Solstice (19 page)

My heart hammered as I read the first sentences: “Thousands flock to Eagle Mountain in a desperate attempt to reach higher ground. Roads have been washed out and cars left abandoned in the mudslides. The people keep coming, bringing only what they can physically carry. Meteorologists predict that this year will see record-breaking rainfall.”

The year of the article was 2054. My grandmother had still been alive.

I clicked on the second link, and read, “Hundreds of house boats, fishing boats, and sail boats surround Eagle Mountain Lake. Fights break out on an hourly basis, but the oil has run out, preventing the town authorities from suppressing the skirmishes. The sound of gunfire is a regular occurrence on the waters.”

I shivered. That was the beginning. When towns and whole cities flooded. This description was far different from the lifeless one we’d heard in class. The flooding had affected real people—men, women, children. Real people like my grandmother.

Tears burned beneath my eyelids. I exited the article, trying to distance myself from the brimming emotion. Where was Rueben now? What was he facing?

I typed in several more searches, hoping to bury my real inquiries beneath school-related ones.

I searched for
journal
, hoping that it wasn’t a restricted word. To my relief, several links came up. “A record of a person’s personal history or thoughts,” one read. A journal wasn’t a person, but a record.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching me. Then I typed in
grandmother
.

A link was titled, “Oldest living grandmother.” I pressed it, knowing I might be taking a risk. Clicking on a link didn’t guarantee that it was valid, and links could disappear at any time since opening them would put it on the search radar. An entire government department was responsible for deleting illegal links. But with hundreds of millions of them out there, finding an illegal link wasn’t impossible. It was just a matter of how long it would be available.

“Grandmother lives until 103,” the article read. “Family surrounds her as she says her final farewells.”

I inhaled. The article was dated just a few years earlier than my grandmother’s journal. I wanted to read the rest, but after thirty seconds, the link would be on my permanent record, so I exited.

I sat for a moment, staring at the console screen. I knew I should start my science research, but my curiosity was in full force.

I typed in
flowers
. Several definitions popped up. I clicked on link after link, but there wasn’t very much information. The last link had a small image. I leaned forward and stared at the bright yellow petals in the image labeled
Sunflower
.

Sol was right. It was beautiful.

I gazed at it for several more seconds before exiting. Then I began typing in random searches from my science notes, burying the sunflower image deeper and deeper, all the while wondering what had happened to all the flowers.

I spent the next couple of hours completing science work, but it was hard to concentrate.

Back in my dorm room, I was almost asleep when I heard my door automatically seal with a soft whooshing sound.

I turned my face to the wall, letting the hot tears escape. This was a new kind of prison.

I almost missed the morning meal, I’d slept so long. I was surprised to have slept at all, but I supposed that my body had finally caved.

Walking slowly to class, I took careful notice of the high metal fence between the buildings that separated us from the boys. Through the trees and the bars I caught an occasional glimpse of someone walking on the other side. Nothing much differentiated the boys’ clothing from ours—they wore the same browns and grays, the same loose pants and shirts with long raincoats.

The rain fell in a slight drizzle, so I lowered my raincoat hood and let my hair become peppered with the mist. The boy I’d noticed walking on the other side of the fence did the same thing.

I stopped and stared. His hair was short, messy, golden brown. From this distance I could tell he was tall and lanky . . . just like . . . Rueben? I couldn’t believe it. But it had to be him. It had to be.

Tracked or not, I hurried toward the fence, weaving through the bushes and trees to get there. Without touching the bars, I stared at the spot where Rueben had been. It was empty.

I drew back, my heart pounding. Had it been him? Had I imagined it? Or maybe it was some other boy, and he wasn’t watching me at all.

Just to be sure, I called out quietly, “Rueben?”

There was no answer. A group of boys came into view, walking from one building to another, as if in a hurry.

I left the spot reluctantly and barely made it to class before it began. It was impossible to focus on my lessons as I wondered if I’d just seen Rueben. And if I had, how did he get to the University?

After classes, I walked slowly to the dorm, hoping to catch another look through the fence. But this time, there was no one on the other side.

On the morning of the science competition orientation, I awoke long before my door unlocked itself. I stood by it, waiting for the whooshing sound. As soon as I heard it, at 7:00 a.m. precisely, I left my room.

Tablet in hand, I hurried to the cafeteria and ate a bowl of orange-flavored yogurt. I was the first in the auditorium except for a group of instructors. I wanted to get a seat where I could watch people coming in, watch for Sol. He’d never answered either of my messages. I also watched for Rueben, as silly as I knew that was.

Within about ten minutes, students started trickling in. Then I saw him; Sol entered through the auditorium doors, walking with a group of guys. I wasn’t prepared for the way my heart started racing. I hated it. Despite my caretakers’ warnings, my emotions were never very far from the surface.

I couldn’t help but stare at him; his hair was shorter, though everything else seemed the same. I waited for his gray eyes to find me. But he didn’t look my way at all as he walked toward the front of the room. He was on the opposite side from me, so I left my seat and threaded through the people, trying to get close enough to talk to him.

An instructor approached Sol, greeting him. I hung back, watching, and, to my surprise, Sol walked with the instructor up to the podium and took one of the seats reserved for the presenters.

Sol was presenting?

Maybe that’s why he didn’t answer my messages—he was cutting me off. He’d made a name for himself at the University already and was afraid I’d ruin it for him.

I stumbled into someone as I turned. “Excuse me,” I muttered and hurried to a back row. When I took my seat, I looked toward the podium again. At that instant my eyes locked with Sol’s. I couldn’t read his expression from so far back, but I was certain he was looking at me.

An instructor stepped up to the podium, and Sol looked away.

Had he seen me follow him to the front of the auditorium? Was he relieved I didn’t speak to him?

