Элли Конди - Matched

And I create a storm. The numbers fly into their spots like flakes driven by the wind.

Halfway through, the pattern we are looking for changes. The system tracks how soon we notice the changes and how quickly we adapt our sorts. You never know when a change will happen. Two minutes later, the pattern changes again, and once more I catch it on the very first line of numbers. I don't know how, but I always anticipate the shift in pattern before it happens.

When I sort, there is only time to think about what I see in front of me. So there in my little gray space, I don't think about Xander. I don't wish for the feel of the green dress against my skin or the taste of chocolate cake on my tongue. I don't think of my grandfather eating his last meal tomorrow night at the Final Banquet. I don't think of snow in June or other things that cannot be, yet somehow are. I don't picture the sun dazzling me or the moon cooling me or the maple tree in our yard turning gold, green, red. I will think of all of those things and more later. But not when I sort.

I sort and sort and sort until there is no data left for me. Everything is clear on my screen. I am the one who makes it go blank.

When I ride the air train back to Mapletree Borough, the cottonwood seeds are gone. I want to tell my mother about them, but when I get home she and my father and Bram have already left for their leisure hours. A message for me blinks on the port: We're sorry to have missed you, Cassia, it flashes. Have a good night.

A beep sounds in the kitchen; my meal has arrived. The foilware container slides through the food delivery slot. I pick it up quickly, in time to hear the sound of the nutrition vehicle trundling along its track behind the houses in the Borough.

My dinner steams as I open it up. We must have a new nutrition personnel director. Before, the food was always lukewarm when it arrived. Now it's piping hot. I eat in a hurry, burning my mouth a little, because I know what I want to do with this rare empty time in this almost-vacant house. I'm never really alone; the port hums in the background, keeping track, keeping watch. But that's all right. I need it for what I'm going to do. I want to look at the microcard without my parents or Bram glancing over my shoulder. I want to read more about Xander before I see him tonight.

When I insert the microcard, the humming takes on a more purposeful sound. The portscreen brightens and my heart beats faster in anticipation, even though I know Xander so well. What has the Society decided I should know about him, the person I'll spend most of my life with?

Do I know everything about him as I think I do, or is there something I've missed?

"Cassia Reyes, the Society is pleased to present you with your Match."

I smile as Xander's face appears on the portscreen immediately following the recorded message. It's a good picture of him. As always, his smile looks bright and real, his blue eyes kind. I study his face closely, pretending that I've never seen this picture before; that I have only had a glimpse of him once, last night at the Banquet. I study the planes of his face, the look of his lips. He is handsome. I'd never dared think that he might be my Match, of course, but now that it's happened I am interested. Intrigued. A little scared about how this might change our friendship, but mostly just happy.

I reach up to touch the words Courtship Guidelines on the screen but before I do Xander's face darkens and then disappears. The portscreen beeps and the voice says again, "Cassia Reyes, the Society is pleased to present you with your Match."

My heart stops, and I can't believe what I see. A face comes back into view on the port in front of me.

It is not Xander.

What?" Completely startled, I touch the screen and the face dissolves under my fingertips, pixelating into specks that look like dust. Words appear, but before I can read them the screen goes completely blank. Again.

"What's going on?" I say out loud.

The portscreen stays blank. I feel blank, too. This is a thousand times worse than the empty screen last night. I knew what it meant then. I have no idea what it means now. I've never heard of this happening.

I don't understand. The Society doesn't make mistakes.

But what else could this be? No one has two Matches.

"Cassia?" Xander calls to me through the door.

"I'm coming," I call out, tearing the microcard from the port and shoving it into my pocket. I take one deep breath, and then I open the door.

"So, I learned from your microcard that you like cycling," Xander says formally as I close the door behind me, making me laugh a little in spite of what just happened. I hate cycling the most out of all the exercise options, and he knows it. We argue about it all the time; I think it's stupid to go riding on something that doesn't move, spinning your wheels endlessly. He points out that I like to run on the tracker, which is almost the same thing. "It's different," I tell him, but I can't explain why.

"Did you spend all day staring at my face on the portscreen?" he asks. He's still joking, but suddenly I can't catch my breath. He viewed his microcard, too. Was my face the one he saw? It feels so strange to be hiding something, especially from Xander.

"Of course not," I say, trying to tease back. "It's Saturday, remember? I had work to do."

"I did, too, but that didn't stop me. I read all your stats and reviewed all the courtship guidelines."

He unknowingly throws me a lifeline with those words. I am not drowning in worry anymore. I am neck deep and it still washes over me in cold waves, but now I can breathe. Xander still thinks we are Matched. Nothing strange happened to him when he viewed his microcard. That's something, at least.

"You read all the guidelines?" "Of course. Didn't you?"

"Not yet." I feel stupid admitting this, but Xander laughs again.

"They're not very interesting," he says. "Except for one." He winks at me significantly.

"Oh?" I say, distracted. I see other youth our age mingling and gathering on our street, walking to the game center like us. They're waving, calling, wearing the same clothes we wear. But there's a difference tonight. Some are watching. Some are watched: me, and Xander.

The others' eyes glance at us, hold, flicker away, look back.

I'm not used to it. Xander and I are normal, healthy citizens, part of this group. Not outsiders.

But I feel separated now, as though a clear thin wall rises up distinctly between myself and those staring at me. We can see each other, but we can't cross over.

"Are you all right?" Xander asks.

Too late, I realize that I should have responded to Xander's comment and asked him which guideline he found interesting. If I can't pull myself together soon, he'll know something's wrong. We know each other too well.

Xander reaches for my elbow as we turn the corner and leave Mapletree Borough. When we've walked a few steps more, he slides his hand down my arm and interlaces his fingers with mine. He leans closer to my ear. "One of the guidelines said that we are allowed to express physical affection. If we want."

And I do want. Even with all the stress I feel, the touch of his hand against mine with nothing to separate us is still welcome and new. I'm surprised that Xander is so natural at this. And as we walk, I recognize the emotion that I see on some of the faces of the girls staring at us. It's jealousy, pure and simple. I relax a little, because I can understand why. None of us ever thought we could have golden, charismatic, clever Xander. We always knew he would be Matched with another girl in another City, another Province.