Transcendent (16 page)

But I didn't know how. Not with my own tomorrow a big, gaping black hole looming just inches in front of my feet.

I didn't know what any of us would do tomorrow. Not me, not Zane and Zoey.

I didn't know anything at all. Not anymore.

I
WOKE UP
early the next morning, or maybe I'd never really slept at all. Most of the night felt like an endless loop of tossing and turning, the sheets damp from my hot, sticky sweat. The room was too poorly ventilated for restful sleep, too dense with the scent of the other women—the women here now, with me, and the women who had come before us. The women who were next, too, the ones who would fill this bed after me.

The room was still and dark, the only sound the heavy, rhythmic breathing coming from the other beds. I tried to lie there just a little longer, to close my eyes and visualize what now, what next, but I was too jittery to stay in bed. I needed coffee and fresh air and to move my legs, to walk somewhere, anywhere. Maybe if I started taking steps, I'd magically end up where I was supposed to be.
Maybe
.

I had to wake Mikki up first, though, before making any decisions about the day. We hadn't talked about it at dinner, in front of everyone else, but I didn't want to leave
without her. We'd come together. I assumed we'd leave together, too. I was surprised she hadn't asked more about the news vans at my house and why exactly we'd run—but then again, we'd had no real private time since we got here.

My bed creaked as I started to slide out of it, and I froze, scared to wake Zoey up. I didn't want to explain to her why I was leaving or where I was going. I would see her again, somehow. I would check up on her—and on Zane—when I had better figured out my own situation. I couldn't help her until I'd helped myself first. Slowly, one tiny movement at a time, I managed to climb out of bed without making any noise. I grabbed my purse and jacket from the shelf and tiptoed over to where Mikki slept.

Only she wasn't in her bed when I got there. The blankets were smooth, tucked tight under the pillow. There was nothing on the shelf, not a single trace of Mikki. She'd been there that night, though, hadn't she? When the lights went out? I was sure of it. She'd gone straight to her bed after dinner, and when I'd left to talk to Zane, she'd already been asleep.

But why would she leave so early?

How could she go without even saying good-bye?

My legs were stiff, suddenly ten times their usual weight, but I forced myself to start moving toward the hallway. We'd only met a few times, after all. I guess I'd been
silly to think that had meant we were
friends
. Why should she have stuck around for me?

Tomorrow, today, this morning, had already seemed petrifying enough when I thought she'd be with me. But now—now the idea of leaving the shelter, of walking out the door and down this street heading nowhere at all, seemed impossible.

I had to go, though, if for no other reason than that they'd be kicking us out, anyway, in just a matter of time. The sun was up; the storm was over.

Mr. Jackson was at the desk again, leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed, his head propped up against the wall behind him. Better this way, that I didn't have to say bye to him either. I didn't have to say bye to anyone. I would just disappear.

I slipped out into the courtyard, inhaling the after-rain smell, the damp brick, the still-wet cement beneath me. My feet turned toward the front gate. I glanced back once as I walked, and I blew a tiny kiss, a thank-you to Benjamin, to Zane and Zoey, and to all the other men and women whose names I would never know.

The traces of the storm were everywhere around me, at odds with the bright shininess of the now-blue sky—garbage and tree limbs and leaves were scattered along the sidewalks, and the street itself was strangely quiet, people still wary, maybe, hiding out. A street sign just above me
dangled precariously from its pole:
DUMONT AVE
. I was probably only a handful of subway stops from home, but I might as well have been on another island altogether. North, south, east, west? Not a clue. Some of my friends seemed to have a built-in compass—they emerged from any subway stop and knew exactly what direction to walk in. I was a born-and-raised city kid, but I still needed a map or smartphone if I ventured beyond my everyday territory.

And this—this was definitely beyond. Yes, I was used to being in the minority in New York City. But I'd never been so obviously the odd one out before, the glaring inconsistency. I was
other
in this neighborhood. I was the lost-looking white girl, in my expensive organic denim jeans and a vintage bomber jacket that my dad had probably bought for me at twenty times the original price. At the shelter, I'd at least had Mikki, and then Zoey and Zane, to make me feel less conspicuous. No one had questioned me there, at least not out loud. Even if I looked different, I still looked just as desperate. Hopefully that desperation would help me again now.

I kept my head down, walking as quickly as I could without looking like I was running—without looking like I was scared. I had a vague idea of where Mikki and I had surfaced from the subway. I'd find the train first.

“You got beautiful eyes, sweetie,” a voice called out from my right. I didn't shift my gaze, not wanting to give
him any attention. But I could still see his bright white sneakers from the corner of my eye as they moved in closer. “Didn't you hear me?” he asked. “You got beautiful eyes. You should say thank you when somebody compliments you.”

I glanced up, shaking, and forced a smile. It hurt to tug my lips so tight, to fight their every instinct.

“Whew,” he whistled. “Beautiful smile, too.”

Before I could stop him, he grabbed at my hand. I seized, panicking, too afraid to tear it away and provoke him even further. He pulled it to his lips, gave it a quick, dry peck. I lurched backward, but he grabbed my hand even tighter, his smile twisting into an ugly sneer.

“What is it, princess? You think you're too good for a kiss from me? Is that it?”

“No, n-n-no, that's not—no,” I said, stumbling over the words. My blood, hot and pulsing, raced through my limbs, my head, my heart.

“What are you doing around here anyway? You lost?” The grin was back. “Maybe I should just show you around a little, then, huh?” He tugged hard on my hand, and I stumbled closer to him.

I opened my mouth, to answer or to scream, I wasn't sure.

“Hey!” a loud, rumbling voice called out from behind me. “Get your hands off her!”

Zane
.

