Brave New Love (10 page)

“Oh, they’ll figure it out sooner or later,” she sighed. “The little ones will be given away to respectable families. Can you imagine if the Dodsons had their twins taken
away? What that would do to them?”

Something in my chest split. Mrs. Dodson fretted over her babies. It seemed to be her whole life, chasing them around. She was never upset when they got dirty and she never complained about
exhaustion, though I know she had to feel it. She just reveled in the joy of being a mother.

“Monica, that would never happen,” I said, gasping in a broken breath as a tear escaped down my cheek.

She stood and walked over to me. “You can’t promise that. Your father’s the mayor. You think he’s giving up on you? It’s been a month now. You have to imagine
they’re getting close.”

“I can’t just leave,” I whispered. “I know you’re upset, but I love—”

“You actually think you love him?” she spat. “You’ve never felt anything at all until a few weeks ago, and now you think you know what love is?”

I knew she could be lying, trying to manipulate me, but I didn’t think she was. How could I know for sure this was love? She’d spent years here, and she seemed to know better. And I
was sure that, given how powerful my father was, I would be a priority. If Monica was right and they’d been looking all this time, surely they’d be very close to finding us.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

A hint of a smile played around her mouth, never truly surfacing. She pulled out a sash of cloth from her back pocket. “Come with me.”

•  •  •

I found out last. I’d skipped breakfast and went straight to the workshop so I could saw boards and missed everything.

Andrew was the one who told me what he’d heard someone say that someone else had said. Apparently, it was all too much for Mackenzie. She couldn’t handle everything she was feeling,
and the emotions overwhelmed her. It was to the point that she begged Monica to get her out of here in the wee hours of the morning.

Monica was said to be feeling awful about it but that she hadn’t known what else to do. Mackenzie was a mess, she said.

So, just like that, it was over. In a matter of hours, I’d lost the only thing that had made this place really, finally feel like home. Andrew left to do his work, and I stared at the
planks of wood.

In about half the time it took me to turn the raw materials into beautiful, steady boards I rendered them to kindling.

•  •  •

“So you’re saying you have no clue as to your kidnapper’s whereabouts?” the officer asked me again.

“None, I’m afraid.” I tried to speak dully, the way they expected me to.

“So your kidnapper was a lone Outsider?” he clarified.

“Yes, he took me and kept me in a tent. I think he was planning on asking for a ransom. He never seemed to get around to it. Then he just brought me back. He didn’t seem to be a very
good criminal,” I said with a light giggle.

The officer smiled. “Apparently. And he didn’t harm you at all, you say?”

“No. Like I said, I think he wanted to keep me healthy so he could ransom me. He had stolen a lot of our food and kept me fed and warm. He didn’t hurt me at all.”

The relief on my father’s face was unmistakable. It was clear he’d feared the worst. I just couldn’t get over the fact that he feared. When I returned, I’d planned to go
and hide in my room until sunup. But Dad had been in the kitchen, looking at pictures of me and crying.

At first, I was shocked. Then I was angry. He’d been spared. He’d been allowed to feel all this time, and he’d kept me in the dark. Over the course of the morning, I recalled a
detail that seemed obvious to me now.

Dad and I had separate food. He even went so far as to mark and count his, making sure they never got mixed up. Unless you were above the haze, you’d never think to question it.

The officer flipped his notebook closed. “Well, it looks like this was an isolated attack. Considering what a poor job he did, I don’t think he’ll be back.”

I wanted to cry because I was sure that was true. Dylan wouldn’t know why I left, and there’d be no way he’d risk visiting me. And I couldn’t find him if I wanted to.
I’d never see him again.

“Do you think we could install some locks? I know it’s almost unheard of anymore, but perhaps city officials should have some,” my father suggested.

“I’ll look into it, sir. You certainly have a good reason,” the officer replied. “Well, young lady, if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to
call.”

“Thank you, officer,” I said as he left, closing the door behind him.

Once he and my dad were gone, I turned and looked at my tray of food. It was lunchtime, and I was expected to eat. And maybe it would be a good thing. Wouldn’t it be nice to stop feeling
like this? To numb the throbbing emptiness in my chest?

