like such a mental case?” Before Harper could answer-not that she had an answer-Kaia wandered over to a small storefront, where she haggled with a stooped old man. She came back a moment later with an ice-cream cone heaped high with dripping scoops of chocolate and handed it to Harper.
“None for you?” Harper asked.
“Some of us actually care about our figures,” Kaia said, giving Harper a pointed look. She ignored it and took a big, slippery mouthful. It was chilly and delicious and, just like everything else, seemed somehow more real than waking life. For weeks, everything had looked gray, tasted dull; but here, even the air tasted sweet, and the ocean blazed a brilliant blue.
She stared down at the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. The waves slammed against them, frothy geysers spurting several feet into the air. Harper crept closer to the edge, feeling a strange sense of power and possibility. Taking another step seemed like such a small, routine choice-she took steps every day, thousands of them-but the next one could launch her into midair, hundreds of feet above the ground.
And maybe she wouldn’t die at all-maybe the water would cushion her and she would float away. Or maybe, since it was a dream, she would step off the ground and discover she could fly.
She was too afraid to find out.
“I don’t blame you.” Kaia’s voice was almost lost in the thunder of the crashing surf.
Harper didn’t turn around. It was all so easy for Kaia. It always had been. She just did whatever the hell she wanted, and then walked away. Disappeared. Harper was the one left to face the consequences. Harper was the one left to bear the pain.
She wanted to scream, as loud as she could, to see if her voice could fill the emptiness that lay before her, the vast ocean and sky bleeding together in a field of blue. She wanted to berate Kaia for leaving, to beg her to come back, to admit the horrible truth: More than anything, she wished she and Kaia had never met. Because then this whole nightmare-before the accident, and after-would disappear. But even though it was a dream, that was no excuse to let things get out of control, or to feel the things she wasn’t allowed to feel.
She opened her mouth, intending to apologize-for what she’d done, for what she’d thought, for what she’d wished. But something else leaked out.
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” she told Kaia in a tight, level voice. “Maybe I blame
Chapter 12
It turned out school was just as boring when you weren’t high.
Reed’s experiment was in its fifth day, and so far, so… okay. He hadn’t had any remarkable revelations; his newly clear mind hadn’t discovered the meaning of life or the secrets of cold fusion. (Though it did make it a bit easier for him, in remedial physics, to finally figure out what cold fusion was-school was mildly more informative when you bothered to show up to class, rather than skulk in the parking lot.) He hadn’t even decided whether his mind was actually clearer, to be honest. Things seemed to move faster, and matter more, but that just meant that more stuff crowded into his head, none of it making much sense.
Fish and Hale were a bit confused, but when weren’t they? And they didn’t care what he did. “Whatever, dude” was a one-size-fits-all response.
Reed was beginning to realize that no one much cared what he did. The teachers who ignored his absence didn’t perk up at his presence. His father was happy as long as he kept his job and stayed out of jail. Fish and Hale just needed someone to snag them the occasional free pizza. Kaia was gone. And Beth…
Beth was avoiding him, her face turning red every time their paths crossed. Not that it happened often; she existed in a different world. Usually, people like her didn’t even see him-he was a part of the background, like the garbage cans lining the cafeteria or the gum stuck under every desk.
It was okay with Reed. Being invisible made it easier to watch. He saw Beth hovering on the fringes of crowds, always fidgeting, rarely speaking, never setting off on her own. He watched her spend lunch periods in the library, hunched over a book. Once, he glimpsed her slip away to the newspaper office, her hands covering her eyes to mask the tears.
It seemed like her eyes were always on the verge of filling with tears. But maybe that was just because they were such a shimmering, limpid blue.
He didn’t even know why he was watching, until the fifth day, when he made his decision.
He ditched school after lunch-that would give him plenty of time to be back before the final bell. It took him about twenty minutes to drive the familiar route, and with every passing mile, the lump of dread in his stomach grew bigger. But at the same time, the closer he got, the more he needed to be there, and the faster he drove.
Reed pulled off onto the shoulder and stared up at the imposing hulk of a building. He’d brought Kaia here, the first time he’d brought her anywhere, back when he’d thought she was just some stuck-up rich bitch. But she’d understood what he saw in the place, and though she never said it, Reed was sure she felt the same way. They’d come out here a lot, sitting silently, staring at the abandoned machinery, the rusted barbed wire, the gaping maw of the mines themselves, and imagining the past.
He hadn’t been back since the accident. And he wouldn’t be coming back again. He just needed to say good- bye.
He stepped out of the car and forced himself to stare at the spot of their last night here together, as if he could still see the imprint of his blanket on the ground. It hurt like hell. But that was the point.
After a moment, he tore himself away and headed toward the gap-ridden metal fence that surrounded the heart of the refining complex. Ducking through a huge, jagged hole just to the left of a rusted NO TRESPASSING sign, he emerged in the land of forgotten machines. One of the burned-out buildings was missing a large piece of its wall, allowing him to step inside. He wandered past the towering tubes and smokestacks, skirted the giant husks of machines made for smashing and sifting and smelting and sorting, and tried to pretend the whole place didn’t feel like it was about to collapse.
In the middle of the refinery he stopped, turning slowly in place, soaking it in. He wanted to remember every detail. But he barely registered the rusted machinery or the blackened walls. He saw only her face.
The pain hit him, raw and scalding. He couldn’t stand to be here, surrounded by her absence. He couldn’t even think about the time they’d spent here-because when he thought of her now, all he could picture was a burning heap of metal, a lifeless hand, a wooden cross. Someday, maybe, he’d be able to remember the way she was, not the way she ended up. And then he would want something to remember her by.
Reed knelt to the ground and grabbed the first thing he saw: a thin, curved piece of metal half buried in the ground. Half of it was rusted, but the other half was polished smooth and looked almost new. It was about three inches long and an inch wide, and curved at almost a right angle, one end flaring out into a hollow tube shape and the other rounding to form a small, silver sphere. He clenched it in his fist, enjoying the warmth.
It would make a good souvenir. He walked back to the car, hesitating for a moment before he got inside.
“Good-bye,” he said aloud, feeling like an idiot.
Bourquins @ 3?
Miranda hadn’t expected the text message and didn’t know what to do when it arrived. So she fell back on the default option: Obey Harper.
She hadn’t responded, but she’d shown up, arriving a few minutes early so she could grab her coffee and be sitting down if and when Harper arrived. She needn’t have bothered; Harper, as always, was late.
Harper didn’t bother to stop at the counter; she just came straight to the back corner, where Miranda had snagged a table next to the window. The heavy pink drapes were drawn back, and a splash of sunlight fell across her lap. If they stayed long enough, they’d be able to watch the sunset; it didn’t seem likely.
Miranda waited. Harper sat down without saying anything, and for a few moments the two girls just stared at
