The Untouched (The Unseen #2) - Piper Sheldon Page 0,4

hide the dead plant in my arms from Mrs. D. She shoots me a quick frown.

I stare enviously at the massive patch of life in their front yard. I watch how Mr. Davies hugs his wife close so their hips move in tandem before Mrs. Davies twirls back out, crooning to her carrots. One day I will have a garden. I’m not naive enough to hope for the rest: the loving husband, the secure home in the same place for thirty-plus years. But a garden would be nice. I can hope for that much at least. And yet, despite my brain’s warnings, my heart still yearns for that closeness. I want someone to hold me at night and make my coffee in the morning. I want someone to share everything with.

And then I’m right back at the beginning. Getting close to people means touching them, a luxury I can’t afford.

“Your lease is just about up, right?” Mr. D asks me, shaking me from my thoughts. “Have you decided if El Lugar is the place for you?”

I smile at the old familiar joke. El Lugar is Spanish for “the place,” a pun that has been made at least twenty times a day by its residents.

I actually have six weeks before my next contract starts and have tentative plans to travel the country, maybe even see my best friend Angel (though I haven’t breeched the topic with her yet, and it would be a big step in our online friendship considering we haven’t even done a video call). I keep all this to myself. As I’ve always kept to myself.

“My contract ends this week, I’m afraid,” I say.

“We’ll miss you. You’re the best kind of neighbor,” he says and settles onto the porch swing.

Having absolutely no social life makes for a quiet neighbor. “I’ll miss the singing,” I say as I nod toward to Mrs. Davies belting it out. “You guys enjoy your date night.”

I wave goodbye to the Davies as I unlock the door and step into my house. I assure Ginger, my fish, that I’ll be feeding her soon before placing Ferngully on the shelf next to her sisters. The sight of pot after pot of lifeless plants grips me with guilt. If I can’t keep a plant alive, what hope do I have for a relationship?

A sharp pain lances my side. It’s not the physical ache caused by my illness but the emotional reminder that I’m destined to be alone.

Time to pack, little jewel.

3

Nathaniel

Who would have thought one simple email would be enough to transform this Monday from crappy to amazing in just a second? This is it. This is the chance my team needs. Hours of working overtime, missing Lincoln’s tournaments, missing life—it won’t all be for nothing. Or at least it will give my ragtag company, Shemesh-Tek, a fighting chance.

I mumble out loud as I reread the email sent from the contractor coordinator associated with the El Lugar labs. “Leaving this week … timing might work … catch her in Building 45 before end-of-day paperwork.”

This email got buried in the hundreds that I get every day. Thankfully, I just happened to catch it. I glance at my watch—

“Crap!” I yell as I shoot up from my desk. I lock my computer, grab my badge, and sprint out of the office, the door slamming behind me. I only have a few minutes to make it across the campus. El Lugar National Laboratory isn’t huge compared to some of the national labs across the country, but it is still a good half mile to the building containing my last hope.

I stop abruptly before crashing into a rolling trash can.

“Sorry, Jake!” I yell to the janitor as I spin around him and the obstacle.

“Watch out, Nathaniel, or you might lose a toe,” he teases.

I throw up my arms in apology but keep half-jogging in the direction I’m going. “We need to chat about that Dodgers game. We were robbed.”

He waves away my comment. “You’re lying to yourself, man. Slow down!”

“Robbed, I say!” I call over my shoulder as I keep jogging.

My long legs eat up ground as I try not to look too goofy sprinting down the narrow streets. The midday sun bakes the pavement and I force myself to a walk so I don’t arrive drenched in sweat. Also, this area of campus has a lot of bigwigs wandering from meeting to meeting in expensive suits. I can barely muster dress pants and a button-up shirt. I’m much more