Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) (19 page)

“So?
You’re not the one we’ll be watching.”

Clive’s
eyes shrank to slits. “You better get a real good look then,” he said. “Because
it’s the last time you’ll see her.”

Dominic
shook his head and slid the nose guard off his face. His curly hair bounced
back into place. “Clive, I’m talking about your father. I don’t give a damn
about your half
.
”

Aaron
was still on the ground. Through the fog in his brain, he could barely hear Clive’s
tense voice.

“And
what exactly about my father?”

“It’s
that machine he has in my basement that bothers me. I can’t sleep with that
God-awful racket.”

“Then
wear earplugs,” said Clive. “Your parents agreed to let him test it.”

“Don’t
even start,” said Dominic, spitting again. “With all the rap they’ve taken for
you guys, lying to the police and everything—”

“I’d
stay out of it,” Clive warned.

Dominic
flipped the switchblade closed and leaned forward. “Selavio, I
know
that
thing doesn’t cure half death. If it did, Justin Gorski would still be alive.”
With that, he spun and hobbled back to the field. Before he was gone though, he
yelled over his shoulder. “And if I was you, number eleven, I wouldn’t fall
asleep tonight.”

Aaron
was only half-aware of him. Later, once Clive left too, he ripped off a section
of his T-shirt. With one hand, he wrapped the material around his arm, pulled
it tight, and tied it off in a knot. Then he hunched forward and cradled his
forehead in his palms. As the pain ebbed from his sliced forearm, he became
aware of the slow smolder in his lips, leftover from Amber’s last kiss. And he
knew then.

He
was in love with her.

0 Days,
12 hours, 18 minutes

Dominic didn’t play in
the second half, and with Buff now on the field, Pueblo won the first league
game of the season twenty-six to twenty-five.

Back
at home, Aaron scrubbed his arm over the bathroom sink. The wound had scabbed
over, but the tension in his flesh threatened to rip it back open. He wrapped
his wrist tight with gauze.

In
twelve hours, he was due at the Chamber of Halves. In twelve hours, Amber and
Clive would join as halves, and their souls would intertwine forever. Aaron
forced himself to breathe, to exhale—and a nerve-racking moment followed when
he wasn’t sure he could fill himself back up again.

They
had known since childhood.

His
mom appeared in the doorway. “Phone call,” she said, tossing him the cordless.

Nobody
called him on their home phone.

“Hello?”
said Aaron.

“Walter
Wu speaking.”

“
Who
?”

“Dreadfully
sorry for the late call,” he said. “I’m your authorized correspondent from the
Chamber of Halves.”

Aaron’s
stomach gave an odd shudder. “What’s this for?”

 The
man cleared his throat. “Mr. Harper, how are you feeling?”

“Just
dandy.”

“Sick?”

“Yes.”

“Stomachache?”

“Absolutely.”

“Any
pain at the back of your head?”

Aaron’s
mouth was already open to give an answer when he froze, and felt the hairs on
his forearms slowly stand on end. “Mr. Wu, what’s this for?” he asked again.

The
man cleared his throat one more time then spoke in an high, oddly strained
voice. “I think that just about does it. Tomorrow at eleven then, Aaron.” And
he hung up.

For
several seconds, Aaron held the phone to his ear, listening to his heart’s echo
over the dial tone, before he set it down.

“You
should get to bed soon,” said his mom from the doorway, his dad behind her.
“You want to feel rested in the morning.”

“Get
sleep while you can,” said his dad, winking. “You’ll be up all night tomorrow.”

They
both smiled at him, doing their best to act like he was normal, exactly like
any other seventeen-year-old on the eve of his birthday—about to experience the
best day of his life. It wasn’t that easy, though.

Other
parents spent months and thousands of dollars on their kids’ eighteenth
birthdays. But with all the MRIs and visits to the doctor, no one had time to
prepare for Aaron’s birthday. Here he was twelve hours from his appointment
without a suit to his name, and all they could do was smile at him.

Though
his intestines felt like they were being threaded through a needle, he managed
to focus on Amber, on a final glimmer of hope. And as soon as his parents went
to bed, he hurried out to his car.

***

The
muddy sky had begun drizzling, and warm, oily droplets sprayed his cheeks.

His
Mazda sputtered, caught, then lugged him up the street. Houses slunk by, dark
as specters, and the liquid on his windshield glowed neon from their porch
lights. The hulk of Mission Ridge loomed ahead of him, crowned with a strip of
golden lights—Loma Sierra drive.

Amber’s
house.

She
was Clive’s half. Aaron counted raindrops, straining to numb the sting in his
heart, but it was hopeless. He clutched the steering wheel and squeezed the
color from his knuckles. At the game, Amber said they had known since childhood.

Pain
exploded in his right arm, making him wince, and he watched as fresh blood
soaked the gauze. The salty stench of an open wound coiled up his nostrils. But
the pain was nothing compared to the rage and envy gnawing in his gut.

But
Amber had lied before. In fact, she
always
lied. Aaron downshifted and
sank his foot to the floor. No one knew their half
before their
birthday.

The
sleek blue body of Mr. Lilian’s corvette glistened in the rain. Aaron braked
too late and plowed into its bumper. He cringed, jumped out of his car, and
assessed the damage. Flakes of paint floated in the puddle between their cars.
He leaned closer.
Blue
paint—thank God.

Amber
didn’t pick up her phone, so Aaron scooped up a handful of gravel, snuck around
back, and trudged up a muddy hill until he was directly under her balcony—he
hoped. Then he chucked pebbles against the sliding glass doors. It was absurd.

