Outpost by Ann Aguirre Page B

“Or at least, you gave me the impression it might be more someday.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “This hurts,” he said wonderingly, as if he couldn’t have imagined the feeling before I inflicted it on him.
    “I didn’t mean to.”
    He laughed, a bitter sound. “That’s all right, then.” Stalker climbed halfway through the window, just about done with the conversation—and me. But he turned for a final, parting shot. “He won’t make you happy, dove. He’s soft in ways you and I aren’t. Ultimately, you’re going to break him.”
    As I lay in bed, unable to sleep, those words echoed in my ears and I feared to my core that Stalker was right.

 
    Bigwater
    Tegan came to visit me a week later, and I felt glad of the break, as I was mending with Momma Oaks.
    Of us all, my friend had changed the most in Salvation. She hadn’t been as pale as Fade and I had to start with and her skin was naturally darker than Stalker’s. Months after our arrival, her complexion took on a coppery cast, which complemented her dark curls prettily. She wore them piled on her head in an intricate style I couldn’t hope to replicate, and she had on a new yellow dress that Mrs. Tuttle had commissioned from Momma Oaks.
    I wondered if Tegan felt ready to resume our friendship. I’d missed her. Since Fade and Stalker wanted to kiss me, I couldn’t talk to them about certain things. With my foster mother’s blessing, the two of us fetched drinks and snacks, then went out to the swing. For several moments, only the squeak of the chain filled the silence.
    In the distance, I heard men arguing, though not angrily, followed by the peal of children’s laughter. Salvation had a different atmosphere from College’s. Down below, it was tighter run—and there was less time for casual conversation. With our limited resources, however, it had to be that way. Here, people talked to each other more for the sake of it, exchanged news and tidbits of gossip without fear of censure.
    “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings when…” She trailed off, knowing I’d understand what she meant. “I just had so much to think about. First, it was my leg, and once I got better, there was school. I felt like I had to focus on fitting in, and—”
    “I don’t.” Apart from my fellow guards, people had made that clear.
    “You make your own rules. I respect that, but I’m not you. I want folks to like me. I love it here.”
    “I don’t expect you to walk my path,” I said.
    She smiled. Over the past months, she’d put on some weight, so she no longer looked fragile. Clearly her foster parents had been feeding her properly, but despite their care, Tegan limped more than Thimble—and the thought of my old friend sent pain shooting through my chest. I didn’t know what had happened to her or Stone, and maybe I never would. However, Tegan would get better as her leg healed; it wasn’t a permanent disability. She was already stronger than she had been.
    Ruthlessly, I put the past where it belonged and asked, “Are you still working with Doc?”
    She nodded. “I’ve learned a lot. He says I have a real knack and I might be able to take over doctoring someday.”
    “You don’t mind dealing with sick and injured people?” That required a fortitude I didn’t possess.
    “No. It makes me feel good, actually. With Doc’s help, I’m learning how to make a difference.”
    At the school back in the ruins, I remembered Stalker yelling how she had no useful skills. He couldn’t say that anymore.
    “How does Mrs. Tuttle feel about it?”
    A faint sigh escaped her. “At first, she wasn’t wild about the idea. She said certain parties wouldn’t approve, but Doc thinks it won’t do any harm.”
    It sounded to me like Salvation could use some shaking up. New blood with fresh ideas might be just what the town needed. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine healer.”
    She went on, “Anyway, I just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten what we talked about.