I picked up a spoonful of the syrupy fruit cocktail. What would it be like to go back to how I’d been? I could let go of Dylan, and it might not even hurt. But it would also mean that I
wouldn’t think of my mother, wouldn’t notice smells and light, wouldn’t think clearly.

I considered the food again. Because I could. I could think about what it would mean if I didn’t eat it. And that alone was enough to make me push the tray away.

•  •  •

I basically spent every waking moment wondering one thing: Would being numb be better than feeling this way? Would a hazy feeling for Mackenzie be better than how pointless it
felt to live without her?

I took out the poster I’d stolen from town. I stared at it. And I wondered.

•  •  •

It had to come sooner or later. I had to eat, and I was surprised what I found once I did. The edges of what I felt were softer for sure, but I could still feel. I could only
assume that being aware of the opiates changed your perspective, that fighting it actually meant something.

I wanted to tell someone this, but who was there to tell?

I was glad I could hold on to my thoughts because, after thinking it through, I decided I was happy to miss Dylan. The same way I was happy to miss my mom. I let myself ache for him, because the
hurt made it real. When I was alone, I let myself cry. I let myself be alive.

But I didn’t let my heartbreak consume me. I had work to do. It was lucky we didn’t bother with locks anymore. It made it almost too easy to break into my dad’s study. There
were three massive filing cabinets in the room, not to mention the organized boxes on the shelves, but I knew I’d find something here. It would take weeks, maybe a whole year if I was
unlucky. But that didn’t matter.

I was awake now. I had to look.

•  •  •

“Dylan, you’ve gotta snap out of it, man. You’ve been moping for weeks.” Jesse was, for all intents and purposes, my dad. It was only a matter of time
before he gave me this little talk.

“I can’t help it,” I said, feeling sick again. “I miss her so much, I can barely breathe.”

“She wanted to go, Dylan. You have to accept that. Now you only have two choices, you can get over her or you can go after her, and there’s no way you could live out
there.”

“Why not?” I asked. Didn’t he think I was strong enough to find alternate food on my own? Hell, half the food we grew here only happened because my parents taught me how.

“Okay, maybe that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” I asked, exhausted. I was so worn down I didn’t have time for games.

“I mean, I couldn’t stand it if you left,” Jesse confessed. I looked up at him, and his usually stern eyes were full of sadness. “You know I hate it that you have to live
without someone you love, but you don’t know how much you mean to me. I don’t know if I could survive without you.”

I fidgeted in my seat. It was humbling.

“You know you’re like a son to me. The way you miss your parents? That’s how I’d miss you. And there’s more than that. We all need you,” he said, motioning to
the window. “Those people out there are free because of you. You support us more than anyone.”

“You’d manage without me,” I objected.

“We’d manage, you’re right. But we thrive with you here.”

Jesse looked at me so fiercely, and I knew that there was no way I could just walk away from him or this place.

I’d lost the girl I loved but, apparently, I’d had a family all along.

•  •  •

I found myself thinking of Dylan at the most random times, and that was one of my favorite things. I loved that my mind wandered and held on to him and brought him back to me in
the middle of washing my hair or folding a shirt.

I’d smile to myself, fix his face in my mind, and go on to the next task. And right now, the task was one that left me both elated and terrified.

I’d found it. I’d looked in the hardest to reach places first, and in the very back of the highest drawer in the corner of my dad’s study was a collection of papers updating
this year’s quantity of opiate per pound of food. Following it were suggestions for things to keep the masses moving forward. Mandatory after-school events, daily workout schedules, and a
stronger push on the new dating program were the most popular among them. Lists of things for the walking dead to do.

I went to the library, where I could use the copier in a back corner of the basement. It was working overtime. I’d made a few hundred copies of the most incriminating page, pausing only
for a moment to wonder if I was doing the right thing. But I decided that, if I’d had the choice of knowing or not, I’d choose to know. Monica chose that. Aaron did, Tanya did. It just
seemed like knowing at least gave you options.

