The Girl Who Wasn't (15 page)

The fire inside me is already coiling,
building toward a crescendo. It’s so much faster this time, as if
my last release only served to leave me dangling at the
edge.

“
God, you feel amazing.”
Linc’s face is buried in my hair as he whispers, “I want you to
come for me.”

My legs shake and my arms tighten and
then I’m flying. He steals my scream with a kiss. My mouth moves
lazily over his. The tension in my muscles dissolves into a liquidy
pool of contentment.

Linc’s stroking doesn’t stop until my
legs have stilled and I manage to exhale. When our eyes meet, his
are soft and smiling. “Let’s take a break and maybe walk or
something.”

Reluctantly, I unwrap my legs from his
waist and he sets me on my feet. With a final, lingering kiss, he
laces his fingers through mine and leads me farther into the
grass.

“
This is beautiful,” I say
as we walk.

“
It beats the
city.”

“
You don’t like the
city?”

“
I don’t like the extremes,”
he says after a moment.

It’s not hard to guess what he means. I
decide to ask the question that’s been haunting me since I first
arrived. “The poor… why is it so bad when there’s so much money
being spent everywhere else?”

“
You don’t
remember?”

I shake my head, hoping it’s enough of
a reason for him to explain.

“
Fifteen years ago, there
was an attack on our country. It was the largest terrorist act on
record but it wasn’t just a single assault. The first wave was
digital. They took out our computer systems. Planted viruses,
hacked firewalls. Our stock market went first. Then the federal
reserve crashed. Systems were wiped, money vanished. Banks were
targeted next. People’s entire savings accounts erased.

“
The military went broke. It
went downhill pretty fast after that. No one took responsibility.
We suspected China—mainly because of the failed negotiations over
our debt, but no one really knew for sure. Still don’t.

“
The chaos of it brought us
to a civil war. The military took over the government for a while.
Then the private sector gained control. The ones rich and connected
enough to garner the public’s support. They made empty promises.
Spent money they’d never miss in all the right places. When the
dust settled, there were two clear-cut classes of people: very rich
and very poor. It’s been that way ever since.”

While he speaks, I imagine this world
before poverty struck. A world where everyone had money, houses,
shoes. I don’t understand much of what he’s saying about viruses
and firewalls, but I do understand one thing: despite a dark past,
the people I’ve seen in the alleyways could have a future, if only
people like Titus Rogen would give it to them.

“
And Titus—my
father?”

Linc shoots me another sideways glance
that lets me know I’ve broken character again. “He’s smart. Like,
genius smart. Had a degree in human biology and molecular science
when he was thirteen.” He shrugs. “While we were all busy fighting
each other, he was figuring out how to make people need him. He’s
built his company and his fortune around doing other people favors.
Whether he cashes them in or not, at this point, he’s
immovable.”

There is no small amount of bitterness
in Linc’s words. I wonder how much of the devastation he’s
experienced himself but I don’t ask. That story seems so much more
personal. I have no right to it—not when I’m unwilling to share any
truth of my own.

“
How long did the war last?”
I ask instead.

“
About five years, if you
believe the politicians. Not so much weapons and killing as taking
land, evictions, government seizing. The military used things like
eminent domain and repossessions to push people out. My father—he
was killed in a protest march.” His voice takes on an edge.
“Arrests were made, complaints were filed. My family got a
settlement check. New-age war is so very civilized.”

“
And your mother?” I ask
because I can’t help myself. The idea of family is so miraculous
and foreign to me.

“
She lives in a small
apartment on the edge of uptown. She cooks for a
congressman.”

“
But if your family got
money from the government, why does she work?”

“
Because even a sizable
settlement isn’t enough to compete with uptown. And if we can’t
afford that, the only place left is the outer rim and, well, you
saw the luxury available there.” His words twist with sarcasm but I
know it is not directed at me. I can only imagine what he’s been
through, and though my own upbringing has occurred more or less
inside the walls of a prison, I’ve wanted for nothing—or nothing
material, anyway.

We come to the edge of the wheat. There
is a wide lane of shallow grass before the woods encroach and take
over. I stop and stare into the trees, my back to the wheat and to
Linc. I am still thinking of his story, of a world where everyone
had enough, and I find myself wishing for a way to make it so
again. I am struck by the irony of our opposing pasts. I’ve been
raised lacking nothing in the way of meals and clothing and
physical comfort, but the way he looks when he speaks of his
family—I am positive I’ve never felt that sort of connection or
bond with anyone.

The closest I have is Lonnie and Ida.
And I know I would do anything for them. But I imagine having a
mother is a love that goes deeper than anything I’ve experienced
with them.

When I turn back, Linc is watching me
with a strange expression. “What is it?” I ask.

“
Your hair is almost exactly
the same color as the wheat.”

“
Ida used to say the same
thing.”

The words are out and it’s too late to
take them back. Already, his expression has changed from one of
earnest interest to one of baffled curiosity.

“
Who is Ida?” he
asks.

“
She is … someone I knew a
long time ago,” I say. I hope my vagueness will deter any more
questions.

He steps closer, depressing the tall
grass with his boots and knocking it aside to plant himself in
front of me. “You used to be a much better liar. Did the knock on
the head really affect you that much?”

I hear the demand in the question. I
know he is frustrated. I am too. But I hold my ground. “I guess
so,” I say with a shrug and what I hope is nonchalance.

He sighs, searching my face for
whatever different answer he was hoping for. “It’s like you’re a
different person,” he murmurs, the words an exact repeat of the
other day on the track.

