The Rules (Project Paper Doll)

A PART OF MY BRAIN was busy pondering the peculiar twist reality had taken that ended with Zane Bradshaw kissing me. And me kissing back.

But the rest of me was just feeling. Focusing on sensations that made everything else fall away. His tongue was in my mouth, and it didn’t feel weird. At all. And when I summoned the courage to respond in kind, his hands tightened on me. He liked it. A thrill went through me at the idea that I’d caused him to react. It was such a heady sense of power and vulnerability. For as much as I wanted to make him feel good, I knew he was trying for the same thing.

His chin was rough with stubble, and he smelled so right. A switch clicked on in my brain. Suddenly I wanted to be closer. I fumbled blindly to unbuckle my seat belt. It ended up thwapping both of us in the side of the face, making Zane laugh.

“Careful,” he said into my mouth. He broke off our kiss long enough to shove the belt between us. It retracted with a loud clunk, and then I was moving, pulling my legs onto the seat so I could kneel instead of sit, bringing myself that much closer to him.

He showed his appreciation with his hands at my waist, pulling me against him, as much as possible with the armrest in between us. I could feel the heat of his chest against me, the way his breathing had picked up so much faster, like mine. And I wanted more.

As if reading my mind, he slipped his hands under my shirt in the back, and I stopped breathing at the sensation of his fingers against my bare skin. He traced dizzying patterns, skimming over my bra and higher.

I cursed the armrest divider between us, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I would do if I could get over onto the other side.

Then his questing fingers reached the edge of the bandage on my right shoulder blade, and he froze.

A shock wave rolled through me. I’d forgotten about the bandage. How could I have forgotten that?

I pulled away from him, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry.” He dropped his hands down to my waist.

“No, it’s okay. It’s…nothing.” Except a very vivid reminder of who I was and why I shouldn’t—couldn’t—be doing this with him. With anyone.

He hesitated, then asked, “Is it from before? From your treatment?”

It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. The experimental treatment that had supposedly saved my life just before I came to live with my father. “Sort of. Can we…not talk about it?”

He nodded and let go of my waist. “Sure.”

Disappointment thundered through me. Way to kill the mood, Ariane. But what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t explain, and while he seemed satisfied for the moment with my nonanswer, how long would that last? It reminded me of a ghost story I’d heard kids tell during lunch in grade school. About the woman with the red ribbon at her throat. She married a man who loved her but couldn’t stop asking about the ribbon at her throat, even after she told him not to. Then one night, while she was sleeping, his curiosity got the better of him. He pulled at the ribbon and her head rolled off.

It wouldn’t be quite that dramatic, but if Zane got a glimpse of what was under the bandage, I’d be equally condemned.

“I have to go.” I swung my legs to the floor and fumbled for the door handle.

“Ariane.”

I glanced back at him. His mouth was red from our kissing, and all I wanted was for it to happen again. I caught myself leaning toward him and couldn’t quite stop.

He leaned in to meet me halfway. “You’re okay?” he whispered against my mouth.

I nodded. “I’m fine.” Except for the part where I wanted his mouth on mine again, always, and I wouldn’t be able to have it.

Yeah, I was great. Tears pricked my eyes, and I bent down to scoop up my bag before he could see.

“Then I’ll see you tonight?” he asked, still oh-so close.

I blinked rapidly. “What?”

“The game?” he prompted.

I forced my kiss-fogged brain to process. “Oh, right.” The varsity/JV exhibition game was tonight’s Bonfire Week activity. Another event at which Zane-and-Ariane were supposed to make a public appearance. But there was a problem. My father. He would be home tonight, after working a double shift last night/today. “I don’t know.”

I could tell my father a small white lie and say I had a school event I was required to attend. He wouldn’t question it. He’d have no reason to doubt me. Because I’d never lied to him before. Honesty was part of the deal when someone puts their life on the line for you.

Guilt pulled at me, and I hesitated.

“Please?” Zane flashed me a grin that I felt all the way down to my toes. “You’ll have fun, I promise.”

How was I supposed to resist that?

By remembering that this isn’t your life? A nagging voice spoke up in the back of my head.

“I’ll try,” I said, feeling like a horrible person. I wasn’t even sure who I was lying to, Zane or myself. “I’ll text you.”

I shoved the door open, but before I could I slide out, Zane touched my arm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His forehead crinkled with concern, and his gray-blue eyes searched mine.

I nodded. “Fine. I’ll see you later,” I said, not trusting myself to say more over the growing lump in my throat.

I stepped out of the SUV quickly, shut the door, and gave a wave good-bye.

I started walking, but Zane didn’t pull away immediately. I was around the corner and well on my way, probably out of his line of sight, before I heard the engine rev. If I’d let him, he’d have pulled into my driveway and waited until I was in my house with the door locked behind me. He was…sweet. Like any of the things that were after me could be stopped by a simple dead bolt.

I closed my eyes for a brief second against the ache in my chest. Oh God, what was I doing? This was so crazy.

Of all the Rules my father had given me, there were some that had hung over my head every second of every day. Never trust anyone. Remember they are always searching. It was a rare moment when one or both of those wasn’t occupying some part of my brain. Even Don’t get involved and Keep your head down made relatively frequent appearances.

But Don’t fall in love had always seemed to be sound advice in a theoretical sense, highly unlikely to have any practical application. Like, in case of alien invasion, make sure you have plenty of clean socks. Good advice, but probably not necessary.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example, given who and what I am, but you get the idea.

My point is, of all the Rules I’d broken or worried about breaking, #5 was one I’d hardly thought about. It had never seemed within the realm of possibility.

But right now, #5 was screaming in my head, all capital letters and flashing neon, as the last Rule I’d not yet broken and one in serious jeopardy of joining the others in shattered bits on the floor.

What frightened me the most, though, was how scared I wasn’t at the idea.

I remembered the feel of Zane’s hands on my skin, and shivered, my breath catching in my throat.

