CHAPTER 10
“SO, LONG STORY SHORT: MORE GUARDS?”
“Yeah, Dad. Lots more.” I laughed into the phone, though the situation was hardly a funny one. But Dad had a way of making the toughest things light. “We’re all staying. For now anyway. And even though they say they’re starting with Twos, don’t let anyone be careless. Warn the Turners and the Canvasses to stay safe.”
“Aw, kitten, everyone knows to be careful. After what you said on the Report, I think people will be braver than you’d guess.”
“I hope so.” I looked down at my shoes and had a funny flashback. Right now my feet were covered with jeweled heels. Five months ago they were wearing dingy flats.
“You made me proud, America. Sometimes I’m surprised at the things you say, but I don’t know why. You were always stronger than you knew.”
Something about his voice then was so genuine that I was humbled. No one’s opinion of me mattered as much as his.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m serious, now. Not every princess would say something like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Uh, Dad, I’m not a princess.”
“Matter of time,” he shot back playfully. “Speaking of which, how is Maxon?”
“Good,” I said, fidgeting with my dress. The silence grew. “I really like him, Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why exactly?”
I thought for a minute. “I’m not really sure. But part of it is that he makes me feel like me, I think.”
“Did you ever feel like not you?” Dad joked.
“No, it’s like . . . I’ve always been aware of my number. Even when I came to the palace, I obsessed about it for a while. Was I a Five or a Three? Did I want to be a One? But now I’m not conscious of it at all. And I think it’s because of him.
“He screws up a lot, don’t get me wrong.” Dad chuckled. “But when I’m with him I feel like I’m America. I’m not a caste or a project. I don’t even think of him as elevated, really. He’s just him, and I’m just me.”
Dad was quiet for a moment. “That sounds really nice, kitten.”
Boy talk with my dad was a little awkward, but he was the only one back home who I thought saw Maxon more like a person than a celebrity; no one else would get it like he would.
“Yeah. It’s not perfect though,” I added as Silvia poked her head in the doorway. “I feel like there’s always something going wrong.”
She gave me a pointed look and mouthed Breakfast. I nodded.
“Well, that’s okay, too. Mistakes mean it’s real.”
“I’ll try to remember that. Listen, Dad, I’ve got to go. I’m late.”
“Can’t have that. Take care, kitten, and write your sister soon.”
“I will. Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you.”
As the girls exited after breakfast, Maxon and I lingered in the dining room. The queen passed, winking in my direction, and I felt my cheeks redden. But the king came along soon after, and the look in his eyes took away any lingering blush.
Once we were alone, Maxon walked over to me and laced his fingers through mine. “I’d ask what you want to do today, but our options are pretty limited. No archery, no hunting, no riding, no anything outside.”
I sighed. “Not even if we took a slew of guards?”
“I’m sorry, America.” He gave me a sad smile. “But what about a movie? We can watch something with spectacular scenery.”
“It’s not the same.” I pulled on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go make the best of it.”
“That’s the spirit,” he said. Something about that actually made me feel better, like we were in this together. It had been a while since it really felt that way.
We went into the hallway and were headed toward the stairway to the theater when I heard the musical clinks on the window.
I turned my head to the sound and gasped in wonder. “It’s raining.”
I let go of Maxon’s arm and pressed my hand against the glass. In the months I’d been at the palace, it had yet to rain, and I’d wondered if it ever would. Now that I could see it, I realized I missed it. I missed the ebb and flow of seasons, the way things changed.
“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered.
Maxon stood behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Leave it to you to find beauty in something others would say ruins a day.”
“I wish I could touch it.”
He sighed. “I know you do, but it’s just not—”
I turned to Maxon, trying to see why he cut himself off. He looked up and down the hall, and I did the same. Besides a couple of guards, we were alone.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s hope we’re not seen.”
I smiled, ready for whatever adventure he had in mind. I loved when Maxon was like this. We wound our way up the stairs, heading for the fourth floor. For a moment, I got nervous, worried he’d show me something similar to the hidden library. That hadn’t turned out so well for me.
