Courtney Summers - Defy the Dark

I’m not sure. He insinuated it was for me. Is he expecting it for free? I’m not allowed to do that. “Four credits,” I whisper.

We’re not a strictly socialistic society. Yes, the government provides for our needs—and then some. And no, we don’t get paid for our jobs. But there are numerous ways to earn individual credits that you can spend on anything you want. All of them involve going above and beyond your everyday requirements.

I’m not sure I want to know what Jeremy did that was considered “above and beyond.”

He hands me his card and I run it through my scanner, deducting the four credits. It doesn’t tell me what the remaining balance is. I’m dying to know and I’m not even sure why.

The box sits there like a flashing light between us.

“Meet me tonight?” Jeremy asks, and for a few seconds he doesn’t look at me. When he does, I almost take a step back.

He wants this.

So much.

Not me . This . Wants me to meet him.

I’m not sure I should do something Jeremy wants so badly.

He must see the hesitation in my face. He leans forward, so close I imagine I can feel his breath on my face. “I heard you hoped to be a Nurture. That you almost were.”

I say nothing but can feel the blood draining from my face.

“Meet me?” he asks again, his voice full of pressure. Temptation. “That same room. I’ll make sure it’s free.”

The world stops. There is only me. There is only him. There is only now.

“Yes,” I breathe.

Sound returns, the world presses PLAY. Did I win?

Jeremy wants to smile, to grin. Maybe to laugh. I can tell. But he simply reaches out and slides the box off the counter.

“I’ll see you at nine,” he says without looking back.

He is gone for at least a minute before I pull my aching fingers away from the smudged glass.

Idon’t know what to expect. Have I read him completely wrong? Did he say that Nurture thing just to get me to come? Bait to draw me in only to seduce me the way he probably has a dozen others?

But . . .

I can always leave if I don’t like what I hear.

See.

With that thought running over and over in my mind, I step away from my assigned cubby—one with a lock only I have the key to (right to privacy)—without looking at the full-length mirror affixed to the door.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I put one foot in front of the other, traversing the long, romantically lit hall. Everything in this godforsaken building is romantic.

I pause in front of the last door, the door to the room where my snickerdoodles and I humiliated ourselves in front of Jeremy two weeks ago.

As opposed to the bakery, of course, where my bread dough and I humiliated ourselves just this afternoon. The lock says OCCUPIED, the red words shining out at me like a searchlight.

Knock?

Walk away?

He said he would make sure this room was available.

I lift my hand and stand like that for a long time, my fist shaking as my courage threatens to fail me. I don’t so much knock as let my hand fall in such a way that my knuckles hit the door.

Whatever happens next is gravity’s fault.

The sound seems to echo and I wonder if anyone is in there at all. Maybe the lock is just jammed. It would be my luck.

The door opens.

It’s Jeremy, and he lets out a breath at the same time as I do. We are a mirror—the fear, the anxiety. It’s strange to see it on Jeremy’s face, Jeremy who’s always so confident. Cocky, even.

Which one is the act? I wish I knew.

His eyes scan the hallway. “Come in,” he says, stretching to let me duck under his arm, the door inches from my back as he almost sweeps me into the room with it.

He turns the lock back to OCCUPIED with a sound like the fall of a headsman’s ax. It’s too late to change my mind. Not too late to run away, but now it will be running away, not standing him up.

Jeremy attempts a smile, but it looks awkward. He reaches down and brings out a white box from under a pillow on the bed. A bed that seems to have grown threefold and is the only thing I can look at.

“For you,” he says, handing me the white box with the red ribbon. “I’m sorry it’s not a surprise.”

I shrug with one shoulder as I take the box. “If it was a surprise, I probably wouldn’t have gotten my favorite.” I’m being nice to him now. Did I do that on purpose?

He stands with his fists on his hips, looking at my feet long enough that I start to squirm.

“My score was 107,” he whispers. “But my chest is forty-eight inches.”

I say nothing, but my hands start to tremble. I study him. His body. He’s tall—at least six five. A paragon of virility. No wonder they want him to make strong, healthy babies. His chest is particularly wide, I realize. It tapers to a narrow waist slung with jeans that are tight and loose in all the right places. He’s everything any female could want. A perfect Nature.

“I don’t want to be here,” he says as though reading my thoughts.

“But—”

“I know what it looks like,” he interrupts, and there’s a hint of that bubbling anger. I understand now; it’s not directed at me. “It’s how I hide. In plain sight, you know?” He forces a short bark of a laugh and then is silent again.

He walks over to the bed and reaches for the blanket and I get ready to bolt. He throws back the covers to reveal . . .

Textbooks?

I look at him, questions in my eyes.

“I study,” he answers. “Every night. It’s not technically against the rules. I—I have a friend who is a Nurture who gives me—anyway . . .” He waves at the books and stops rambling.

I look over at the books and my hands ache to go stroke their shiny covers. I didn’t realize until now how much I miss my classes—crave them.

I don’t belong here.

Apparently, neither does Jeremy.

“I hide them up in the box spring,” he says, dropping to his knees and pointing to the hammock-like shelf he’s rigged there. “They vacuum under here, but no one ever really looks.” He peers up at me and appears strangely small on the floor before me. “They’re always here. You can come study anytime you want. But . . .” He hesitates and the fear is back in his eyes. How does he mask it all the rest of the time? I’ve never seen even a hint before. “What I’d really like is if you come study with . . . with me.”

He’s looking down at the ground, and I stand wordless until he looks up and meets my eyes again.

It takes a long time.

“Why me?” I whisper.

“I—I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t been interested in anyone—anyone—since I had to come here. I haven’t . . . I never . . . never more than just what people see,” he finishes, and I’m grateful he’s looking elsewhere again when my face burns red.

“But you—after that night. You made me want something again. Not just, you know, but company. Friendship, Kylie.” He’s looking at me again; he wants me to know that he’s telling the truth. As if I couldn’t already tell with his transparent swimming-pool eyes that can’t hide anything.

Not from me. How did I not see that before?

“When I came here, it was like I died inside. And these last couple weeks, watching you— learning you—it’s like I might be alive again someday. Maybe.”

His eyes plead with me to say something. Anything. Even rejection.

I don’t know what to say. He’s laid out all the feelings in my heart and they resonate within me like a violin string.

Then a sinking feeling comes over me. “This is how they do it, isn’t it?” I choke.

“Do what?” Jeremy asks.

“Keep us happy,” I whisper, admitting to myself that for the first time since I saw the measurement of my hips, I am happy. “Someone for everyone. Even us.”