Saven Deception (7 page)

Logan hunches over and then lands another
page on the glass. “WHAT’S YOUR D-PAD ADDRESS?”

Cripes. He wants my digipad address so he
can message me. Massive butterflies swamp my belly, and I’m giddy to the point
of nausea. I write my address down and request his, which he duly complies
with.

Logan holds another piece of paper to the
glass. “I’LL MESSAGE YOU TOMORROW.”

I’m already sick with nerves and
excitement. Which is totally idiotic, considering I’ll only be conversing with
him digitally, not actually speaking to him in person. But it’s enough to push
my inexperienced body into sensory overdrive.

A cavernous ache builds in the pit of my
stomach as the craving to touch him, to hold him, takes me prisoner. I don’t
understand these feelings or where they’re originating from, but I’m powerless
to halt my body’s natural reaction.

You need to sleep
.
The thought enters my mind and I yawn. Pulling myself up on tired legs, I
glance at Logan one final time. He smiles and waves, and I do the same without
thinking about it.

***

Jenna eyeballs me as if I’m deranged the next morning at breakfast.
Honestly, I can’t blame her. Even
I
think I’m acting weird. I can’t stop
fidgeting in my chair, and I haven’t managed to force more than two spoonsful
of cereal into my mouth.

“What’s with you?”

It’s high time I shared some of this with
her. She is most generous in filling me in on her rapidly developing love life,
and I’m already keeping secrets. I promised myself I wouldn’t retreat into a
shell here, and I haven’t been sticking to that promise.

Besides, she’s already acknowledged that
I’m quirky, so I don’t think my odd behavior will bother her in the least. “I
have stuff to tell you,” I whisper. “About the hottie.”

A roguish glint appears in her eye, and
she claps her hands in glee. “I’ll be back in a few,” she tells Odie, planting
one on him.

I’m quite certain that’s largely for
Neve’s benefit. The ice-cold glare she sends Neve’s direction is most
definitely meant for her.

“You could be nicer to her,” I suggest as
we walk. “She isn’t going to take him from you.”

“The jury’s out on that one.” She grits
her teeth as she drags me into the dorm. “Forget about her. Deets, now.” Her
hands fly to her hips, as she demands answers with her penetrating stare. So, I
fill her in.

She punches me in the arm with force, and
I yelp in pain.

“Ow! That hurts!” I rub my hand over my
throbbing skin.

“Good. It’s meant to. I can’t believe you
kept that quiet. That is so fricking hot. I’m so jealous.”

“Seriously?” I slant a suspicious look her
direction. “I haven’t as much as spoken to him yet. And you’ve been doing all
that fun stuff with Odie.”

“I know.” Grabbing me around the waist,
she plops us both down on the bed. “And Odie is so lovely, but your situation
is wickedly mysterious and romantic.” She has a dreamy look in her eyes. “Check
your D-pad mail. Maybe he’s already sent you a message.” Stretching around, she
snags my digipad and thrusts it into my lap.

My fingers tremble as I log on. My heart
is fluttering erratically, and I feel sick to my stomach. The screen pings
alerting me to a new message, and I drop the digipad as if it’s on fire. “Oh my
God.” I try to steady my breathing, but nothing eases my burgeoning angst.

Jenna collapses in a fit of giggles on the
bed.

“Cow,” I mutter insincerely.

“I heard that.” The comforter muffles her
voice. Her whole body shudders, and the bed quakes under the weight of her
laughter.

“Quit acting like an ass and get up here,”
I demand, fisting my hand in the back of her shirt. “I can’t do this alone.”

Jenna sits up and chases away the last of
her laughter. “Jeez, Sadie, the look on your face is priceless. Please promise
me that I can be there the first time you
actually
speak to him in
person. I’ve definitely gotta see that.”

“You’re mean.” Ignoring her, I cautiously
pick up the digipad and flip the screen. I chew on a fingernail as I survey the
flashing message icon taunting me from the screen.

“Go on, open it,” Jenna encourages,
resting her chin on my shoulder.

Here goes nothing. I click on the message
icon and read.

From: 
LChandler

To:
SOwens

Hi
Sadie,

It’s really
nice to know your name, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our staring matches across
the water. Now that I’ve kick-started my brain and realized that we have a way
to actually communicate, I look forward to getting to know you better.