I spun around, jerking my hand free as Zane pounded up the sidewalk toward us, his face blazing with anger. He shoved his way between us, becoming my shield.

“Aw, man, relax, I was just paying her a compliment,” the guy said, his hands up in surrender as he took a few steps back. “You can have her. She ain't my type, anyway.” He spat on the cement, his squinting eyes focused on me, before he backed up and started walking away.

Zane watched, arms and legs tensed and ready, until the man disappeared around the corner. He turned toward me then, his entire face softening. “Shit, I'm sorry, Iris. I saw you heading out of the shelter and, I don't know, I was curious. I wanted to make sure you were okay . . .”

I nodded, numb, as I rubbed the wrist that the man had touched, frantic to wipe away the traces.

“He probably was just messing with you, but I still want to pound his face in for it. I don't do that shit anymore, though. Try not to, anyway.” He cracked a weak half smile. “But what are you doing out here? Do you have any clue where you're going?”

“No, I . . . I don't know.” I fought the urge to step closer to him, to feel even more protected from the rest of the world. “My friend”—I tripped over the word, but kept going—“my
friend
Mikki's gone, left me all alone without
even saying bye, so now I have no clue where I'm going. It's tomorrow, here and now, so I'm just doing what you said. One step at a time. I still just don't know where any of the steps are actually going to take me.”

Zane stared at me, his lips pursed. He ran his fingers along his jaw, over the ridges of that jagged dark scar.

“Well, I don't think you should be out here alone. You don't know your way around, clearly. So would you want to . . . ?” Zane's eyebrows knotted above those dark honey eyes. But then he shook his head and closed his mouth, looked at the sky, away from me.

“Would I want to . . . ?”

“I can't even believe I'm saying this,” he said, laughing. “I can't even fucking believe I'm saying this out loud right now.”

“Saying what?” My hand reached out before I could stop myself, latched on to his warm, solid wrist.

He stared down at my hand, but I kept it there, my palm against his skin.

“Come with me and Zoey,” he said, his face tilting back up to meet my gaze. “If you want. No pressure. I just thought maybe you'd be safer for now, and . . .”

“Yes.” I took my first real breath since the stranger had approached me, the fresh air making me almost woozy with relief. “Of course I'll go with you guys.”

A look of surprise flashed across his face. “You're sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. You did just save me, after all. And as shocking as it might sound to you, Zane Davis, I trust you. I think you're a decent guy, no matter how tough you might act.” I blushed, embarrassed by the over-the-top honesty of the admission, but I kept my eyes on his. It was true, after all. I
did
trust him. He knew my secret, and he was keeping it for me.

“But you haven't even asked where we're going.”

I shrugged. “Anywhere with you and Zoey seems better than going nowhere by myself.”

“I'm not sure that's true,” he said, his voice more subdued. “But it's your decision. And it seems to me like you've already made it. So let's go wake up Zoey, and we'll head out. I already trashed the newspaper again today. I got your back. Okay?”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Thanks.”

Zane turned back toward the shelter, and I followed. We walked more slowly this time, now that neither of us had anyone to run from or after.

“So where
are
we going?” I asked. “Not that the answer will change my mind.”

He glanced over at me, and I could swear there was a smile in his eyes—or at least the usual frown was lifted, even if only a tiny bit.

“Nothing definite, but there's a distant relative—or maybe he's just an old family friend, no one's really sure of the connection anymore. Anyway, he's usually willing to let us crash for a few days if we need it. It's where we went right after . . .” He coughed, and the words trailed off.

“And you think he'll let me crash, too?” I asked.

“No guarantees, but . . . he's not a terrible guy. More decent than most people I know, anyway. Not that that's saying a whole lot. He's not around most of the time anyway, so he usually doesn't give a shit, as long as we're not permanent fixtures. I'm not too worried.”

“It seems like you never get too worried,” I said, realizing just then, somehow, that my hand was still wrapped tight around his wrist, our arms dangling in between us as we walked. I dropped it, embarrassed that I'd been clinging for that long. But if he'd noticed, he hadn't stopped me. He hadn't pulled away.

“Why would you say that?” he asked, looking straight ahead, not acknowledging either way what he'd thought of my hand finally letting go.

“Because you just seem so sure you'll work things out, one way or another. Every day.”

“Well, I do . . .” He sighed, shaking his head. “I do worry. All the damn time. I just got real good at hiding it. Mainly for Zoey. I worry for her, anyway. Not me. Never for me.”

•   •   •

After we picked up Zoey, we rode the subway for a few stops and then walked for what felt like hours, but I couldn't be sure how much time had really passed. I saw an old, run-down phone booth at one point along the trek and considered calling my parents, but what more did I have to say? I wished I could talk to Caleb, though—Caleb, who probably felt abandoned, terrified that he'd lost his big sister for good. Or . . . maybe he was glad to have some time away from me.

Maybe they all were relieved—not just Cal, but Ari and Ethan and Delia, too. Had they been trying to reach me? I'd left them stranded after their initial texts—hopefully my parents had at least given updates. But even if my phone hadn't died, I wasn't sure I could handle their questions. Their judgment.

“We're here,” Zane announced. I pushed my thoughts—their faces—far away.

I glanced around, trying not to stare as we stood waiting in front of a rusty metal door with shattered glass panels. There was a tiny hole in the center, cracks radiating out in all directions like icy white veins. An angry rap song blared from a passing car. Suddenly it was like everything was magnified, the volume on life jolted up with so many overlapping noises—a baby crying, a woman yelling, a
siren blaring in the distance. I smelled spicy, fried food and pot and garbage and something else, something sweet and doughy and amazing, reminding my stomach that I hadn't eaten anything that morning before leaving the shelter.