Satellite: The Satellite Trilogy, Part I (24 page)

“So, snowmobiling, huh?” Clara asks, probably trying to break the awkwardness, since Anna and Owen are off in their own little world of romance.

“Yeah. You ever done it?”

“I don’t remember.” She thinks her answer is funny. “I grew up in Connecticut. They have some cold winters, so maybe. Although, I previously mentioned my parents not letting me do much. So probably not.”

“Would you? I mean, if you had the chance?”

“Absolutely! I’ll try anything once.” She pauses. “You look surprised.”

“It’s just that—I mean, you seem so…proper.”

“Proper?” She says it like I just called her ugly.

“Sorry. It’s just that you have good manners and all.” Did I just say that out loud?

“That’s because you see me in the company of Owen. Everyone has good manners next to him.”

Owen pulls his tongue out of Anna’s mouth long enough to respond. “Hey!”

“She’s right,” Anna says, but then she sighs as if she doesn’t mind that Owen was brought up in a kennel.

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point there,” I agree. Clara’s actually pretty comical. And her smile is amazing.
No, not amazing.
Stop it, man!
I scold myself.

As if knowing of the chink in my armor, Clara reaches into her bag and pulls out her lip gloss.

“Peppermint,” she says humorously when she sees me staring at the tube. She has no idea how much of a weakness that scent is for me.

She slides the clear stick over her lower lip first.
Is she moving in slow motion on purpose?
She adds some gloss to her upper lip and finally presses both lips together, sliding them back and forth enticingly.

“Earth to Grant,” Owen sings.

I snap back to reality and give him a glare. I wish he wasn’t dead so I could do the honors. He snatches up a piece of bread he dropped earlier on the blanket and chucks it at me, hitting me in the forehead.

Clara, who was oblivious to my previous lip fascination, is no longer. For the second time, her face is as red as the blanket.

“Should we call it a day?” she says to her brown sandals.

“Yeah, I should code before getting back to my assignment,” I lie.

The three of them buy my excuse and stand. While I’m putting the plates in the basket, Anna asks, “What are you doing?” I don’t know she’s talking to me until she repeats herself. “Grant, what are you doing?”

I want to say,
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
but instead, I answer, “Cleaning up.”

“Why?” Owen asks.

My hand freezes in the basket when I get it. Then I’m sure my face turns as red as Clara’s was. The three of them confirm this by laughing at me. Talk about feeling stupid.

“Sorry. Habit, I guess.” I stand, but look down at my feet.

“Dude, you’re a loser,” Owen jokes, taking Anna’s hand. They begin walking past the bleachers toward the stone path.

Clara and I follow a few steps behind the happy couple. “I thought that was cute,” she whispers.

My face grows even hotter. I’d give anything to displace right now.

When we’re inside, things become even more awkward. “So, ah, thanks for the meal.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

“Don’t thank me.” Clara smiles and I swear she leans forward. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh—right. Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

Her smile loses some of its juice. “I had a good time.”

“Me too.” I’m not sure if I’m just being nice when this comes out. No, I did have a good time.

Clara swipes her lips together like she’s spreading the lip gloss around again, and her eyes move to the right. Something from behind pushes me. I lose my balance and trip forward. Clara takes this wrong, and—oh no!—pushes her peppermint lips against mine.

I want to pull back, but the taste keeps my feet—and lips—firmly planted. Clara’s lips feel so much like Tate’s, but so different at the same time. Probably because my eyes are wide open in shock, reminding me that this is not Tate.

What are you doing!
I scream in my head. Finally, I do step back, not sure why it took five more seconds after my mental scolding.

Clara looks pleased by our exchange. I, on the other hand, am trying with great difficulty to keep my cool.

“Thanks,” I say lamely. “I’ll see you around.” I turn and walk away as fast as I can without looking rude.
Thanks? Did I seriously just thank her?

I’m in the elevator two minutes later, unsure how I even got here. I brush my fingers over my lips and then lick my bottom one, tasting peppermint. My stomach twists with the realization that I just kissed Clara. And I don’t think I hated it.

Rigby’s going to kill me.

.

18. She almost burned the house down

I know it’s risky, especially since I’m sure the Schedulers are going to know immediately, but I have to see Tate—now more than ever. What happened with Clara…I don’t know what to think.

When I land at Ryder’s, I gauge his mood. This is easy considering he’s taking a nap, just as he was when I left him before break. Now or never, I decide, and dig through my bag for the picture frame I haven’t used in months.

I say the magic word and go rocketing across the Earth. While I zoom through the trees and mountains, nerves make my stomach tighten. What I’m doing is wrong—and so unfair to Ryder.

Standing in my bedroom feels strange, like it no longer belongs to me. I push all thoughts from my head except for one—Tate—and then I fly to her house. The sun is shining and the large, blooming trees hide most of the lawns below.

