Larkstorm (The Sensitives #1)

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  LARKSTORM  

  Dawn Rae Miller

  Copyright 2011 Dawn Rae Miller

  Cover Illustration: Copyright 2011 Sarah Marino

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For my boys Keegan, Finn and Boone.

  And Bug, all good things come from you.

  1

   

  “Beck, c’mon. It’s time to get up.”

  Nothing.

  I glance at my wristlet. We’re going to be late.

  “Beck,” I whisper, putting my face closer to his.

  A warm, bronze hand reaches for my arm, as if trying to pull me into the twin bed, but then it goes limp and nothing else happens. Beck lies curled in a ball and his unruly mop of blond waves peeks out from beneath the striped comforter. His other arm is flung across his face and holds the covers in place. He looks like his eight-year-old self when he sleeps. Not a nearly eighteen-year-old man.

  “Beck!” I raise my voice.

  “Lark? Hmmm.” His eyelids flutter without making any sort of commitment.

  I rub his warm hand with my free one. “Please get up. You’ll make us late for school.”

  He yawns and grins at me. “All right.”

  Now alert, he kicks back the covers and stands up. His foot strikes his history book and it skids under the bed. I shift my weight and take care not to crumple the scattered papers next to Beck’s bed.

  “Your area is disgusting.” I wrinkle my nose.

  He flashes a toothy grin at me and tightens my wrap around my shoulders. “I know. I like it that way.”

  Of the twenty-six students who live in our house, Beck and I are the only boy and girl who share a room. My eyes dart around his side. A sharp division of cleanliness separates my half from Beck’s. His side—the far side—is a mess. His lacrosse gear hangs off his desk with the stick acting as a makeshift coat rack. Piles of both clean and dirty clothes litter the floor.

  Despite Beck’s messiness, sharing a room with a boy only bothers me when the other students tease us about it. It’s not as if we had any say in the matter. My mother demanded we be placed together as infants since we’re both descendants of Founders. According to Mother, the State, and everyone else in the world, this means we belong together.

  Not that I disagree. Even if we weren’t the Greenes and the Channings, I’d still want to be paired with Beck. No one else understands me the way he does—how can they? Beck and I are two of the best-known members of our society. Our every movement is captured, analyzed, and commented on.

  So even though I’m in a hurry to get to school, I’m not exactly thrilled about having to step outside this room. Every time I do, I leave my privacy behind and have to become Lark Greene: perfect, responsible student and prominent member of the Western Society.

  I hate it.

  I reach around him and flip off his reading lamp. He must have studied long after I fell asleep last night. A frown forms on my lips. I’m barely edging out Beck for first place in our class rankings. But if he studied longer…

  He places his hands on my cheeks. “Hey, why so deso?” His eyes waver with concern.

  I blink. “I’m not—it’s just nerves.”

  “Worried you won’t get the mate of your dreams?” he teases. I roll my eyes. Unlike, ninety-nine point nine percent of the population, Beck and I have been promised to each other since birth. Birth-mated. We don’t have to sit for mate-selection portions of the assessments. Only the job placement exams.

  A hard, tense knot forms in my stomach. More than anything, I want a good placement in State. Preferably in the Agriculture division. I have to do well. And that means not being late.

  Beck pushes his nose against mine and wiggles his eyebrows. When I give a half-hearted smile, he releases me.

  “We’re going to do great today. I know it.” He beams at me, the brightness of his smile matched only by his lively, deep green eyes. Other than our birthday, this is the one thing we share—even the freckles in our eyes line up perfectly when facing each other. Bethina, our housemother, says it’s a sign we’re meant to be together.

  But I don’t need eye freckles to tell me that. The State wants us together. And the State doesn’t make mistakes.

  “I hope so.” I reach up on my tiptoes and brush a hair out of his eye. My feeble smile is a sad match for his optimism. Beck’s always laughing, always steady. Sometimes I feel like a lost little moon floating around in his orbit. But our opposite natures work well together. He pushes me socially, dragging me from my relentless studying, and I get him to actually focus on school and do his homework.

  Worried about the time, I check my blue wristlet again before flinging it next to my hairbrush. We have thirty minutes to get dressed, eat breakfast and get out the door.

  I pull open one of Beck’s drawers and dig through the tangle of clothes until I find a shirt and pants for him.

  While he showers, I consider the pair of jeans my best friend Kyra bought me and immediately reject them. I don’t want to go to my assessment wearing something uncomfortable and odd.

  As I change behind a screen—my small attempt at privacy—Beck emerges from the shower. The scent of Beck’s soap tickles my nose and I grin. Thankfully, I’m hidden and he can’t see my reaction.

  He doesn’t need the encouragement - things are hard enough as it is.

  “How do these even fit you?” he asks.

  I peek around the screen. He stands next to my closet, dressed, but his hair is damp and tousled. He holds the jeans out in front of him like they’re some sort of foreign object, though I know he’s seen a pair before—they’re not that obsolete. “They’re so small. Look!” He shoves his feet into the legs and they get stuck around his ankles. He hops to my bed, nearly tripping in the process, and tries tugging them off.

  I pull on my blouse and walk around the screen toward the mirror. “They’re authentic, Beck. There’s no smart technology in them to stretch to the right size. And even if there was, they’re still not meant to be worn by a six-foot-two giant.”

  While he struggles to disentangle himself, I smooth my chestnut hair into a loose ponytail. Neat and tidy, just like a future Stateswoman. In the mirror, I see Beck has stopped fighting my jeans and is watching me. Flutters tickle my heart. His eyes burn for a second but then he returns to just regular old Beck.

  A weird tension hangs between us. It’s been happening more and more lately. When I catch Beck staring at me, he’ll look away or pretend to be doing something else, and then we avoid each other for a while until the awkwardness passes.

  But we don’t have time for that this morning, so I stick out my tongue and hope it distracts him.

  “Oh, you did it now!” he growls playfully.

  I’m pulled off the ground and hurled through space. The unexpected sensation leaves me dazed and unprepared for what comes next. I land on my bed, my legs dangling over the edge. Beck leaps on me and straddles my waist. He deftly pins me, holding both my hands over my head with one hand.

  I look up at him, suppressing my urge to shriek and laugh simultaneously. “We’re going to be–”

  The burning look returns to his eyes.

  It stops me cold.

  “Late,” he says, and with his free
hand, pinches my pendant—a soaring bird—between two fingers.

  “Do you really like this?” He turns it over, examining the patina bird he gave me last year, on our seventeenth birthday, and lays it softly onto my chest. His fingers brush my collarbone, and he jerks his hand away. A shiver ripples down my spine.

  “Of course I do.”

  He frowns, like my answer wasn’t what he’d hoped for. I’m not sure what Beck wanted me to say—it’s a necklace he gave me. I like it—it’s pretty.

  My eyes lock onto his and I draw a ragged breath. For the first time in my life, I don’t care about the State’s rules. I want Beck to kiss me.

  He leans close to me, our mouths inches apart. His warm breath fans across my face. “It looks pretty on you.”

  My heart races, pumping blood faster and faster through my body, leaving a wave of heat in its path. I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to touch mine, anticipating the sensation. Waiting for everything I know we shouldn’t do but can’t help wishing we would.

  At the last second, as the electricity between our skin sparks, I turn my head.

  My eyes flutter open and I catch a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes before he turns on his normal bright smile.

  “Can you get out?” he asks with a hint of mischief, while pinning my hands above my head.

  I twist my wrists, and with one strong shove, I push him off me and throw myself on his back. Unlike everyone else, Beck’s never surprised by my strength or athleticism.

  “Of course I can.” I push my face into his hair.