We walked down to the middle of the floor, passing one guard on his rounds but no one else. Maxon pulled me into a large parlor and steered me to the wall next to a wide, dormant fireplace. He reached inside the lip of the fireplace and, sure enough, found a hidden latch. He pushed open a panel in the wall, and it led to yet another secret stairwell.
“Hold my hand,” he said, stretching his out to me. I did so, following him up the dimly lit steps until we came to a door. Maxon undid the simple lock, pulled open the door . . . and there was a wall of rain.
“The roof?” I asked over the sound.
He nodded. There were walls surrounding the entrance, leaving an open space about as large as my bedroom to walk on. It didn’t matter that all I could see were walls and sky. At least I was outside.
Positively beside myself, I stepped forward, reaching into the water. The drops were fat and warm as they collected on my arm and ran down to my dress. I heard Maxon laugh once before shoving me out into the downpour.
I gasped, soaked in seconds. Turning around, I grabbed his arm, and he smiled as he pretended to fight. His hair fell in strands around his eyes as we were both quickly drenched, and he was still grinning as he pulled me over to the edge of the wall.
“Look,” he said into my ear.
I turned, noticing our view for the first time. I stared in awe as the city spread out in front of me. The web of streets, the geometry of buildings, the array of colors—even dimmed in the gray hue of rain, it was breathtaking.
I found myself feeling attached to it all, as if it belonged to me somehow.
“I don’t want the rebels to take it, America,” he said over the rain, as if he was reading my mind. “I don’t know how bad the death toll is, but I can tell that my father is keeping it a secret from me. He’s afraid I’ll call off the Selection.”
“Is there a way to find out the truth?”
He debated. “I feel like, if I could get in touch with August, he’d know. I could get a letter to him, but I’m afraid of putting too much in writing. And I don’t know if I could get him into the palace.”
I considered that. “What if we could get to him?”
Maxon laughed. “How do you suggest we do that?”
I shrugged playfully. “I’ll work on it.”
He stared at me, quiet for a minute. “It’s nice to say things out loud. I’m always watching what I say. I feel like no one can hear me up here, I guess. Just you.”
“Then go ahead and say anything.”
He smirked. “Only if you will.”
“Fine,” I answered, happy to play along.
“Well, what do you want to know?”
I wiped the wet hair from my forehead, starting with something important but impersonal. “Did you really not know about the diaries?”
“No. But I’m up to speed now. Father made me read them all. If August had come two weeks ago, I would have thought he was lying about everything, but not anymore. It’s shocking, America. You only scratched the surface with what you read. I want to tell you about it, but I can’t yet.”
“I understand.”
He stared me down, determined. “How did the girls find out about you taking off my shirt?”
I looked at the ground, hesitating. “We were watching the guards work out. I said you looked as good as any of them without your shirt on. It slipped out.”
Maxon threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t be mad about that.”
I smiled. “Have you ever brought anyone else up here?”
He looked sad. “Olivia. One time, and that’s it.”
I actually remembered that, come to think of it. He’d kissed her up here, and she’d told us all about it.
“I kissed Kriss,” he blurted out, not looking at me. “Recently. For the first time. It seems only right that you should know.”
He peeked down, and I gave him a small nod. If I hadn’t seen them kiss myself, if this had been how I found out, I might have broken down. And even though I already knew, it hurt to hear him say it.
“I hate dating you this way.” I fidgeted, my dress getting heavy with water.
“I know. It’s just how it is.”
“Doesn’t make it fair.”
He laughed. “When has anything in either of our lives ever been fair?”
I gave him that. “I’m not supposed to tell you—and if you let on that you know, he’ll get worse, I’m sure—but . . . your father’s been saying things to me. He also took away the payments for my family. None of the other girls has them anymore, so I guess it looked bad anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked out over the city. I was temporarily distracted by the way his shirt was sticking to his chest. “I don’t think there’s a way to undo that one, America.”
“You don’t have to. I just wanted you to know it was happening. And I can handle it.”
“You’re too tough for him. He doesn’t understand you.” He reached down for my hand, and I gave it to him freely.
I tried to think of anything else I might want to know, but it mostly pertained to the other girls, and I didn’t want to bother with that. I was sure at this point I could guess close enough to the truth, and if I was wrong, I didn’t think I wanted that to ruin this.