I shook my head and kept walking. Don’t be ridiculous. This is an artificial closeness generated by a forced situation and layers of lies.

Except the closeness didn’t feel artificial. On my side or his. He liked me, was intrigued by me. That right there should have been enough to send me running in the opposite direction, but after so many years of being invisible, it was nice to be seen. To be noticed. It sent an unexpected warmth through me, made me feel alive in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

All the more reason to stop now. This has no future. And you know it.

That was true. It was too dangerous—for both Zane and me—to keep going like this, particularly if GTX continued to close in. So, tomorrow night, once Rachel’s party was over, our “relationship” would be done. It would have to be. And if Zane wouldn’t end it, I would.

A thought that should have brought relief made my eyes fill with tears.

It wasn’t fair. I’d been good. I’d spent the last ten years avoiding getting too close to anyone, usually without too much trouble. And now, the first time that I actually wanted someone in my life enough to take a risk, it was impossible, the worst timing in the history of ever.

I wiped away an errant tear with the back of my hand, hating the way my contacts were blurring. Hating that I had to wear them. Hating that GTX existed. Hating that I was who I was.

Because that’s what it came down to. This pain was simply the cost of doing business, the price of being me. Nonnegotiable.

And it sucked.

My only consolation was that I’d have the next twenty-four hours with Zane; a poor prize, when you stopped to think about it. But it was all I had.

So for now I would break Rule #5 into a million pieces—and once this was over, the giant reset button pressed, I’d walk away with the memories. That was the best I could do, the only thing I could do.

Taking a deep breath, which did nothing to ease the ache in my chest, I followed the sidewalk up to my house and slipped the key into the door as quietly as possible.

Odds were, if my father was sleeping, opening the door wouldn’t be enough to awaken him, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Not right now when I’d probably see him and burst into tears and tell him everything. Better to steer clear until I had a better grip on my stupid feelings. (Life would be so much easier without them; they were always causing problems.)

But as soon as I crossed the threshold, I knew avoiding him would be impossible. A roiling mass of complicated emotions—disappointment, fear, fury—poured forth from someplace in the back of the house. The kitchen, most likely.

I stopped, shocked. I rarely picked up anything from my father, and to feel his emotions this strongly meant he was having trouble keeping control. Not good.

A rush of nerves pushed away the last of my sadness. Something was definitely wrong. Not so wrong that he was scrambling to get me out of the house, but it couldn’t be anything remotely good to generate this kind of reaction.

Smart money is on someone recognizing you or hearing your name at the activities fair last night. I grimaced. All it would take was one person mentioning something to my father about his “daughter” being there.

I locked the door, then forced myself to move toward the kitchen, hopefully in a manner that did not suggest that a large portion of my thoughts was occupied with creating a series of believable fibs to cover a variety of situations. School assignment to be at the fair… No, I wasn’t holding hands with anyone.… The lights? No, I didn’t notice…

My stomach ached at the idea of lying to him, but telling the truth just wasn’t an option. He’d make me stop everything.

But as soon as I reached the kitchen, it became immediately clear that the situation was far worse than anything even my most expansive lie would cover.

First, my father was sitting at the table, still dressed in his rumpled work clothes, which meant he hadn’t been to bed yet even though he’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours.

Second, several inches of scotch in a tumbler sat at his right hand, with a mostly empty bottle next to it.

Third, and most damning of all, a laptop sat open on the table, surrounded by messy layers of grainy black-andwhite photos. It took me only a second to recognize them for what they were—photos from a surveillance camera feed. The supersized time and date codes at the bottom were dead giveaways.

And there was only one surveillance camera feed that would provoke such a reaction from my father. The newly installed one at the school.

Oh no. I froze in the doorway, thinking of all the things he might have seen. Stupidly, it had never occurred to me that he would try to view any of it. GTX had surveillance teams (administrative drones, mostly) specifically for this purpose—finding me—and he wasn’t on any of them.

And, oh God, never mind my father. What about GTX?

My heart lurched. Had they seen what I’d done with the shaving-cream pies at the activities fair? I thought I’d been hidden well enough in the crowd. But maybe not.

“Are you going to just stand there?” my father asked.

I swallowed hard, my tongue sticking to the roof of my painfully dry mouth. “Does GTX know? Did they see…” I fumbled for the words.

“I pulled the footage,” he said. “You’re damn lucky I decided to keep an eye on the feed.”

I sagged against the doorway in relief, and my father glared at me.

“How could you be this reckless?” he demanded.

“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly. Which was a mistake. Never be the first one to go on the defensive. I’d been taught better than that. But I was rattled.

“And you, of course, know what I think.”

I flinched. He was so calm, not even close to yelling, which was chilling and more frightening. Screaming at me would have been better. Then his outsides would match his insides. I pushed harder against my barriers to block out the noise coming from him.

“No. You know I can’t hear you most of the…” I swallowed hard. “I was using it as a figure of speech, a colloquialism.”

“And what is this? More colloquialism?” He slid a photo across the table, and with nothing to stop the glossy paper, it landed, faceup, on the linoleum floor with a sharp smack.

The angle was weird—taken from high above—so it took me a moment to place what I was seeing. A crowd of people, so indistinct it wasn’t easy to make out individual faces, but the booths on either side of the aisle were clear. The activities fair. And there, in the center of all of it, a tall boy in a plaid shirt was laughing. At his side, a much shorter girl, whose hair was so pale it looked white in the field of grays and black. She looked happy, too.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My father, sounding exhausted, ground the heels of his hands against his eyes. “This is dangerous, Ariane. That’s why the Rules exist.”

“I can explain.” Though, I couldn’t, not all of it. And I was on the defensive again, damn it. I’d never win this way.

“I gave you the Rules for very specific reasons, and you—”

“It wasn’t a real date,” I said. “I was using him to get close to Rachel Jacobs. See?” I stepped up to the table and flipped through the photos until I found one that showed Rachel standing in front of us, pulling on Zane.