  “Not bad, Birdie.” He stands up with me clinging to his back. He hesitates, and for a second, I think he’s going to drop me to the ground, but then he grasps my thighs and holds me tight. “We should get our breakfast.” 

  I’m thankful he can’t see the blush I know is creeping across my cheeks and pray he can’t feel my heart hammering against his back.

  The bedroom doors of all the other students—four boys or four girls per room— are open and empty. Everyone must be at breakfast, which means Beck and I are late.

  When we reach the kitchen doorway, twenty-four pairs of eyes stare at us from the tables. Fortunately, Bethina has her back to us.

  Beck releases my legs, and I slide off his back and smooth my skirt. It’s my sad attempt to act like riding around on his back is completely normal and not at all borderline rule-breaking.

  Rule number one: Students must not engage in any intimate activity until after their bindings.  

  “Will you two stop messing around and hurry up?” Bethina turns around and hands Beck a plate. Her dark hair is pulled back into a bun and her olive skin looks more ashen than normal in the dim kitchen light. “You’re going to make everyone late for school.”

  Beck takes the plate. “Aw, c’mon Bethina. Don’t be mad. I was just trying to shake the nervousness out of Lark. Can’t be mad at me for that, can you?”

  Bethina snaps a towel at him. “Beck Channing, I’ve never met anyone so hard to be upset with.” He grins and ducks his head in mock embarrassment. “Now, sit and eat before you really do make everyone late.”

  I squeeze in between Ryker and Lina. Or more correctly, Lina begrudgingly moves so I can sit. Beck takes the spot across from me and piles his plate high with food.

  “Is that all you’re eating?” He points at my plate of strawberries. “No wonder you’re so little.” He takes a bite of pancake and washes it down with some orange juice.

  “I like to eat healthy.”

  Beck never thinks about what he eats. If you put it in front of him, he’ll eat it without question. He turns his attention to his best friend, Maz, and falls into deep conversation. Behind them, the wall screen broadcasts the daily news – more Sensitive trials, as usual, along with a report about the Society’s planned improvements to existing security systems.

  I should focus on the news, but my mind drifts back to the way Beck looked at me earlier. The disappointment in his eyes. I thought, for a moment—okay, I hoped he’d kiss me.

  A sticky wetness drips between my fingers. A smashed strawberry.

  Beck moves his head slightly toward me. His full lips turn upward and he winks. A blush threatens to creep up my cheeks, and I force myself to focus on the wall screen. Perhaps my assessors will test me on today’s farm reports? I need to be prepared.

  As the newscaster runs through the names of students being bound this week, my eyes dart around the room and I notice, for the first time, how my housemates have begun to pair off. It used to be boys on one side of the room and girls on the other. Not because of rules, but because we liked it that way.

  I wonder what my housemates will do if they don’t end up with who they want? How many tears will be shed in the coming days as the results come in?

  The State doesn’t give us a choice. And why should they? During our school career, our caregivers, along with our teachers and select State representatives, evaluate us and give careful consideration to creating pairs that will help create a stronger society and the best possible offspring. We spend our entire lives learning how to get along and how to work with our housemates so that, when it’s our turn to run the State, we already understand each other’s strengths and shortcomings. That’s why we’re only bound to someone from our house.

  Rarely, some children, like Beck and I, are paired off at birth. But like all other students, the State won’t legally recognize our relationship until after our shared eighteenth birthday, when our families will celebrate with an elaborate ceremony called a binding. After that, Beck and I will be together for the rest of lives. Not that we haven’t already been, but the binding will make it official.

  Not knowing my future career is nerve-wracking enough. If I had to wait—like the rest of my housemates—to find out my mate, I…well I don’t know. You can’t exactly study your way to a good mate, the way you can with a job placement.

  I look down the table, mentally matching my housemates together—it’s a game Kyra and I have been playing since childhood—and catch Kyra’s eye. She smiles devilishly before focusing her attention on her food.

  I stare at her until she lifts her head to see if I’m watching. “What?” I mouth silently. 

  Kyra gives a subtle shake, no one would notice if they weren’t paying attention. “I’ll tell you later,” she says silently and turns her attention to Maz, who’s demonstrating how to shove six pancakes in his mouth. Before leaving the table, she pecks him on the cheek.

  My mouth drops open. I know she’s hoping to be mated with Maz, but to openly kiss him like that? What is she thinking? If they’re caught, there’s no way they’ll end up together. The State will immediately separate them.

  I look around. No one else seems to have noticed and, satisfied Bethina didn’t see, I pop a ripe strawberry in my mouth. Within minutes, I finish my bowl and bring it over to Bethina, who stands at the sink, washing dishes.  

  She takes the dish from me, drops it in the soapy water and swats me on the backside. “You need to do a better job of keeping Beck on task. The two of you are late every morning.”

  I shrug and scamper toward the stairs.

  “He’s his own person, B,” I say over my shoulder, using the nickname Beck and I gave her as children. “I try, but I can’t control him anymore than you can.”

  She makes a sort of “Phffft,” sound behind me, but doesn’t say anything else as I leave the room.

  The main floor is empty—Kyra must’ve gone back to her room. I run up the stairs and halfway down the hall, eager to get to the bottom of her strange behavior at breakfast. What she was thinking with that kiss!

  Kyra’s room is different than Beck’s and mine. Purple flowers, hearts and ruffles cover every corner, and every time I walk in here I give thanks I share with a boy and not three other girls. I’ll gladly take Beck’s mess over living inside a purple nightmare any day.

  On the far side of the room, half-hidden by a frilly bed, Kyra digs aro
und in her closet, her back to me.

  “What’s the big mystery?” I ask.

  Something drops from her hand as she whirls around to face me. “Oh! Heya—you scared me.” She gives a nervous giggle.

  “Sorry.” I flop onto her over-stuffed grape of a bed. “So, you going to tell me or am I going to have to torture you?”

  She frowns and narrows her eyes, but her voice jokes. “Torture me? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, Kyra, I live solely to torture you. It’s my goal in life.” I laugh. “So?”

  She grins and pounces on the bed like a cat. Kyra’s always been my best friend. In fact, my earliest memory isn’t of Beck, but of her and me playing on a tree swing, pushing ourselves higher and higher until she jumped. I remember being awed by the way she soared through the air.

  “Okay, you promise you won’t say anything?”

  “Of course.”

  She tugs on her left ear. I resist rolling my eyes—sometimes Kyra acts like we’re still little kids.

  And yet, I tug on mine, a gesture which means I understand what she’s about to tell me is for my ears only. Kyra slips off her delicate, blue wristlet and hides it under a pillow.

  My stomach drops. This can’t be good if she’s removing her wristlet—it means she doesn’t want our conversation overheard. Which means whatever she’s done is worse than I thought.

  Kyra lifts my wrist to take off my wristlet, but it’s not there. I forgot it on my dresser after Beck distracted me earlier.

  “Are you two planning on joining the rest of us? We’re going to be late,” Beck says from the doorway, his eyes teasing me.

  Kyra sighs dramatically. Lately, everything Beck does annoys her. And she’s not shy about letting us know.

  “We’ll be done when we’re done,” she snaps.

  I’m tired of their bickering. Or more correctly, I’m tired of Kyra’s bad attitude about Beck. He usually either ignores her or grins like whatever she says is hilarious.

  I grab Kyra’s pillow and launch it across the room. It hits Beck in the stomach and he doubles over, feigning injury. “You have the worst timing.”

  He crosses the room, his blond hair bouncing with each step. “You forgot this.”

  From his pocket, he pulls my blue wristlet.

  “Thanks,” I say, holding out my hand.

