getting a job with Internal after you graduate. I know how you feel about that idea now, but…”
“But things change,” Becca finished. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“About the Monitors, or Internal?”
“Both, I guess. I don’t know.” Becca took her first bite of chicken. “Hey, this is really good.”
Her mom followed her lead. “You’re right—this did come out well. Much better than I expected.”
Enough dancing around what she needed to say. Enough telling herself she had to think about it some more. She was as sure as she was going to get.
She set her fork down. “So… I made a decision.”
She saw the instant her mom realized what this had to be about, saw her face freeze into a mask of resigned acceptance as she prepared for the worst.
It wasn’t too late. She could still change her mind.
She spoke before she could give in to her doubts. “I’m not leaving.”
Surprise replaced resignation, followed by joy—but only for a second. “Are you sure about this?”
She still had a chance. She could leave all this behind and never look back.
“I’m sure. Living with Dad might be easier—but this is my home. I belong here with you.”
Her mom smiled. “If you’re sure you’ve thought it through, then of course I want you to stay.” Her smile grew broader, crinkling the skin around her eyes. “I would have missed you.”
Mentally, Becca shook away the last of her regrets. This was the right decision.
Her mom raised her fork to her lips—and let it hover there as her phone buzzed.
“You can answer it, you know,” said Becca.
Her mom hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Becca nodded. “I told you, you don’t have to try so hard.”
Her mom put her fork down and answered the phone. “Raleigh Dalcourt.” She got up from the table and left the kitchen, murmuring in a low voice.
After a moment, her mom returned. “A new batch of dissidents just came in, and they may have connections inside Internal. The directors want them dealt with as soon as possible.” She paused, looking apologetic.
“It’s okay,” said Becca. “Go.”
“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Probably not until tomorrow.”
“I told you, it’s okay. Really.” Becca smiled. The smile almost felt real. “Go on. They need you.”
Becca finished her chicken as her mom gathered her things and prepared to leave. Now that she had made her decision final, she could do what she had been thinking about doing for the past six weeks. With her mom gone, she would have no reason to put it off. No excuses for putting it off.
Her stomach tightened as her mom closed the door behind her.
After she had scraped the last bit of sauce off her plate, she wrapped her mom’s almost-full plate of food in plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge, then put the rest of the leftovers away. She washed the dishes by hand, scrubbing each plate and bowl and piece of silverware until they gleamed. When she was done, she squinted at each clean dish, searching for specks she might have missed.
Stalling.
The dishes were cleaner than they had been when they were new. Becca looked around the kitchen for something else she could wash. She couldn’t find anything.
She left the kitchen and walked to her bedroom as slowly as she could without moving backward. Even though she was alone, she closed the door behind her. She sat down at her desk and told herself to quit stalling. It was time. It was past time.
She opened the bottom drawer and flipped through the papers there until she found it. The note she and Heather had found three months ago.
Only three months? It felt like a million years.
Heather’s dad’s barely-legible handwriting filled most of the page. At the bottom, in Becca’s much-neater writing, was a phone number. The number Jake had given her.
She almost shoved the paper back into the drawer. Instead, she spread it out on the desk in front of her.
She had to do this.
In all other ways, she refused to take her mom as an example… but on one thing, they could agree.
She had to do this. No matter how afraid she was.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
About the Author
Zoe Cannon writes about the things that fascinate her: outsiders, societies no sane person would want to live in, questions with no easy answers, and the inner workings of the mind. If she couldn’t be a writer, she would probably be a psychologist, a penniless philosopher, or a hermit in a cave somewhere. While she’ll read anything that isn’t nailed down, she considers herself a YA reader and writer at heart. She lives in New Hampshire with her husband and a giant teddy bear of a dog, and spends entirely too much time on the internet.
Visit http://www.zoecannon.com to find out more and sign up for updates on new releases.
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On Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/cannonzoe
On Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/zoecannon
Or email her directly at [email protected].
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Acknowledgements
Thank you to my amazing husband, for giving me the opportunity to live the life I’ve always wanted, understanding me better than I had thought possible, and offering more unconditional support than I could ever hope to repay;
to my parents, for being nothing but supportive toward my writing endeavors (the more I hear other people’s horror stories, the more I realize how lucky I am), and for not being offended at my writing a book called
to Holly Lisle, for her brilliant How to Revise Your Novel course, which turned this from a bunch of characters and a premise into an actual novel;
to my writing group, for their insightful comments, semicolon-counting, and patience at waiting a year and a half to find out what happened next;
to all the friends I made playing Rift (and especially my favorite fashion-conscious necromancer), for keeping me sane during the Writer’s Block From Hell;
to the pioneers of indie publishing for opening up a new way for writers to get their books out into the world, and all the other YA dystopian authors out there for creating a market for my unmarketable stories;
