’s a full citizen. You should try to find him. Isn’t that what you do? Find people?”

“It’s hard to find someone without a name,” I say. “I think that was a one time event.”

Jaela sighs. “Well, let’s hope there are more options for us when we graduate because there’s nothing for us in here.”

I’m about to slide the library door open, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I give a shout of surprise and whirl around, my hands up in a defensive gesture. Cenric is standing there looking just as surprised as I am.

“Cenric, why do you always sneak up on me? It’s terrifying.”

His brow creases with contrition. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. You didn’t hear me when I called out to you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I… you haven’t been to the studio in a while.” He looks away and then back again. “I was worried something had happened to you.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You were worried about me?”

Cenric shuffles his feet. “Can we talk about this inside?”

“Fine,” I say and let us into the building. I lead him through the foyer and into the main section of the building. We walk past the shelves and when I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s still following me, I see he’s peering at the spine of a large book.

“Cenric,” I say and he starts up guiltily.

“I’m coming.”
I stop us at one of the reading tables and take a seat. He sits opposite. I want him to be the one to speak first, to break the silence, but I can’t help myself.

“Did I say something to offend you?”

He laughs and holds a hand to his chest. “Offend me? I’ve gotten used to you offending me, Arela.”

“Then why were you so upset at the garden? Why did you stalk off like that?”

Cenric opens his mouth to answer and then shuts it. I’m surprised to see his cheeks are pink. Is he blushing?

“Arela, you don’t understand what kind of position I’m in. My parents are in… in a position of power and they expect me to behave in a certain way. If they found out what I’m doing… about you…”

“Oh, so your highborn parents don’t think I’m good enough to fraternize with their son? That’s such a wonderful compliment Cenric. Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking? I’m too far down the Osiris chain for you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture. “I’m just trying to explain.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”

Cenric presses his hands onto the desk and lowers his head. “I know.”

“Cenric, you don’t owe me anything any more. You helped me get the graphics card, so we’re even. You don’t have to explain, and you certainly don’t have to be nice.”

“It’s not that,” he says and then stops.

“Then what?”

He just looks at me and I feel the same sense of dismissal when I found him painting my portrait, when he shrugged me off as just another subject for his brush. I push myself out of the chair and stand over him. Anger expands in my chest.

“If you came here to make me feel inferior, then congratulations. You’ve done it. Now you can go back to your highborn life and your critical parents and you can leave me out of it. You can paint your pretty pictures in peace and I won’t tell anyone your secret. You can just-“

Cenric rises from his seat and grabs me by the arms. I’m about to push him away when he bends down and kisses me. His lips are soft but firm as he presses them against me. I’m overwhelmed by his scent. He still smells like wood shavings but something else too, warm cinnamon and cloves, like home. He moves his hands up to cradle the back of my head and he holds me gently against him. He barely moves as our lips stay connected and I can feel a minute tremor run through his body.

When he breaks away, I stare up at him as he rises to his full height. He drops his hands to my shoulders and grins foolishly.

“I came to say that,” he says eventually.

I open my mouth and shut it again, open it and then blush furiously. I don’t know what to say.

“Cenric…” I try, but my voice squeaks and I’m embarrassed all over again.

His grin widens and I feel the laughter bubbling up. How wrong I was. How I misread everything he said and did. Oh, how blind I’d been!

The laughter burbles out of me and Cenric looks surprised for a moment and then he too is laughing. We laugh until tears leak from our eyes and Cenric has to put a hand on the desk to keep himself steady. I mourn the movement of his hands away from me but I don’t know how to ask him to put it back.

Instead, I reach up and lay the palm of my hand against his cheek. His skin is so soft, like I imagine the rose petals in the garden would feel if they were real.

He stops laughing, his face suddenly serious. He leans down and kisses me again, more urgently this time. He presses me to him with one hand against the small of my back and the other tangled in my hair. He parts my lips and I taste him, the sweetness of apples and something uniquely Cenric. I wrap my arms around him and tilt my head back. Every nerve ending in my body is singing.

Finally, he pulls away and turns us so he’s propped against the desk and I’m leaning into him, my chest resting against his mid section. He pulls me close and tucks my head under his chin. I can almost see over his shoulder but not quite, and I realize how tiny I must feel. He holds me that way for long minutes and I lose count of how much time he spends cradling me against him. I don’t want to move.

Eventually he pushes me back and holds me at arms length.

“You are the most beautiful and infuriating person I’ve ever met,” he says and I blush. “And you’re impossible to talk to.”

“I’m not!”

He laughs. “Impossible for me. But I guess this is better than talking.”

He leans down again and kisses the tip of my nose, my chin, my lips. I want to pull him tighter, but the curfew sounds and we break away reluctantly.

“Will you come to the studio tomorrow?” he asks as we walk back to the entrance.

“Do you want me to?” I ask, teasing.

“Of course,” he says and grins broadly.

“What about your painting?”

“Painting isn’t everything, Arela.”

“Then yes. I’ll come.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 21