Kaylee leans against the hood of the limo. “You’re such a boy sometimes. Well, Caden, this is it for now. I’ll be in contact, though.” She pulls me into a hug. After patting my back once, she moves away, but keeps hanging on to my biceps. “Good luck today. I’m rooting for you, and not just so I can show Judy who’s the best coach. Remember that I’m on your side whenever things get tough, all right?”
“Sure.”
She rubs my right bicep with one hand, then lets go. “Oh, and one last thing. We’ll be able to communicate via your implant most of the time, but if I don’t answer, you can contact me on this number.” She reaches into her bag, pulls out a white business card, then hands it to me. Her number is etched into it in shiny silver ink. I move it from side to side, marveling at the shine. “But only contact me in a real emergency, okay? I have a life, remember.”
“Noted.”
She nods once, then walks back to the limo. As the door slams, I spin around and make my way up to the house. I reach the door and rap my knuckles on it. Okay, Caden, guard up, Nice face on.
The door swings open, revealing a woman in her late thirties. She’s very good-looking, with an angular face and remarkably pale-blue eyes. She’s easy to look at in a model-like, appreciate-from-afar kind of way, but she’s not someone who actually turns me on. She’s too stern-looking and, quite frankly, too old for that.
“You must be Caden,” she says, her voice flat.
“That’s me!”
“Well, welcome to this old shithole.” I look past her and inspect the place. It’s obviously past its prime. The TV that sits in front of a faded maroon couch is square and bulky, an antique, really. The kitchen is cramped and cluttered with plates covered in crusted-on food.
“Why couldn’t you have been a Bad?” she asks. “They always get mansions. And now, because of you, I’m stuck in this dump.”
I look past her, taking the place in. “I’m sorry that you don’t like it here, but it’s not so bad, is it? I think it’s kind of charming.”
She narrows her eyes and fans her fingers through her knotty hair. “So that’s how this is going to be?” She lets out a weary sigh. “Fine. Your room is up the stairs and down the hall. Don’t make any noise, I’m watching Judge Judy.”
She walks back to the couch and slumps down.
I step over a pile of rank-smelling clothes into a small room with a tight staircase. I climb it. At the top is a long hallway with three doors: two bedrooms and one bathroom. My guess is that my room is the one opposite the bathroom at the far end of the hall. The prospect of it being my room makes me smile. This is my house. It’s not much, but it’s mine. Just to be sure, I gently push open the door of the room closest to the staircase and peer inside. It’s trashed, the floor covered in dirty, crumpled clothes, moldy pizza boxes, and other garbage.
In the middle of the mess, on the bed, is a great bear of a man. He obviously used to be Bad: even asleep, his face is set into a snarl. He’s shirtless, and his chest is huge, taking up a massive portion of the double bed. He moans, and I quickly but quietly close the door. If a man like that saw me staring at him while he was asleep, it wouldn’t end well for me.
I reach my room and pause. This is it. The moment I’ve dreamed about forever. No matter what it looks like, this room has to be better than my cell.
I swing the door open. It’s surprisingly plain. A simple metal bed frame with a single mattress covered in a navy sheet is jammed into the far corner of the room. A white desk is pressed against the opposite wall, and a wooden chest of drawers is tucked into the corner. The walls are bare but, thankfully, plaster, not mirrors. There’s one mirror in the room, a freestanding antique in the far corner, but I can spin that around if I want. And then I’ll finally be able to sleep without having to look at myself!
I walk to the window and push it open. Outside is a small stretch of brown-tiled roof, then there’s the porch, the front yard, and the road. Beyond that is an overgrown paddock surrounded by a barbwire fence. A black cow raises its head and looks in my direction, its jaw bobbing up and down as it chews.
This is my view! Every morning when I wake up, this is what I’ll see. Because this is my room! It’s basic, sure, but it’s clearly not a cell. It’s a normal person’s bedroom, and it’s all mine. I can put posters on the walls! They’d probably have to be approved or something, but I can’t think of any reason why Kaylee would say no to that request.
I turn back and look at the desk. Beside the computer is a stack of beaten paperbacks, obviously taken from the LIC’s library. I actually miss going there. It wasn’t a full library or anything, as the collection was strictly regulated, featuring the bare minimum required to let us pass as regular teenagers. Still, there was a lot of good stuff there if you knew how to look for it. The sci-fi and fantasy section was particularly good, probably because our learning about Narnia or whatever was much safer for them than our learning about the real world.
I smile as I pick up the first book, a copy of The Martian I’ve read at least five times. I go through the pile and find a lot of the books I found refuge in when things got bad at the LIC: Ready Player One, Neuromancer, and Dune. These books helped me get through some pretty terrible stuff, and it’s only now that I’m out that I’ve realized how attached to them I am. They’re all a part of me, and these copies, the exact ones I read at the LIC, are the copies I want on my shelf for the rest of my life.
Caden, can you hear me?
Sure can. And Kaylee, thanks for the books. They’re … They mean a lot to me.
I know! You told me you like sci-fi, and I keep track of these things.
Still, I think you should take them back. I’m out now, so I don’t need them as much as the guys who are still there. Yeah, you should definitely take them back.
Nonsense, Caden. If you care that much, I’ll make sure there are new copies for the library. But those books are yours now. Anyway, what do you think of the place?
I glance around my room. I freaking love it.
That’s great! Now, your school uniform is in the closet. Shower, shave, and get yourself ready. Have you memorized the script?
Not yet, but I’m working on it.
Good. Now get ready. Make yourself pretty for your girl!
I open the closet, revealing a chest of drawers and silver coat hangers. Hanging from them are five short-sleeved white shirts with a navy logo in the middle. Then there’s an assortment of button-downs, some plain and therefore wearable, but there’s a lot of plaid. Oh my God, so much plaid. Next are two suit jackets, one black, one navy. Finally, there’s a black cotton T-shirt with a familiar green label on the chest.
Starbucks? What’s that doing here?
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I got you a job. How good are you at making coffee?