Free to Fall (11 page)

“Does he go to Theden?” I asked.

Hershey gave me a mysterious smile.

“Your appointment starts in two minutes,” I heard Lux say as the girl with the shaved head put our drinks on the bar.

I took a sip of mine and smiled. “Yum. So much better than the matcha drink I had last time.” It was childish, and not even much of a jab, but I couldn’t help it. I saw Hershey glance at North again as she reached for her coffee.

“Are you really seeing someone?” I asked Hershey when we were back on the sidewalk.

“I use the term
seeing
loosely,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Hooking up with in varied and unconventional places is more accurate.” I was intrigued and mildly grossed out. How unconventional were we talking here? Against my will, my mind leaped to the dream I’d spent the morning trying to forget. North and I, on the floor of the mausoleum, in the rain. All at once I was fuming, and the more I thought about the way he’d just treated me, the angrier I got. He’s sweet as can be to me when we’re alone and acts like he doesn’t know me when Hershey’s around? God, it was so
transparent
. And offensive. He obviously didn’t want me to tell Hershey that we’d hung out because he was trying to keep his options open. I was most irritated at myself for agreeing to keep it a secret. I should’ve said,
Here’s a better idea, asshole: Let’s not hang out at all.

“So which will it be?” I heard the shop owner ask, interrupting the who-do-you-think-you-are speech I was giving North in my head. I’d tried on six dresses, five that Lux had chosen for me and one that Hershey had picked, gowns that belonged on celebrities, not sixteen-year-old nobodies with knobby knees and crappy posture, but I still couldn’t decide. Hershey had gone with the first dress she’d put on, a floor-length red sheath with a plunging neckline and a thigh-high slit up the side. I thought the shop owner was going to have a coronary when Hershey came out of the dressing room in it.

“Um,” I said for about the nine hundredth time. The dress I had on was pretty. Black and strapless and simple. I started to tell her I’d just take this one when Hershey piped up.

“She’ll take the Dior,” she said, pointing at the green taffeta ball gown on the rack beside me. It was the one she’d picked out for me, a dress I never would’ve chosen for myself—bright and big with jewels on the bodice and layers and layers of crinoline underneath. But it fit, and the color made me look decidedly less pasty than normal, so I nodded my assent.

As I was pulling on my jeans, my Gemini buzzed.

New Forum message!

@KatePribulsky:
sorry for before. will explain l8r. can u come over tonight?

I didn’t recognize the name so I zoomed in on the profile pic. Shaved head, pierced nose. It was the girl who worked with North. Since she clearly didn’t have anything to apologize for, the message had to be from him.

To my great annoyance, my heart fluttered at the thought. So pathetic.

I punched out
can’t tonight
then blocked @KatePribulsky from my account.

11

THE FOLLOWING FRIDAY,
after a particularly brutal beating in practicum, I slipped into my seat in Cog Psych and audibly exhaled. Not only was the Masquerade Ball tomorrow, but I had a two-day break from the Beast. Aka, Dr. Tarsus.

Her class continued to be fifty-five minutes of unadulterated hell every morning. It wasn’t the subject matter I hated, or the format. Just her. Anytime I tried to participate in class, I got hammered for it. My comments were “shortsighted” or “misguided” or “woefully off the mark.” When I stayed quiet, she blasted me for not participating. I couldn’t win.

I docked my Gemini and pulled out my tablet to sync up. We’d been moving through the physical architecture of the brain, and today we were supposed to cover the frontal lobe. But the screen at the front of the room was dark. Rudd was coming around with his handheld, stopping at each desk. Witty and approachable, Kyle Rudman was the anti-Tarsus, and by far my favorite teacher.

“Were we supposed to start on chapter three?” someone asked in a panicked voice.

“Nope,” Rudd replied as he stepped up to my desk. “We’ve still got another two days on chapter two. We’re just taking a time-out to talk about your research projects.” He reached for my handheld. “Hey, Rory. You’ve got APD, right?”

My mouth went dry. I knew he was asking about my topic, but the way he phrased it stirred the little well of fear at the base of my spine. I hadn’t heard the voice since that moment in the arena, but I kept thinking about it. I was seriously questioning my choice of paper topics, wishing I’d trusted Lux after all. Every time I started reading a journal article or a scholarly paper, the nagging uncertainty would creep back in. I’d catch myself questioning the science, trying to poke holes in the research—which, by the way, was a lot less conclusive than I’d been taught to believe. There were theories about how the elimination of synaptic connections in the frontal lobe could cause auditory hallucinations, but no real proof, a fact that every science textbook—and teacher—I’d ever had had completely glossed over. There were moments when I felt certain that there was more to the Doubt than the research let on. Was this why Lux had steered me away from picking APD as my topic? Did the app somehow know that I’d react like this? That in itself was alarming. Virtually every source I’d found talked about the fact that there were some people who were predisposed to hear the voice and less capable of blocking it out. Was I one of them?