I held it up to my father.

“When I’m around her, the block in my brain goes away. Yesterday in the cafeteria, she was picking on Jenna—”

My father sighed. “Ariane.”

“Just listen! She was picking on Jenna, and the energy started to go out of control, but I stopped it. Last night, she was hurting Zane—”

“Zane?” he asked with a frown.

Uh-oh. I squirmed inwardly before answering. “Bradshaw.”

His expression darkened. “The police chief ’s son? This is the police chief ’s son?” His voice rose.

I ignored him; I was on a roll. “The lights were flickering and everything, but I managed to send it into those shaving-cream pies instead of all over the place. I controlled it.” I flipped through more pictures and slapped down one of Rachel covered in white goop.

I kept going before he could interrupt again. “And this morning, I knocked Rachel’s cell phone out of her hand. I didn’t even have to work that hard to do it.”

He sat up straighter in his chair, his gaze sharper now. “You’re telling me that you’ve done it? You’re back in control?”

I hesitated. “It’s not as—”

He slid the tumbler across the table to me and nodded toward it. “Show me,” he commanded. “Move it.”

I thought about trying, but it would have only been for show. I could always feel it when the barrier dropped. And right now it was very much in place.

I took a deep breath. “I can’t,” I admitted. “I don’t have it quite yet. I still need Rachel around to, I don’t know, trigger it. She’s the key, but I’m so close—”

His mouth tightened. “It’s not her. It’s you. It’s always been you, your head, your block. The conditions you set for it to go down. It’s a combination lock you established.”

I stared at him, startled by the depth of frustration in his voice.

He sighed. “There’s a pattern to your power outbursts. I wasn’t sure before, but now it’s pretty clear. When someone’s suffering at the hands of a more powerful person, your block vanishes. And when it comes to Rachel”—he gestured to the laptop and photos—“you identify with her victims in particular. Probably because you put the wall up to protect yourself from Dr. Jacobs. You won’t defend yourself, but your subconscious won’t allow others to suffer if you can do something about it.”

I blinked. I’d never thought about it that precisely. But he was right. When I saw someone abusing their authority on someone who was powerless to defend themselves—most often Rachel and her multitude of victims—it kind of made me crazy.

“The trouble is, as far as I can tell, you don’t have any control once the barrier is down,” my father finished.

“Okay, fine,” I argued, “but now I know what the combination is, and I can keep working on my control. That’s more progress than we’ve made in years, right?” I heard the desperation in my voice and hated it.

He nodded slowly, but I could sense the words bubbling beneath his surface. He was going to say more. He was going to tell me to stop.

“All I need to do next is figure out how to keep the barrier down or control it without needing Rachel to do something horrible first,” I said quickly. “I can do that. I’ve got two more opportunities to—”

“Ariane,” he said with a tired but knowing look. “What about the rest of it?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wary.

“I mean, the police chief ’s son,” he said, biting off each word.

Oh. “I only agreed to go out with him to get closer to Rachel so I could practice. It isn’t real.” It hurt just to say that. It was real, far more than either of us had intended or I could allow.

My father laughed, except not like it was funny.

I stiffened.

“Ariane, kiddo, you are good at so many things, but you’re terrible at hiding this kind of emotion.” He reached out and tapped another photo of Zane and me at the activities fair. This one had been zoomed in, and I could see us clearly. Zane in mid-gesture, explaining something with wild hand movements, and me watching him intently, as if waiting for the end of the story or joke.

“It’s written all over your face,” my father said. “You’re a blank screen when you’re sad or angry or frustrated or scared. Like right now.” He nodded at me. “You wipe it all away. You probably had no choice in that—a survival mechanism at GTX. But when you’re happy, genuinely happy, it shows.”

He paused. “The first time you tasted french fries, I saw it.” He laughed. “Light shining through dark glass.” He held up the photo of Zane and me. “Same thing here.”

I swallowed hard. “It wasn’t supposed to be real,” I whispered.

My father smiled bitterly and raised the scotch bottle in a kind of salute before taking a drink. “Pretending to feel something you don’t can often lead you to the real thing, in some form,” he said in a thickened voice, his eyes watering from the sting of the alcohol. “Trust me. But you have to end it now.”

“No.” The word escaped before I could stop it. It felt like it came from someone else.

My father looked up, startled.

And rightly so: I’d never openly defied him. Ever. And just saying it now almost killed me, but I couldn’t live with myself if I stayed quiet. I would give up Zane and everything he represented (happiness, warmth, company) after tomorrow night, but I’d promised myself the next twenty-four hours.

“It’s just…I’m so close to figuring it all out and I…” I took a deep breath and stopped. Stopped lying to myself and to my father. I wasn’t fooling either one of us.

I curled my fingers into my fists, feeling the reassuring bite of my nails into my palms. I was real, and I was here. “I don’t want to let this go,” I said. “Not yet. I won’t have this chance again with anyone, and Zane…he’s different.” I blinked against the sting in my eyes, remembering the pleased-with-himself grin he got when I laughed at his ridiculous bog/dear story. I knew I would play that moment in my head over and over again, years from now. And feel his hands on me, not hesitating, afraid, or clinical.

“Do you understand?” I pleaded, moving to drop into the chair next to my father. “I know it’s selfish and dangerous, but it’s already started. I won’t ever have this again.”

He opened his mouth to speak.

But I shook my head. “You talk about my life once I get away from Wingate, but we both know it’s a lie.”

He stopped, snapping his mouth shut in surprise.

“It’s going to be me, alone, for the rest of my life, if I’m lucky,” I continued, trying to keep my voice from quavering. “And I’m grateful for that chance at freedom.” My voice broke. “But I want this. Please. I know it can’t be anything…real. It’s only a day or so and then it’ll go away. And if it doesn’t, I’ll end it. But please, just let me have this.” Let me have the silly stories he’d come up with, the heat of his hands, the feel of his mouth against mine. I wanted to store those moments up, food before an endless winter.