  Instead of giving it to me, Beck wraps it around my wrist. His fingers linger on the underside of my arm, shooting ripples of electricity across my skin. His eyes latch on to mine before gently letting go of my wrist.

  Kyra clears her throat. “What happened to being proper?” she asks with disdain.

  Beck ignores her. “C’mon, Birdie, I already grabbed your stuff.” He disappears through the doorway and I get up to follow him.

  “What was that?”

  I turn to Kyra. “What?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Have you two been doing things in that room of yours you shouldn’t be?”

  Heat flares across my cheeks. “No! Of course not. It’s not allowed.”

  Kyra shifts her eyes away from me. “He’s your mate and you’re going to be bound soon. Why don’t you? I would if it were Maz.” When she looks back at me, I can tell she’s upset. “You share a room, Lark. The State doesn’t care if you kiss or take off all your clothes. Or even sleep in the same bed—which I know you do.” She purses her lips. “Chastely of course, since we’re talking about you and Beck.”

  She’s right. I do sometimes climb into Beck’s bed. But I always have—ever since we were children. It’s nothing unusual for us. But I shouldn’t when no one else is allowed to.

  “We have to set an example,” I mumble and cast my eyes down. Kyra knows how I feel about being special. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  She places her finger under my chin and lifts my head. Her deep brown eyes search my face as if daring me to look away. “You don’t like him that way, do you?” It’s not so much a question as a statement.

  I draw my brows together. Of course I like Beck. I like him more than I should – at least until after our binding. When he’s near me my heart races and I’ve been spending too much time lately imagining the press of his lips on mine.

  I open my mouth to tell this to Kyra, but my parched throat aches, and no words come out.

  Life without Beck is unimaginable.

  So why can’t I say it?

   

  2

   

  Except for Kyra and me, everyone stands in the entryway. While we wait for her, I watch my housemates. Nervousness runs through the group. Today’s tests determine our entire future: our jobs and who my housemates will be bound to after their birthdays. While I worry about a desirable job placement, my friends worry most about who they’ll be paired with.

  But I understand their nervousness—bindings can only be undone by death. There’s no way around it, so you better hope you like the State’s selection. Even if your mate dies, if you already have two children, the State won’t allow you to rebind. It’s part of our zero population growth policy.

  Anxiety builds in my chest as I realize that in three months, everything is going to change. We won’t be waking up here, to the smell of Bethina’s wonderful breakfast; we won’t be able to run down the hall to ask each other for help on homework; we won’t be together.

  It’s all coming to an end.

  “Deep thoughts?” Beck’s breath tickles my cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, briefly, enjoying the feel of him so close to me and wanting more.

  I’m such a hypocrite. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially when I tell Kyra not too. I shift away from him to maintain the appropriate amount of distance.

  “I was thinking about the bindings.”

  Beck clears his throat. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s soon, you know.”

  He nudges my shoulder in agreement and runs his hand over my arm. I shiver, despite being wrapped in layers of clothes and a heavy jacket.

  “Are you excited?” His voice is soft in my ear.

  “About what?”

  “Our binding.”

  My mind races ahead to three months in the future, when we’re bound, and he’s mine—forever. When I can finally tell him how I feel without worrying about breaking rules. My heart skips as I feel Beck press against me, my back into his front. And then my mind locks—the images vanish. There’s nothing there.

  His lips graze my cheek when I turn my head to look at him. Embarrassed, I twist away from him in what I hope isn’t a too-obvious movement. “No. Just bindings in general.”

  Around us, our housemates jostle each other while the stragglers finish slipping on their outdoor gear. We always walk as a group to school. That’s the rule. Even with security measures, you can’t be too safe with Sensitives roaming around.

  “Kyra!” someone calls out. “You coming or what?”

  But instead of Kyra, Bethina answers. “Can everyone go into the living room? There’s a delay request.”

  I dart my eyes around the room and frown. A delay? That’s unusual. The only other time that’s happened is when the last Head of State died in a Sensitive attack. Beck raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Did we miss the morning announcements?” My lip trembles slightly as I speak. I don’t remember seeing the school updates.

  Beck shakes his head. He understands what I’m asking. “I’m sure everything is fine. Bethina would have told you otherwise. Privately.”

  “Like when Kyra’s brother was killed?” I choke out and force my eyes shut. The memory of Kyra curled up in a ball, sobbing for days still breaks my heart. Her brother had been caught outside the secure zone by Sensitives. He didn’t have much of a chance.

  Beck’s arm cradles me to him. “Don’t let your mind run away from you, okay?” He guides me toward the living room. “Let’s hear what Bethina has to say.”

  But my mind can’t stop thinking of the worst scenario: Somet
hing has happened to Mother. Every morning, without fail, she delivers our daily address. I don’t think there was one today.

  From the stairs, the pounding of feet announces Kyra’s arrival. When she skids to a stop, she waves a slim, silver tablet at us. “Sorry, guys. I couldn’t find my book.”

  A groan rises from what’s left of our group. Kyra loses her book every morning.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, noticing half our housemates are absent.

  “The State has issued a delay,” Bethina responds. “Please go to the living room.”

  I’m lucky. Unlike other students who only see their parents six times a year, I see my mother every day. Well, see her on TV. I haven’t actually visited with my mother more than a handful of times in my life. Running the State requires most of her attention. But if something happened to her, an accident or another assassination attempt by those vile Sensitives…

  “Heya, stop it. She’s fine.” Beck disregards the rules and pulls me closer to him. Pressed against him, the trembles wracking my body are more obvious. “Take a deep breath, Birdie.”

  He’s right. No need to expect bad news. It could be anything.

  Except it wouldn’t be the first time Sensitives attacked a member of State—or my mother. And the attacks have become more frequent lately as the State continues to round up their leaders and put them on trial.

  “Why doesn’t the State just lock them all away? It would be safer,” I say. “Sequester them somewhere—maybe in the Midlands—far from the rest of us.”

  Beck stops and stares at me. “Not all of them have committed crimes, Lark. You know that. Besides, if the State locked them all away, who would do the menial jobs?”

  “All I know is they hate us. They want us dead.” I lean against the couch, holding my arms tight across my stomach, and wait. My breakfast threatens to make a return visit if I can’t keep myself together. I bend forward, folding over on myself, and feel Beck’s hands rubbing my back.

  “That’s just like them,” I hear Lina say. At first, I assume she’s talking about the Sensitives, but then she adds, “They can do whatever they want, while the rest of us get punished for so much as hugging.”

  “Stop it, Lina. Lark’s upset,” Ryker, one of Beck’s good friends, says to the blond girl next to him.

  She crosses her arms. “Right, I forgot. We can’t criticize Lark and Beck. Because they’re so special.” She adds emphasis to the last word. “They can do whatever they want.”

  I jerk my head up and narrow my eyes, prepared to answer her, but Beck stops me.

  “It’s not worth it.”

  I nod. I don’t have the energy anyway.

  Bethina paces in front of an empty wall. Deep lines form across her forehead and she taps her orange Singleton wristlet. A screen materializes on the wall. “I was told to have you all watch this.”

  We wait as the screen turns from black to static. Finally, an image appears—a pretty woman with clear blue eyes and pale blond hair pulled into a fashionable twist fills the screen. Mother. My stomach flips and settles. She’s fine. Beck was right. I was worried about nothing.

  “Good morning, students. We’re very sorry for the delay and for keeping you from your assessments.” Someone near the window snickers. “We received reports of unauthorized Sensitive activity in your area. Even though our security forces are confident all is well, please practice the utmost vigilance today. Do not hesitate to activate your wristlet if you sense danger.” Nervous chatter floats around the room as Mother smiles out from the screen. “You may resume your routine. May your day be peaceful and prosperous.”

