Lena, she says, this is my friend Drew. I think she looks guilty for just a second, but then the smile is back on her face, as wide as ever, like were standing in the middle of St. Annes talking about a bio quiz.
I open my mouth but no words come out, which is probably a good thing, considering that theres a giant fire alarm going off in my head. It may sound stupid and naive, but not once when I was heading to the farms did I even consider that the party would be coed. It didnt even occur to me.
Breaking curfew is one thing; listening to unapproved music is even worse. But breaking segregation laws is one of the worst offenses there is. Thus Willow Markss early procedure, and the graffiti scrawled on her house; thus the fact that Chelsea Bronson was kicked out of school after allegedly being found breaking curfew with a boy from Spencer, and her parents were mysteriously fired, and her whole family was forced to vacate their house. Andat least in Chelsea Bronsons casethere wasnt even any proof. Just a rumor going around.
Drew gives me a half wave. Hey, Lena.
My mouth opens and closes. Still no sound. For a second we stand there in awkward silence. Then he extends a cup to me, a sudden, jerky gesture. Whiskey?
Whiskey? I squeak back. Ive only had alcohol a few times. At Christmas, when Aunt Carol pours me a quarter glass of wine, and once at Hanas house, when we stole some blackberry liqueur from her parents liquor cabinet and drank until the ceiling started spinning overhead. Hana was laughing and giggling, but I didnt like it, didnt like the sweet sick taste in my mouth or the way my thoughts seemed to break apart like a mist in the sun. Out of control thats what it was, thats what I hated.
Drew shrugs. Its all they had. Vodka always goes first at these things. At these thingsas in, these things happen, as in, more than once.
No. I try to shove the cup back at him. Take it.
He waves me away, obviously misunderstanding. Its cool. Ill just get another.
Drew smiles quickly at Hana before disappearing into the crowd. I like his smile, the way it rises crookedly toward his left earbut as I realize Im thinking about liking his smile, I feel the panic winging its way through me, beating through my blood, a lifetime of whispers and accusations.
Control. Its all about control. I have to go, I manage to say to Hana. Progress. Go? She wrinkles her forehead.
You walk all the way out here I biked.
Whatever. You bike all the way out here and then youre just going to go? Hana reaches for my hand, but I cross my arms quickly to avoid her. She looks momentarily hurt. I pretend to shiver so she doesnt feel bad, wondering why it feels so awkward to talk to her.
This is my best friend, the girl Ive known since second grade, the girl who used to split her cookies with me at lunch, and once put her fist in Jillian Dawsons face after Jillian said my family was diseased.
Im tired, I say. And I shouldnt be here. I want to say, You shouldnt be here either, but I stop myself.
Did you hear the band? Theyre amazing, arent they?
Hanas being way too nice, totally un-Hana, and I feel a deep, sharp pain under my ribs. Shes trying to be polite.
Shes acting like were strangers. She feels the awkwardness too.
II wasnt listening. For some reason I dont want Hana to know that yes, I heard, and yes, I thought they were amazing, better than amazing. Its too private embarrassing even, something to be ashamed of, and despite the fact that I came all the way to Roaring Brook Farms and broke curfew and everything, just to see her and apologize, the feeling I had earlier today returns to me: I dont know Hana anymore, and she doesnt really know me.
Im used to a feeling of doubleness, of thinking one thing and having to do another, a constant tug-of-war. But somehow Hana has fallen cleanly away into the double half, the other world, the world of unmentionable thoughts and things and people.
Is it possible that all this time Ive been living my life, studying for tests, taking long runs with Hanaand this other world has just existed, running alongside and underneath mine, alive, ready to sneak out of the shadows and the alleyways as soon as the sun goes down? Illegal parties, unapproved music, people touching one another with no fear of the disease, with no fear for themselves.
A world without fear. Impossible.
And even though Im standing in the middle of the biggest crowd Ive ever seen in my life, I suddenly feel very alone.
Stay, Hana says quietly. Even though its a command, theres a hesitation in her voice, like shes asking a question. You can catch the second set.
I shake my head. I wish I hadnt come. I wish I hadnt seen this. I wish I didnt know what I know now, could wake up tomorrow and ride over to Hanas house, could lie out at Eastern Prom with her and complain about how boring summers are, like we always do. Could believe that nothing had changed. Im going to go, I say, wishing my voice didnt come out shaky. Its all right, though. You can stay.
The second I say it, I realize she never offered to come back with me. Shes looking at me with the weirdest mixture of regret and pity.