I knew I was risking jail. If they figured out who leaked this information I’d be in prison, numbed beyond reason. Or worse, I’d be dead. But I’d figured out a solid
plan—including distributing the information at night, and suggesting that perhaps my old kidnapper returned—and I figured that between those two things and the classic playing dumb,
I’d be safe. I didn’t care if I wasn’t.

I’d been in love, and I knew it now. Dylan’s absence only made me sure of what I’d already known and what Monica didn’t believe I’d be able to know. Dylan was it
for me. If I couldn’t have him, who else would I share my life with? I might as well spend it with inmates.

I couldn’t fit all the copies in my backpack and had to carry an inch-high stack in my arms as I walked home. My mind took me to a time when we’d all gone swimming. I remembered
Dylan swimming under the water and grabbing at my ankles, making me squeal. A small smile crept onto my face and stayed with me as I turned the corner to my house. I was so deep in my memories that
I didn’t notice the guest on my doorstep.

I looked up and saw a boy with blue-green eyes waiting for me. My heart leapt in my chest, and I was sure he could see just how happy I was to see him.

I swallowed and stared at him and, even though it was risky to do outside, I quietly started to cry.

He stood and walked to me. “You can still feel?” he asked, astonished.

I nodded. “Very much.”

I took my free hand and slid it into his. The tiny gesture was enough to make my heart beat fast. When I felt him squeeze it back, I knew it wasn’t just me.

“I thought you might not even care I was here,” he confessed.

“Of course I care,” I whispered intensely. “If I was under a pile of drugs, I’d care. Dylan, I didn’t want to leave. Monica said that I had to. They were looking
for me. And you should go before someone sees you. I couldn’t bear them taking you away.”

A look of confusion crossed over his face and then faded into absolute clarity. “Monica,” he said. “Of course it was Monica.”

As he shook his head, it dawned on me just how easily she’d fooled me. And standing in front of me was her motivation. Could I really blame her? If it had been the other way around,
wouldn’t I have chased her away?

That didn’t matter now. If Dylan still wanted me the way I wanted him, then I couldn’t let anything come between us.

“I love you,” I said. “I’m so sorry I left.”

He pushed his lips together, trying to keep his smile from being too big. “And I love you.”

That was all I needed. Dylan loved me. I could handle whatever came next.

I sniffed back the tears and shoved the pile of papers into his hands. “That’s good. Because I’ve got a job for you.”

N
ISI
S
HAWL

“Let’s cross it while it’s still floating.”

Aim was always in a hurry these days. Nearly eighteen, and she didn’t figure she had a whole lot of time left before she’d go Otherwise.

“Hold up,” I told her, and she listened. I listened, too, and I heard that weird noise again above the soft wind: an engine running. That was what cars sounded like; they used to
fill the roads, back when I was only eleven. Some of the older models still worked—the ones built without no chips.

A steady purr, like a big, fat cat—and there, I saw a glint moving far out on the bridge: sun on a hood or windshield. I raised my binoculars and confirmed it: a pickup truck, headed our
way, east, coming toward us out of Seattle.

“What, Lo?” Aim asked.

If I could see them, maybe they could see us. “Come on. Bring the rolly. I’ll help.” We lifted our rolling suitcase together and I led us into the bushes crowding over the
road’s edge. Leaves and thorns slashed at our trouser legs and sleeves and faces—I beat them away and found a kind of clear area in their middle. Maybe there used to be something, a
concrete pad for trash cans or something there. Moss, black and dry from the summer, crunched as we walked over it. We lowered the suitcase, heavy with Aim’s tools, and I was about to explain
to her why we were hiding but by now that truck was loud and I could tell she heard it, too. All she said was, “What are they gonna think if they see our tracks disappear?”

I had a knife, and I kept it sharp. I pulled it out of the leather sheath I’d made. That was answer enough for Aim. She smiled—a nasty smile, but I loved it the way I loved
everything about her: her smell; her long braids; her grimy, stubby nails.

I thought we’d lucked out when the truck barreled by fast-must have been going thirty miles an hour—but then it screeched to a stop. Two doors creaked open. Boot heels clopped on the
asphalt. Getting louder. Pausing about even with where I’d ducked us off into the brush.