Thirteen
By seven twenty-five, doubt had started to set in. I was halfway down the driveway, crouching by a tree and shoving my feet into my tennis shoes. I’d slung them over my neck and crept out the front door barefoot to avoid detection. With sunset hitting earlier and earlier the closer we edged to October, the sky was already pretty dark. Still, I worried that any second, Mom would look out the kitchen window and spot me.
Once my shoes were on, I hesitated, the full force of my actions slamming me like a brick wall. What if I was making another terrible mistake? What if this date blew up as badly as school had today? I looked over my shoulder, at the safety of the guesthouse, then stabbed a button on my phone to make it light up. Hunter’s last text appeared a moment later.
Can’t wait
The same warmth as before spiraled through me, overpowering any lingering doubts. No, this was the right choice. I crossed the remainder of the distance to the street, determined to revel in the slap of chilly air on my cheeks, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet, and the Hunter-filled night ahead of me.
I slowed to a walk just before I reached the dirt road. Headlights arched in a quarter turn onto our street, and within fifteen seconds, a Jeep rumbled to a stop beside me.
The window slid open, and Hunter’s head popped out. “Sneaking out?” He smiled, that amazing, silly, blue-eyed smile that melted away any second thoughts. Now we just needed to get out of here. Before Mom found out.
“Something like that.” I hurried over to the passenger door and slid inside, closing my door and snapping my seatbelt as swiftly as possible. “Okay, let’s go,” I said, silently urging Hunter’s right foot to push down on the gas.
He shot me a bemused glance but shoved the gear into first. A moment later, we were on our way.
The Jeep smelled like a mix of the cinnamon air-freshener strip and something sweeter. I counted five wrapped squares inside the center console—three pink, two yellow—atop $1.08 in spare change. A few empty wrappers brightened the backseat floorboards, along with three discarded Monster soda cans.
“Candy and caffeine?” I said.
He reached behind his seat blindly, felt one of the cans, and winced. “Meant to clean the car.” Then he plucked a pink square from the console. “Want one?”
I eyed the tiny square labeled Starburst and wondered if I’d ever had one. “Sure.”
As we drove down the street and the chewy sweetness unfurled in my mouth—just one more thing I had to thank Hunter for—I stole a glance at him. Perfect. He was just so unbelievably perfect, in a totally nonobvious way. His untucked maroon buttondown brought out the blue of his eyes, while the khakis made him look like he’d stepped out of a trendy clothing catalog.
When he shifted to stop, his fingers grazed my arm, the one I’d “injured” yesterday. I flinched, mentally cursed my idiocy, then overcorrected by sitting very, very still.
Please don’t notice. Please don’t notice.
He noticed.
His sideways glance burned right through my arm, intensifying the no-oxygen squeeze in my chest. Right then I realized I’d made a mistake. A huge one. His eyes would peel back my skin, layer by layer, and expose the obscene, repulsive monster underneath. He’d see the fiber optics and neuromatrices, the phantom sensations. See the irony of me craving oxygen I didn’t need, see the ugliness that made me ill just to think about. All the things iPod Man had waxed on about in that southern drawl would be revealed, plunging Mom and me into danger.
I stared straight ahead and summoned all of my willpower to keep from grabbing for the passenger door handle.
Deep breath in—of course he couldn’t see through my skin. That was impossible.
Deep breath out—a few days ago, I would have thought being an android was impossible.
Deep breath in—maybe I still did.
Deep breath out—if not, at least I could pretend.
By the time Hunter pulled onto the highway, I’d grabbed the reins of my control and yanked them tight. “Your mom—she overprotective or something?” he asked.
You have no idea. “What, the sneaking out gave me away?” I said, followed by a breezy laugh that sounded remarkably authentic. A light, steady stream of headlights glared through the windshield, heading the opposite way. Back toward the ranch, where I’d left Mom behind.
Mom. She was all alone at the ranch, under the false belief that I was there. Something coiled deep in my stomach. Or where my stomach should be.
Through the passenger window I stared out into the vast nothing that was rural Minnesota at night, balling my fists in my lap. I had to stop this, this crazy self-assessment every time I felt something human. Questioning my sensations, my organs, all the little details that went on under my skin—it only made things a thousand times worse.
“The sneaking, and the no-computer thing,” Hunter said.
The computer thing. Right.
“What about your parents? Are they strict?” I said, desperate to steer the conversation into safer territory.
