Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (18 page)

“He’s an asshole,” said
Tina. “We
all
knew that.”

“No bullshit, Tina.
Buddy was only trying to protect her.” Buff stood tall in a crisp
warm-up jersey, his hair neatly combed. He
looked . . . cute.

“Well, she doesn’t
need
his protection,” said Tina.

“Somebody had to bring
it up the fact that tomorrow’s their—”

Tina shot him a warning
glare. “We’re not talking about
tomorrow
.”

Amber sighed. “You guys
can just say it,” she said. “Our birthday’s in six hours. We shouldn’t be
anywhere near each other right now.”

Tina and Buff flinched
and averted their eyes. In other words, they couldn’t have said it better
themselves.

Amber stopped paying
attention to them and scanned the faces of unfamiliar boys entering the
stadium. She wished for once that she could be invisible. She hated being
stared at when she felt like she was about to cry.

Why didn’t Aaron think
they were halves? The previous night, he had ruined her pride. Okay
fine
,
so he was right. Amber knew she didn’t get to have him. She was naïve to think
she could just run away from her birthday, from what her parents had always
told her. From Clive. But at least they could have pretended they were halves
for one night. Tonight, after the game, she would have to confess the truth.

Tomorrow, when Aaron
saw what she was supposed to become, he would wish she had never existed.

Finally, Aaron arrived
at the gate, hair unkempt and skin bronze in the afternoon sun, looking more
like he was modeling that leather jacket of his for a magazine than meeting
friends at a rugby game.

Amber watched him,
bubbly with excitement. Aaron nodded to Buff—who nodded stiffly back—then
gathered her in his arms. She was breathless immediately, drinking in his
smell.

Tina and Buff averted
their eyes and headed down to the field.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron
whispered when they were gone, and she heard the pain in his voice. He was just
as distraught over the previous night as she was.

And right then, as she
looked up into his dark, sunset streaked eyes, feeling euphoric and implausibly
safe now that he was here, Amber realized she was in love with him.

The wrong boy.

***

Aaron
and Amber sat in the bleachers facing Pueblo’s rugby field. Deep purples and
maroons smoldered out on the horizon, the remains of their last sunset as
seventeen-year-olds. Gone. A gentle mist settled in its wake.

The
crowd groaned as Dominic Brees flattened the fullback and scored. Without Buff
Normandy, Pueblo was getting ground to pulp. But Aaron’s nerves were too
occupied with Amber to care. His body felt rigid, his tendons strained like
rubber bands about to snap. He couldn’t relax, not around her. Not when he had
fifteen hours left before his appointment.

He
caught Amber peering at him.

“You’re
doing it too,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re risking
everything for me. We
both
turn eighteen tomorrow.”

“Amber,
it’s not a game of chicken,” he said. “You have your whole life—”

“My
whole
life?
” Her lips formed a cruel, haunted smile. “Wait and see.”

A
moment later the stadium roared with cheers. Fans screamed and leapt from their
seats, but the two of them hardly budged. Their bodies stayed rigid, as if
linked by a taut cord.

“You
make me nervous,” he said.

“I
know.” Amber’s eyes reflected the misty halos blazing from the stadium lights.

Down
by the field, though, he saw the flash of a green windbreaker, Corona’s color.
His gaze snapped to the bottom of the stands, and the skin burned behind his
ears.

Clive
Selavio was scanning the bleachers for open seats, and in that instant, his
eyes locked on Aaron and Amber. His pale eyes narrowed in their sockets, and he
barged through the first bench of fans and scurried up the stairs toward them.

***

As
Clive approached, the glare of the quartz lights eroded his scarred face. He
reached the end of the aisle and cut toward them, gripping an unopened can of
beer.

Amber
finally noticed him, and the color drained from her face. He would reach her
first.

Aaron
stood, crossed her lap, and blocked Clive’s path just as he reached her. “What
the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“You
don’t mind if I slide in next to Amber, do you?” said Clive, drenching him with
beer breath.

“The
seat’s taken,” said Aaron.

“No,
I believe it’s free.

“I’d
be careful in that green jacket,” said Aaron.

Clive
peered around at the red and white stadium and then held up his index finger,
studying it. “Harper, all I have to do is touch the back of your skull, and a
little more leaks out.”

“What
are you talking about?” said Aaron.

“And
how long would you guess before you’re empty?” He smirked. “My father can help
you, you know.” With that, he shoved past Aaron and squeezed into the chair
next to Amber. She gave Clive a quick, hateful stare and flattened herself
against the far armrest.

Clive’s
milky, lizard-like eyes surveyed the contours of her face as if she was prey.
“Don’t I get a kiss?” he said.

Though
her cheeks flushed, Amber continued to stare vaguely into the distance. Aaron
rolled up his sleeves and prepared to extricate Clive from the seat. He
motioned for Amber to scoot over and dropped into the seat between them, facing
Clive. Their eyes burned into each other.

“Harper,
how many times must I warn you—”

“What
was that your dad said about you on Wednesday?” said Aaron, interrupting him.
“The boy without a half?”

“If
you’d actually stayed,” said Clive, “then you would have learned I got a new
one.”

Aaron
felt white-hot adrenaline prickle into his blood. He didn’t blink. Finally,
Clive leaned around him and spoke to Amber again.

“Your
father asked me to drive you home tonight. Apparently you’ve been sneaking off?”

Amber
ignored him.

“Amber,
I’m talking to you—”

Aaron
yanked him back by his hood. “She doesn’t want to hear it,” he said.

Clive
clamped his fingers around Aaron’s wrists and pried them off his jacket. “You
need to learn when to keep your ugly nose out of other people’s business.”

“You
can’t get a new half.”

