Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (19 page)

“
Yes.
”
Jeremy had meant to say
no.
He was trying with all his might to say
no
.
“
You were talking about your underwear drawer, and I couldn
’
t help picturing you in your underwear .
.
. then when you bent down to duck under a branch, I saw the top of your underwear .
.
. I really wish I could stop talking now.
”

She pointed to his hand.
“
It
’
s still on. That must be it. That thing must be like a truth serum, making you answer.
”

He rotated his wrist to switch off the cube. The glow of light died out.

“
You think that
’
s it?
”
he asked.

“
It must be. Turn it back on.
”

He hesitated.

“
Come on, don
’
t be like that,
”
she said.

He didn
’
t budge.

“
I
’
ll just ask you math problems,
”
she explained.
“
And you try to give wrong answers. If it
’
s really a truth device, you won
’
t be able to answer incorrectly.
”

Jeremy slowly nodded. This seemed innocent enough. He twisted the quoret, and it began to glow.

“
What
’
s three plus three?
”
she asked.

“
Six,
”
he said, without thinking.

“
Right, but now try to give a wrong answer.
”

Jeremy focused.
Five, five, five
, he repeated in his head.
“
Six,
”
he heard himself say aloud. He was flabbergasted. His mouth was deliberately disobeying him.

“
Are you really doing it?
”
Sara asked, on the verge of full-blown excitement.

“
Hold on, try it again,
”
Jeremy said.

She held up four fingers.
“
How many fingers am I holding up?
”

He focused even harder. He was going to will a wrong answer.

“
Come on, lie to me,
”
she prodded.

THHHHRRRREEEEEEE!!!!!
he thought to himself. He thought it so hard that his lungs began to hurt. And when his mouth opened,
“
Four!
”
What a thrilling experience. It was exhilarating to be unable to control your own voice.
“
This is unbelievable. Give me another one
—
something more complex.
”

“
Okay .
.
. Do you want to kiss me?
”
she asked.

Jeremy paused, suddenly unafraid. He switched the device off. He could be brave now.

“
Yes,
”
he said in a way he had never said anything before. Sara
’
s grin grew, and they both knew it was going to happen.

For Sara, it was going to be the first kiss she could remember. She guessed that she may have kissed a boy before, but she certainly had no memory of it.

As he leaned in, the world faded around the edges of her hair. He inhaled her. The air belonged to her. It held her warmth and her smell. And now it belonged to him as well. He closed his eyes as she made the final move to close the gap.

She pushed her lips against his and he pushed right back.

When Jeremy came up for air, what he saw was disappointment. She hadn
’
t had time to mask it. He wondered where he had gone wrong. Sara
’
s eyes quickly told him that he hadn
’
t .
.
. but they were lying.

As Sara watched him pull back, her mind raced to explain what had just happened.
Maybe he was just a boy
, she thought.
Maybe I was expecting a man. Maybe I was foolish to expect some magical moment. Maybe kissing isn
’
t anything more than touching lips with someone you like
.

She hoped they would give it another try. But he turned away.

“
I guess we should try the next one,
”
he said, looking at the wooden cube, looking at the sky, looking at the woods, looking anywhere but in her eyes.

He pushed the quoret back down into its compartment and pulled out another. He pointed it at the same rock
—
again, nothing. Sara watched him shift it around the field. It seemed to be doing nothing. Neither one of them thought twice about it when he shifted it in her direction. But when the end of the device crossed her path, she dropped like a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. After a momentary pause of panic, the quoret hit the ground and Jeremy dashed to her side, sliding a hand beneath her head.

Jeremy set a pot of water on the stove and turned on the burner. Fresh tea would be something good for her to have when she awoke. He was fairly confident she would wake, now. He hadn
’
t been so sure forty-five minutes ago. Several times he had been on the verge of dialing 9-1-1. But he didn
’
t want to make matters worse by getting the authorities involved
—
not if he didn
’
t have to. She had trusted him with her secret, and he wanted to keep it.

He walked to his bedroom to see her lying on his bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed, right where he had placed her. His arms were still numb from having carried her all the way back from the woods
—
he hadn
’
t felt a thing at the time, except a sense of urgency.