The muted violin notes coming from inside Tate’s house drift through the back yard. I’m in a rush to get to Tate’s room, but I still find myself stopped and staring at Fischer in the kitchen. He must have shot up six inches since the last time I was here. Unbelievable.

I take the steps two at a time, even though I could fly if I wanted. Climbing them makes me think of the days when I was alive. Nothing wrong with a little fantasizing.

I walk through her bedroom door and Tate continues to play. Frozen like a deer in headlights, I can’t will my legs to move even though I desperately want to close the space between us. She is beautiful, more stunning than she’s been in a long time. She’s even wearing a brown sweater with dark jeans. Though I’d prefer an even broader color spectrum, this beats the black trash she was wearing before. Her makeup is lighter, too, allowing more of her true beauty to shine. With Tate’s violin as the soundtrack, my reeling mind conjures past images of Tate and me in happier times like an old home video. Dizzy and in fear of falling over, I swallow and try to regain my balance.

“Really?”

My head snaps to the far corner of the room. In those few seconds of being entranced by Tate, I had forgotten all about Liam. Sitting on the floor beside Tate’s desk, he has stopped juggling a red bouncy ball. His deflated tone matches his expression. “I thought we were over all this.”

I ignore him and turn back to Tate as she finishes the song. She stills, leaving her bow on the strings. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath.

“Tate,” I whisper when I find my voice.

She takes another breath like she’s trying to calm herself. Then she moves the bow across the violin again, playing a faster, almost angry sounding song.

Being here, seeing her—it makes me question how I could have liked Clara’s kiss. This is where I belong.

I sit on Tate’s bed, watching her play, ecstatic about how much better she’s doing. I need to come back more; I should have never stopped. I refuse to look at Liam, knowing he would disagree with my revelation.

Tate finishes her aggressive song, and I know I should go. Maybe if my trips are short, the Schedulers will never know about them. I walk over to Tate, breathe in her scent, and whisper “I love you” into her ear. “I’ll be back soon.” This makes me feel so much better about leaving.

Liam’s disapproval is laced with expletives that are still rolling when I displace. With a mouth like that, he’d give my father a run for his money.

Ryder’s still sleeping when I get back to his house. I pulled it off! I do my reading like a good Satellite and settle in for a quiet night of dinner and a movie. I even laugh through the comedy. Yes, this is a good day.

Later the next day, I step outside to wait in the breezeway while we’re at Ryder’s grandparents’ house. The family photos gracing the walls only drive home how badly I want to talk to Willow because I really do miss her. Plus, with Ryder doing better, if Willow does know of my epic fail, hopefully she can forgive me.

Finally, Ryder hobbles out of the house with Hannah hovering over him like a helicopter parent. He tries brushing Hannah off when she offers more help than he needs down the steps.

I fly behind Hannah’s red car on the way to Ryder’s house, wishing I could feel the warmth of the bright sun on my skin. About a mile from Ryder’s place, the brake lights shine and the compact car makes a U-turn. Confused, I follow behind until we finally stop. A cemetery visit seems odd, especially since Ryder’s book never mentioned it.

Hannah tries to help Ryder out of the car, but he refuses her assistance. He gets himself supported on his crutches and says he needs a few minutes alone. Suddenly, goose bumps run along my skin.

I recognize the feeling as soon as my vision comes back. Hundreds of miles away, Tate just destroyed something—a memory.

I take a deep breath, convince myself that Liam can handle Tate, and remember what happened the last time I left Ryder unattended. Reluctantly, I follow Ryder to the twin headstones, still fighting with myself about choosing him over Tate.

Prepared to block, my calimeter cuts me off and Ryder turns to a mannequin in front of the graves.

Damn!

Unable to hold out any longer, I dig into my bag for the frame and displace, hoping to catch Liam. When I’m finally to Tate’s, the burning smell in the air causes my mind to race, and Elliott’s empty seat at the kitchen table makes me flinch. But then I see her, and the world is right again.

Tate’s familiar beauty freezes me—oh, how I missed her!—and I stand rooted to the tile floor, as still as she is. Sitting at the table, she hasn’t touched her plate of food. This bothers me, since Fischer and Tate’s parents are almost finished with their meal.

My yell for Liam is answered by silence. I stare at Tate, wanting so badly to touch her, yet afraid that if I do, I’ll never leave. I wonder if this is what it’s like for a drug addict after they get their fix. It kills me to go, but I have to find Liam to know what she’s destroyed.

I’m out of breath by the time I get to Benson. “Has anyone seen Liam?”

After looking at me like I’m a lunatic, everyone at the table shakes their head in unison.

“What’s his room number?” I say it so quickly that my words almost trip over each other.

“Eight twenty-seven. But why—”

Halfway out of the room before Owen can finish asking his question, I have to spin and run back. “What’s his last name?” I wheeze between breaths.

