Before (The Sensitives) Read online

  She places her finger under my chin and lifts my head. Her deep brown eyes search my face as if daring me to look away. “You don’t like him that way, do you?” It’s not so much a question as a statement.

  I draw my brows together. Of course I like Beck. I like him more than I should – at least until after our binding. When he’s near me my heart races and I’ve been spending too much time lately imagining the press of his lips on mine.

  I open my mouth to tell this to Kyra, but my parched throat aches, and no words come out.

  Life without Beck is unimaginable.

  So why can’t I say it?

  2

  Except for Kyra and me, everyone stands in the entryway. While we wait for her, I watch my housemates. Nervousness runs through the group. Today’s tests determine our entire future: our jobs and who my housemates will be bound to after their birthdays. While I worry about a desirable job placement, my friends worry most about who they’ll be paired with.

  But I understand their nervousness—bindings can only be undone by death. There’s no way around it, so you better hope you like the State’s selection. Even if your mate dies, if you already have two children, the State won’t allow you to rebind. It’s part of our zero population growth policy.

  Anxiety builds in my chest as I realize that in three months, everything is going to change. We won’t be waking up here, to the smell of Bethina’s wonderful breakfast; we won’t be able to run down the hall to ask each other for help on homework; we won’t be together.

  It’s all coming to an end.

  “Deep thoughts?” Beck’s breath tickles my cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, briefly, enjoying the feel of him so close to me and wanting more.

  I’m such a hypocrite. I shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially when I tell Kyra not too. I shift away from him to maintain the appropriate amount of distance.

  “I was thinking about the bindings.”

  Beck clears his throat. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s soon, you know.”

  He nudges my shoulder in agreement and runs his hand over my arm. I shiver, despite being wrapped in layers of clothes and a heavy jacket.

  “Are you excited?” His voice is soft in my ear.

  “About what?”

  “Our binding.”

  My mind races ahead to three months in the future, when we’re bound, and he’s mine—forever. When I can finally tell him how I feel without worrying about breaking rules. My heart skips as I feel Beck press against me, my back into his front. And then my mind locks—the images vanish. There’s nothing there.

  His lips graze my cheek when I turn my head to look at him. Embarrassed, I twist away from him in what I hope isn’t a too-obvious movement. “No. Just bindings in general.”

  Around us, our housemates jostle each other while the stragglers finish slipping on their outdoor gear. We always walk as a group to school. That’s the rule. Even with security measures, you can’t be too safe with Sensitives roaming around.

  “Kyra!” someone calls out. “You coming or what?”

  But instead of Kyra, Bethina answers. “Can everyone go into the living room? There’s a delay request.”

  I dart my eyes around the room and frown. A delay? That’s unusual. The only other time that’s happened is when the last Head of State died in a Sensitive attack. Beck raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Did we miss the morning announcements?” My lip trembles slightly as I speak. I don’t remember seeing the school updates.

  Beck shakes his head. He understands what I’m asking. “I’m sure everything is fine. Bethina would have told you otherwise. Privately.”

  “Like when Kyra’s brother was killed?” I choke out and force my eyes shut. The memory of Kyra curled up in a ball, sobbing for days still breaks my heart. Her brother had been caught outside the secure zone by Sensitives. He didn’t have much of a chance.

  Beck’s arm cradles me to him. “Don’t let your mind run away from you, okay?” He guides me toward the living room. “Let’s hear what Bethina has to say.”

  But my mind can’t stop thinking of the worst scenario: Something has happened to Mother. Every morning, without fail, she delivers our daily address. I don’t think there was one today.

  From the stairs, the pounding of feet announces Kyra’s arrival. When she skids to a stop, she waves a slim, silver tablet at us. “Sorry, guys. I couldn’t find my book.”

  A groan rises from what’s left of our group. Kyra loses her book every morning.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, noticing half our housemates are absent.

  “The State has issued a delay,” Bethina responds. “Please go to the living room.”

