City of Savages (18 page)

Sam stares me down.

“She’s got a point,” Ryder answers. When Sam glares at him, Ryder just shrugs and says, “What? Step up and show us that fancy marine training you’re always bragging about, or knock the insults.”

Trev nudges me in the ribs as we stay silent behind them. But Trev’s mouth is twitching, and his eyes are all big and animated, like we’ve somehow stumbled on a secret street-fight no one else knows about. I totally feel that way too. But there’s something else going on under my skin, that same urge I had before—to grab Ryder, and hug him or something. I somehow manage to keep my hands on the ground.

“Fine,” Sam mutters. “Watch and learn.” He repositions himself on his stomach, with his forearm propping up the bow and his eye resting in the scope. He scoots forward, army-style, so his head’s peeking out of the bushes.

He waits a long time—watching the squirrels, fluff and fur parading round and round the trees. I almost lose interest, until he whispers, “Now.”

His arrow slices through the air, stapling two squirrels against the trunk with one shot, one’s tail and another’s face pinned to the bark.

The rest of the family scatters in a frenzy, jumping to the nearby branches as Sam gets ready to fire off another arrow. He’s quick this time and catches one of the squirrels in midair. Two shots, three squirrels.

I can’t pretend I’m not impressed.

The four of us scurry over to our victims, and Sam takes Sky’s knife and finishes off the squirrels. He shoves the carcasses into my satchel.

“Good morning,” I say to Sam breathlessly, before I remember I hate him.

And for the first time since I’ve met him, Sam looks up and gives me a real honest-to-God smile. “I’d say a pretty damn good morning.”

26    SKY

Phee, Ryder, Trevor, and Sam burst back into the YMCA like they’re soldiers returning home from a glorious battle, with good cheer, a satchel full of squirrels, and Phee’s pockets bursting with mushrooms. Mom and I abandon our card game in the workout room and walk to our makeshift door as soon as we hear them.

Mom brings the mushrooms into the stark white light near the window to double-check Phee’s work, even though Phee and I are both near experts at distinguishing edible mushrooms from poisonous ones. Phee just rolls her eyes.

“Half the time I feel like she can’t believe anything good can happen,” she whispers to me. It’s not an unfair statement.

Speaking of Mom and her lack of faith in a better future, I really want to pull Phee aside, to let her know what I’ve found out from the journal. But before I can, Ryder says, “Phee, we need to get these squirrelies in a pot, before the natives get too restless.”

Then he grabs Phee’s backpack of carcasses and throws it over his shoulder, as my sister cackles and follows him. Ryder throws me a wink before he climbs the stairs, but it doesn’t stop my stomach from sinking.

To be honest, I’ve been driving myself insane most of the morning, thinking about the two of them together. Imagining that Ryder was so awed by my tough-as-nails sister that by the time they returned, our conversation yesterday would feel like no more than a dream. But seeing them all chummy still stings more than I could ever have prepared myself for.

“You guys need any help cleaning them?” I swallow my pride and mumble after them.

“Nah, Ryder and I’ve got this,” Phee says quickly over the stairwell.

“But we’ll need candles, and bowls,” Ryder calls down. “Trev, help the woman!”

Sam trails his brother—“Rye, hold up, let me skin them first”—but Mom gently grabs Sam’s wrist over the banister.

“Sam, seriously, thank you.” It’s sweet, but almost uncomfortable, watching my mother thank someone genuinely: She doesn’t do it often. Then again, she doesn’t need to. “You deserve a rest. Leave this part to me—there’s a kitchen on the fourth floor. I’ll make a true stew over a fire.”

Then Mom shoots me a look, reminding me that I’m supposed to feel grateful, instead of consumed by jealousy.

“Thanks, Sam,” I muster.

“No big deal.” But I can see the faintest hint of a rare smile on his lips. Sam throws his arms over his head, revealing two inches of lean torso, and yawns his way to the yoga room. “Wake me up when it’s ready, I guess.”

Mom slowly follows my sister and Ryder upstairs, while Trev grabs my hand to collect some candles.

“So did you have fun? With Phee, Sam, and Ryder?”

“Yeah, it was a good trip,” Trev says. “Sam’s okay, kind of a jerk, but I think he just doesn’t know how to
not
be a jerk, if that makes sense. And Ryder’s beyond cool. He’s an orphan too and everything. And he’s really . . .
accepting
. Just . . . nice.” Trev shakes his head as he piles candles into his arms. “I was kind of hoping he wasn’t so nice.”

I laugh. “Why?” I take a wicker basket off one of the shelves and load Trevor’s candles into it.

“Because then it’d be easier to hate him.”

His words pinch me as we return to the main workout room. And I ask the question, even though I’m pretty sure I know his answer: “And why do you want to hate him?”

