FOUR
ZAC COMES OVER STRAIGHT AFTER SCHOOL. HE must have skipped rugby practice. I hear the familiar purr of his car drive up and rush to the window to confirm that it’s him. Peering out, I curse under my breath and jerk back as if the blinds sting my fingers. I look around my room as if I can hide somewhere. Ridiculous, I know. It’s my fault I put this off so long.
Shaking my head, I bound over my bed to my dresser mirror and pull loose my ponytail. I run a quick brush through my long hair and then flip my head, hoping to get some body back into the dark-blonde mass. Slapping my brush on the dresser, I hurry downstairs and answer the door before he can push the bell. I don’t want Mom to answer it. Don’t want him to see her face and think someone died.
She took the rest of the week off. I guess she thought she needed to be here for me. Which is kind of funny since I’ve been in my room all afternoon and she’s been in hers. Ever since we saw that boy, she’s been even more distant. Like he’s the manifestation of everything she fears I will become. But that will never happen.
I close the door behind me, clutching the knob at my back like a lifeline. Zac’s steps slow as he advances, his gaze locking on me. A breeze ruffles his brown hair. The sides are cut close, but he’s always had a good inch or two on top. Enough for me to thread my fingers through.
I smile, a lump rising in my throat.
He steps up on the porch and stops before me, frowning, and I know he’s mad that I’ve been ignoring him. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Exhaling, I lean in, press my cheek against his chest and wrap my arms around him. His arms envelop me, holding me. I need this. So much. His arms. His love. Right now when everything is falling away, he’s here. Holding me together.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls? Were you really sick?”
The sensation of his hands on my back is like a drug. It feels good . . . tempts me to forget. And I want to forget. Only I can’t.
“Davy? What’s wrong?” he presses, his voice a soft croon in my ear.
A hundred different excuses burn on my tongue. Lies all. But what would be the point? He has to know. We’ll get through this. We love each other.
I peel my face away from his chest, from the pleasant thump of his heart against my ear. His bright green eyes dazzle me. I moisten my lips. “Do you remember when they tested the students for HTS earlier this year?”
He’s caught off guard. Like he doesn’t know what that has to do with anything. With me. His eyes swing to the right, searching his memory. “Uh, yeah. Think so. Why?”
“The results came back. I have it. I tested positive.” I say it quickly, let the words tumble free as though it won’t sound so bad because I’m talking so fast.
He pauses and then laughs. “Yeah. Right.”
“Zac.” I gaze into his face, waiting for him to see that I’m serious.
Everything in him tenses. Except his face. His features go lax with shock. His arms loosen around me.
Several moments pass and he doesn’t move. I watch him intently, desperately, waiting for him to speak, to say the words I need him to say.
My voice shivers from my lips. “Zac?”
“The kill gene?” he whispers.
I wince, hating that. HTS sounds more vague . . . clinical but harmless.
I nod and his arms drop from around me. He takes a step back, staring at me with wide eyes. Eyes that don’t blink—just like Mom’s.
I follow him, holding out a hand, trying to reach him, touch him. He drags a hand through his hair, out of reach from my seeking fingers. Bowing over, he tugs on the strands as though he might rip them free. His face twists and he looks as though he’s in physical pain. He stares down at the porch, as if he can find something there in the stamped concrete. A truth, something to explain away what’s happening.
I say his name again. Louder.
He looks at me then, and my heart seizes inside my chest. Because it’s not him. Not Zac. Not like I know him. The warmth is gone. The craving, the need for me. His green eyes are brighter than ever but filled with bewilderment . . . horror. Grief.
He lifts his arm like he’s going to swing. Hit something. He holds it in the air for a long moment. A growl erupts from him as he curls his hand into a tight, bloodless fist. I flinch.
“I’m still the same person,” I say desperately. “I’m still the same girl you loved yesterday. That hasn’t changed.”
He drops his hand from his hair and shakes his head. “I—I know. I just don’t . . .”
Not an outright rejection but it feels like it. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. The air feels thin, but I nod like I understand.
“Yeah. Okay.” The words stumble from my lips.
He turns. His graceful loping strides are gone. He’s almost running to his car. I watch, shaking, trembling so badly that I can’t stand. At the door to the car, he hesitates and looks at me. He’s conflicted. I can tell from his body. Part of him leans forward like he wants to come back to me. And God, I want him to. I need him to. I need this—us—to still be all right.
Then he’s inside the car, slamming the door shut after him.
I fall back against the front door and slide to the porch as he peels out of the driveway.
I squeeze myself, hugging my knees to my chest so tightly I can hardly breathe. Tears run hotly down my cheeks, and my mouth opens with a silent, breathless sob even as I know his reaction is . . . normal. Expected even. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. . . .
Understandable. Neither do I.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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* * *
Zac
Can u come over?
Tori
Sure. What’s wrong?
Zac
Everything
Tori
Is Davy w/u?
Zac
No
Need 2 talk. Can’t b alone right now
Tori
On way