He moved in closer to get a better look. Her breathing was normal, and there was almost a smile on her face. She looked peaceful, and that peaceful look was what had kept him from dialing.
You don
’
t call an ambulance every time somebody passes out
. At least that
’
s what he kept telling himself.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her. She moaned, just as she had every other time he had tried to wake her. It was the moan of a sleepy person, not the moan of someone who needed an ambulance. He shook her harder, and she moaned longer, but wouldn
’
t open her eyes.

“
Sara, do you want to wake up? .
.
. Sara, wake up,
”
he coaxed her. Her smile seemed to widen, and she took a deep breath.
“
Sara, I
’
m making you some tea. Do you want some tea?
”
Still, her eyes didn
’
t open.

The teapot began to whistle, and Jeremy walked back to the kitchen to tend to it. His mother always kept a drawer full of assorted teas. She used them to accent any occasion.
Something good coming on television? We
’
ll have some tea to go with it. Bad day at school? A cup of tea will make you feel better. Trouble getting to sleep? How about some tea?
And the flavor was always crucial. Jeremy didn
’
t know which flavor would be right for a girl waking from a temporary coma caused by a top-secret ABC block
—
that was a new one in his book
—
but Almond Ginger Spice felt right. He set two mugs on the counter and fitted each with its own teabag
—
Mint for himself, unless she wanted to trade. As he poured the hot water over the teabags, he heard the greatest sound in the world coming from his bedroom.

“
Hello? .
.
. Jeremy?
”

He hurried back to the doorway to see Sara sitting up in bed. A relieved smile stretched across his face.

“
You all right?
”
he asked.

“
Yeah .
.
. what happened?
”

“
I think that last wooden thing knocked you out. I carried you back and put you on the bed. You seemed peaceful, so I didn
’
t .
.
. I didn
’
t call anybody. I checked your pulse, and it felt okay. And I made sure you were breathing.
”

She looked around to get her bearings. She saw a laundry hamper overflowing, a dresser cluttered with magazines, and trophies climbing the wall.

“
How long was I out?
”

He checked the clock next to the bed.
“
About three hours .
.
. maybe.
”

“
This is your bedroom?
”

“
Yeah.
”

She looked to her bare feet.

“
Yeah, I took your shoes off,
”
Jeremy explained.
“
They
’
re at the end of the bed. I hate falling asleep in shoes.
”

She took another look around
—
an Indianapolis Colts poster clung to the wall.
“
Are you a football fan?
”

“
Isn
’
t everyone?
”
he said.

“
I guess so.
”
She sat up and slid her feet down to the carpet.

“
Are you okay to walk?
”
He moved in to spot her.

She stretched her limbs and curled her back, like a cat waking from a long nap.
“
Yeah, I
’
m fine,
”
she said through a yawn.

He led her into the kitchen, where the tea was waiting. She slid into a chair at the kitchen table and held the tea to her nose, slowly breathing it in.

“
Is that cinnamon?
”
she guessed.

“
Almond Ginger Spice,
”
he said, as he stood at the counter, dipping his own teabag.

“
Did it go away?
”
she asked.

“
What?
”

“
Your erection.
”
She grinned behind her teacup.

Jeremy groaned with embarrassment.

“
Oh, come on,
”
she said.
“
You know that was funny.
”

Had she crossed a line? It had been an enormous invasion of privacy, having his thoughts broadcast against his will. Maybe it was unfair for her to poke fun at him. She was just beginning to work up an apology, when
—

“
Do you think someone is worried about you?
”
Jeremy asked.

“
You mean the Nathans?
”

“
No, I mean someone from before eight months ago.
”

Sara lowered her teacup and gave it some thought.
“
Yeah .
.
. it seems like there would be. Actually, there has to be, doesn
’
t there?
”

“
But isn
’
t it strange that there aren
’
t any fliers or news reports?
”
he said.
“
I mean there are usually big searches for missing kids. And you see the parents on television with hundreds of volunteers looking for them.
”

Sara began to wonder whether he was saying this to make her feel bad
—
to get back at her for the joke she had made. If he was, she figured it might be justified.
“
What
’
s your point?
”

Jeremy slid into the seat across from her.
“
It
’
s like your family and friends don
’
t know you
’
re missing. Like they
’
ve been fed some cover-up story.
”