Trev’s face twists into a grimace. “’Cause Phee’s crazy about him.” Sometimes Trevor’s more mature than I would ever give him credit for.

Trev shakes his head. “At least he’s nice. At least he’ll be good to her.” He looks at me. “We should get upstairs, right? They’re waiting on us.”

But I can’t move my feet. Even though my mind knows that Trevor’s analysis hasn’t changed anything, my heart feels like something monumental has shifted. “I’ll be right there.” I hand him the basket, and he shrugs and bounds up the stairs.

So Phee likes Ryder too. Of course she does.

If I’m honest, I’ve known this for days. I knew it in the tunnels, and saw it in that look Phee flashed me last night in the yoga room, when she literally inserted herself between Ryder and me. Then this afternoon on the stairs as she took them two at a time—this
possessiveness
, this claim to him—
Ryder belongs to Phee
, just like everything else in this city.

And even though part of me is itching to barge into the kitchen, pull a Phee and just plunk myself in between them . . . I turn away from the stairwell. Then I tiptoe back into the dark of the yoga room and dig Mom’s journal out of my bag.

I feel like a kid again. Jealous, overshadowed, sneaking off into corners to escape into other worlds, where younger sisters aren’t always the heroes or the belles of the ball.

The most frustrating part is, I thought it was different with Ryder. I thought for some reason we had connected yesterday, and for the first time maybe ever, I could give someone something that my sister could not.

I wade through the equipment room and situate myself near my favorite window in the corner,
Charlotte
smiling up at me from my lap. I know I shouldn’t be reading this, making this trip through Mom’s past alone—it’s just not fair. Once is one thing. To keep sneaking off by myself, without Phee, quite another.

But I also feel like she deserves it.

Right before I crack the spine open, there’s a musical whisper—

“There you are,” Ryder says as he hovers over me. “I was looking for you.”

“Hi,” I say, unable to contain my surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re quite taken with
Charlotte
, aren’t you?” He smirks and sits across from me, each of us mirror images of our yesterday selves.

“She gives sage advice, what can I say.” I flash Ryder a smile before I remember I’m kind of confused by him. “But really, what are you doing here? What about Phee?”

He looks at me strangely. “What
about
Phee?”

“I thought you were busy cleaning your spoils together or something,” I mutter, unable to prevent bitterness from seeping into my voice.

“Your sister can handle it.” Ryder grins. “Plus, Trevor showed up as I was leaving. And he was all too willing to lend a hand.”

Now I can’t help but match his smile. “Phee’s never going to forgive you for that.”

“Well, I thought Trevor might appreciate it at least.” He laughs. “He’s a good kid, isn’t he? Sounds like he’s had it rougher than most.”

Ryder’s words warm me, gravitate me towards him like a sun. I’ve always hated that Trevor floated through the Park for half the year alone, with no one but Lauren to anchor him. Having a guy like Ryder around who cares, who gets him, would be just as good for Trevor as it would be for us. “You’re right,” I say. “He has.”

Ryder pauses before breaking into another grin, and starts mining through the pocket of his jacket. “I got you a gift today, on the road.”

“What—like an extra squirrel or something?”

“No, I’m not a caveman.” He laughs. “I picked it up from the rubble. Your sister nearly killed us for all our detours, but when I found a quarter-full Barnes and Noble, I couldn’t resist. I thought everything would’ve been burned by now.”

“We must be a lot more civilized on this side of the Atlantic,” I tease him.

“Yes, you and that Rolladin troop are the pillars of etiquette.”

“Oh, come on, don’t lump us together like that.”

He pulls what he’s hiding in his jacket forward with a great flourish and presents it to me with a bowed head. “A classic for your collection.”

I look at the front cover. A tired-eyed soldier stares back at me, the title
Waverley
written in looping handwriting.

“It’s about England,” Ryder says. “A young English soldier. Some say it’s the first real historical novel.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I think the blending of the two is the most exciting. History with poetry, fact with fiction. Sometimes I find the story aspect truer than the truth, if that makes any sense.”

Ryder’s brow is stitched, almost like he’s nervous about how I’m going to react. I don’t know how to tell him how much this book means to me. That he thought of
me
when he was away. How his words just now echoed a part of me I don’t share with anyone. How I kind of want to kiss him. All I say is, “I feel the same way.”

“Anyway, the first fifty pages or something are a bore—but get past it. I promise you, it’s worth it.”

My hands wrap around the book so tightly my knuckles turn white. “I love it.”

“Well,” he says mischievously, “maybe now you can finally retire that spider.”

I watch him carefully, filled with a sudden compulsion to tell him what I really have in my hands. He’s been honest and open with me. But can I trust him? Or worse, will he think I’m terrible for stealing something so personal from someone I love, not to mention lying about it?