My father sighed. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.” He smiled sadly.

And I knew I wasn’t going to like what was coming next.

“Just because you end it doesn’t mean it’s over.” He held up a photo. “If GTX finds about this, even if it’s weeks or years from now, they’ll use the threat of hurting him to get you to do what they want.”

I hadn’t thought about that. But it was true: I wouldn’t stop caring about Zane just because we weren’t together. Therefore, Zane would be a good source of motivation, as far as GTX was concerned.

The image of Zane pacing the floor in a small white room like the one where I’d been held for so long popped into my head, and I wanted to throw up. He wouldn’t know why he was there, he wouldn’t understand what was going on, and I would be the one who’d put him there. Everything they’d do to him—and they could do unspeakable things in the name of motivation—would be my fault.

I couldn’t do that to him.

My dream of the next twenty-four hours crumbled into dust and blew away. My eyes burned at the loss, and my all-too-human heart gave an extra hard thump of anguish.

“You’ve hung a bull’s-eye around that poor kid’s neck, and he has no idea,” my father said, his disappointment in me so deep it thickened the air until I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. “It has to stop. Immediately.”

I nodded slowly. What else was there to say? I’d broken the Rules almost beyond repair. And now I’d pay for that. I just had to hope I’d be the only one.





AT DINNER, IT WAS CLEAR that my dad’s mood had not improved much from this morning. And the salad only made it worse.

Since my dad had brought home pizza last night, it was my night to “cook.” I could have pulled one of the many casseroles out of the freezer, but I’d gotten sick of eating those about six months into my mom’s absence. We’d never gotten the hang of thawing them out completely.

So after I’d dropped off Ariane—my head still spinning from the feel of her skin under my hands—I’d swung by the store to pick up some bread and I’d snagged one of those frozen ready-made lasagnas on my way through.

On a whim, I’d picked up one of those salads in a bag, a brand I recognized from what my mom used to buy. I was just momentarily tired of all the grease at home and school, and wanted something different.

Now, at the dinner table with my dad and the salad between us—in the same glass bowl my mom had used—you’d have thought I’d brought home roadkill and dropped it in front of him.

“What is this?” he demanded, his mouth curling up in disgust.

What does it look like? “Salad,” I said. And remembered, suddenly, vividly, my mom lecturing all of us on eating more vegetables, including salad.

Oh, damn. Talk about waving a red flag. After this morning he probably thought I was taunting him, deliberately making a reference to my mom. He’d never admit it, but she’d dealt him a serious blow by leaving. I think he had loved her—or at least needed her—in his own messed-up way. And, of course, it had done serious damage to his ego that she would be the one to want out.

But I wasn’t trying to send any kind of secret message. I just freaking wanted one food item that wasn’t covered in cheese.

“Dad—” I started.

His phone chimed, and he turned away. “Bradshaw.” He paused, listening to the person on the other end. Then he gave a hearty laugh that rang false to my ears. “No, you’re not interrupting. It’s not a problem.”

Ah, concerned citizen. Probably of the female variety. We got a lot of that around here.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation. I guess from the outside, my dad looked like a pretty good dating option. He had a steady job, a prominent position in the community, and he was still in shape for a guy his age. Plus, he had that whole sympathy thing going for him—abandoned by his wife with a kid still in high school.

But if these women just stopped and thought about it, they’d have to realize there was more to the situation than what they could see on the surface. I mean, did they think my mom left because everything was too awesome to bear? Then again, maybe they’d just tagged her departure as another example of genetically predisposed poor judgment. She was, after all, a McDonough. And blood will always tell, or whatever.

“Well, it’s not the same as being on the field or watching my boy out there, but I wouldn’t miss it,” my dad said with another laugh.

My phone buzzed, and I slipped it out of my pocket and checked it beneath the table. I expected to see Rachel’s photo on the screen yet again, demanding the latest Ariane update.

But the screen was blank except for a name, Ariane. Affection tugged at me. I needed to take a picture of her so it would come up when she called. I wondered if she’d let me.

I got up and headed toward the hall before answering.

“Hey,” I said. “Please tell me you’re ready to go. Because I am so ready to get out of here.” I checked over my shoulder to make sure my dad was still yakking it up.

“I can’t.” Her voice sounded flat, dead.

It sent a chill through me. I pretended to misunderstand. “Okay, so later? How about—”

“No, I can’t go tonight. Or for the rest of this week. It’s done. What we were doing is done,” she said in that same mechanical voice.

I took a step back, absorbing her words like a blow. “What happened?”

Her breath sounded ragged; she’d been crying. “Ariane?” I asked, alarmed.

“It’s nothing I can explain to you, so let it go, okay?” I could hear the steel in her tone even as she was trying not to sniffle.

Her dad. He’d found out. Had he hurt her? My jaw tightened. I’d always known something was up at home for her.

“I’m coming over,” I said.

“No, you can’t,” she said sharply, which only further convinced me I was right to be concerned.

I made a quick decision. She’d be pissed at me, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let this go.

“Here are your options,” I said.

“Zane—” she protested.

I ignored her. “You can either meet me at Pine and Rushmore in fifteen minutes so I can see for myself that you’re okay, or I’m going to drive up and down your street honking the horn and yelling your name until you come out or someone calls the cops.”

She sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’re going to take that chance? I have an in with the police around here. I could probably get away with that for a lot longer than most.” My dad would leave me to sit and rot in jail for as long as he could on a disturbing-the-peace charge. But it would be worth it.

Ariane gave a frustrated sigh. “All right. But not until later. Dark.”

“Fine.” From what I’d overheard, my dad was going to the exhibition game, which would make it that much easier. “Eight.”

“I’ll be there,” she said. “Don’t come to my house. And don’t honk.”

“Ariane…” I hesitated. “I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.” But she didn’t sound like it.