I can come back with you if you want, she says, but I can tell shes only offering now to make me feel better.
No, no. Ill be fine. My cheeks are burning and I take a step back, desperate to get out of there. I bump against someonea boywho turns and smiles at me. I step quickly away from him.
Lena, wait. Hana goes to grab me again. Even though she already has a drink, I shove my cup in her free hand so she has to pause, momentarily frowning as she tries to juggle both drinks into the crook of an elbow, and in that second I dance backward out of her reach.
Ill be fine, I promise. Ill talk to you tomorrow. Then Im slipping through a narrow space between two peoplethats the only benefit of being five-two, you have a good vantage point on all the in-between spaces and before I know it, Hana has dropped behind me, swallowed up by the crowd. I weave a path away from the barn, keeping my eyes down, hoping my cheeks cool off fast.
Images swirl by, a blur, making me feel like Im dreaming again. Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl. Laughing, shoving each other, touching each others hair. Ive never, not once in my whole life, felt so different and out of place.
Theres a high, mechanized shriek, and then the band starts playing again, but this time the music does nothing for me. I dont even pause. I just keep walking, heading for the hill, imagining the cool silence of the starlit fields, the familiar dark streets of Portland, the regular rhythm of the patrols, marching quietly in sync, the feedback from the regulators walkie-talkies regular, normal, familiar, mine.
Finally the crowd starts thinning. It was hot, pressed up against so many people, and the breeze stings my skin, cools my cheeks. Ive started to calm down a little, and at the edge of the crowd I allow myself one look back at the stage. The barn, open to the sky and the night and glowing white with light, reminds me of a palm cupping a small bit of fire.
Lena!
Its strange how I instantly recognize the voice even though Ive heard it only once before, for ten minutes, fifteen topsits the laughter that runs underneath it, like someone leaning in to let you in on a really good secret in the middle of a really boring class. Everything freezes. The blood stops flowing in my veins. My breath stops coming. For a second even the music falls away and all I hear is something steady and quiet and pretty, like the distant beat of a drum, and I think, Im hearing my heart, except I know thats impossible, because my heart has stopped too. My vision does its camera-zoom focus again and all I see is Alex, shouldering his way out of the crowd toward me.
Lena! Wait.
A brief flash of terror zips through mefor a wild second I think he must be here as part of a patrol, as a raiding group or somethingbut then I see hes dressed normally, in jeans and his scuffed-up sneakers with the ink-blue laces and a faded T-shirt.
What are you doing here? I stammer out as he catches up to me.
He grins. Nice to see you too.
He has left a few feet of distance between us, and Im glad. In the half-light I cant make out the color of his eyes and I dont need to be distracted right now, dont need to feel the way I did at the labs when he leaned in to whisper to me the total awareness of the bare inch that separated his mouth from my ear, terror and guilt and excitement all at once.
Im serious. I do my best to scowl at him.
His smile falters, though it doesnt disappear entirely.
He blows air out of his lips. I came to hear the music,
he says. Like everybody else.
But you cant Im struggling to find words, not quite sure how to say what I want to say. But this is
Illegal? He shrugs. One strand of hair curls down over his left eye, and when he turns to scan the party it catches the light from the stage and winks that crazy golden-brown color. Its okay, he says, quieter, so that I have to lean forward to hear him over the music.
Nobodys hurting anybody.
You dont know that, I start to say, but the way his words are just edged with sadness stops me. Alex runs a hand through his hair and I make out the small, dark, three-pronged scar behind his left ear, perfectly symmetrical. Maybe hes only regretful for the things he lost after the cure. Music doesnt move people the same way, for example, and while he should have been cured of feelings of regret, too, the procedure works differently for everybody, and it isnt always perfect.
Thats why my aunt and uncle sometimes still dream.
Thats why my cousin Marcia used to find herself crying hysterically, with no warning or apparent cause.
So what about you? He turns back to me and the smile is on again, and the teasing, winking quality of his voice.
Whats your excuse?
I didnt want to come, I say quickly. I had to I break off, realizing Im not sure why I had to come. I had to give something to someone, I say finally.
He raises his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed. I rush on, To Hana. My friend. You met her the other day.
I remember, he says. Ive never seen anyone maintain a smile for so long. Its like his face is naturally molded that way. You havent said youre sorry yet, by the way.
For what? The crowd has continued to press closer to the stage, so Alex and I are no longer surrounded by people. Occasionally someone walks by, swinging a bottle of something or singing along, slightly off-key, but for the most part were alone.