  I train my eyes on the now black screen, waiting for the rest of the report—the listing of captured Sensitives, policy updates, travel advisories, something. But no. Mother doesn’t reappear and the screen fades away.

  Unsure what to do, my housemates and I give each other puzzled looks.

  “That’s it?” Maz asks.

  Bethina’s shoulders round forward, like a heavy weight presses between them, as she moves toward the living room doors. “It appears so.”

  “If there’s nothing to worry about, why tell us?” Beck asks.

  “The State always thinks of your safety first. They trust you to assess the risk appropriately.” She repeats the phrases she’s said to us so many times over the years. But instead of reassuring me, my insides knot together again.

  Something’s not right.

  3

   

  Snow whips over the long, clear barricade, sending flakes drifting down on us as we walk.

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget they’re on the other side. But not today.

  Before the Long Winter, magnificent trees covered this area. Now, instead of towering eucalyptus and acacia, only work crews dot the frozen landscape. Dozens of them—all wearing the bright red wristlets of Sensitives—labor just on the other side of the barricade, clearing city sidewalks and roads.

  With my eyes, I follow the line of the barricade across the wide, open expanse of the Presidio to the Bay. Other than the three guarded checkpoints, the barricade encircles us, keeping them out. Or, as Beck jokes, us in.

  I touch my wristlet, comforting myself. If one of them broke through the barricade, an alarm would sound. My wristlet would tell me. I have nothing to worry about.

  Ahead of me, my housemates trudge along our sidewalk, bracing themselves against the cold. I always linger at the back of the group, usually with Beck or Kyra. Sometimes Maz and Ryker join us, but not the other students. Kyra says that we intimidate them with our wit and stunning good looks, but I think they resent Beck and me. Or at least me. No one could dislike Beck if they tried.

  But today I’m alone. Kyra stomps ahead with Maz, probably plotting her next indiscretion, and Beck jogs alongside Lina and Ryker. I have no desire to join either of them.

  “I can’t wait until I’m out there, hunting down those evil monsters.” The words float back to me on the wind. That must be Emory. He tells anyone who will listen about his desired career choice: Sensitive Enforcer.

  It would be a good job for him. He’s strong and smart. And you need to be clever to outwit Sensitives.

  Icy wind brushes over my face and I pull my scarf up to my chin. With my teeth, I yank off a glove and fumble with numb fingers to turn up the sound on my wristlet. The music matches the swirling snow pattern—swaying and floating in rhythm as if conducting it. With each beat, the flakes skip to the side instead of falling downward. And when I turn, the snow follows my movements.

  At least, I think it moved with me.

  I swish my hand back and forth. The snow glides from side to side softly, as if being rocked. How...strange.

  The rational side of my brain says I should be concerned. We had a delay request because of Sensitive activity in the area and dancing snow isn’t normal. But the pretend feeling of control over something so powerful delights me. Besides, I’m inside the barricade, and I have my wristlet. And I’ve never heard “dancing snow” being in the realm of Sensitive abilities—it must be the wind.

   For fun, I open and close my fist quickly, and once again the floating snow changes. This time it’s a small pulsing, whirling cyclone.

  The rhythmic drumming of one song segues into the haunting melody of another. The cyclone sputters out and a familiar melancholy descends. I look up and watch my group pull further and further away from me. I wish everything could stay like this forever—the stillness, my school, the predictability. Lately, talk of graduation and our upcoming bindings consumes everyone.

  I’m excited about the future, but things are changing. I’ll never be able to get back this moment. Almost as if in response to my mood, the snow stops dancing and falls listlessly from the sky.

  “Heya, Birdie, you wanna hurry up a bit? If you haven’t noticed, it’s cold.” Beck waves his gloveless hands in front of me. “Daydreaming again?”

  I shake my head. “Did you see that? The snow?”
>
  “What? The snow devil?” His dimple deepens when he grins. “Yeah, it seemed like it was following you.”

  “It did, didn’t it?”

  He winks. “That’s my Birdie, master of the elements.” He scoops up a handful of snow with his bare hand and tosses it at me. I step to the side and the snow narrowly misses me.

  Beck blows on his cold, wet hand and makes puppy eyes at me. I consider giving him grief for throwing the snow at me, but instead, I reach for him. “Give me your hand, Mr. I-Crave-Heat.” I push our joined hands into my pocket. Despite his claim of being cold, his warmth radiates through my glove.

  He gives my hand a small squeeze and motions to my wristlet. “Can I share?”

  I hit a button, beaming the sound into his feed, and turn up the music. He sings a few lines of the refrain while performing some weird dance move. Beck drags me along after him. I laugh and shove him with my free hand. We stumble, tripping over each other’s feet, but Beck catches me before I fall.

  “Nutter,” I gasp between laughs.

  “You mean that wasn’t an elaborate excuse to get me to wrap my arms around you?” I know he’s joking, but heat flares across my face. Thank God I’m probably already rosy from the cold.

  “You are so bizarre sometimes,” I say as I right myself.

  He bows and then shoves his hand back into my pocket.

  Around us, the snow dances and sways again. We walk on a few more minutes, Beck leaning into me so that his hand stays connected to mine.

  When we were younger, I was taller, stronger and faster than him. I protected Beck from the older kids, the ones who picked on anyone smaller than them and, in exchange, he made me laugh. Now, standing here next to him, it’s hard to believe. He’s a good foot taller than me and no longer a scrawny kid—he’s all muscle.

   Beck may not need my protection anymore, but I still need him to make me laugh.

  The school appears in the distance when we round the next turn. It’s a stately old brick building with sweeping views of the barren hills and the sparkling bay. According to our history texts, a large bridge used to span the gap where the bay meets the ocean. But it’s been gone for at least fifty years after having fallen into disuse maybe seventy-five years prior, when private cars were outlawed by the State in an attempt to restore our society’s fragile ecosystem.

  “You know, Be–,”

  My wristlet chirps.

  My wristlet chirped.

  Beck’s eyes meet mine and I know he heard it too. His head whips around, surveying the empty landscape around us. In the distance, our classmates appear as nothing more than dots bouncing through the snow. They’re too far away. Too far. Why didn’t Beck and I keep up?

  A woman’s voice breaks over the music feed. “Lark, take shelter immediately.”

  This is not a drill. A Sensitive is near.

  Beck, having heard the same message, pulls me after him. I move my head wildly, trying to find a place, somewhere to conceal ourselves, but we’re surrounded by miles of white.

  And possibly Sensitives.

  We bolt toward the school, my feet slipping as we go, slowing us down. Why did I wear such impractical shoes?

  The woman’s voice repeats her message. “Take shelter immediately.”

  Somehow, over my heartbeat, I hear a faint rustling sound behind us.

  My feet no longer touch the ground. I’m laying face down in the snow, Beck’s body completely over mine. I can’t breathe.

  I struggle under him, fighting my way up. He pushes me down and whispers, “Do not move. They’re coming this way.”

  The crunch of snow. Steady walking toward Beck and I. His arm tightens around me and his tense body coils, prepared to fight if necessary.

  He can’t fight them. We’re not trained. Our best chance is hiding and praying they don’t see us.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are. We know you’re here,” a man’s voice sing-songs.

  I fumble with my wristlet, trying to find the alarm feature with my frozen fingers.

  Why aren’t the school security alarms sounding?

  Beck’s fingers wrap around my wristlet. At first, I think he’s going to sound the alarm button, but he does nothing. His rapid breathing fills my ears.

  “Come now. This is no way to play.” The man’s voice is so clear, he must be on the other side of the small hill Beck and I have hidden behind.

  “Our footprints,” Beck mumbles. “He sees our footprints.”

