The Girl Who Dared to Think (The Girl Who Dared #1)

It flickered to and fro between four and five, as if it could sense my conscious mind rebelling against the drugs that had clouded it, then settled on five again.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather some calm and force it into my body. I could stop taking the pills now. It had taken me years to fall from five to three, so this had to have bought me some time to figure things out for myself. Like a little boost to my morale or something. I looked down at the five… and saw it flicker again with the thought.

“I don’t think I have years,” I admitted out loud. I honestly wasn’t even sure I had days.

I began searching through the pad, opening up recent files and studying them. It was strange to see things in my handwriting—things I didn’t remember writing. I had notes on water treatment, suggestions about improvements to Tower security, and even (this made me gag slightly) a quote from Gerome scribbled in a margin. It seemed that Prim was an industrious and conscientious student.

Well, that’s good for Prim, I thought. But that isn’t me! I don’t like notes—I like action! Why is that such a bad thing?

It dawned on me that this room was no longer even my room—it was hers. Sure, it was filled with my things, but she’d made them hers just by putting them away, creating a space that was just as familiar as it was foreign.

I needed to get out.

I pressed the button, and my door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. I stumbled out and into the hall, looking around, trying to find the other ways that Prim had taken over my life.

My mother looked up from where she was standing by a bookshelf in the small communal space we shared. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she said as I stepped out of the hall.

I paused. Sweetheart?

“Hey. Mom.” This was so incredibly awkward. She never called me sweetheart, but the way she said it told me that today was not the first time she had done so. Which meant that somewhere in the forgotten memories there were examples of her saying it to Prim. Not to me. That meant there was a version of me she loved.

She looked over at me, a warm smile touching her lips. “Gerome just came by, sleepyhead,” she said.

If she didn’t stop with the pet names, I might run screaming from the room.

“Oh? What did he have to say?” I asked, trying to focus on the question and not give away any of the emotional turmoil I was feeling.

“He said he was really impressed with how you’ve been adapting to your new medication and stepping up in your responsibilities.” She shut the red Knight’s manual she was holding and placed it neatly back onto the shelf. “I just want you to know, your father and I are so very proud of you. We see you finally becoming the woman Scipio always knew you could be.”

I nodded, my mouth dry. “That’s nice.” Prim was succeeding where I had failed. God, I hated her so much.

My mother’s smile flickered, and she took a step toward me. “Are you feeling well? You seem strange.”

“No, no!” I said quickly, suddenly terrified she would figure out that something was wrong and make me take those pills. I forced a smile onto my face. “I’m fine, just a little groggy.”

She prowled closer, though, her eyes sweeping me up and down. “Is your medication okay? Should I talk to Dr. Bordeaux for you?”

“Mom, that’s one of the side effects,” I reminded her, recalling Dr. Bordeaux’s words. “I’m sure it will pass—maybe some air will help. I might go find Zoe and see if she’s free for a walk.”

“The six,” she said, her voice flat, and I blinked, confusion radiating through me. My mom had never had a problem with Zoe before. What was her problem now?

“I’m a five,” I quickly pointed out, my mind grasping for straws. “There must be some things she can teach me.”

My mother grimaced, but then nodded. “I suppose you have a point there. But when your number levels out as higher than hers, I expect you to end the relationship.”

My heart pounded against my ribcage as I stared at her, defiance already creeping into my spine. My relationship with Zoe would end over my dead body, and not a moment before. My mother looked at me expectantly, and I kept my tongue in line, trying to come up with a non-pithy reply that made her believe I was still Prim.

“Yes, ma’am,” was the only thing I could stomach saying, and even then it came out strangled. My mother must not have noticed, because she turned back to the shelf to pull out another manual, and flipped it open.

I made my way back to my bedroom, shutting the door and taking a deep breath. I needed to get out of there—which meant I needed to get dressed. I looked around the room for my uniform, trying to figure out where Prim had put it, and it finally dawned on me. The closet.

I threw the doors open, and sure enough, a fresh suit was right there—hanging from a hanger, all nice and proper. I glared at it, mentally condemning it for being complicit with Prim. It now felt like it was hers and not mine. I grabbed it and quickly put it on, though, eager to get out. I tucked the Medica pills into my pocket, took a small bite of the nutrient bar and sipped from the water, then made sure to say goodbye to my mom before I left. That was probably something Prim would do.

I made my way to the lashway, and didn’t hesitate, just flung my lash as I raced through it. It hit one of the arches with a plink, and I swung out, using the momentum to launch myself higher. As I flipped, I felt something of my old self returning. The sheer drop, the trill of my heart as I lashed through the air, made my problems fall away, if only for a moment.

One lash. Two. I felt my body respond to each cable I threw, as though it was waking from a deep sleep. I threw in an artistic flip at the end, and landed gently.

Bet Prim doesn’t do this, I thought as I added a little flourish at the end, looking around and expecting, even hoping for, the level of dismay that had always appeared when I got too fancy with the lashes. It would make me feel like me.

“Nice landing,” a passing Knight called, flashing a thumbs up.

The smile slid from my face. I had made landings like that over the years, and the lower my rank was, the more people looked at me like I was wrong for doing it. Now, they appreciated it, and the only difference was the stupid five on my wrist. That just made the compliment feel fake.