remember and memorize. Because I know that I can never open the paper again. I have to get rid of it. Sitting here next to Ky, drinking in the sun with my skin, my mind is clear— and I let myself realize what that sound in the woods meant earlier. That sharp, stick-snapping sound.
Someone saw me.
Ky takes a breath, leans in closer. “I saw you,” he says, his voice soft and deep like water falling in the distance. He is careful with his words, speaking them so they can’t be overheard. “In the woods.”
Then. For the first time I can remember, he touches me. His hand on my arm, fast and hot and gone before I know it. “You have to be careful. Something like that—”
“I know.” I want to touch him back, to put my hand on his arm too, but I don’t. “I’m going to destroy it.”
His face stays calm but I hear the urgency in his tone. “Can you do it without getting caught?”
“I think so.”
“I could help you.” He glances over at the Officer as he says this, casually, and I realize something that I haven’t noticed until now because he’s so good at hiding it. Ky always acts as though someone watches him. And, apparently, he watches back.
“How did you beat me to the top?” I ask suddenly. “If you saw me in the woods?”
Ky looks surprised by the question. “I ran.”
“I ran too,” I say.
“I must be faster,” he says, and for a moment I see a hint of teasing, almost a smile. Then it’s gone, and he’s serious again, urgent. “ Do you want me to help you?”
“No. No, I can do it.” Then, because I don’t want him to think I’m an idiot, a risk-taker for the sake of risk-taking, I say more than I should. “My grandfather gave it to me. I shouldn’t have kept it as long as I did. But . . . the words are so beautiful.”
“Can you remember them without it?”
“For now.” I have the mind of a sorter, after all. “But I know I won’t be able to keep them forever.”
“And you want to?”
He thinks I’m stupid. “They are so beautiful,” I repeat lamely.
The Officer calls out; more people come through the trees; someone calls to Ky, someone calls to me. We separate, say good-bye, walk to different places on the top of the little hill.
Everyone looks out into the distance at something. Ky and his friends face the dome of City Hall, talking about something; the Officer looks out at the Hill. The group I stand with gazes off toward the Arboretum’s meal hall and chatters about our lunch, about getting back to Second School, whether or not the air trains will be on time. Someone laughs, because the air trains are always on time.
A line from the poem comes to my mind: there on the sad height.
I tilt my head back again and look at the sun through my closed eyelids. It is stronger than I am; it burns red against the black.
The questions in my mind seem to make a humming sound, like that of the bugs in the woods earlier. What happened to you in the Outer Provinces? What Infraction did your father commit that made you an Aberration? Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to keep the poems? What is it about your voice that makes me want to hear you speak?
Are you supposed to be my Match?
Later, I realize that the one question that didn’t even cross my mind was the most urgent one of all: Will you keep my secret?
CHAPTER 10
T he pattern in my neighborhood has shifted this evening; something is wrong. People wait at the air-train stop with faces closed, not talking to each other. They climb on without the usual greetings to those of us climbing off. A small white air car, an Official vehicle, sits sidled up next to a blue-shuttered house on our street. My house.
Hurrying down the metal stairs from the air-train stop, I look for more shifts in the pattern as I walk. The sidewalks tell me nothing. They are clean and white as always. The houses near mine, shut tight, tell me a little more—if this is a storm, it will be waited out behind closed doors.
The air-car’s
Someone saw me.
Ky takes a breath, leans in closer. “I saw you,” he says, his voice soft and deep like water falling in the distance. He is careful with his words, speaking them so they can’t be overheard. “In the woods.”
Then. For the first time I can remember, he touches me. His hand on my arm, fast and hot and gone before I know it. “You have to be careful. Something like that—”
“I know.” I want to touch him back, to put my hand on his arm too, but I don’t. “I’m going to destroy it.”
His face stays calm but I hear the urgency in his tone. “Can you do it without getting caught?”
“I think so.”
“I could help you.” He glances over at the Officer as he says this, casually, and I realize something that I haven’t noticed until now because he’s so good at hiding it. Ky always acts as though someone watches him. And, apparently, he watches back.
“How did you beat me to the top?” I ask suddenly. “If you saw me in the woods?”
Ky looks surprised by the question. “I ran.”
“I ran too,” I say.
“I must be faster,” he says, and for a moment I see a hint of teasing, almost a smile. Then it’s gone, and he’s serious again, urgent. “ Do you want me to help you?”
“No. No, I can do it.” Then, because I don’t want him to think I’m an idiot, a risk-taker for the sake of risk-taking, I say more than I should. “My grandfather gave it to me. I shouldn’t have kept it as long as I did. But . . . the words are so beautiful.”
“Can you remember them without it?”
“For now.” I have the mind of a sorter, after all. “But I know I won’t be able to keep them forever.”
“And you want to?”
He thinks I’m stupid. “They are so beautiful,” I repeat lamely.
The Officer calls out; more people come through the trees; someone calls to Ky, someone calls to me. We separate, say good-bye, walk to different places on the top of the little hill.
Everyone looks out into the distance at something. Ky and his friends face the dome of City Hall, talking about something; the Officer looks out at the Hill. The group I stand with gazes off toward the Arboretum’s meal hall and chatters about our lunch, about getting back to Second School, whether or not the air trains will be on time. Someone laughs, because the air trains are always on time.
A line from the poem comes to my mind: there on the sad height.
I tilt my head back again and look at the sun through my closed eyelids. It is stronger than I am; it burns red against the black.
The questions in my mind seem to make a humming sound, like that of the bugs in the woods earlier. What happened to you in the Outer Provinces? What Infraction did your father commit that made you an Aberration? Do you think I’m crazy for wanting to keep the poems? What is it about your voice that makes me want to hear you speak?
Are you supposed to be my Match?
Later, I realize that the one question that didn’t even cross my mind was the most urgent one of all: Will you keep my secret?
CHAPTER 10
T he pattern in my neighborhood has shifted this evening; something is wrong. People wait at the air-train stop with faces closed, not talking to each other. They climb on without the usual greetings to those of us climbing off. A small white air car, an Official vehicle, sits sidled up next to a blue-shuttered house on our street. My house.
Hurrying down the metal stairs from the air-train stop, I look for more shifts in the pattern as I walk. The sidewalks tell me nothing. They are clean and white as always. The houses near mine, shut tight, tell me a little more—if this is a storm, it will be waited out behind closed doors.
The air-car’s
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