Ariane was waiting for me when I pulled up. At least I was pretty sure it was her. At our usual meeting place, my headlights caught a slight figure in a gray hoodie, despite the warmth of the evening.

I parked, and she climbed in, bringing the scent of lemons with her. But she left the hood up even once she was inside.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“What do you mean, what am I doing? You’re the one who blackmailed me into this meeting,” she said, her head turned away from me.

My stomach tightened with dread. “Look at me.”

“Why?”

“Please?”

She turned toward me, and I pushed her hood away. Her face was clear of the bruises I’d half expected, but her eyes were red and swollen.

“Happy?” she demanded.

“Not yet.” I took her hand in mine and pushed her sleeve up. Nothing but smooth white skin all the way up past her elbows. I knew from experience if someone bigger is going to grab you, they usually do it on your forearm. I checked her other arm and found the same thing, which was to say nothing at all.

She gave an exasperated sigh, but didn’t fight me when I checked both arms again. “My father doesn’t hurt me. He would never do that.”

Something about the formal way she said “my father” set off warning bells in my head.

I released her, and she tugged her sleeves into place. “So, I’m here. You can see that I’m fine. Are we done now?” she asked in a clipped tone, but I noticed she wasn’t reaching for the door.

I shook my head. “No way. What’s going on? Are you in the Witness Protection Program or something?” I tried to joke.

She defiantly tipped her chin. “If I said yes, would you let it go?”

But I was on to her by now. “Depends. Is it true?”

She sighed. “Sort of. And that’s about the best answer I can give you.” She looked away. “I shouldn’t even tell you that much.”

So she was in hiding. I frowned. “Does this have anything to do with your being declared dead and then not dead?” It occurred to me that being declared dead was a pretty good way to keep people from looking for you. And with the delay in the retraction notice, there might be people who still thought she was dead.

She jerked around to stare at me.

“I did some research,” I admitted.

She tensed, as if she might bolt from the car. “What did you find?”

“Nothing much. An article about your mom’s accident, and a retraction notice about your ‘death.’ ” I grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up—”

She relaxed. “No, it’s okay.” She waved a hand at my words. “It was a long time ago.”

Which struck me as an unusual response, when she’d been on the verge of panic a few seconds ago.

Once again, I tried to put the pieces of Ariane Tucker together. Who she could possibly be hiding from? Her mother’s family? A grandparent who wanted to keep her? Or, given how intensely she was taking the situation, maybe it was a relative who legally had rights to her.

“You know, my dad is a jerk,” I said, “but if this is a custody thing, he could probably—”

“No, absolutely not,” Ariane said. “It’s under control.” She swallowed and fidgeted with the zipper on her hoodie. “Just…go back to your normal life. Tell Rachel I freaked out on you, talking about prom or something already, and you couldn’t take it anymore. She’ll enjoy that.” She smiled bitterly.

It must have been serious if Ariane was willing to let Rachel think she’d gotten the better of her, even for pretend.

I focused my gaze on the steering wheel, seeing it but not. “What if I don’t want to go back to my normal life? What if my normal life kind of sucks?” I forced a laugh. I’d had more fun in the last couple of days than I’d had in more than a year. Ariane didn’t try to control me or want me to be somebody I wasn’t. It was a relief.

She touched my arm, her fingertips cool and tentative. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “But this is better for everyone.” She blinked quickly, and I saw tears on her eyelashes. “And besides, who are we kidding? This would have been over on Saturday morning anyway. Maybe even Friday night after Rachel’s party.” Her voice was choked.

I looked at her sharply. “You think this is still about getting back at Rachel?” I asked, stunned.

She didn’t say anything.

“Forget it.” I turned away in disgust, my face hot. Obviously, she didn’t feel the same way I did. And now I felt like an a*shole. I’d thought after this afternoon that we’d both recognized it was something more, but apparently, that was just my overactive imagination. God, was I that desperate? Making up connections where none existed?

Ariane’s hand tightened on my arm. “Are you saying it’s not?” she asked quietly.

“I talked to you about my mom,” I said stiffly. Which was all the answer I could manage, but probably wasn’t enough. How could she possibly understand what that meant to me without seeing the inside of my head—

She stood up, half bent over, and scrambled around the armrest between us, dodging the steering wheel. Suddenly, with her knees on either side of me, I had a lapful of girl, which I hadn’t been expecting. Not that I was complaining. She was warm and weirdly light even for her size; but when she leaned forward into me, heat spread from every contact point between us, and I stopped thinking about anything else.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her mouth moving over mine. “I wish it could be different.”

Before I could say anything in response, she was kissing me like I was her last, best chance at breathing.

I clutched at her waist and felt the warm, smooth skin in the gap between her sweatshirt and jeans. I couldn’t stop myself from sliding my hands up her sides, beneath her shirt, my thumbs over her ribs.…

She sucked in a surprised breath and pulled away slightly.

“It’s not about this. You know that, right?” I asked, panting and struggling to focus on finding words. I didn’t want to scare her away. But there were so many competing voices in my head, most of them telling me to stop talking and roll with it. “We can slow down—”

“I know,” she murmured.

But she didn’t. Slow down, that is. Instead, she leaned in and kissed me again. And slid her hand between us to tug at the top buttons of my shirt.

Oh God. How far was this going to go?

I barely had time to wonder about the impracticality of anything more—front seat of a truck on a public and fairly well-lit street—before she stopped, wrapping her arms tight around my neck and burying her face against my shoulder. And a second later, warm tears dripped against my skin.

What the—

Confused by the sudden shift in her mood, I pulled my hands out from under her shirt and touched her hair hesitantly. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” she said, her voice muffled against me.

Okaaay.

After a moment, she sat up and wiped her eyes. “I have to go.” She reached over and popped open my door.

I stared at her in disbelief. “Ariane. Wait.”

“Don’t text me again. I won’t respond.” Her tone was crisp, businesslike, and the coolness of it tore through me. “Don’t come back here. Not tomorrow, not ever. When you see me in the halls…” She hesitated. “Don’t see me. It’s easier that way.” She slipped off my lap and out of the truck.

