Joshua McCune - Talker 25

The hint of a smirk plays on the sergeant’s lips.

I don’t understand his amusement until we enter the call center. The voices echo around me, but one stands out above all else. He’s the talker leading the weekly tally board with twenty dragons located.

26 .

James.

Igo through the motions of locating dragons, but can’t focus because I’m trying to convince myself it’s not James I hear. Lester chastises me often. Harsh words, a CENSIR jolt here and there. Makes little difference. It takes me three hours to contact my first dragon (who hangs up on me within seconds), another hour to get an old Red to reveal his location.

Numerous reprimands later, Major Alderson announces an end to the workday. It’s Tuesday, which means it’s the girls’ turn to leave the building first, but as we’re getting up, Major Alderson raises his hand.

“Twenty-Five, you will remain here until you hit the minimum daily standard. Your barracks will be on heat reduction until you are successful. The rest of the girls are dismissed.

“On a good note,” the major says as the girls file out, “Twenty-Six set a call center record with eighteen targets located in a single day. Weak links break chains . . . strong links hold them together. Twenty-Six, please stand.”

He’s in a cube at the front. I can’t see his face.

The major tosses him a bag of candy. “To further show our appreciation, I have decided to give all the boys tomorrow off, with provisional access to the rec center. You are dismissed.”

The boys rise. Cheerful murmurs percolate through the group as they form their exit line. I expect James to be crazed like Claire or scattered like Twenty-One, but when he comes into view, he appears no different from the farmboy I remember.

He doesn’t so much as glance my way as he passes.

Perhaps he didn’t recognize me. I’m skinnier than the last time we saw each other, and my hair is blond. I see him whisper something to a soldier. Then he turns around and stalks toward me.

He opens the bag of candy and tosses one at my feet.

“You fed me in the cage,” he says. “I don’t want to be in the debt of a glowheart. We square?”

I bite my lip, give him a curt nod.

“Good. And try to do better, Twenty-Five. Weak links break chains.”

That evening, when I finally return to the barracks, nobody’s watching Kissing Dragons . Nobody seems to mind the chill, either. They’re all too busy talking about him.

Lorena wraps me in a blanket hug. “Welcome back.”

Twenty-One tugs at me. “He’s your friend, right?”

I swallow. “No.”

“But I heard he gave you chocolate.”

“Go count your stash, Allie,” Lorena says.

Twenty-One sticks her tongue out. “Already done. I like him, yes, yes. He gave me some of his chocolate, too. Told me to keep up the good work. Can he come to our island?”

“You bet,” I whisper.

She points a finger gun at Evelyn. “We’ll have to kill her first, though.”

“That’s enough, Allie,” Lorena says.

Twenty-One sulks. “He gave her more than he gave me.”

I can’t help myself. “He did?”

“At dinner. He came over to our table. Said he wanted to share,” Lorena explains. She rolls her eyes. “‘With those who deserve it.’”

“So much for no fraternizing, huh? That’s good,” I say. “They deserve each other.”

Lorena shrugs. “Try not to think about it.”

“You figure out what you want to put next to the carousel?” Twenty-One asks.

Jesus. I force a smile. “Not yet. I will. Promise.”

“Yes, yes. Maybe something for Twenty-Six. Like a basketball court. He can play with the monkeys.”

He prefers soccer. Doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose.

“Wakey, wakey, everyone.”

I don’t know what day it is.

I hear the excited whispers as we dress. Sometimes his name slithers over, snakes its way into my ears.

I retreat to the bathroom and almost run into Evelyn, who’s soaping up her armpits, a stupid smile on her face. Not her fake, bullshit smile either. Well, not until she sees me.

On the bus, the whispers are louder, the smiles wider.

“Maybe we should do it,” Evelyn says.

Seven laughs. “You’re crazy.”

“James is fine.” She grins. “Mighty fine. Bet they’ve worked out the kinks.”

I’m tempted to encourage her lunacy. Twenty-One may be addled beyond repair, but she’s not an emotional zombie who feeds on dragons. Sure, he may be perfect for Georgetown needs, but once they no longer need him, Twenty-Six will shrivel away and there won’t be anything left.

I suddenly find it difficult to breathe.

Twenty-One squeezes my hand. “You okay, Twenty-Five?”

“I’m fine.” I don’t know why it hurts. I barely know him. Knew him.

Eyes down, I enter the cafeteria, get my food, quickstep it to the girls’ table. I sit in the far corner with Lorena and Twenty-One, try to ignore the laughter that comes from the other end.

I’m squashing peas into mash when I hear footsteps, then his voice. “Good morning, Sergeant.”

The table goes quiet. Boys aren’t allowed over here.

“Good morning, Twenty-Six,” Lester says. “Can I help you?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow Talker One to ask her about examination techniques.”

“Of course,” the sergeant says without hesitation.

I peek askance and see the whore rise. She looks like a dog ready to fetch a bone. He looks eager to throw it. I clench my fork. It snaps. Twenty-Six notices. “You want to join us, Glowheart? You could use some pointers.”

Evelyn’s scowl almost makes me take him up on it, but I shake my head and return to stabbing peas with my shard of fork.

My CENSIR shocks me. “Violent thoughts will not be tolerated, Twenty-Five,” Lester says.

“Bet he’s got a pecker the size of a thimble,” Lorena says. I almost choke on my milk laughing. She scoops up some of my mash and stuffs it into her mouth. “Think about it, all that chocolate he’s giving Evelyn is gonna make her fat and ugly.”

“One can hope.”

Twenty-One pouts. “How come he doesn’t want to make me fat? I’m a better talker than she is, yes, yes. The best.”

I ruffle her tangled hair. “Yes you are.”

“They’re always talking, always talking.” She leans over conspiratorially. “We need to get rid of them. Talker One, too, yes, yes.”

Lorena grins. “Maybe she’ll have a reconditioning accident.”

I glance toward Evelyn’s minions, who cluster together in excited conversation. “If she ended up like Claire, you think they’d take care of her?”

Lorena’s grin fades. “Claire used to be her best friend.”

“Really? How come you were the one taking care of her, then?”

“Somebody had to.”

“You’d take care of Evelyn, too,” I say, more statement than question.

She arches her eyebrows. “I don’t know. That’s a lot to ask.”

“She’s got toothpick arms,” I point out. “Wouldn’t hit you as hard as Claire.”

“Yeah, but she’s got that whiny-ass voice. And if she started screaming at the message board . . . have you ever heard her scream? Sounds like a dying whale.” She mock shudders.

The chatter from the other end of the table stops. I glance over to dare them to say anything, but it’s not our conversation that drew their attention. Twenty-Six and Evelyn are on their way back. Behind them, the boy talkers are clearing their table. I pretend to watch them, pretend that I don’t care, but my eyes keep returning to Twenty-Six and Evelyn. They look so damn happy.

I focus on my tray.