  My body shakes, not from cold, but fear. If he catches us…I press my eyes shut and swallow my scream. Around us, the snow whirls, frantic like the beat of my heart.

  Suddenly, I no longer feel the pressure of Beck against my back. He stands on top of the hill, fully exposed.

  “What are you doing?” I cry.

  Beck keeps his attention focused on what he sees before him.

  “Looking for me?” he asks. He sounds calm—not like he’s facing down our greatest threat.

  Why would they be looking for him?

  My feet slip as I climb the slight incline and I use my hands to steady myself. When I reach the top, Beck positions himself between me and the dozen Sensitives standing below us. My eyes instinctively flit to their wrists—all bare. The State hasn’t caught them yet.

  Beck reaches behind himself to hold my hand tightly, as if trying to absorb my trembling.

  To my surprise, the ragged group doesn’t attack. They watch Beck and I with confusion, their eyes darting between the two of us and our enjoined hands.

  From the back of the group, a disheveled woman steps forward. She lifts her arm, points at us—me. She’s pointing at me.

  “I know who you are.” Her crazy eyes gleam. “I know.”

  A silent scream lodges in my throat. Of course she does. I’m Malin Greene’s daughter; the direct female descendant of Caitlyn Greene, one of the Founders of the State and the reason Sensitives are hunted.

  Everyone knows who I am.

  And Sensitives hate me and my family more than any other.

  My heart whirls as my fear gives way to anger.

  Beck’s fingers release mine and travel to my wristlet. He pushes the alarm button, the one I couldn’t find earlier with my numb fingers.

  A loud wail fills the air. Sirens. The barricade hums to life, lighting up. In the near-distance, security guards rush toward us.

  “We will be free!” the crazed woman shouts. “You can’t stop us!”

  I angrily raise my hand to tell them to leave us alone, that there’s no hope for them. They’re caught.

  An impossibly blinding white light flashes. Beck screams, “No!” and throws me to the ground again, forcing my gaze away from the Sensitives, toward the distant bay.

  “No. No. No. Please,” Beck whispers.

  There’s no sound from the bottom of the hill.

  4

   

  Two hours later, as I sit in the Headmaster’s office with Beck, my heart still pounds loudly. Waiting isn’t helping my nerves.

  When Security reached us, Beck scooped me up like rag doll—not like the girl who out wrestled him earlier in the morning—and carried me, against my protests, to the school.

  “No, Birdie,” he said when I struggled. “Don’t look.”

  But I did. I saw the broken bodies littering the snow. Dead. Every one of them.

  Relief welled in my heart. Because it was them and not us. Not Beck. Not me. Just vile Sensitives.

  In Beck’s arms, I muttered words of thanks. Security did their job so efficiently.

  We marched across the snow, a guard on each side, and entered the silent school. Every student, except us, had taken shelter in a secure room until the all-clear signal sounded.

  Now everyone’s back in class, and Beck and I are still waiting to be excused. I check my wristlet. If they don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss our assessment.

  “We’re fine. Why can’t we go?” I ask.

  �
€œI don’t know.” Beck squeezes my hand, the one he hasn’t let go of since we stood on the hill together.

  Silence surrounds us. We’ve used up all our words giving statements to the security detail. Next to me, Beck’s body goes rigid and he crushes my fingers.

  “Ow!”

  He swivels in his chair so that he’s facing the door. His eyes narrow and his hand no longer grasps mine. He tilts his head to the side as if listening to something. Curious, I follow his gaze.

  The door swings open and a woman sweeps in, followed by a tall man with a hat pulled low, concealing his face.

  She’s beautiful. Her raven hair falls in soft waves and contrasts with her long, cream coat. Her naturally red lips draw into a warm, welcoming smile, and it’s then that I recognize her. Annalise, my sister-in-law.

  “Callum,” Beck whispers with a hint of disdain when my brother removes his hat. He and Callum have never gotten along. When we were little, Callum searched us out during our few home visits and harassed Beck.

  My brother wears his blond hair longer than I remember, more in style for a Statesman than a schoolboy.

  I stand to greet my family, but Beck bristles and hesitates. A million anxious pressure points build in my chest, pushing outward until they crawl over my skin like little spiders. Something’s wrong.

  “Lark. Sister. How are you, my dear?” Tension rolls through my body as Callum clutches me to his chest, hard. His embrace is more like a strangling.

  Annalise touches Callum’s arm. “That’s enough, darling. Poor Lark can barely breathe. You surely don’t want to hurt a future Stateswoman, do you?”

  He releases me with a gentle peck on the cheek and steps back. The pressure in my chest subsides and my heart slows.

  “Lark, darling, you look well considering what you went through.” Annalise’s

  voice is soft and musical. She kisses me once on each cheek, in the manner of the State. When she extends the customary greeting to Beck—who now stands at my side—he recoils, refusing to let her touch him.

  I glare at Beck, my hands on my hips. I know he and Callum haven’t always gotten along, but his behavior is ridiculous. I slide next to him and nudge him forward, but he plants his feet and refuses to move.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. Maybe the shock of the attack has confused him. “Should I call the healer?”

  He continues to stand tense with his head tilted as if trying to hear a far off sound. “I’m fine.”

  Then what is he doing? This isn’t the time or place for old childhood rivalries. I’m going to have to make a good impression for the both of us. My words take on the formal State tone. “Did Mother send you?”

  A slight forward shift from Callum causes Beck to grip my arm. He subtly repositions his body so he’s between Callum and me. Callum responds to Beck’s oddly protective posture by softening his stance.

  Annalise flashes a pretty smile at me, as if she doesn’t notice Beck and Callum’s odd body language. “She sent Callum, of course, to make sure you were unharmed. But my State job is safety. Specifically ensuring the safety of top officials—like Malin—and our Society’s schools.” She unbuttons her coat and sets it on a nearby coat rack. “I’ve been tasked with discovering how this breach happened and ensuring it doesn’t reoccur.”

  “Really?” I ask. With her perfectly manicured nails and silky black hair, Annalise looks more like a painting than a security guard.

  “Really.”

  “You didn’t do a very good job, did you?” Beck clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Lark could have been killed.”

  Not ‘we,’ but ‘Lark’.

  Annalise removes a small tablet from her satchel and taps on it. “Let’s see. According to my report, you exposed your position to the Sensitives. Is that correct?”

  Beck glares at her and wraps his arm around my waist protectively. Tension ripples off his body. Even through my layers of clothing, I’m positive I feel waves of heat radiating from him.

  “The security system failed. I was trying to distract them from Lark. She was hidden until she decided to climb the hill.” My heart races inexplicably, as if afraid. I fold myself into Beck’s side. This is my brother and sister-in-law—I know we haven’t always gotten along, but what’s there to be frightened of?

  Annalise’s lips form a hard frown. But it’s the movement of her hands I find strange—they appear to quiver. “You have no training in Sensitive enforcement and your first thought wasn’t to stay hidden. It was stand on a hill and show yourself. I find that very interesting.”

  Her deep blue eyes dart back and forth between Beck and I as if waiting for an attack. Beck wraps his other arm around me, so he’s more or less hugging me now. Annalise clenches her teeth briefly before disguising it with a bright smile.

  Are you looking for me? Isn’t that what he said when he faced them? My mind whirls, sorting through what I saw, heard and know. Something isn’t right.

  “My first, my only thought, is always to protect Lark.”

  Protect me? What is he talking about? He needs protecting as much as I do. Like Callum, we’re all direct descendants of Founders—and under constant threat.

  Without any attempt at subtlety, Beck moves his body so that I’m now standing behind him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as I jockey to get around him, but he holds me back. I’ve never doubted Beck before, but this is ridiculous.