  I’m lucky. Unlike other students who only see their parents six times a year, I see my mother every day. Well, see her on TV. I haven’t actually visited with my mother more than a handful of times in my life. Running the State requires most of her attention. But if something happened to her, an accident or another assassination attempt by those vile Sensitives…

  “Heya, stop it. She’s fine.” Beck disregards the rules and pulls me closer to him. Pressed against him, the trembles wracking my body are more obvious. “Take a deep breath, Birdie.”

  He’s right. No need to expect bad news. It could be anything.

  Except it wouldn’t be the first time Sensitives attacked a member of State—or my mother. And the attacks have become more frequent lately as the State continues to round up their leaders and put them on trial.

  “Why doesn’t the State just lock them all away? It would be safer,” I say. “Sequester them somewhere—maybe in the Midlands—far from the rest of us.”

  Beck stops and stares at me. “Not all of them have committed crimes, Lark. You know that. Besides, if the State locked them all away, who would do the menial jobs?”

  “All I know is they hate us. They want us dead.” I lean against the couch, holding my arms tight across my stomach, and wait. My breakfast threatens to make a return visit if I can’t keep myself together. I bend forward, folding over on myself, and feel Beck’s hands rubbing my back.

  “That’s just like them,” I hear Lina say. At first, I assume she’s talking about the Sensitives, but then she adds, “They can do whatever they want, while the rest of us get punished for so much as hugging.”

  “Stop it, Lina. Lark’s upset,” Ryker, one of Beck’s good friends, says to the blond girl next to him.

  She crosses her arms. “Right, I forgot. We can’t criticize Lark and Beck. Because they’re so special.” She adds emphasis to the last word. “They can do whatever they want.”

  I jerk my head up and narrow my eyes, prepared to answer her, but Beck stops me.

  “It’s not worth it.”

  I nod. I don’t have the energy anyway.

  Bethina paces in front of an empty wall. Deep lines form across her forehead and she taps her orange Singleton wristlet. A screen materializes on the wall. “I was told to have you all watch this.”

  We wait as the screen turns from black to static. Finally, an image appears—a pretty woman with clear blue eyes and pale blond hair pulled into a fashionable twist fills the screen. Mother. My stomach flips and settles. She’s fine. Beck was right. I was worried about nothing.

  “Good morning, students. We’re very sorry for the delay and for keeping you from your assessments.” Someone near the window snickers. “We received reports of unauthorized Sensitive activity in your area. Even though our security forces are confident all is well, please practice the utmost vigilance today. Do not hesitate to activate your wristlet if you sense danger.” Nervous chatter floats around the room as Mother smiles out from the screen. “You may resume your routine. May your day be peaceful and prosperous.”

  I train my eyes on the now black screen, waiting for the rest of the report—the listing of captured Sensitives, policy updates, travel advisories, something. But no. Mother doesn’t reappear and the screen fades a
way.

  Unsure what to do, my housemates and I give each other puzzled looks.

  “That’s it?” Maz asks.

  Bethina’s shoulders round forward, like a heavy weight presses between them, as she moves toward the living room doors. “It appears so.”

  “If there’s nothing to worry about, why tell us?” Beck asks.

  “The State always thinks of your safety first. They trust you to assess the risk appropriately.” She repeats the phrases she’s said to us so many times over the years. But instead of reassuring me, my insides knot together again.

  Something’s not right.

  3

  Snow whips over the long, clear barricade, sending flakes drifting down on us as we walk.

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget they’re on the other side. But not today.

  Before the Long Winter, magnificent trees covered this area. Now, instead of towering eucalyptus and acacia, only work crews dot the frozen landscape. Dozens of them—all wearing the bright red wristlets of Sensitives—labor just on the other side of the barricade, clearing city sidewalks and roads.

  With my eyes, I follow the line of the barricade across the wide, open expanse of the Presidio to the Bay. Other than the three guarded checkpoints, the barricade encircles us, keeping them out. Or, as Beck jokes, us in.