“Ryder,” I say slowly, taking the risk. “This isn’t
Charlotte’s Web
.”

I open the handwritten pages and turn the book around to show him the mad, frantic scrawls of ink across the page.

“What is it?” he whispers.

“It’s—it’s a journal. It belonged to my mom, before the war.” I look up at him for a moment but quickly break under the pressure of his gaze. “We were in her old apartment a few days ago, and I saw it and took it. Mom keeps all these memories hidden away inside. Jeez, the
journal
was even hidden inside a safe. It’d kill her if she knew we have it.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

My lips start trembling, and I know I’m about to cry. “I just wanted to know her, in a way she’ll never let us, since she’s locked so much of herself away. When I read it, I feel like we’re talking to her. And she’s saying all the things she wants to say but can’t.”

A stray tear runs down the side of my face, and I wipe it away quickly. I definitely don’t want Ryder thinking I’m this soft, fragile girl, especially after he spent the morning hunting with my sister the Spartan. “But I’m probably saying that to make myself feel better.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” Ryder whispers.

I laugh a little, and in a brutal act of betrayal, my eyes spill more tears. Ryder reaches out and holds my hand.

Before I can say anything else, Mom’s voice is calling down to us, echoing through the linoleum-tiled hallways and bouncing over the carpeted floor. “Sky, Ryder—I need people to set the table!”

Ryder and I look at each other for a long time before he stands and helps me up. We don’t say a word as we navigate through the cemetery of workout equipment. It’s only once we climb the stairs, and the thick scent of stew envelops us, that Ryder whispers, “You seek the truth, and meaning, Skyler. Never think that’s a bad thing.”

Then he squeezes my hand before he drops it, and he walks into the kitchen. I immediately want more from him.

But I take a deep breath, shrug off one hunger in favor of another, and follow him to set our table.

*   *   *

I finally get some alone time with Phee the next day, since Sam and Ryder are hunting for supplies and food for our journey, and Trevor’s roped Mom into watching him play tennis against a wall on Level B—Tennis & Pool. Mom felt bad about leaving us alone upstairs, but I told her that Phee and I could use the time together. That it’s been awhile since we caught up.

I wasn’t lying, technically.

“I didn’t even know you had that thing,” Phee says incredulously, once I tell her that I read Mom’s journal yesterday. “What’d you do, go back to the Carlyle roof?”

“I had to,” I say. “We couldn’t lose this.”

She nods, as if she’s agreeing with me, but her eyes stay wide. “That was really dangerous.”

“Well, there was no other choice.” I wave the book at her. “These secrets? The past? It would’ve been lost forever. We never would’ve known.”

“No, I get it,” she whispers. She carefully picks the book up from my lap. “So you’ve been reading it, alone?”

“Just once.” It’s not untrue, though I know it easily could’ve been. “It was when we first got here, and I couldn’t sleep.” I watch her scan the book, flip the marked pages carefully, as if there might be a hidden symbol, or a clue, that I could’ve missed. “I’m sorry I did that.”

“It’s okay.” But Phee looks at me with eyes that want to say more. I’m desperate to say more too. For most of our lives, Phee and I have been each other’s worlds—we’ve barely been apart for longer than a hunt since I’ve been old enough to remember. And yet, sitting here, just the two of us, feels awkward—as if now there’s a library of unsaid things between us. As if now that our world’s been broken open and strangers have stepped inside, we somehow don’t recognize each other, or know what to say.

I want to address the weirdness. Despite how mad, or envious, I am at Phee’s attempts to claim Ryder, I’m sick over the idea of not knowing how to bridge this gap. But before I can figure out how, Phee bulldozes in with, “So catch me up.”

I relax a little. And I force myself to get excited again about the journal.

“You’re never going to believe this.” I check behind me and across the workout room for any signs of Mom and Trevor, but we’re alone. “But Mom was pregnant with you in the
tunnels
. And this Mary woman? She wasn’t just Dad’s sister. She was caring for her. She was Mom’s—” I pause here. My enthusiasm falls away, and I’m suddenly very conscious that I’m talking about our own mother, not a book character.

“Mom’s what?” Phee prods.

“Mom’s—lover.”

“WHAT?”

“Shh. She could be coming up any minute.”

“Wait—you mean like they were a couple? Mom cheated on Dad?”

“Yeah. It’s completely insane, right?” I wait for Phee’s outrage, her shock, her anger, the same wild roller coaster of emotions I had felt before Ryder had gratefully whisked me away.

“She was alone,” Phee finally whispers. “All alone in the tunnels, with a baby, and another on the way. She must’ve thought Dad was dead. She must’ve thought it was the only way to survive. Oh man—can you imagine?”

Now I’m the one who’s shocked. “Wait, so you think this is
fine
?”