“Rory?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “APD.” Rudd punched a button on his handheld and a new icon appeared on my screen. It was red with the letters
DPH
in the center and had a little lock symbol at the upper right corner.

“You’ve all been given limited access to the Department of Public Health’s medical records database,” Rudd said as he returned to the front of the room. “Your login has been coded to the research topic you selected, allowing you to review the med records for patients who suffered from the mental illness you’re studying.” He picked up his tablet off his desk and tapped the DPH icon. The app launched on the screen at the front of the room. “Now, I know what some of you are thinking,” he deadpanned as he logged himself in. “You’re hoping this means you’ll be able to prove once and for all that your frenemy is a certified nut job. But, alas, your access is limited to
dead
crazies, and this particular database is anonymous anyway, which means the only identifying information you’ll have are gender, ethnic origin, and birth and death dates.” He made a face of mock disappointment, and we all laughed.

Once inside the database, Rudd gave us a brief tutorial on how to search by diagnosis and how to filter our results. “The point here is for you to play sleuth. To look for clues as to how the pathology you’re studying affects a patient’s wellness, to find patterns and consistencies among different patients, and to reason through the trajectory from diagnosis to death. What are the pivot points? How could healthcare policy be improved to give sufferers of your illness a better quality of life?”

Seeing how the Doubt had ruined people’s lives would no doubt help silence my inner skeptic. Sign me up.

The girls were already in the dining hall when I got to lunch. Izzy was at the salad bar, studying her screen. “It just says cucumbers,” she said as I walked up. “Does that mean I can have an unlimited amount of them?” She looked at me for the answer. She’d been using Lux to help her diet for the Ball and was a half a pound from her goal.

“I think so?”

“Excellent,” she said, dumping the entire container onto her plate.

I grabbed a tray and slid down the counter. I was scrolling through the ingredients in the Chinese chicken salad when I felt someone beside me.

“You coming to the match tomorrow?” I heard Liam say.

“Uh—” I assumed he was talking about water polo, but it would never have occurred to me to go to a match. I could count the number of sporting events I’d attended in my life on one hand.

Liam saw the look on my face and laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m not much of a sports person,” I said apologetically.

“Well, since you said no to my first question, you’re not allowed to say no to my second one.”

“Uh-oh,” I said, eyeing him with mock suspicion.

“Be my date to the Ball.”

I heard the word
ball
and for a second I thought he was still talking about water polo.

“Wait, the Masquerade Ball?”

“Is there another one I don’t know about?” he teased. A few seconds passed as I just stood there, too stunned to hold up my end of the conversation.
Liam was asking me out?
My self-concept wasn’t that bad, but guys like Liam didn’t typically go for girls like me. Then again, my experience with guys like Liam was pretty limited. I glanced past him and saw Hershey at the soup station, watching us.

“Sure,” I said finally. “I’ll go with you.”

Liam grinned.

“Awesome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as he walked off, Hershey walked over. “What was
that
about?” she asked, setting her tray down next to mine and reaching for a pair of metal tongs.

“Liam asked me to the Ball,” I blurted out.

“Look at you,” she said, nudging me with her hip. “Are you gonna hook up with him?”

“No! I mean, he just asked me. My brain’s not there yet.”

“Well, put your brain there,” Hershey pressed. “Either you can imagine hooking up with him or you can’t.”

How could I want to hook up with Liam when every time I heard the words
hook
and
up
in the same sentence, my brain catapulted to North?

“I guess I can,” I allowed. “Maybe.”

“So you like him.”

“I think he’s a nice guy,” I clarified.

“Don’t mistake calculation for kindness, Rory,” she said, snapping her tongs at my face like a crocodile’s jaw. Then she laughed and slid her tray down the bar.

The Grand Rotunda had been barricaded all week, and when I passed through its doors Saturday night, I understood why. The room’s austere marble surfaces were hidden behind elaborate set pieces that seemed to be growing out of the walls instead of sitting in front of them.

“I can’t get over how incredible you look,” Liam said as he held the door open, his voice echoing inside his lion mask.

“It’s the dress,” I told him.
And the fact that my face is completely hidden,
I wanted to add. Our masks had been hand-delivered in layers and layers of tissue paper to our dorm rooms on Thursday afternoon. When I saw Hershey’s and mine, I knew I’d been right. They were exactly the masks the society members had worn. But up close they were even more spectacular than they’d appeared to me then. I’d been given a peacock, its elongated beak made of smooth yellow lacquer, with textured white stripes above and below the eyeholes that felt like they were made of leather, and close to a hundred tiny curled feathers on the crown. The fanlike crest of iridescent blue-green feathers was a separate piece, attached with stiff wire to a bejeweled hair comb. Hershey’s jaguar mask was less striking but just as beautiful, with wet-looking black fur that felt like it had come from an actual jungle cat. It was hard to believe these pieces were nearly three hundred years old. Aside from a few small patches of matted fur and one bent feather, the masks were in perfect condition.