“
Can’t
you?” said Clive, and he popped open his beer, spraying the seats in front of
them with foam. He leaned around Aaron again.

“Amber,
you still haven’t done what I told you to do, and since you’re going to be my
half tomorrow . . . ”

She
was looking down now.

“Amber—”

Suddenly,
she grabbed her bag, stood up, and squeezed past them. “I have to go,” she
muttered.

For
a second, Aaron watched her hurrying down the stairs. Then he slapped Clive’s
beer. The can flew from his hand, spiraling foam, and landed several rows down.
He rose and stumbled after her.

Aaron
caught her at the gate and grabbed her hand. “Forget him,” he said. “Come back
to my house.”

“Didn’t
you hear him?” she said.

“He’s
lying.”

“
I
lied.”

“I
don’t care,” he said.

“I
lied,” she repeated, “because I wanted you instead. I wanted them to be wrong.”
Silver wisps of her hair sparkled against the stadium lights. “But it’s just
like Clive says.”

It
was the opposite of what she’d told him last night. Something had changed.
Aaron felt the damp, chilly night clawing into him.

“He’s
not
your half—” But the half time bell rang behind them, interrupting
him and flooding him with shivers. Their time was up.

 Amber
kissed him, letting her fingers linger on his neck before letting go of him.
“Clive and I have known since childhood,” she said, her eyes cinders,
extinguished of hope. “We weren’t proper juvengamy babies because he was too
sick when he was born. The operation would have killed him—it would have killed
us
 . . . But I’m still his half.”

The
words pierced Aaron’s heart.

“I’m
sorry,” Amber whispered. Then she walked away.

***

He
was still standing in the same spot when Clive squeezed his shoulder.

“I
do hope that meant something to you,” he said, his pale eyes gleaming with
triumph. “Because that’s the last time you see her.”

Aaron
said nothing.

“You
know, Harper, she’s the one who’s going to get hurt tomorrow, after what you’ve
done to her.”

Aaron
swiveled away from him and leaned against the bleachers, just as Dominic Brees
jogged over, dripping sweat and grinning from behind his plastic nose guard.

“Twenty-five
to three!” he said. “Please tell me you guys saw that spin move.” A loud clang
made him look back, and his grin vanished.

“Enjoying
yourself out there, Breezie?” came a voice from under the stands. Aaron
followed Dominic’s gaze to a large figure emerging from the shadows. Buff
Normandy.

From
his vantage point, Aaron saw Clive reach into his pocket and hand something to
Dominic, which he concealed in his hand.

“It
was better when you weren’t too pussy to play,” said Dominic.

“Bet
you won’t say that after the second half,” said Buff. “Coach wants a fair game.
He’s putting me in.”

“He
can’t do that,” said Dominic. You’re below the minimum GPA.”

“Ever
heard of extra credit?” Buff grinned and turned back to the field.

Aaron
heard the click.

“Buff,
behind you!” he shouted, but it was too late.

Before
Buff could turn, Dominic lunged, the switchblade glinting in his fist.

No
time to think. Aaron spun, off balance, and tackled Dominic, sank his shoulder
into the rugby player’s chest. They collided into the bleachers, into the sharp
edges of the steel struts. Rusted metal bit into Aaron’s ear and rattled his
brain, but it was nothing like the clean slash of the switchblade down his
forearm.

At
first, he hardly felt it, just an eerie itch deep in his blood veins, but then
came the hideous sensation of his flesh peeling open to the cold air. He
grabbed his arm and staggered backwards. His hand came back warm and wet. In
the dark, he saw nothing. Then every thunderous beat of his heart was like a
douse of gasoline on the inferno in his arm.

Buff
descended on Dominic and plowed his face into the cement. They rolled, grunting
and kicking up dust. Dominic grasped for a crossbeam, caught one, and hauled
himself to freedom. Corona’s superstar was fast, but Buff was faster. In three
steps, he overtook him and downed him again. Buff’s fists were a blur.

“Buff!
You’re going to kill him!” said Aaron, now doing everything he could to
restrain his best friend’s arm. A few other rugby players sprinted over from
the field.

“Normandy—”
His teammates dragged him off. “Security’s just outside.”

“Right—”
Buff stood and straightened his jersey. “No more bullshit,
Breezie.
” He
glanced at Aaron, his face cloaked in shadow.

Aaron
tried to decipher his friend’s expression, but his teammates were already
ushering him back to the field, telling him they needed to bolt before the
guards came. Reluctantly, Buff peeled his gaze away from Aaron. Feeling dizzy,
Aaron fell to his knees in a patch of silver light.

Next
to him, Dominic groaned and rolled onto his back. Aaron’s eyes felt heavy as he
watched his own blood drain into the dirt from the gaping slash above his
wrist.

***

“
Number
eleven
—” Dominic climbed to his feet and staggered over to him. “What the
hell was that?”

Aaron
ignored him, but a second later Dominic’s wheezing face leered in front of him.

“You’re
about to go down a very painful road.” He grabbed Aaron’s sleeve and wiped the
blood off his switchblade.

The
outlines of Dominic’s face blurred and started spinning, and Aaron had to shut
his eyes.

“And
you—” Dominic advanced on Clive next. “Couldn’t even lift your pinky finger,
could you?”

“I
was unarmed,” said Clive. “You had a knife.”

“Oh
yeah? Did Normandy have a knife? Did number eleven have a knife?” Dominic
gurgled phlegm in his throat and spat. “I’m beginning to doubt your loyalty,
Selavio.”

“It’s
my
wedding
tomorrow,” said Clive.

“Don’t
kid yourself,” said Dominic. “A black eye would be an improvement.”

“It’s
going to be televised.”