He shifted in his seat, rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Uh . . . no. They aren’t around much.”
My concern must have registered on my face, because he laughed. “It’s no big deal. My dad travels a lot, and Mom likes to go with him.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Sorry your parents are gone a lot? I’m glad you don’t care? At least your parents exist outside of your programmed memories?
Silence ticked away for a few more minutes, until he asked, “Bad day?”
Bad day. If only it were as simple as that. Bad day implied something finite—that after a good night’s sleep, you’d wake to a new morning full of possibility. To a fresh start.
What it didn’t imply was that you’d wake up every day from here to eternity, only to realize you were trapped in the same nightmare.
“If I lied and said I was having the best day ever, would you believe me?”
“Let’s see,” he said, followed immediately by “No.” Then, “Is it your mom? School?”
He tilted his head slightly to the side, in what I’d gathered was an unconscious effort to enlist gravity’s assistance in removing the hair from his left eye.
At this point, I felt like I had to give him something. And he’d undoubtedly hear about the cafeteria scuffle tomorrow anyway. In the scheme of things, it was the safest to reveal, and yet . . . what could possibly be more embarrassing than admitting Kaylee and I had fought over him?
I toyed with the edge of my shirt.
“Promise you won’t think I’m really lame?”
His eyebrows rose, but he nodded. “Promise.”
I cleared my throat. “Well . . . Kaylee and I got in this huge fight. Over . . . you.”
After I said it, I squeezed my eyes shut, like blocking out his expression would magically repel any trace of embarrassment.
“Huh.”
Too noncommittal to make me open them yet, though I did detect a hint of levity wrapped around that one syllable.
“Mind if I ask who won?”
Oh, he was definitely smiling now; I could hear the laughter lurking. Sure enough, when I mustered up the courage to look, his grin was lopsided, hampered even more than usual by the way he bit the inside of his left cheek.
What did I possibly have to lose at this point? “Me,” I said. Firmly.
His grin widened. “Excellent. You know what this means, right?”
That I have inhumanly fast reflexes, all the better to send my opponent flying across the floor? “That girls are silly?” I substituted instead.
“That. Also, since you won me fair and square, I owe you a prize.”
A prize? “Seriously?”
“I never joke about prizes,” he deadpanned.
“O-kay. But where . . .” And then I saw them. The blaze of lights in the distance, their whimsical glimmer banishing the darkness and transforming a patch of boring countryside into something far more magical.
Like something right out of a fairy tale.
I sat upright, fast enough to make the seat belt snap across my chest. “The carnival? You’re taking me to the carnival?” I didn’t even try to hide my quiver of excitement.
Kids at Clearwater High had been talking about it all week, even Kaylee and Parker. But, like with all destinations that weren’t school, Dairy Queen, or the tack and feed store, Mom had shot down any talk of an outing.
“I take it you like them?” Hunter said.
“I . . .”
. . . actually had no idea, but I was dying to find out. Careful, Mila. “Doesn’t everyone?” I hedged.
After a sideways glance that seemed too knowing for comfort, he shrugged. “Sure.”
I sank back into the seat, welcoming the airy feeling of possibility that unweighted my limbs. The early part of the day might have been a disaster, but this night . . . this night was going to be perfect. It had to be.
When we got to the carnival, Hunter led me past a string of people waiting for Real Bungee Jump Experience!, a ride called Twister that spun in circles, and some game where a guy was wielding a sledgehammer and slamming it into a metal disk. Finally we stopped in front of a shooting game. “Here we go.”
Under the booth’s drooping red canopy stretched a lineup of yellow star-shaped targets. Thirty in total. They were flanked on both sides by an array of stuffed animals—mainly unicorns and donkeys. The gray-haired, scruffy attendant waved a rifle-style BB gun at passersby and called out in a singsong voice. “Come on over, try your luck at Star Shootout! Just hit the inside of the star, nothing to it, and win yourself a fine prize! Three chances for two dollars, nine chances for five.”
Of course, the two college-aged guys who pushed away from the booth all grumbles and stuffed-donkey-free didn’t appear to agree.
Hunter shrugged, handed the guy a five-dollar bill, and accepted the gun. “Promise me you won’t run if I come away empty-handed?” he said, flashing a grin at me.
I laughed. “Promise. But I’m sure you’ll be fine. It doesn’t look that hard.”