I’ll
kick things off. I’m Logan Chandler. I’m eighteen and a senior from West
Seattle High. I dig baseball, golf, rock music, MMA, and classic movies. I’m
addicted to coffee and donuts, and I’m a closet Will Smith fan (the dude is a
legend.)

How
are you liking things down here? Are you looking forward to Thalassic City? Write
me back and don’t forget to enclose a selfie.

Later,
Logan.

With huge trepidation, I click on the accompanying picture
icon. Jenna sucks in a sharp breath. It’s a close-up selfie, and I can even detect
the miniscule smattering of tiny light freckles, which dot his pale nose and
cheeks. But man, I can’t look away from his stunning blue eyes. A million
different emotions are reflected in his fiery gaze, and I blush profusely.

This guy is wreaking havoc with my
hormones, and I’ve no idea why. “Oh no,” I moan, dropping my head in my hands.

“What’s wrong?” Jenna asks, tugging my
hands down. “He sounds pretty yummy. And he’s messaged you already so he’s
definitely keen.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head
sadly. “Look.” I point to the side of the photo where a fraction of his wrist
is visible in the frame, the edge of a distinct gold bar taunting me clearly.
“He’s a bullion. He’s completely out of my league.”

“The rules have been relaxed. Remember?” Jenna says.

“I know that, and surely it’s an oversight
on the part of the government. But you’re missing the point. It won’t matter
that technically we’re allowed to date for a few months. The reality is that
once he finds out about my status, he’ll have zero interest in me.”

“You don’t know that, Sadie.” Jenna’s look
is fierce. “He’s a boy, you’re a girl. You are attracted to each other. It’s as
simple as that.” She says it matter-of-factly, as if there are no gray areas.

“You know it’s never that
straightforward.” I scrunch my hair in my fists and sigh.

“It can be as uncomplicated as you want it
to be. Write back and tell him you’re a star. Let’s see how he responds.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh
wearily. I shouldn’t care. It’s not as if I’d be permitted to have any future
with a boy like him, or any boy for that matter, so it’s better that I tell him
and end this—whatever this is—before it begins. Might as well get it out of the
way now. My heart protests wildly against my head, but the logical side of my
brain wins out over the nostalgic, sappy side.

Best to put a stop to this now before I do
something stupid.

Like fall in love with him.

“You’re right. I don’t know why I’m
entertaining the notion of it anyway. I’m not interested in casual flings, and
that’s all this would be, even if he could overlook my social status.”

“Stop that, Sadie. It’s damn infuriating.”
Jenna snaps her fingers in my face. “You deserve to have a little fun, and
there’s nothing wrong with it. Everyone needs love in their life, and unless
I’m mistaken, you haven’t had much of that. So, you should seize the
opportunity when it comes your way. Go on,” she urges, nudging me, “Tell him.”

I type with trembling hands. I’m so
nervous I could puke. I spend about ten minutes typing and erasing in a
repetitive manner. Jenna hovers wordlessly over me the whole time, but I don’t
miss the vociferous sighs or the exasperated tapping of her foot.

“Good God, woman,” she shrieks when I’ve
eventually tested her patience to the limit. “Stop trying to sugarcoat it
because that’s damned near impossible. Just spell it out. Direct is best.”

Taking her advice, I erase my previous
message and type quickly.

From:
SOwens

To:
LChandler

Hi
Logan,

Thanks
for your message. I’m a star so I guess there’s no point in continuing this?

Sadie.

My finger hovers fretfully over the send
button. Closing my eyes, I press down. I can’t recall a time when I was so
anxious that I physically felt sick. This is so out of my comfort zone it’s not
funny.

A little while later, Jenna returns to
Odie, and I’m silently praying he hasn’t seduced Neve by now. Jenna’s been gone
a lot longer than she had indicated. If Odie is anything like his lower class
male counterparts, then every female is fair game. The government loves it that
way. I’m surprised they don’t give out awards, though “Male Whore of the Year”
and “Biggest Slut on the Planet” don’t have an appealing ring to them.