Maxon looked down at my wrist. “Do you . . .” He looked up at me, seeming to rethink his question. “Do you want to dance?”
I nodded. “But I’m awful.”
“We’ll go slow.”
Maxon pulled me close, placing a hand on my waist. I put one hand in his and used the other to pick up my soaking dress. We swayed, barely moving. I settled my cheek on Maxon’s chest, he rested his chin on my head, and we spun to the music of the rain.
As he made his grip on me a little bit tighter, it felt like all the bad had been erased and Maxon and I were stripped to the core of our relationship. We were friends who realized they didn’t want to be without each other. We were the other’s opposite in many ways but also so very similar. I couldn’t call our relationship fate, but it did seem bigger than anything I’d known before.
I raised my face to Maxon’s, placing a hand on his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss. His lips, wet, met mine with a brush of heat. I felt both his hands wrap around my back, holding me to him as if he’d fall apart otherwise. While the rain pummeled the roof, the whole world went silent. It felt like there wasn’t enough of him, not enough skin or space or time.
After all these months of trying to reconcile what I wanted and hoped for, I realized then—in this moment Maxon created just for us—that it would never make sense. All I could do was move forward and hope that whenever we drifted, we would somehow find a way back to each other.
And we had to. Because . . . because . . .
For as long as it took to get to this moment, when it came it was fast.
I loved Maxon. For the first time, I could feel it solidly. I wasn’t keeping the feeling at a distance, holding on to Aspen and all the what-ifs that went along with him. I wasn’t walking into Maxon’s affections while keeping one foot out the door in case he let me down. I simply let it come.
I loved him.
I couldn’t pinpoint what made me so certain, but I knew it then, as surely as I knew my name or the color of the sky or any fact written in a book.
Could he feel it, too?
Maxon broke the kiss and looked at me. “You’re so pretty when you’re a mess.”
I laughed nervously. “Thank you. For that and for the rain and for not giving up.”
He ran his fingers along my cheek and nose and chin. “You’re worth it. I don’t think you get that. You’re worth it to me.”
I felt as if my heart was on the edge of bursting, and I just wanted everything to end today. My world had settled onto a new axis, and it felt like the only way to handle how dizzy it made me was for us to finally be real. I felt certain now that it would come. It would have to. Soon.
Maxon kissed the tip of my nose. “Let’s go get dry and watch a movie.”
“Sounds good.”
I carefully tucked my love for Maxon away in my heart, a little afraid of this feeling. Eventually, it would have to be shared, but for now it was my secret.
I tried to wring out my dress in the little canopy where the door was, but it was hopeless. I was going to leave a little trail of water back to my room.
“I vote for a comedy,” I said as we went down the stairs, Maxon leading the way.
“I vote for action.”
“Well, you just said I was worth it, so I think I’m going to win this one.”
Maxon laughed. “Nicely done.”
He chuckled again as he pushed on the panel that led us back into the parlor only to stop dead in his tracks a second later.
I peeked over his shoulder to see King Clarkson standing there, looking as irritated as ever.
“I’m assuming this was your idea,” he said to Maxon.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?” he demanded.
“Father, there are no rebels waiting on the roof,” Maxon countered, trying to sound rational but looking a bit ridiculous in his dripping clothes.
“One well-aimed bullet is all it would take, Maxon.” He let the words hang in the air. “You know we’re stretched tight, sending guards to watch the girls’ homes. And dozens of those who’ve been sent have gone AWOL. We’re vulnerable.” He glared past his son at me. “And why is it that when anything happens these days, she’s got her hands all over it?”
We stood there, silent, knowing there was nothing we could say anyway.
“Get cleaned up,” the king ordered. “You have work to do.”
“But I—”
A single look from his father told Maxon that any plans he’d had for the day were done.
“Very well,” he said, caving.
King Clarkson took Maxon’s arm and pushed him away, leaving me behind. Over his shoulder, Maxon mouthed the word Sorry, and I gave him a little smile.
I wasn’t afraid of the king. Or the rebels. I knew how much Maxon meant to me, and I was sure that it was all going to work, somehow.