“Moore.” Owen, along with everyone else, is still wearing the same confused look.

I sprint out of Benson, across the lobby, and down the
M
hall. My knock goes unanswered, along with my incessant door pounding, so fifteen minutes and a lot of stares later, I’m on my sofa, busting to talk to someone. Where the heck is Willow, anyway?

I check on Ryder before going to Tate’s, mostly because I’m scared that if I see her again, I’ll never leave. Ryder unfreezes, awkwardly leans on his crutches to get closer to the twin grave markers, and pulls a granite rock from his pocket.

“Hey, guys. I just needed to tell you that I’m happy, thanks to Hannah. That’s what it’s about, right?” He pauses. “She’s great. Dad, you knew her, so I’m sure you agree. Nana and Gramps love her as much as I do.” He takes a deep breath. “Basically, what I’m trying to say is, don’t worry about me. Enjoy each other.” He kisses the rock and places it on top of Willow’s headstone. “I love you.”

I snap my mouth closed, and, for the first time, the urge to follow Ryder is gone. Still, I don’t leave his house until he’s snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors. It’s only seven in the evening, but his pain medication puts him to sleep with the infants and elderly of the world. Hannah’s still here, too, which assures me that he will be all right in my absence.

Tate’s sprawled on the wrong end of her bed when I get there. She adjusts her earbuds and nods to a beat I can’t hear.

“Hey, man,” I say. Freaked out, Liam drops Tate’s book. “She destroyed something, right? I blacked out on my assignment.”

He’s obviously ticked that I’ve come back here, but after a sigh, he finally talks. “A photo album.”

“How’d she do it?” I manage. Feeling sick to my stomach, I try to wrap my head around all the memories she eliminated in one shot.

“Fire. She’s quite the pyro. She almost burned the house down.”

I join Liam on the floor—which he seems none too thrilled about—and focus on the hairline crack in the wall. As the sun sets, the room darkens and the crevice gradually disappears. I can’t help but think of Tate, how she is stealing herself from me, disappearing from my memories, and there’s nothing I can do to stop her.

I jump when Fischer screams in the next room, but Liam doesn’t even flinch. The house becomes still again. “He’s been having nightmares lately,” Liam says in a dry voice.

Tate’s swollen eyes prove what I already know. My visits to her have been for selfish reasons, and they are doing nothing to help her move on. I have to let her go.

I wipe away a tear before it rolls down my jaw.

During break, I jump at the knock on my door and anxiously bury Tate’s frame—which I’ve been death-gripping for the past twenty minutes—into my bag. “Come in!” I yell from the sofa.

“Hello, Grant.” The person I was hoping for was Willow. Instead, I get Jonathan.

“How’s it going?” I reply. Resting my head back, I decide I’m keeping the atrocious (but oh-so-comfortable) sofa. If Willow asks, I’ll tell her it’s because it’s too much trouble to move.

“Quite well, thank you. Mind if I sit?”

“Nope. What’s up?” I ask dully.

“I’m here with good news.” When I don’t say anything, Jonathan continues. “Your assignment with Ryder is complete.”

I try to keep my face even. Does he know I just went to Tate’s?

“I realize Ryder’s assignment did not go exactly as planned, but I am very proud of how you’ve stepped up the past few months. I know this transition has not been easy for you.” He pauses, making me shift in the sofa. He knows something—he has to.

“Everything OK?” Oh yeah, he totally knows.

I can only nod, not trusting my voice.

“Hmm,” he replies.
What does that mean?
“We will exchange assignment books in the Orders hall during your next break. I expect Willow will join us to celebrate your success; she’s passing the torch, so to speak. You will have a week off to rest and familiarize yourself with your next assignment.”

I keep quiet, not knowing what to say. Is he going to bust me right here?

“You’re welcome to stick around Progression. You’ve certainly earned a day off. But if you’d rather, you can spend your final day with Ryder. Oh—also, because his assignment has closed, his book will now detail his full future, ending on the day of his passing. When you have some time, I suggest reading it. It’s an important part of the process for Satellites and should bring closure to your assignment.”

I can’t stop thinking of Tate.

“You know, Grant, I am always available if you need to talk. No topics are off limits.”

I think about Elliot’s empty chair at the Jacoby table and hope a subject change will clear my conscience. “Actually, I do have a question.”

“Yes?”

“How are Satellites chosen?”

“Every Satellite possesses a key chromosome that undergoes breakage and reverses its gene sequence at conception. We call this a chromosomal inversion. This rearrangement causes an abnormality in the brain, one that Satellites rely on daily: the ability to block. Incidentally, you are one of very few Satellites whose chromosome is not only inverted, but thicker as well. Over a century has passed since we’ve seen this in one of our Satellites.”