I spend an hour watching my screen for a
response that doesn’t arrive. I’m jittery as hell and as irritable as my mom on
a good day. Moping around here all day will do me no good. So, I deliberately
leave my D-pad on my bed and head to the training room, determined to put my
time to good use.

An hour later, I dash back to my room,
like a crack addict in desperate need of a fix. No flashing icon greets me and
I deflate. Flinging my D-pad back on my bed, I decide to do something totally
unnatural.

I head to the gym, hoping to expel some of
my repressed frustration.

Reminding myself to complain to Vin about
the choice of gym attire, I pull the tiny black shorts down lower over the
cheeks of my bum and adjust the lycra top that stops right under my bust. I
scan myself from all angles to ensure I’m not exposing any side-boob. Honestly,
I imagine I’d be wearing more if I were prepped for a day at the beach.

Gathering my courage, I push through the
double doors into the gym. Several pairs of eyes flit in my direction, and I
feel sick all over again. Hastily glancing around, I let out a low groan when I
realize I’m the only female in here. But I can’t chicken out now because that
would be an obvious show of weakness. So, I force one foot in front of the
other and ignore the heated stares I’m picking up from all corners.

Stopping in front of one of the less
technical looking machines, I drape my towel over the bar. I try to read the
instructions, but it might as well be in a foreign language. The longer I stand
here looking like a clueless idiot, the more I feel like one.

“Need some help?” a distinctly masculine
voice asks.

“Um, yes, please,” I reply, without
looking up.

I stand back as the man taps in a few
commands, and the machine judders to life. “You need to put one foot here,” he
says, pointing to the left paddle, “and your other foot there.” He taps the
right. “You can adjust the speed using these buttons.” He jabs the keypad at
the top of the machine.

“Great, thanks,” I mumble.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be over in the
corner if you need anything else.”

I raise my eyes and look at him, letting
out a shaky breath. This man is much older than I am, and his look is sincere.
He genuinely wanted to help me. “Thanks so much. I appreciate that.”

Hopping up on the paddles, I program the
machine at a low speed until I’ve found my rhythm. Once I’m in the swing of it,
I increase the tempo, and blood thunders through my veins. A thin layer of
sweat cloaks my skin, but I feel great, and each thrust erases my stress a
little at a time.

The guys are too into their workouts now
to pay more than fleeting attention to me, so I allow myself to fully relax.

I throw myself into the motion, enjoying
the burning ache in my legs and arms. I only ease off when a steady line of
sweat starts to drip into my eyes and my breathing becomes labored to the point
of discomfort.

Jumping off, I drop to the ground. I
remove a bottle of water from my bag and drink greedily. I’m preparing to leave
when the doors swing open and in walks trouble. With a capital T.

The boy stalking toward me is the physical
manifestation of the fictional Hulk. Every part of his body is chiseled to
perfection. Massive shoulders lead into muscle-bound arms that could snap me in
two without much effort. His strong square jaw is set in a smirk, as his
almond-shaped caramel-colored eyes latch on my tiny form on the ground. Raking
a large hand through his tousled blond hair, he is clearly making a beeline for
me. I squirm uncomfortably.

“Well, hell,” he says, stopping right
beside me, “What do we have here?” His eyes sweep the length of me, sending icy
chills all over my sweat-soaked body. I don’t like feeling so small underneath
him, so I haul myself up and straighten my spine. This guy’s size is intimidating,
but I mask my discomfort. Not an easy feat when there’s more than six foot of
solid muscle restricting my path.

“If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.”
I’m mortified that my speech rattles a little.

“I’m sure we can do better than that, cutie.”
He winks suggestively.

An inner advisor suggests I chill out and
stick around to enjoy his company, but I push that errant idea straight out of
my mind. Warning bells ding loud and clear. Not one to ignore my instincts, I
move to step around him, making my intent obvious. The Hulk steps sideways,
impeding me again, and I’m forced to look up at him.

His eyes narrow to pinpricks as he gives
me a full body scan, and my heart slams against my ribcage.

Some say the eyes are the door to the
soul, and if that’s true, then this guy’s soul is rotten to the core. His look
flips between lust and loathing, interest and disinterest, and both versions of
him are creeping me out.
Stay, have some fun
, my inner demon chants
again, and this time I punt the ugly meddler into oblivion.