“Have a good life, okay?” She smiled uncertainly, the corners of her mouth wobbling. It made my heart ache. “You deserve it.” She slammed the door and hurried away.

I sat back, stunned, and watched her disappear around the corner in my rearview mirror.

Ariane Tucker was as much a mystery to me now as she’d been in the beginning. And I’d let her go.

What other choice did I have? She was obviously determined not to speak to me again, to retreat into the closed-off cocoon of a life she’d had before. Which frustrated the hell out of me.

What kind of life is it when you’re running scared?

About the same kind of life as when you let other people make your decisions for you? I heard Ariane’s wry voice in my head.

Yeah, except I was trying to change that. Ariane wanted to go—she thought she had to, for some reason—but I wasn’t going to give up so easily. Not this time. I hadn’t fought to find my mom because she’d made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with me. But that wasn’t the case here.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit Rachel’s number.





PEOPLE WERE STARING AT ME when I walked into the gym on Friday morning before school, but that was no surprise.

It had been almost twelve hours since I’d ended things with Zane, and clearly he’d done what I’d asked and told Rachel about it. The rumor mill was actively churning; I could hear the whispers and feel the looks. And, of course, my red and swollen eyes were clear confirmation that something was going on. Nothing short of huge (and way too obvious) sunglasses would hide them well enough.

I’d had trouble sleeping last night. I’d tried to lose myself in Dream-Life, which had never before failed to distract me from the suckiness of real life. But not even another of Clark’s disappearing acts—he’d returned with mysteriously fresh French baguettes—could charm me. It had just seemed ridiculously fake and empty, so I’d shut it down without even saving the latest session.

Then I’d woken up this morning after only a few hours of fitful rest to find my pillowcase wet and my eyes puffy. I’d been crying in my sleep. How could a few days make such a difference? I’d been alone for ten years—more if you counted my time in the lab. But this morning, walking to school by myself, studiously ignoring the section of the parking lot where I knew Zane would be, I felt bereft. Lonely.

I got a sudden flash, the sense memory of his hand on the back of my head, soothing, while I cried all over him.

God. Get it together, Ariane. I hadn’t even seen him this morning. How much worse would it be then? I blinked rapidly and wished for those sunglasses. I made myself keep moving, across the gym floor and to a reasonably empty section of bleachers.

A barrage of whispers and giggles followed as I made my way, but none of them touched me. Aside from thoughts about Zane, which struck with the sizzle of an exposed nerve, a vague numbness had settled over me. As if I were experiencing the world through a layer of cotton. What did I care what these people thought or said about me?

I climbed up to a relatively populated row—no sense in isolating myself near the top, making it easy for everyone to watch and speculate—and sat on the end. Conversation in my immediate vicinity died for a long moment, and then it started up again in “hushed” voices that I would have had to be deaf not to hear.

It would get better in a few days, I told myself. By Monday, something else would have happened to occupy their time and attention. They’d forget all about me and my ill-fated, extremely temporary relationship with Zane Bradshaw. Full-blooded humans have notoriously short attention spans.

If only I could say the same for myself.

I’d found something I could never have, and now the only solution was to pretend it had never happened, to go back to being the version of Ariane Tucker I’d been before.

Except I didn’t know how to get back there. I didn’t know how to turn off the want.

I’d have to ignore it now, even as it dug into me, pleading for attention. A just punishment, I supposed.

It will fade. It will get easier. That was my new mantra. I kept repeating it over and over again in my head, praying it would eventually turn out to be true.

This morning I’d dragged myself out of bed, through the shower, and into some clothes, keeping to the schedule I’d held for years before this week. It had never felt like so much work. As if there wasn’t enough air in my lungs for the required tasks.

I was doing the right thing. I was keeping Zane safe. That was the only saving grace, the only thing that kept me moving.

Still, I’d dreaded facing my father over the breakfast table and seeing the censure mixed with pity on his face. Thankfully he was gone by the time I got there.

That should have alarmed me, but I couldn’t seem to make myself care. I’d seen a mysterious black van on our block (which turned out to be a florist, according to the name on the side; though whoever heard of a florist’s van being black?) and hadn’t even flinched. If there was immediate danger, my father would have warned me. And if it was another vaguely ominous yet distant threat that would make my life even more miserable for a few days or week, well, no thanks. I was full up on the misery meter at the moment. Try again later, GTX.

A burning rush of hatred and fury rose up inside me. GTX was the root of all of this. Without them, none of this would be happening. But without them, I wouldn’t exist. The fact that I should theoretically be, in some way, grateful to them made me want to scream. My lungs burned with the need to shout, to empty myself out. To declare GTX’s inhumanity, to let the world know what they were capable of, even as the cool and impassive flashing red lights of the security cameras recorded it all.

“Um, are you okay?” A tentative voice at my elbow asked.

I looked over, my neck so tight with tension it hurt to move. The girl sitting next to me, a freshman, most likely, was watching as if I were one match-flick away from exploding.

“Fine,” I said, forcing out the word through clenched teeth, which pretty much shouted I was anything but.

It, however, also had the advantage of scaring the girl into silence. Blinking rapidly, she scooted a few inches away from me.

Some distant part of me knew I should I apologize, even wanted to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the space inside myself for another emotion. Everything was jammed in there too tight, and pulling on one thing might send all of it spilling out.

I concentrated on keeping my composure, inhaling and exhaling. I would not lose it front of all these people. I would not—

The crowd around me rustled and stirred suddenly, a giant creature woken from a nap, and a chaotic surge of thoughts rose up from the background of static in my head.

I tried to ignore it. I didn’t need one more thing to juggle right now.

But the noise in my head only grew louder.

Resisting the urge to put my hands over my ears, I glanced around to try to find the source of the disturbance.