My head pounded as the instructor introduced a student who’d quickly risen above the rest and would now introduce the annual science competition—Sol. If I didn’t know him, I wouldn’t have suspected that he was nervous, but his hands were gripping each side of his chair. He was anxious.
I would be, too,
I thought.

“The annual science competition was created for students to harvest new ideas in order to further promote the success of our society,” he began.

He looked straight at the audience, but sounded like he was reading from a prepared speech. I leaned forward, willing him to look at me again. He never did.

“This year, the University is doing something unprecedented,” he said. “Instead of having the men and women science teams compete against each other, they’re allowing men and women to work on teams together. This will facilitate the development of scientific ideas that have input from both genders.”

I barely processed the words as I listened to Sol. I just wanted to soak up his voice. But the longer he talked, the more he sounded like an instructor. I sank back in my chair, a heaviness in my chest.

“The teams will be randomly generated, and there will be no requests taken,” Sol said.

I looked around at the students who listened intently at Sol’s explanations. Nothing seemed to be bothering any of them. I didn’t know which was more painful, being ignored by Sol and never seeing him, or being ignored and seeing him from a distance.

Again, I studied him as he spoke at the podium. Every mannerism was so achingly familiar that I expected him to suddenly turn to me and ask how I was doing. Tell me he was sorry he didn’t reply to my message, that he had a good excuse.

But none of that happened, and I sat in the auditorium full of students, listening to him from afar like everyone else.

“Thank you, Sol,” said the instructor, who came to the podium next. “The winning team will receive the opportunity to present their idea to the government board of science and have their project considered for implementation. This is an important honor and may result in being eligible for a position in O Level.”

Murmuring erupted throughout the auditorium. Even though we’d all made it to the University, there were few positions opened each year for O Level jobs. They were highly coveted—the competition would be fierce. My breathing sped up. Moving to O Level could accelerate my plans as a Carrier.

I looked at Sol again. His gaze was on the instructor, his expression composed.

When the general assembly was over, we were told to divide into our specialties and convene in our classrooms, men mixed with women. At the end of class our science groups would be announced. Since Sol and I had the same specialty, we’d certainly be in the same classroom for today. I scooted out of my row and stood by the wall as others moved past me. I wanted to wait for Sol, to see if he’d talk to me on the way to class.

As he walked up the aisle toward me, I looked down at my tablet, trying to appear busy. But when he neared me, I lifted my eyes. His gaze had been on me, but quickly shifted when I caught it.

“Sol,” I said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.

He kept his eyes forward, although I knew he’d heard me. He walked past me, without another glance in my direction, past my pleading eyes. I fell into step behind him, and when the crowd dispersed, I whispered, “What’s wrong? It’s not against the rules for us to talk.”

He slowed his step. “We don’t know each other anymore.”

I opened my mouth to answer, then shut it. He sped up. Even if I tried, I probably couldn’t catch up to him without making a scene.

Just as I rounded the hallway to our classroom, he disappeared inside. When I reached the doorway, he was sitting in the front row, right by the instructor, surrounded by other students. I had no choice but to sit in one of the back rows where my only view of him was the back of his head and his shoulders, hunching as he typed notes into his tablet.

My eyes stung. How could he completely cut me off like that? If there was some reason we could no longer talk, then there would be no combined training.

First Chalice, now Sol.

By the end of the class period, I felt ready to burst. I had to literally force myself to stay seated. I wanted to rush to my dorm room and sort out my feelings by myself. But instead, I had to sit in class and keep everything inside.

You react too strongly, Jezebel. You need to be calm.
Naomi’s advice certainly applied now. I knew I was a Clinical, like Rueben said, and that probably explained why Sol could just cut me off like he had. He wasn’t like me. He was like everyone else. I shouldn’t have expected him to truly care. Yet I couldn’t deny the memories I had with him—whispering together, his eyes watering when he talked about his caretaker, his need to share his memories. All that must mean something. Even if his Harmony implant was controlling his strongest emotions, wasn’t there any room left over for him to care about me?

I straightened. What was I doing? Wanting Sol to care about me—to
show
that he cared, to
say
that he cared? Maybe he was doing that already. By ignoring me, maybe he thought he was protecting me. He knew I was on restriction, that I was being watched and tracked, and that anything I said to him could bring us both down.

The tightness in my chest only grew worse. On one hand, I could understand why he was doing this, but I still wanted to talk to him, to have a friend. I knew we could never be more, but that didn’t mean I wanted nothing at all.

The instructor’s words filtered back into my mind, “And now, please check your tablets for the division of the science teams.”

All eyes went to their tablets, and I inhaled sharply as I read the names in my group. Sol was first on the list.

A few hours ago, I would have been elated to be on Sol’s team. But that was before he told me that we no longer knew each other.

The students rose from their desks and shuffled out of the room for a short break. After that, we’d meet in our new teams.

I waited at my desk long enough to see Sol stand and turn. I tried to catch his gaze, but he was deliberately avoiding me. I took several deep breaths as I went out into the corridor and made my way to the next classroom where our team was assigned to meet.

I had only recognized Sol’s name on the list, so I didn’t know anyone else in the room when I stepped in. A boy and girl were already at the table.

“I’m Daniel,” the boy said, lifting a hand. His face was round, his blond hair buzzed short. His blue eyes seemed calm and intelligent.

I offered my name then and looked to the other girl.

Her hair was pulled back in the typical tight pony-tail. It was reddish-brown, the red emphasized by her red shirt. I wondered where she’d gotten it—it was uncommon to see red clothing in the city. “Serah,” she said with a nod, her pale blue eyes watching me curiously.
Will you be a competitor or a friend?
I could almost hear her asking.

“And I’m Solomon,” a voice said behind me.

I took my seat next to Serah without looking at Sol.