  In response, Annalise throws her head back like those girls in the movies and lets out a melodic laugh. It’s eerily out of place with the tone of our conversation. “Protect Lark? That’s what you call what you did? You lead them right to her.”

  I don’t understand what’s happening. Is she accusing Beck of something? Of helping Sensitives attack me?

  I peer around Beck, suddenly feeling small. Callum fidgets with his wrap, clearly agitated, but it’s Annalise who looks furious. Lethal even.

  Anger boils inside me.

  “Annalise, what exactly are you trying to say?” I clip my words and step around Beck.

  Shock flits across her face. “I’m sorry, Lark. Have I offended you? I’d think you, of all people, would want to get to the bottom of this. Especially since it appears they were looking for you.”

  “No, of course not.” It’s a lie, but I don’t want her, or whomever she reports to, to think I’m argumentative.

  Looking for me? Beck had asked. I shake my head and ball my fists into my thighs. No. They wanted me. The daughter of Malin Greene—the Sensitive hunter—the one responsible for increased labor groups and a crack-down on their freedoms. And Beck offered himself instead.

  Annalise slips the screen back into her satchel with a swift movement. “I have everything I need.”

  Callum offers his arm to his wife. “Annalise, shall we?”

  She removes her coat from its hook and places her hand lightly on his arm. Her hard eyes drill into me, but she smiles sweetly. “Goodbye, Lark. We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure of it.”

  Callum tips his hat before placing it back on his head and then they’re gone, gliding out into the hallway, leaving behind a mess of confusion and suspicion. Do Annalise and Callum think Beck wanted the Sensitives to find me? That’s impossible.

  I spin on Beck. “What was that?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead he stares out into the hallway, head tilted toward the spot where Callum and Annalise disappeared.

  “Beck,” I huff. “Are you listening to me?”

  Fear flashes through his olive eyes. He searches my face for a moment as if trying to register what I said.

  “C’mon, Birdie. We have assessments to take.” He bends down, picks up my bag and hands it to me.

  “The Headmaster hasn’t excused us. We can’t go yet.”

  “I don’t think it matters anymore.”

  5

   

  Unlike a few minutes ago, when he couldn’t stop hugging me, Beck leaves me behind as he hurries to cla
ss.

  I sprint to catch up to him. I don’t know what exactly just happened, but I think he does. And he’s going to give me some answers, even if I have to force it out of him.

  I beat him to our classroom door and block him from entering.

  “What’s going on?” I demand.

  For the first time, I notice how he shakes. I lace my fingers through his and, out of habit, kiss our enjoined hands. Maybe that’s why he held on to me so tightly? Because his hands give away how frightened he is?

  “Beck, you don’t really think Annalise was accusing you of leading the Sensitives to us, do you?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe?”

  If it weren’t Beck saying it, I’d find this line of conversation ridiculous. Our families are above reproach. We are above reproach. Even though his parents don’t work for the State at a high level, everyone knows the Channings are a fine family with a strong sense of duty.

  Mr. Proctor, our Societies teacher, yanks the door open, exposing us to the classroom full of students.

  “Do you two plan on joining us?” he asks. A few students giggle.

  Embarrassed, I drop Beck’s hand and I hurry to my desk. Beck takes his seat next to mine.

  “We’ve moved past the assessment,” Mr. Proctor says. “The two of you will have to make arrangements to test privately. Have Bethina call me.”

  I hang my head and fight tears. Maybe it’s the stress of the day, but the one thing I wanted, really wanted, isn’t going to happen.

  Aware that everyone’s watching me, I swallow the lump in my throat and dig through my bag until I find old-fashioned paper and a pen. One of the insufferable joys of this class: we have to write on paper, like they did hundreds of years ago. Even though I’m better at it now, taking notes by hand still makes mine cramp and ache. Beck, however, prefers writing—he even does it at home.

  Kyra leans across the aisle toward me. “Are you okay?”

  I sniff. “Yes. I’m sure they won’t hold us missing the assessment against us. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Lark, I’m talking about you. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Her eyes are full of concern.

  Am I? I’m not panicked or scared anymore. And when Beck and I stood on the hill together, I felt focused and strong—just like the State’s training teaches us. Still, I’m upset. But at what? Annalise’s veiled accusations? My own lack of understanding of the situation? Or am I deso about missing the assessment?

  “Everything is fine. The State is investigating.”

  “Ping if you need anything?”

  I nod and she goes back to scribbling on her paper. Like me, she hates writing. Unlike me, she’s never really learned to do it, so she always has to borrow my notes. Which means, she doesn’t pay attention.

  At the front of the room, Mr. Proctor rambles about the Long Winter. Not even a security breach can save me from that. He seems to think that the easiest way to recover from a nerve-wracking attack is to bore us with history. I don’t see why we even continue to cover this subject. Everyone understands the “Order and History of Society.” Every year, it’s the same class with the same information. If you don’t know it by now, there’s really no hope.

  Mr. Proctor’s voice fills my ears. “Ice and snow covered whole continents, destroying livable surface and resulting in a fifty-year war as people migrated. Over half of the world’s population vanished.”

  I don’t need to pay attention, I have it memorized. How the Center, once known as Africa, is only a tenth of its former size; and there were more countries than I can even fathom, instead of our five great societies. How these societies would have destroyed one another if my ancestor, Caitlyn, hadn’t succeeded in aligning them under a common cause: to preserve humanity.

  I follow along as Mr. Proctor taps the wall screen behind his desk, illuminating each society on a map.

  Tap, flash. The West, where we live, shaded green and stretching from our northern cities of Ottawa and Calgary to the southern city of Austin, appears on the wall screen.

  Another tap. The East, covering an area that used to be called Asia glows a soft blue.

  Tap, Tap, Tap – the South, the Center and the Islands appear.

  One more tap. The North – not a really a society anymore other than in name, just an ice covered land mass once known as Europe. Only a few hold-outs still live there.

  Mr. Proctor superimposes an image of the world over the ancient map. “The world was vastly overpopulated and spread out before the Long Winter.”

  I write the word “Sensitive” on one of the thin blue lines on my paper. Such an oxymoron. It implies a delicate state. But that’s exactly what they’re not. Determined to bring humanity under their control, they unleashed the Long Winter on us—their final act after a millennia of plagues, earthquakes and famine—and nearly decimated the world’s human population.

  Luckily, the Founders discovered how to identify the chromosomal abnormality in Sensitives. Most are found during childhood and fitted with irremovable red wristlets that track their every move. Sensitive Enforcers find the rest—those who roam free and hide in the shadows, not in the guarded settlements on the outskirts of major towns. Because no one knows how to fight magic, our Enforcers must catch them off-guard or overpower them.

  But one thing remains the same for both groups: they absolutely cannot be allowed to breed.

  I scan through my book until I locate the images of historical Sensitives. Sometimes, in old books, they’re called witches. But that was before we discovered what they had—extra senses. Then their name was changed.

   I tap a page to zoom in on one. They don’t look anything like the group who attacked Beck and me. The ones today, other than not wearing a mandatory wristlet, looked exactly like us—normal people. Well, if you ignore the woman’s crazy eyes.

  The image in my book fades in and out beneath my fingers. I flip the page and find Caitlyn Greene, my ancestor, surrounded by the rest of the Founders, smiling at me from the depths of time. Other than our chestnut-colored hair and small stature, we don’t look anything alike. In fact, with her wide eyes and full mouth, she looks more like Mother—or even Kyra—than me.

  How did this woman muster the courage to confront such a dangerous group? She wasn’t much older than me—only twenty-two—when elected Head of State.