“It’s the girl
in
the dress,” Liam corrected. He was wearing the lion’s head again, and in the light I was struck by how real it looked, from the thick, caramel-colored mane to the fuzzy triangular nose and downturned black mouth. “The only way you could look better,” Liam added, giving my hand a squeeze, “was if that mask wasn’t hiding your beautiful face.”

It was a cheesy thing to say, but he sounded like he meant it, so I let myself beam. It’s not like anyone could see it.

“Whoa,” I heard Liam say beside me. It was more of a grunt, really, as though the word had escaped without him meaning for it to. It was hard to follow his gaze since I couldn’t see his eyes, but there was no mistaking what had prompted the reaction.

Hershey was standing a few yards in front of us, next to a smoking volcano, talking to a man in a brown bear’s head. A cloud of dry ice billowed around her, rustling the bottom of her red dress. Knowing Hershey, she’d probably picked the spot just for the effect. She’d wrapped her bare arms in black leather shoelaces and shaded her shoulders with streaks of kohl eyeliner, blurring the line between mask and skin.
Whoa
was right.

“Oh, look, there’s Hershey,” I said casually, as if Liam and I hadn’t both been staring at her for the last ten seconds. I watched as she put her hand on the bear’s forearm and he shook it off. Who was under that mask? There was something familiar about his posture, but I couldn’t place him. Was that her mystery boy? If so, there was clearly trouble in hookup land. I could tell from his body language that he did not want to be having whatever conversation they were having. I took a step toward her, but Liam caught my arm. “Let’s dance,” he said, moving into my sightline. I was struck again by how real his mask looked, right down to the fan of whiskers.

“Uh, okay,” I replied, not at all sure I could do that in this dress—or these heels. I gripped Liam’s hand to steady myself as he led me to the center of the dance floor.

“I can see you back there,” Liam said as he wrapped his arms around my waist. “Analyzing me with those impenetrable blue eyes.”

“Analyzing you, huh?” In reality, I was too consumed by the awkwardness of trying to slow dance with a giant mask on my head to be analyzing anything, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You were doing it when we met,” Liam replied. “I was trying to be all cute and charming, and your eyes weren’t giving anything away. The whole time I’m thinking,
So does this girl like me or not?
I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since.”

He paused as if he was waiting for my answer. I faltered. What was I supposed to say? I did like him, in the regular sense of the word. But the way he meant it? Until Hershey interrogated me about it yesterday, I hadn’t even considered the idea.

“What’s not to like?” I said lightly. “I—”

“We have a lot in common, you know,” Liam said, cutting me off. “We were both stuck in a cage of mediocrity,” he said. “Yours was in Seattle, mine was in Boston. And now we’re here. On our way to somewhere much, much better.”

I bristled. Yes, there were times when I felt like an outsider back home. And there were moments when I wanted nothing more than to escape. But it hadn’t been a cage, and the life my dad and Kari were living wasn’t
mediocre
. Who appointed Liam the judge of lives, anyway?

He could sense my reaction. “That didn’t come out right,” he said quickly. “All I meant is that we’d make a great team.” He gave my hips a light squeeze. “That is, if you can stand me.” Through the painted mesh of the lion’s mouth, I saw him chewing self-consciously on his bottom lip, and I realized that his confidence was an affectation, like the penny loafers and the popped collar. Part of the persona he’d worked so hard to adopt. Behind the mask was a kid from a crappy neighborhood wearing someone else’s clothes. I softened.

“Hmm . . .” I teased. “Does it require me to attend sporting events? Because that just might be too much.”

“I think we could come to an arrangement,” he said with a laugh.

“Here’s an idea,” I said lightly. ”I’ll come watch you hurl yourself around in the water if you’ll spill all those society secrets you’re keeping.”

“That I can’t do,” he replied in a low voice. ”Not until you get in.”

“Ooh, ‘until’ not ‘unless.’ Does that mean I’ve been upgraded from an ‘if’ to a ‘when’?”

Liam leaned in so our masks were touching, the opening for his mouth pressed against the mesh at my ear. “You’re a Hepta,” he said. His hands were heavy on my hips. “It’s always been yours to lose.”

“No pressure,” I joked. But my mouth was turned away from him and he didn’t hear me.

“C’mon,” he said then, letting go of my hips and reaching for my hand.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he led me through the crowd. The rotunda was now packed with way more alumni than current students. The alums were easy to spot because they were wearing much smaller, newer masks that covered only their eyes, party gifts they were given on the way in. I spotted the guy in the bear mask talking to a group of recent grads, but I didn’t see Hershey anywhere.

“Hey! Stone! Get your ass over here!” Liam’s water polo teammates were beckoning for him. He waved them away and kept moving toward the stairs that led up to the rotunda balconies. But instead of going up, he went around to the underside of the staircase. There was an old phone booth under there, the kind with an accordion door. Liam slid it open and turned around to face me, lifting my mask from my shoulders in one fluid motion before tugging off his own.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“This,” he said, and pulled me inside the narrow space. I stumbled in my heels, but Liam caught me and gently pressed his lips against mine. The accordion door sprung shut behind us, nudging me farther into him.