Like before, my heart clenches inside
an invisible fist. For a terrifying second, I wonder if he’s
figured it out. But he still looks lost and disappointed, and I
know that he’s only speaking metaphorically. He has no idea it’s
possible, that his words could be literal.

“
I’m still me,” I say. I can
hear my voice strain to remain vague. “I guess the bump on the head
just made me want to live a little.” I’m referring to the
motorcycle. And him. But if he asks, I am prepared to say it’s the
motorcycle.

“
What about Daniel?” he
shoots back instead. His tone is nasty now. “You didn’t want to
live a little with him?”

“
There are other ways to
live besides hopping into bed with someone,” I say, suddenly
furious that he’s ruined this beautiful moment by accusing me of
such things.

He shakes his head. “That’s what I
mean. The old you wouldn’t have said that. The old you wouldn’t
have even thought it.”

“
How do you know me so
well?” I say, angry at his accusations. Angry because I cannot deny
them, not without giving myself away. “You said yourself that we
aren’t even friends. We don’t really talk. So how do you all of a
sudden know what I’m thinking?”

“
I’ve spent enough time in
the same room with you to witness how you choose to live. And none
of it involves motorcycle rides, or turning down offers from boys
with trust funds, or anything to do with me. You’re not deep enough
for these things. You’re surface. You’re Raven Rogen!”

“
What is that supposed to
mean?” I demand.

“
You know exactly what it
means. You’re Titus’s daughter. In every way. You care more about
the shoes on your feet than the people you step on with them. Me
included. So why are you paying attention to me now?”

We are yelling, but I don’t care.
There’s no one to hear and I hate that he’s brought me all the way
out here, confided in me, only to throw it all back in my face by
reminding me who I am. Who I’m supposed to be. I’m no longer
channeling Authentic Raven’s haughtiness. I’m channeling my own.
Even if it wasn’t me who did all of the things he said, it’s me
now. And I hate that I can’t explain the difference.

“
I have no idea why I’m
paying attention to you. You’re nothing more than a rented security
guard,” I snap at him.

He stills and I know I’ve hit a
nerve.

I shouldn’t have said it. I almost
don’t care because I’m angry and it felt good to unleash on
someone. But I do care. I don’t want to hurt him, but I
have.

He doesn’t speak, which only makes me
feel worse. After a moment, he strides past me and disappears into
the wheat and I am alone.

I stand there for a long time, muscles
tensed. I am sure that any moment now, I will hear the motorcycle’s
engine rev and he will speed off without me, stranding me in this
barren field. It is not lost on me that I have a real chance to
escape here. I could run in the opposite direction and not stop
until I reach the trees. I could find a way to remove my GPS. They
would never find me.

I would be free from Titus. Free from
the weight of Authentic Raven around my shoulders, in my head. My
words would be mine. My actions. My life.

And I would be alone.

No Ida. No Lonnie. No Linc.

It is the hardest decision I’ve ever
made when I turn and walk through the grass. I do not stop until I
emerge beside the motorcycle and the angry boy sitting on
it.

Chapter Nine

Titus isn’t at breakfast the following
morning. There’s the usual note about exercise and Gus stands
inconspicuously against the wall near the door while I eat my eggs.
Maria’s voice is the only sound as she asks me how I slept and if
everything tastes okay. She has warmed up to me since the day Titus
hit me, though she’s never spoken about the incident directly. I am
grateful to her for that.

My workout consists of the same routine
as before: tennis with Sofia—who, unlike her mother, has not warmed
up to me—then running the track followed by a shower and lunch.
Linc shadows me but he doesn’t speak. I am tempted to try and
smooth things over because I didn’t mean half of what I said in the
wheat field, but he doesn’t give me a chance with the distance he
keeps between us.

Two days pass. Titus leaves me alone. I
am not allowed to leave but neither am I forced into a public
appearance or party. I exercise. I eat. I play dress up to pass the
afternoons.

On Wednesday, when I step off the
track, Linc is there with a bottle of water. I take a swig and then
continue my cool-down walk. He fades back into the shadows of the
building and watches with folded arms.

Gus meets me at the door a few minutes
later. He has keys in his hand and he’s looking over my shoulder at
Linc as he speaks to me. “Mr. Rogen has decided you should attend
the event at Houten’s tonight,” he says.

Behind me, Linc mutters a
curse.

“
What event at Houten’s?” I
ask. Gus ignores me.

“
A stylist is already
waiting for you upstairs. Maria will meet you in your room after
lunch to help you change,” he continues. “Linc, you’re with me for
a security briefing, then you’re on protection detail with
Williams.”

“
Yes, sir,” Linc says. He
doesn’t sound happy.

Gus nods at the door guard and together
they disappear into the stairwell. Linc and I are alone in the
gym.

“
What event?” I ask
again.

“
There’s a charity dinner at
a place called Houten’s tonight. You were invited but I didn’t
think they’d actually send you.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because you always go to
these. Which means your attackers will be looking for you.” He runs
a hand through his hair and down his face in frustration. “Dammit,
they’re dangling you like bait. This is insane.”

“
Why is it insane? You’ve
already protected me more than once.”

“
Houten’s is … trickier.
More exits, more vulnerable points.”

I don’t know what to say to that. If
Linc is worried, I can’t help but worry too.

He exhales. “Come on, you better get
upstairs.”

“
Linc?” He turns from the
stairwell door. “I’m sorry for the things I said.” His shoulders
slump but he doesn’t respond. I can see he’s probably not going to.
“Please, can we go back to being … friends?” I’m unsure if that’s
what we were, but I call it that anyway and hope it’s not assuming
too much.