“No pressure there,” he teased. But I noticed that as soon as he hefted the rifle up to his shoulder, he tensed. A transformation came over his face—no smiles, just a determined look in his eyes and complete focus on the target.
He even bit the corner of his mouth in this completely adorable way, just before shooting. And missing the first star by a good two inches.
Oops.
He went through shot after shot, some way off, others just outside the star. The last one landed right on the line, but the carny shook his head. “Sorry, it’s gotta be all the way inside. Wanna go again?”
Hunter sighed, shot me a rueful look. “Pretty sure I’d just be throwing my money down the drain.”
“What about your girlie there, she want to try? Or she one of those types who needs a man to handle the gun?” he said with a wink at Hunter.
Ew.
“You game?” Hunter asked with a lift of his eyebrows, already digging into his wallet for another five. If I hadn’t been before, I sure as heck was now, I thought, shooting the attendant a disgusted look and ready to take down some stars. But when Hunter handed me the gun, it was still warm from his grip, and he stood so close, I could barely think, let alone aim.
No, not distracting at all. Between his proximity and having zero experience shooting guns, we’d most likely have to purchase a stuffed animal if we wanted one.
Except . . . that didn’t happen.
Because when I finally lifted the gun, I didn’t even have to think about how to use it. The thing just became an extension of my arm, fitted perfectly in my hands. And when I aimed, something crazy happened. As I stared at the star, something red flickered behind my eyes.
I almost dropped the gun. No. Not again.
“Are you okay?” Hunter asked, still breath-defyingly close.
I shook my head, dazed, clutching the lowered gun like my life depended on it. The red light disappeared.
“Aw, sugar, don’t get cold feet now. Your boy there will still like you, even if you don’t come within five hogs of making that shot.”
I was still shaken, but the carny’s words rekindled my anger. Before I knew it, the gun was lifted and aimed. I took a deep breath, and—
Target: 10 ft.
—swayed when the red words flashed, fully formed this time, but only just. I couldn’t drop the gun again. Hunter would think I was crazy, and the carny . . . well, he’d believe whatever wackadoo story he’d concocted in his head.
Meanwhile I commanded, Get out of my head. Out. OUT.
And then, like my brain took on a life of its own, the star enlarged before my eyes, allowing me to zoom in on the exact center.
Target: In view.
I knew before I pulled the trigger that I’d hit the star, dead-on. And while my legs weakened from the flashing red words, while my hands clamped down on the gun as I tried to shove them out, the actual shooting felt good. It felt so good that I went ahead and shot out the next one. And the next one. And the next.
Until I noticed the crowd gathered around me. The whistles. The carny’s yell of “Sweet cartwheelin’ Jesus!” Hunter’s startled, laughing exclamation: “Admit it, you’re a ringer. I bet you shot guns for kicks back in Philly.”
But when the crowd started applauding, that’s when my stupidity really hit home. Way to stay under the radar. Of course I could shoot a BB into the middle of a teensy-tiny target—and it wasn’t because of years of practice.
I set the gun down, forced a smile at the now frowning carny, who scratched his stubbly chin and stared at the hole-laden targets like he’d never seen them before. “Did we win something?”
We escaped the tent less than a minute later—one medium-sized stuffed donkey richer. And with me vowing to suck at any other game we tried. Luckily, the next booth we hit sold cotton candy.
As we strolled under the lights and listened to the music, I sighed, letting the sugary concoction melt in my mouth. Barring the shooting mishap, this was as close to perfect as it could get. I reached up to wipe a tiny speck of pink from Hunter’s cheek. “You missed your mouth.”
At the word “mouth,” his gaze settled on my lips.
Okay, I’d lied. Maybe it could get more perfect. Butterflies in the stomach? Forget it.. This felt nothing short of a flock of delirious blue jays flapping their wings in a group takeoff. The speck of cotton candy slipped from my hand when we stopped walking, right by a huge roller coaster.
He pulled me closer. “I know the good-night kiss is supposed to happen at the end of the date, but I’m having a hard time waiting.”
“Kiss?” I repeated, my eyes now glued to his masterpiece of a mouth. I’d read once in Kaylee’s copy of Glamour that people perceived beauty based on symmetry. What a shame. Because Hunter’s slightly lopsided mouth was about the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.
“If that’s okay,” he said, his free hand gliding into my hair, like he was memorizing the feel of it.