  I touch my wristlet, comforting myself. If one of them broke through the barricade, an alarm would sound. My wristlet would tell me. I have nothing to worry about.

  Ahead of me, my housemates trudge along our sidewalk, bracing themselves against the cold. I always linger at the back of the group, usually with Beck or Kyra. Sometimes Maz and Ryker join us, but not the other students. Kyra says that we intimidate them with our wit and stunning good looks, but I think they resent Beck and me. Or at least me. No one could dislike Beck if they tried.

  But today I’m alone. Kyra stomps ahead with Maz, probably plotting her next indiscretion, and Beck jogs alongside Lina and Ryker. I have no desire to join either of them.

  “I can’t wait until I’m out there, hunting down those evil monsters.” The words float back to me on the wind. That must be Emory. He tells anyone who will listen about his desired career choice: Sensitive Enforcer.

  It would be a good job for him. He’s strong and smart. And you need to be clever to outwit Sensitives.

  Icy wind brushes over my face and I pull my scarf up to my chin. With my teeth, I yank off a glove and fumble with numb fingers to turn up the sound on my wristlet. The music matches the swirling snow pattern—swaying and floating in rhythm as if conducting it. With each beat, the flakes skip to the side instead of falling downward. And when I turn, the snow follows my movements.

  At least, I think it moved with me.

  I swish my hand back and forth. The snow glides from side to side softly, as if being rocked. How...strange.

  The rational side of my brain says I should be concerned. We had a delay request because of Sensitive activity in the area and dancing snow isn’t normal. But the pretend feeling of control over something so powerful delights me. Besides, I’m inside the barricade, and I have my wristlet. And I’ve never heard “dancing snow” being in the realm of Sensitive abilities—it must be the wind.

  For fun, I open and close my fist quickly, and once again the floating snow changes. This time it’s a small pulsing, whirling cyclone.

  The rhythmic drumming of one song segues into the haunting melody of another. The cyclone sputters out and a familiar melancholy descends. I look up and watch my group pull further and further away from me. I wish everything could stay like this forever—the stillness, my school, the predictability. Lately, talk of graduation and our upcoming bindings consumes everyone.

  I’m excited about the future, but things are changing. I’ll never be able to get back this moment. Almost as if in response to my mood, the snow stops dancing and falls listlessly from the sky.

  “Heya, Birdie, you wanna hurry up a bit? If you haven’t noticed, it’s cold.” Beck waves his gloveless hands in front of me. “Daydreaming again?”

  I shake my head. “Did you see that? The snow?”

  “What? The snow devil?” His dimple deepens when he grins. “Yeah, it seemed like it was following you.”

  “It did, didn’t it?”

  He winks. “That’s my Birdie, master of the elements.” He scoops up a handful of snow with his bare hand and tosses it at me. I step to the side and the snow narrowly misses me.

  Beck blows on his cold, wet hand and makes puppy eyes at me. I consider giving him grief for throwing the snow at me, but instead, I reach for him. “Give me your hand, Mr. I-Crave-Heat.” I push our joined hands into my pocket. Despite his claim of being cold, his warmth radiates through my glove.

  He gives my hand a small squeeze and motions to my wristlet. “Can I share?”

  I hit a button, beaming the sound into his feed, and turn up the music. He sings a few lines of the refrain while performing some weird dance move. Beck drags me along after him. I laugh and shove him with my free hand. We stumble, tripping over each other’s feet, but Beck catches me before I fall.

  “Nutter,” I gasp between laughs.

  “You mean that wasn’t an elaborate excuse to get me to wrap my arms around you?” I know he’s joking, but heat flares across my face. Thank God I’m probably already rosy from the cold.

  “You are so bizarre sometimes,” I say as I right myself.

  He bows and then shoves his hand back into my pocket.

  Around us, the snow dances and sways again. We walk on a few more minutes, Beck leaning into me so that his hand stays connected to mine.