  A twinge of shame eats at me. How can I be her descendant? My first reaction wasn’t to face them, but to hide. Unlike Beck.

  The image zooms out again. Much older and stronger men surround her, but their body language indicates deference. Caitlyn was clearly in charge.

  My gaze falls on the man to her left, who—unlike the other men—appears to be the same age as Caitlyn: Charles Channing, Beck’s great-great-grandfather and Caitlyn’s right-hand man. I’ve never seen a picture of one without the other.

  The warrior and the diplomat—that’s how most texts refer to them.

  Charles’s arm drapes over Caitlyn’s shoulder in a familiar way, his head turned slightly toward her like he’s going to whisper something in her ear. He’s as fair as Beck and has the same mischievous eyes.

  Annalise can’t suspect Beck, can she? Not when his ancestor was Charles Channing. It would be blasphemy. After all, Charles is the one who developed policies and brokered a peace with the four other Societies.

  A small smile forms on my lips. Beck is just like Charles. Always searching for the middle ground. I, however, am no warrior. No one would ever accuse me of being like Caitlyn—I’m too content to be in the background and out of the spotlight.

  I scan through a few more pages and land on a picture of a smoky, gritty, ancient city. It’s amazing those old-time people didn’t kill themselves off with all that pollution and disease, and with limited access to medical care, education, and food. Their world looked so different from ours: crowded, dirty, downright crumbling. They tried to cram everything into everywhere and had no sense for order or beauty.

  Not at all lik
e the State, whose sole purpose is the protection and well-being of all citizens. We want for nothing.

  With all the horrible things those people did, maybe wiping out most of them with the Long Winter wasn’t such a bad idea.

  A low chuckle interrupts my thoughts. Beck pushes his desk across the aisle and next to mine, while Mr. Proctor continues lecturing. Only Beck could do something like this and not immediately get in trouble.

  He leans close to my ear, and his warm breath tickles my neck. “Guess what?”

  “I’m trying to pay attention.” Mr. Proctor has moved on to the importance of our roles in the State. How once we’re mated and placed in jobs, we will be challenged and blessed with security and oversight of the State. How unlike Singleton and Non-States people; each and every one of us is expected to contribute to the good of the Western Society.

  “No, you’re not. You hate this class,” Beck challenges.

  I squint at him, and purse my lips, trying my hardest to look upset. Try being the key word here because my stomach flip-flops from Beck’s close proximity and I suddenly feel breathless. “Fine. What?”

  “Kyra kissed Maz last night. On the lips.”

  “Kissed?” So that’s the big secret. I sneak a glance at Kyra. I’m not surprised, but she knows better. What if Maz isn’t her mate? Then what? “You want to talk about kissing?”

  “Would you rather practice?” Beck leans back in his chair. His eyes glint with mischief.

  He’s teasing me, I know, but I can’t stop the warmth spreading across my cheeks.

  I hit his bicep with my fist. “Stop it.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” Beck rubs the spot where I hit him.

  I take a deep breath. “You know what I want to talk about.”

  He stares at me blankly as if he really has no idea.

  “How about we start with this morning? With the Sensitives?”

  A shadow crosses his face and the playfulness disappears. “What about it?”

  “Why did you think they were looking for you? Is it because you’re a descendant?” Leave it to Beck to act brave when I couldn’t.

  “Yes.” He turns his head toward the clock so I can’t see his face.

  “Beck, please look at me. I know you’re not telling me everything “

   He twists around in his seat to face me directly. His lips are pressed tight. When our eyes meet, I pause.

  All the mischievousness is gone. Erased from his lovely face.

   “Can we talk about this at home? Away from all these ears?” He motions to the rest of the class with his free hand.

  I want to agree, but a stronger urge takes over. “No. I want you to tell me now. You’re not getting out of it.”

  “Lark,” he pleads. “Just wait till we get home. I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

   “Beck, Lark.” Mr. Proctor raises his shaggy gray eyebrows. “I know you’ve had an exciting morning, but wait until after class to discuss it.”

  Beck straightens up and pretends to write. “We were comparing notes.”

  Mr. Proctor nods his head permissively. “I’m sure you were.”

  When he turns his back to us, I knock the pen from Beck’s hand. “No,” I whisper angrily. “You’re going to tell me now.” I never get upset with him. He’s supposed to cheer me up when I’m down. Not piss me off.

  He grabs my hand. “Birdie, calm down.” He traces small circles across the back of my hand and a curious calming sensation creeps along my arm and into my overactive brain.

  But I’m still annoyed. “I don’t know why you can’t just tell me.”

  A small frown forms on Beck’s full lips. Right then, the bell rings and he jumps from his seat, leaving me and my mood swings behind.

  Frustrated with him and angry with myself for not getting the answers I want, I shove my notebook and pen into my satchel and run after him.

  “Beck, wait!” I catch up to him and place my hand on his muscular arm.

   He shakes me off, clearly upset, and starts to walk away but then changes his mind and wraps his arms around me tight. A surprised sigh escapes my lips when his lips touch my forehead. If we were alone, I’d nuzzle into his chest, but we’re standing in the middle of the crowded hallway. Students swarm around us. We can’t do this. Not now.

  I step back and wait for Beck to say something. Instead, he removes his thick, blue wristlet and reaches for mine. I let him take it and he shoves them deep into his bag, where our words will be too muffled to fully understand.

  Beck places a trembling hand under my chin and stares into my eyes. “You know that I would do anything for you, don’t you?”

  Confused by his actions, I shake my head. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

  It’s not like Beck to keep secrets from me.

  He steps away from me and hands back my wristlet. “You’re going to have to run if you want to make it to your next class.” He smiles weakly, his face just a shadow of its lively self, as he heads off down the hallway, leaving me behind.

  Something must be wrong. Really wrong. Uneasiness swells in me again.

  Beck, the most relaxed and happy person I know, is frightened.

  6

   

  Beck surprises me outside my classroom door, like he has after every class today. Normally, he only meets me after my Agriculture class.

  “How’d you get here so fast?” I ask. The bell barely rang and his previous class is on the other side of campus.

  “Magic.”

  “That’s not funny.” After the attack this morning, it’s the last thing he should be joking about. Especially with other students around.

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

  I roll my eyes. No point in arguing with him. At least he seems more like himself. “You can’t ditch class. Not if we’re going to get a high placement.”

  He holds out his arm, offering to carry my backpack. When I slip it over my shoulders, he shakes his head at me. “You’re stubborn.”

  “And you’re acting like a nutter.” I scowl.

  Beck starts off down the hallway, through the crush of students, toward the lunchroom. I follow along at my own pace and force myself to think about this morning’s events: the Sensitives, Annalise, Beck—all of it.

  We shouldn’t have been by ourselves—especially after the Delay Request. I know this. But still, why didn’t the school alarms sound? And why did my wristlet chirp when Beck’s didn’t make a sound?

  Lost in thought, I don’t see Kyra run up until she’s pulling me by the arm to our lunch table. She’s taken her hair out of the school-regulated ponytail, and her curls bounce every which way. Why does she always have to flaunt the rules?

  “Did you hear about Lina and Ryker? Someone caught them kissing on the back stairwell.”

  Okay. Everyone around me has officially lost their minds. Beck and I were attacked by Sensitives this morning, and all anyone wants to talk about is kissing.

  She leans in and whispers. “I heard they were in a state of undress.”

  I curl my lip in an attempt to look more disapproving than curious. “Really?”

  Kyra links her arm through mine and smirks. “They are in so much trouble.”

  “And you and Maz have never…” I can’t finish the sentence. It’s too embarrassing.

  A hint of red creeps across her face. “Do you want to have lunch alone, away from the boys today?”