From our left, girls shrieked in terror as the roller coaster took a sudden dive. I tuned them out and nodded mutely in response, saw his mouth draw nearer. My eyes fluttered closed as every bit of my body tensed in nervous anticipation. I was swaying into him—
—and that’s when I saw them. The white walls. Only this time, I saw more. A girl with brown hair. Chained to a chair in a large, barren room, her body pummeled by the glare of too many fluorescent lights.
I saw the back of a white lab coat. The back of a man’s dark head. He stood in front of the girl while her head whipped back and forth. He lifted his arm high, and in his hand . . . a gun?
Oh, no.
I gasped and lurched backward. Something terrible was going to happen, I knew it. Oh, god, he was going to—
I watched as the man’s hand flew down and smashed the gun against the girl’s skull. Again. And again. And again.
Somewhere in the distance, outside the room, away from the icy terror crackling through my legs, my arms, my chest, I heard Hunter’s voice.
“Mila, are you okay? Mila?”
I heard it, but I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t yank myself away from the horror playing out in my head.
No, all I could do was stand frozen while more images streamed behind my eyes. Watch the girl thrash against the chains while the man tossed the gun and grabbed a huge power tool off a small metal table. He pressed a button, and a harsh grinding noise filled the room. A drill. A drill.
I stumbled again. No. Please, no.
But of course my mental pleas were useless to prevent a chain of events that had already occurred. The man raised the drill high . . . before plunging it into her chest.
Her scream drowned out everything else.
I felt Hunter squeeze my arms, call my name again. But the man in the lab coat, he’d pulled the gun back out. He aimed it at the girl, the girl whose brown hair was so familiar, and pressed the end of the barrel to her forehead. Unsatisfied, he slid the gun around until it was shoved directly against her scalp.
From my viewing angle, I couldn’t see the girl’s face. But she must have said something. Mouthed something. Because while she didn’t make a move to defend herself, the man’s shoulders jerked back like she’d struck him. He shook his head in disgust.
Her hair. Nut brown and waterfall straight, with just the tiniest hint of wave. It was—
The sharp blast of a gunshot and realization roared through my head simultaneously. Her hair. I saw it in the mirror every morning.
It was just like mine.
My eyes jerked open. The girl vanished, even though, in the distance, I still heard screams. I was still shaking. Something . . . no, someone was shaking me.
“Mila, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not—I don’t—” I blinked as the merry lights and bustling crowd of the carnival came into focus, as I became aware of Hunter’s concerned face blotting out the sky and the pressure of his grip digging into my arms.
Safe, I was safe. There was no gun, no man in a lab coat. The screams were from the roller coaster.
I was safe. Now. But at one time, I hadn’t been.
A shudder ripped through my body, and I realized my cheeks were damp and cold under the breeze. Tears for a me I couldn’t even remember.
At my shiver, Hunter dropped his hands and stepped back. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel well,” I managed from between numb lips. Not a lie. “Can you take me home?”
His shoulders rounded, whether in disappointment or relief, I couldn’t tell. “Sure,” he said after a brief hesitation.
His gentle palm on my back guided me through the crowd, out the gates, and toward the Jeep. But for once, his touch couldn’t override the cold that circulated under my skin or the goose bumps I felt racing along its surface. And it was like every trace of magic had leached from the carnival. Instead of a fairy tale, now all I saw was a sad cluster of beat-up rides squatting in an unwanted field. A kiss? Had I really expected it to be that easy? That something so stupid as touching Hunter’s lips to mine would solve all my problems, ta-da! Banish the truth of who, of what, I was? Banish whatever horrors lurked in my past? How could it, when I didn’t even know the complete truth myself?
Only the radio and street noise broke the silence on the way back to the ranch. I knew Hunter kept sneaking looks at me, but I just stared straight ahead. I couldn’t talk right now, not when my pretense at being normal slipped further and further from my grasp.
Without any prompting, Hunter cut the lights on the Jeep when we turned onto my street and then eased the car into neutral a good ten feet from the driveway, where the thick cluster of trees would hide the car from view. He reached across the discarded Starbursts to layer his hand over mine. “Maybe we can do this again sometime, when you’re feeling better?”
His tilted head and wide eyes gave his expression such soulful confusion that some of the icy chains finally slipped from my chest. My lips even lifted into a smile, tiny but genuine. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Then, in a burst of bravery I didn’t see coming, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth briefly to his stubble-roughened cheek. I pulled away before he could react, yanking on the passenger door handle and jumping out into the night.