He
heard a gasp, followed by a splash. But not from the balcony. The noise came
from the hillside, from close by, from within arm’s reach—

“
Aaron?
”
It was Amber’s voice. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness under the balcony,
they focused on the wall right in front of him, where she stood inexplicably in
polka dot pajama bottoms, rain boots, and an open hunting jacket. She was also
holding a rake, sort of how you’d hold a baseball bat—

“Were
you about to
hit me?
” he said.

“I
should have,” she muttered, reluctantly lowering the rake.

He
looked her up and down. “And
this
is how you dress when I’m not around.”

“You
sound excited.”

Then
he noticed the plastic bin in a puddle at her feet, spilling cans and cardboard
boxes into the mud.

“Taking
out the trash?” he said, unable to prevent himself from smirking.

“Recycling,”
she said.

“No
servants?”

Amber
stepped in close, and he could see her eyelashes fluttering in the rain. “
You
just think I’m too pretty to be doing this kind of stuff.”

“Makes
no difference,” he said.

“So
you’re admitting it?” she said.

“It
didn’t get you out of chores, did it?”

“Aaron,
why are you here?” she said with a hint of impatience. Droplets sparkled in her
hair, dripped off, and ran down her nose. The humidity brought out her smell,
intensified it.  

“Because
you’re lying about Clive,” he said finally.

“And
you’re sneaking around in the middle of the night outside my bedroom,” she
said. “Want me to tell my dad?”

“Go.
I’ll wait right here,” said Aaron. “It’s about time he and I had a word.”

“Fine.
Don’t move.” She turned to leave, but Aaron grabbed her arm and tugged her to
face him.

“Tell
me you’re not his half,” he said.

Amber’s
eyes were luminous as they scanned his face. “Why do you care, Aaron? It’s not
like you
wanted to be my half.”

“So this is about last
night then?” he said.

“When you broke my
heart? Maybe,” she said.

“I liked you better
when you didn’t listen to me.”

“And I liked you better
before you started trying to protect me,” she said. “Because you can’t.”

“Amber, you don’t
want
to be my half,” he said. “My channel’s about to break. I don’t get to have what
everyone else has.” He reached up and wiped her dripping hair off her cheek.
“You do.”

 “So all this
meant
nothing to you?” she said, watching him in disbelief. She sighed and pushed
away his hand. “Can you go now? I have to get ready for tomorrow—” her
gaze fell to the bloody gauze around his arm, and
she stopped abruptly.

“I’m
fine—”

“
Clearly
not, Aaron,” She yanked him through a back door into her house, despite his
protests. As soon as they were inside, Aaron heard shouts from another room.
But not at him. It was Mrs. Lilian, hysterical, screaming herself hoarse at Mr.
Lilian.

 “Ignore
them,” said Amber, blushing as she pulled him up the stairs.

 “Right.”
Aaron raised his eyebrows at the muddy footprints they left on the carpet. “And
when they see me?”

 “You
run,” she said, seating him on her bed. A piercing crash from downstairs made
them both jump. The parents were hurtling china now.

Amber
avoided his eyes and busied herself with the gauze around his arm, unwrapping
it. Her hair tumbled loose and covered half her face.

Aaron
caught pieces of her parents’ argument before they lowered their voices, and
they chilled him . . .
illness is getting worse, it’s not my fault the potentate
can’t make the wedding . . . Oh yeah? Well unless we want to disgrace our bloodline,
now our daughter has to spend her honeymoon at the potentate’s palace . . .

Amber’s
hands trembled as she peeled the last of the gauze off his arm.

She
went to her bathroom and brought back a warm washcloth. “Take off your shirt,”
she said.

“Amber,
I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Fine.”
She knelt in front of him and cleaned his arm. Her parents stopped fighting,
and an unnerving silence followed. Amber rubbed the wound with Neosporin, and
her fingers soothed the fire in his nerves.

And
lit all different ones.

“You’re
making it worse,” he said.

“This
hurts?”

He
stared at her. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She
smiled. “Do I ever?”

There
was a knock on the door.

“Sweetheart,
what are you doing in there?” It was her dad.

“Having
sex,” she said.

“I
heard a man’s voice.”

“Could
you come back later?” she said, her voice biting.

“Amber—”

“I’m
naked!”

Aaron
tensed, waiting for the door to open, but her dad’s footsteps moved on down the
hall.

“Now
you really
have to go,” she whispered.

“I
thought you wanted me to talk to your dad,” said Aaron.

“I
changed my mind,” she said, a ghost of a smile crossing her face, and she
raised her head to kiss him. “I like you better alive.”

There
was a creak outside her bedroom door. And then it burst open. Aaron jumped up.

“God
dammit, I knew it,” said her father, stepping into the room. “Trespassing on my
daughter and my property.” He carried a semi-automatic rifle in his hands. It
was all black, polished metal. 

And
Aaron was staring straight down the barrel’s throat. “
Shit
,” he said.

“Dad—NO!”
Amber leapt in front of him.

“Baby,
if you do not step aside, I
will
fire at him above your head.” His eye
narrowed behind the gun sight. “Son, I will escort you now to your vehicle. I
did notice you were parked rather close to my Vette—I hope that’s incidental.”

***

It
occurred to Aaron, as he scribbled out an uncashable twelve-hundred dollar
check at gunpoint for the scratch on Mr. Lilian’s bumper, that without Amber,
life wasn’t even remotely appealing. He wanted her to be his half
.

As
soon as Aaron made it home, he collapsed fully clothed onto his bed and stared
at the four digits on his alarm clock. Two minutes until midnight. Then it
would be Saturday, March 30
^th
.