I move to the other side, but he’s damned
fast, and he stops me with ease. Anger starts to battle with fear. “Can you
please move out of my way?” I force myself to eyeball him, projecting
confidence I don’t feel. Intense confusion registers on his face as he leans
toward me curiously. Suspecting I’ve caught him off guard, I dart to the other
side and race around him.

“Until next time, sweetheart,” he yells as
I duck out of the room.

My heart is pounding so hard I fear I’ve
internal bruising. Dropping down on my bed, my whole body shudders
uncontrollably as bottled terror makes a break for escape. That guy scared the
living hell out of me, and I don’t fully know why. The thoughts of being stuck
in here with him for another couple of weeks chill me to the bone.

Peeling off my damp workout gear, I drop
them to the floor and step into the shower. My mind churns unpleasantly as I
wash. My initial instinct is to talk to Vin about him. But what would I say? He
said a few somewhat suggestive things to me in a room full of witnesses, but so
what? None of what he said could be construed as menacing, and it’s difficult
to explain that the fear I felt radiated purely from the look in his eyes. How
can I convey that without coming off as if
I’m
the nut job?

I switch off the shower and wrap a towel
around my body. I’m still mulling it over when I reach my bed. Sitting back, I
snatch my digipad and flip up the screen. Another message awaits. Promptly forgetting
my previous anxiety, a whole new layer builds. I lose count of how long I sit
there staring at the screen like the big scaredy-cat that I am.

Eventually, I summon the courage to click
on the icon.

From: 
LChandler

To:
SOwens

Hi
Sadie,

I don’t
care about that. Where’s my photo? And you STILL haven’t told me anything about
yourself. Deets, please.

Later,
Logan.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Ohmigod, ohmigod,
ohmigod. He knows and he doesn’t care.

An urge to squeal and jump up and down
rides me hard but I quash it. Because that would be plain childish.
Nevertheless … this is momentous. He seems to like me, and he wants to get to
know me better. I think I’m on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

Over a boy I’ve only seen from a distance,
and thanks to a few words on a screen.

I might be totally swinging from the
cray-cray tree.

I think I’m already in love.

I toss that ludicrous statement from my
mind. As if. I barely know the dude.

My brain is a mess of jumbled emotion, and
I run around the room like a headless chicken. Forcing myself to calm down and
stop acting like a lovesick fool, I scramble a plan together. Dry my hair, wear
something presentable, take a selfie, and then start to compose my reply.

I get myself ready in record time. Pulling
the only dress I own out of my backpack, I attempt to smooth out the creases as
I pour myself into it. Mom had bought it for me two years ago to attend Dad’s
commemoration ceremony.

Once you reach thirty years’ service, the
government sets up this sham of a celebration, which you are forced to pay for
yourself. All they provide is a slap on the back and a certificate that isn’t
worth the paper it’s printed on. Yet, you have to at least appear grateful. And
on that day, initially, I actually was. It was the first and last time that Mom
had bought me a dress. It was from the secondhand store around the corner, but
I loved it as if it had been custom-made for me.

My fingers brush over the red chiffon
skirt, which now rests a couple of inches above my knees. I barely manage to
pull the zipper up. Now I’m struggling to breathe a bit, and the dress strains
across my bust. But pain is beauty, right?

I wish I had some makeup, but my lips are
a natural cherry-red color, and with the addition of a nervous blush, and my wide-eyed
stare, I figure there isn’t much more that makeup could do for me in this
moment anyway.

Inhaling deeply, I smile shyly and take
the picture. As it loads on the screen, I cringe at the sight of my clearly
excited face. That won’t do. Way too eager. Nuh-uh. I squeeze my lips tight
together and stare straight at the screen as I click the button again. This
time I look like I’m posing for a Penitentiary ID, and my picture screams “straitlaced
and boring.” That definitely won’t do. Aaggh. I bury my head in my pillow in
frustration.

This is so stupid. I’m so stupid. It’s
only a stupid picture, stupid.

Jerking my head up, I snap the picture
quickly before I have too much time to overanalyze it. It’s the most natural of
the bunch, and I decide that it’ll have to do.