  Beck steps between us and separates Kyra’s arm from my mine.

  “Hands off, Kyra.” He pushes his chest out and throws his shoulders back, strong and confident. It’s like the frightened version of him has vanished. Or it was all my imagination. “I have plans for Lark. Just the two of us. We need time alone.”

  Irritation dims her face. “She’s not yours, Beck.”

  This is too much. “What’s wrong with you guys? Did you all get hit by some crazy-inducing disease or something?”

&nb
sp; I drop my bag on the ground next to my spot at our table. As much as I want to speak to both of them—alone and separately—I’m not going to get in the middle of their bickering.

  For the past few months, they have been at each other’s throats. Everything Beck does irritates Kyra. And Kyra annoys Beck. It’s mostly little things, but all their sniping is beginning to wear on me.

   “I’m eating here, in the warmth of this building. Feel free to join me when you can stop acting like idiots.” I walk to the lunch line.

  My breakfast of fruit has left me starving. From the entrees, I select a black bean burger, some grapes and corn on the cob. As I wait for my food to cook, I look back at my table where Beck and Kyra sit on opposite sides, engaged in a heated conversation. Neither of them bothered to get food.

  Students crowd every table. Without exception, everyone sits in their own house section. We barely socialize outside of our group because what’s the point? The State selects our mates from the twenty-six students we live with. Plus, our houses are chosen based on our potential to form lifelong friendships. Which is great—except when your housemates want to strangle each other.

   “Can we call a truce?” I slide into the seat next to Beck and he drapes his arm over my shoulder. The weight comforts me, but I’m also aware of the glares other students shoot in our direction. I lift his arm and move slightly away.

  “What happened to setting an example?” Kyra asks. “Or do you want to end up like Lina and Ryker?”

  I roll my eyes. I moved away, what more does she want? “You should talk. I heard about you and Maz.”

  “What happened to Lina and Ryker?” Beck interrupts leaning forward and searching down the table for his friends.

  “Oh.” I cringe. “They were caught–”

  “Doing all the naughty things you two will never, ever do,” Kyra offers with a devious laugh.

  Beck clenches his jaw and his fist hits the table a little too hard. My plate rattles. “Where is Maz?”

  Kyra suddenly turns very business-like and snaps, “He wanted to have a snowball fight, but I guess if we don’t turn up, he’ll be here soon. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

  Next to me, Beck stiffens and the warmth radiating off of him disappears.

  “So, tell me about what happened this morning. How did you manage not to get killed?” Kyra steals a grape from my plate. The way she’s acting, it’s as if being cornered by Sensitives is a trivial thing.

  I draw my brow together, remembering the way they looked at Beck and me. “There were ten of them,” I recite, giving the same information I told the security detail that questioned us. “At first, a man seemed to be taunting us. But then Beck–”

  When I say his name, he stands up. “I’m getting lunch. Do you want anything else?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Kyra?” he asks, making an effort to be nice.

  She pops another one of my grapes into her mouth. “Nope. I’m sharing with Lark.”

  As soon as he’s gone, she leans across the table, so that her head is close to mine, and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so please don’t panic out.”

  I hate when she starts sentences this way. “I won’t.”

  She puts her head next to mine. “Maz and I..,” She pauses and I know what’s coming next before she says it.

  My eyes grow wide. “Kyra! What if Bethina finds out? Or your parents—at your binding? You can’t have sex with him. You could end up in a different house—we’d barely ever see each other. And what if you develop feelings for him and he’s not chosen for you?”

  I can’t take any more of this day. I just want it over. Between the Sensitives, Beck’s odd behavior, and Kyra trying her best to end up working a menial job for the rest of her life, I’m done.

  Kyra sits back down in her seat. “I already have feelings for him, if you haven’t noticed.” For the first time ever, she actually seems embarrassed. Or maybe shy. I can’t tell exactly which because one second she’s smiling at me, and the next she’s avoiding my eyes.

  “Besides, I’m not stupid. We didn’t do everything. Only almost everything.” She pushes on my chin to close my mouth. “Besides, how would anyone find out? They don’t have magical machines you have to walk through to see if you’re chaste.” She laughs, but I cringe at the use of the word ‘magical’. “Plus, I have it on good authority Maz is my mate.”

  I gape at her. Again.

  “How?” I demand—she doesn’t know anyone who works in Placement.

  She puts her finger to her lips. “Can’t tell.”

  If she believes Maz is her mate, no amount of arguing will change her mind. So I try another approach. “What if you’re caught?”

  “What will they do? Yell at me? It’s not like they’ll have a public trial and send me off to live with the Sensitives. They don’t condemn people like us to hard labor.” She shrugs. “Besides, don’t you ever want to be with Beck so badly it hurts?” The tone of her voice has shifted from happy to accusatory.

  I bite my lip. Beck’s back is toward me as he inches through the lunch line. This morning—it feels like years ago—when he stood over me, gazing into my eyes, I had hoped he’d kiss me. Not the chaste little kisses he’s been giving too freely lately, but something more.

  But he didn’t. Because it’s wrong, and we both know it.

  “No. I don’t want to compromise our future.” I give her a stern look. “And you shouldn’t either, Kyra. You’re going to end up with an awful assignment if you get caught. And you’ll definitely lose Maz. Your whole life will be ruined because you were impatient.”

  She shakes her head, a smile on her lips.

  “You said it yourself, Lina and Ryker are in so much trouble,” I insist.

  She flicks out her wrists as if it’s no big deal. I huff. I wish Kyra would take things more seriously sometimes.

  “Don’t you ever get bored with all this?” She uses her hands to dismissively sweep away the scene before us.

  Kyra’s never content. She’s always doing little things to ‘make life more exciting’. Why can’t she be excited and happy with what she has?

  “No. Things are going to change soon enough. After our bindings.” I stress the last sentence, hoping she gets my point.

  Kyra watches Beck for a moment before speaking. “Maybe he’s not right for you. I mean, everyone else wants to break the rules and stuff. Maybe you guys aren’t compatible. It happens sometimes. Better to find out now, before you’re bound, and not have to go through the embarrassment of a public trial because he decided he likes someone else.”

  Her words bore into my brain and stop me cold. Not compatible? That’s impossible. How can someone who makes me so happy not be my perfect mate? Besides, Bethina says Beck and I are two sides of a coin—stuck together with no way to pry us apart. We’re perfect for each other, which is why the State placed us together at such a young age. There will never be anyone else for me.

  There’s a commotion across the room. Maz runs toward us, his light brown hair damp from melting snow. No wonder Kyra likes him—he’s a ball of perpetual motion. Definitely not boring. Beck intercepts him half-way across the room and Maz gestures wildly before they beeline for our table.

  “C’mon,” Maz puffs. “I have it all set up.”

  The thought of being outside, where we were attacked, sends a chill through me. “I’m hungry. You guys go,” I say and shove a forkful of vegetables in my mouth.

  Kyra lifts her head lazily. “Lark doesn’t want to do anything. She’s deso.”

  Maz flashes his lop-sided grin at me. “C’mon, Lark. It’ll be fun. I’ll even let you pelt me a few times.”

  I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going back out there. Not until I have to.

  Maz and Kyra exchange a look I can’t decipher. “I thought it would cheer you up,” Maz says. “After missing the assessment and…”

  “Thanks. But I don’t need cheering up. I’m fine. Real
ly.” My voice cracks slightly.

  Beck takes the seat next to me. His fingers skim the back of my hand as he leans into me, and whispers, “I’m not exactly eager to go back out there, either.”

  Sometimes, we’re so in sync, it’s like he really does know my heart. And that’s all the proof I need to know we’re meant for each other.