It wasn’t hard to find what—or, in this case, who—was sending shock waves through the minds of the student body.

Rachel Jacobs, who had never deigned to mingle with the peasants in the gym before school, was mincing her way carefully across the polished floor. Cami and Cassi trailed behind her, their identical heads tipped down over their phones as they texted, probably each other.

The sight of Rachel immediately inflamed the battle I was fighting inside myself. If there was ever a representation of GTX’s indulgences, excesses, and thoughtlessness, it was Dr. Jacobs’s granddaughter herself.

I gripped my seat on the bleachers, willing myself to stay still and silent.

Rachel moved as if the floor were made of ice instead of wood. Which is what happens when you wear stupidly inappropriate footwear—today, five-inch heels with ribbons wrapping up her legs—on a regular basis. Clearly, she had never had to worry about the possibility of running for her life or scaling fences to escape a retrieval team.

Her nose was wrinkled in distaste, as if the giant cavernous room smelled, and it kind of did—sweaty socks, too much Axe, and nerves. The rest of us simply dealt with it.

If hate was detectable by an infrared camera, I’d have been the white-hot center of the room. Everyone else watched with awe, fear, or surprise. I just wanted her gone.

She moved closer to the bleachers, her hand raised to block the overhead light while she searched for someone, and I tensed. If Rachel was here, it was for a purpose. Probably a nefarious one. Unfortunately, at this distance and with all the background noise of other minds in proximity, I couldn’t hear what she was thinking or who she was looking for.

But I had a good guess.

I spun around in my seat to find Jenna. It took me a few minutes to locate her in the upper-left quadrant of bleachers by herself, her gaze fixed on Rachel. She was pale, watching the inevitable approach of another round of destruction march ever closer.

It had been bad enough, what Rachel had done to Jenna’s locker and to Jenna herself in front of a cafeteria full of people, but in here, in front of the whole school except the privileged twenty or so in the parking lot, that was a whole new level of warfare.

I found myself standing up without realizing I’d come to the decision to do so. I couldn’t have Zane, but I sure as hell did not have to sit here and let Rachel torture Jenna again.

Jenna may not have been the friend that Zane thought she should have been, but then again, neither had I.

I charged out of my row to the stairs, my only goal to put myself between them before Rachel zeroed in on her.

“There you are,” Rachel said loudly.

I froze, then turned to watch as she charged straight at me. Well, wobbled, more accurately. Regardless, she was coming my way.

A direct confrontation, though? That wasn’t her style.

My heart pounded harder, and I longed for the barrier in my head to drop. I would give her a show she wouldn’t forget.

Too many people. Too many witnesses, the worried voice whispered in my head.

I didn’t care.

Rachel climbed up the first three stairs, and I stepped down to meet her halfway, blood boiling so hard I thought there might be steam emerging from my ears. Like in those old cartoons I’d once taken so literally.

“What do you want?” I demanded, the muscles in my arms shaking with the tension of holding myself back.

“I’m having a party tonight, and you should come.” She smiled, but her gaze held a hardness that reflected her true feelings.

I nearly toppled down the remaining steps between us. What? I couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d offered to braid my hair.

“I don’t—”

“Zane seems to think I might have given you the wrong impression the other night. That I might have scared you off.”

He what? I stared at her in confusion. He was supposed to have told her that it was over. I didn’t understand what was going on.

“We can’t have that, can we? Zane’s friends should be my friends. So, party, my house, tonight. It’ll be fun.” Her dark eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Come on, come on…you know you want to go. Rachel’s thoughts momentarily broke through the mental noise of the crowd. I’ve seen how you look at him. So wrong. I haven’t worked this hard for nothing.… People will be talking about this for years.

Okay, now I was getting it. Rachel was still hoping for the opportunity to humiliate me in the most public and agonizing fashion possible. But what was Zane playing at? He was behind this, I was sure. I just didn’t know why.

Maybe he wanted to see me again. He’d been so surprised last night; I’d completely blindsided him with walking away.

No. I couldn’t afford to think that way. I shook my head, resisting the urge to rub at the ache in my chest. “I can’t—”

“Unless I’ve scared you off for good,” Rachel said with a thin, haughty smile, triumph glittering in her gaze. I win either way.

My logical side fired off a warning. Ignore her, Ariane. You know better. She’s just pushing your buttons.

But it was too late. I set my jaw. “I’ll be there.” My father would be at work. I could get to Rachel’s party, be completely not destroyed by whatever she intended, and get home long before his shift ended. Which meant I would win. Score one for me in the battle of Ariane versus GTX. It wasn’t a big victory, but one more than I’d ever had before.

And Zane would be there.

“Good,” Rachel said. Then she turned and click-clacked her way down the stairs and across the floor.

With her departure, the adrenaline flooding through me faded. I sat down on the steps, right where I stood. How had this gotten so complicated in such a short period of time?

A party at Rachel’s house. A place where Dr. Jacobs had surely visited countless times. He wouldn’t be there, but something about passing so close to his shadow… I shivered.

Sudden movement to my left, followed by a wave of disgruntled thoughts, caught my attention. I stood up to see Jenna, her face red, which meant she was crying, clambering down the bleachers instead of the steps, forcing people to move out of her way.

I sighed. Obviously she had witnessed what had happened with Rachel, and even if she hadn’t been able to hear our conversation, she’d made the leap that it was a friendly encounter. How did full-blooded humans keep making that mistake? Couldn’t they see beneath the pretty face to the malice below? Yes, I had the advantage of sometimes being able to hear Rachel’s thoughts, but still. Didn’t they see the sharp edges to her smile? The truth in her behavior, if not her words?

Guess not.

Jenna stumbled on the last bleacher and landed on her knees with a thud that echoed through the huge space. And even from this distance I could see her face grow redder.

A jeering round of applause went up from those close by, and I winced.

Oh, Jenna. More humiliation on top of humiliation. I couldn’t leave her like that. I owed her more than that. We’d been friends once, and maybe we could be again, if she’d allow it.