  When we were younger, I was taller, stronger and faster than him. I protected Beck from the older kids, the ones who picked on anyone smaller than them and, in exchange, he made me laugh. Now, standing here next to him, it’s hard to believe. He’s a good foot taller than me and no longer a scrawny kid—he’s all muscle.

  Beck may not need my protection anymore, but I still need him to make me laugh.

  The school appears in the distance when we round the next turn. It’s a stately old brick building with sweeping views of the barren hills and the sparkling bay. According to our history texts, a large bridge used to span the gap where the bay meets the ocean. But it’s been gone for at least fifty years after having fallen into disuse maybe seventy-five years prior, when private cars were outlawed by the State in an attempt to restore our society’s fragile ecosystem.

  “You know, Be–,”

  My wristlet chirps.

  My wristlet chirped.

  Beck’s eyes meet mine and I know he heard it too. His head whips around, surveying the empty landscape around us. In the distance, our classmates appear as nothing more than dots bouncing through the snow. They’re too far away. Too far. Why didn’t Beck and I keep up?

  A woman’s voice breaks over the music feed. “Lark, take shelter immediately.”

  This is not a drill. A Sensitive is near.

  Beck, having heard the same message, pulls me after him. I move my head wildly, trying to find a place, somewhere to conceal ourselves, but we’re surrounded by miles of white.

  And possibly Sensitives.

  We bolt toward the school, my feet slipping as we go, slowing us down. Why did I wear such impractical shoes?

  The woman’s voice repeats her message. “Take shelter immediately.”

  Somehow, over my heartbeat, I hear a faint rustling sound behind us.

  My feet no longer touch the ground. I’m laying face down in the snow, Beck’s body completely over mine. I can’t breathe.

  I struggle under him, fighting my way up. He pushes me down and whispers, “Do not move. They’re coming this way.”

  The crunch of snow. Steady walking toward Beck and I. His arm tightens around me and his tense body coils, prepared to fight if necessary.

  He can’t fight them. We’re not trained. Our best chance is hiding and praying they don’t see us.

  “Come o
ut, come out wherever you are. We know you’re here,” a man’s voice sing-songs.

  I fumble with my wristlet, trying to find the alarm feature with my frozen fingers.

  Why aren’t the school security alarms sounding?

  Beck’s fingers wrap around my wristlet. At first, I think he’s going to sound the alarm button, but he does nothing. His rapid breathing fills my ears.

  “Come now. This is no way to play.” The man’s voice is so clear, he must be on the other side of the small hill Beck and I have hidden behind.

  “Our footprints,” Beck mumbles. “He sees our footprints.”

  My body shakes, not from cold, but fear. If he catches us…I press my eyes shut and swallow my scream. Around us, the snow whirls, frantic like the beat of my heart.

  Suddenly, I no longer feel the pressure of Beck against my back. He stands on top of the hill, fully exposed.

  “What are you doing?” I cry.

  Beck keeps his attention focused on what he sees before him.

  “Looking for me?” he asks. He sounds calm—not like he’s facing down our greatest threat.

  Why would they be looking for him?

  My feet slip as I climb the slight incline and I use my hands to steady myself. When I reach the top, Beck positions himself between me and the dozen Sensitives standing below us. My eyes instinctively flit to their wrists—all bare. The State hasn’t caught them yet.

  Beck reaches behind himself to hold my hand tightly, as if trying to absorb my trembling.

  To my surprise, the ragged group doesn’t attack. They watch Beck and I with confusion, their eyes darting between the two of us and our enjoined hands.

  From the back of the group, a disheveled woman steps forward. She lifts her arm, points at us—me. She’s pointing at me.

  “I know who you are.” Her crazy eyes gleam. “I know.”

  A silent scream lodges in my throat. Of course she does. I’m Malin Greene’s daughter; the direct female descendant of Caitlyn Greene, one of the Founders of the State and the reason Sensitives are hunted.