bare feet. Dim light through an open window. And a grumpy, sleepy cat, meowing protests and caught up in blankets on the floor.
Get a grip.
I hit the stop button on the alarm. Force my breathing to slow – in, out, in, out – try to calm my pounding heart, but still my nerves scream.
Sebastian stares from the floor, fur bristling.
‘Do you still know me, cat?’ I whisper, reach a hand for him to sniff, then stroke his fur, as much to soothe myself as him. I pull the blankets back into order on the bed and he jumps up, eventually flops down, but keeps his eyes half open. Watching.
When I woke, I thought I was there. Half asleep I knew every detail. Makeshift shelters, tents. Damp and cold, wood smoke, the rustle of trees, predawn birds. Quiet voices. But the more awake I become, the more it is gone. Details fall away. A dream, or a real place?
My Levo says mid-happy at 5.8, yet my heart still beats fast. After what just happened my levels should have plummeted. I twist my Levo on my wrist, hard: nothing. It should at least cause pain. Slated criminals can’t do violence to self or others, not while a Levo keeps guard of every feeling. Not while it causes blackouts or death if the wearer gets too upset or angry. With what I did yesterday, I should be dead: zapped by the chip they put in my brain when I was Slated.
Echoes of last night’s nightmare fill my mind: I can never get away. He will always find me…
Nico! That is his name. He is not an insubstantial dream. He is real. Pale blue eyes gleam in my mind, eyes that can glint cold or hot in an instant. He’ll know what all this means. A living, breathing part of my past that has somehow appeared in this life: as my biology teacher, of all things. A strange transformation from…from…what? Slippery memory falls away. My fists clench in frustration. I’d had him there, clear, who and what he was; and then, nothing.
Nico will know. But should I ask? Whatever he was, or is now, one thing I do know: he is dangerous. Just thinking his name makes my stomach clench, both with fear, and with longing. To be close to him no matter the cost.
He will always find me.
A knock on the door. ‘Kyla, are you up? You’re going to be late for school.’
‘Your chariot, ladies,’ Jazz says and bows. He puts one foot up on the side of the car to yank the door open. I clamber into the back seat, Amy in the front. And though it has a feeling of ritual about it, every morning the same, it is so alien. A safe sameness that rankles.
I stare out the window on the way: farms. Stubbled fields. Cows and sheep stare, chewing and placid as we go past. Herded to school, not questioning the forces that channel us into our prescribed lives. What is the difference?
‘Kyla? Earth to Kyla.’
Amy has turned in her seat.
‘Sorry. Did you say something?’
‘I was just asking if you mind if I work after school? It’s four days a week, Monday to Thursday. Mum isn’t sure you should be alone so much. She said to talk to you about it.’
‘Truly, it’s fine. I don’t mind. When do you start?’
‘Tomorrow,’ she says, with a guilty look.
‘You already told them you could, didn’t you,’ I say.
‘Busted!’ Jazz says. ‘But what about me? What about spending time with me?’ And they pretend-argue the rest of the way.
The morning is a fog. Scanning my ID into each lesson, sitting down, pretending to listen. Trying to channel my face into attentive and eager to learn, so no one will have reason to focus any closer. Scanning out again. Lunch, alone: being ignored, as usual, by most of the other students who keep clear of Slateds. Though they mostly liked Ben, me, not so much. Especially now he has vanished.
Ben, where are you? His smile, the warm certain feel of his hand in mine, the way his eyes light up from inside. It all twists like a knife in my gut, the pain so real I have to wrap my arms tight around myself to try to hold it in.
Some part of me is aware that I can’t contain this much longer. It has to come out.
Not here. Not now.
Then, finally, it is time for biology. A queasy unease grows in my stomach on