So when she staggered to her feet and ran out of the room, I headed down the steps to follow.

Unless you were Rachel, there were only two places you could flee to before the start of classes: the school office or the bathroom. After our less-than-successful visit with the principal the other day, I was betting that Jenna had chosen the latter.

The girls’ bathroom immediately off the gym was quite possibly one of my least favorite places in all of my experience. And lest you have forgotten, I spent a goodly amount of time trapped in a secret room underground.

This bathroom was rarely used except during this pre-start to the school day and by those professing “emergencies” during P.E. It was small, dimly lit, and reminded me of a dank prison cell with its fractured gray tile floors and graffitied walls.

I pushed open the door quietly, wrinkling my nose at the overwhelming stench of industrial cleaning supplies.

The lone stall door, bearing the mark of someone’s early morning boredom in the form of a huge swooping heart with “Maddy + Josh 4EVA,” was closed. The muffled sounds of sniffling came from behind it, along with a piercing stream of harsh thoughts.

…so stupid, ugly, fat, no wonder you’re such a loser. God, you should just kill yourself.…

Uh-oh. I tapped on the stall door hesitantly. “Jenna?”

“Oh my God,” she wailed. “What do you want? To dig the knife deeper into my back?”

I flinched. I deserved that, I guess. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” I made a face at my own words. Obviously she wasn’t anything near okay.

Jenna whipped the door open suddenly and so hard it collided with the metal stall wall with a loud smack.

I took a startled step back.

“Do I look okay?” she demanded, emerging with her face flushed and shiny with tears.

“Jenna, I am so sorr—”

“You know, I was your friend,” she said, advancing on me and pointing with her hand full of wadded-up toilet paper. “Even though you’re freaky and weird and you can never go out anywhere and I think your dad keeps you locked up in the basement or something.”

My face grew hot, hearing her say it like that. It was not far from what was once truth.

“All the strange restrictions and messing up words and not understanding random stuff that even little kids get.” Jenna threw her hands up in the air.

My whole face was on fire now. She’d never said any of this before. And she’d hidden it well because I’d never picked it up in her thoughts, other than the occasional “huh, that’s weird” kind of a moment. “I’m sorry it was so difficult,” I said stiffly.

She picked at the toilet paper in her hands, separating the cheap two-ply into thinner single sheets. “My mom said that I should aim higher, but I defended you,” she said over a hiccup. “When I picked you to be my friend, I thought, Here’s someone I can trust. She doesn’t care about being popular. She doesn’t even care about being normal. Next to her, I’ve got a shot at being noticed instead of always being second best.” She raised her gaze to the ceiling as if reenacting the realization.

A yawning emptiness opened up inside me. Zane had been right. Jenna was my friend, but only as long as it was on her terms, as long as I stayed in the little box she’d put me in, the obedient (and slightly weird) friend. The second things changed in a way she didn’t like, she called it all off.

How had I missed that? Had I been that desperate and lonely?

“Now you’re the one all best buds with Rachel, and you don’t even like her,” she raged.

“Are you angry that Rachel chose me, a freak, for special attention?” I demanded, with extra emphasis on the “special” because Jenna, of all people, should know how much Rachel’s definition of that varied from the rest of ours. “Or is it that she chose a freak over you?”

Jenna’s eyes widened, but she rallied quickly. “You don’t even appreciate what you’re being offered,” she said. “Your dad wants you to stay home all the time.”

I frowned, not making the connection. “What exactly do you think I’m getting?” I asked.

“The perfect life! Once you’re in, you’re good. You never have to worry about people liking you or fitting in or being alone on a Friday night or your mom telling you that you just must not be trying hard enough,” she said in a longing voice.

Dr. Mayborne strikes again. Jenna’s mom was worse than I’d realized. “Yeah, being popular, a solution for all the world’s problems.” I sighed, thinking about what I knew about Zane and how Rachel treated him. “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

“You’re still going,” she accused.

I stared at her in disbelief. “Yeah, because Rachel is trying to set me up, and I’m not going to let her get the best of me,” I snapped.

She sniffled and looked up, hope lighting her face. “Really? That’s all?”

I clamped my mouth shut. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was too much of a risk. “Forget it.” I started to turn away.

“You know it’s not real with Zane, right?”

I froze, then faced her. “What?”

She didn’t seem to hear me. “It can’t be. It just can’t be,” she repeated softly, as if trying to convince herself. “People like him don’t choose people like you.”

I jerked back as if she’d hit me. She wasn’t wrong, exactly; I couldn’t deny that. How often would someone like Zane Bradshaw choose someone like me? Not very. But I couldn’t believe that a person who was supposed to be my friend would say that.

She looked like the Jenna I knew—pink cheeks, scattered curls, overly careful attention to her accessory selection—but not. All of this had started because I’d broken the Rules to defend her against Rachel. But apparently that had been a huge mistake. Jenna was nothing like who I thought she was. Yeah, I’d lied about who I was during the course of our friendship—it couldn’t be helped, given what I had to hide. But I’d done my best to be as honest as I could. She, evidently, hadn’t bothered. She wasn’t a true friend. She never had been.

My eyes stung with tears, which surprised and infuriated me. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop them, and headed for the door. I could feel the walls of the room pressing in on me.

“No, Ariane, wait!”

I paused, my hand on the door, and glanced at Jenna.

She dabbed under her eyes with the shredded toilet paper without looking at me. “So, um, do you think you can get me in at Rachel’s tonight?”

I closed my eyes. Any hope I’d ever had of our being friends again died a swift and painful death. Some part of me wished we could go back to before, when I didn’t know what I meant (or didn’t mean) to her. But now that I knew, there was no forgetting, no getting past it. Zane had said I deserved more; I wasn’t so sure about that. I just couldn’t handle one more person seeing me as something, useful or not, instead of someone.

I opened my eyes. “Bye, Jenna,” I said, and walked out.