Saven Deception (8 page)

I change into jeans and a white tee.
Sitting back down on the bed, I try to structure my thoughts. I reread Logan’s
original mail and try to follow his lead. I purposely choose to ignore the
subject of our status divide. He made his point clearly, and as far as I’m
concerned that’s shelved. For now.

From: 
SOwen

To:
LChandler

Hi
Logan,

Picture
enclosed. However, I wouldn’t get smug, I can’t promise to yield so easily to
any future demands.

I’m
seventeen, and I work on the assembly line in the Medi-Tech factory in New
York, making parts for medical devices. I love sunsets and sunrises, my own
company, books, cappuccino, and the sea (or at least I imagine I’d love it. I’ve
never been close enough to know.) My favorite color is pink, though I’m not a
real girly-girl. I’ve a closet tarot card obsession which I’m trusting you will
take to your grave.

Considering
I have borderline (undiagnosed) claustrophobia, I’m not enthused about the
confinement here, but I can’t wait to get to Thalassic City and I’m super
excited for the next six months.

What
about you? Oh, and who’s Will Smith?

Best,
Sadie.

I spend the best part of two hours writing and re-writing
it, and I’m still not entirely satisfied. However, I remind myself of the
promise I made at the outset.

I choose to be me.

So, though I worry that it’s a bit geeky,
and maybe I come across as trying too hard, I have to stay true to myself.
Bravely, I hit the send button and prep myself for the next stage of this
self-induced anxiety trip.

***

Neve pops her head into the library a couple of hours later
to ask if I want to have dinner with her. My stomach grumbles at that exact
moment and we both laugh.

“And there’s your answer!” I joke.

Walking into the kitchen, I nearly do an about-face.
Jenna is standing in line at the counter, laughing hilariously at something The
Hulk has said. How is it that I’ve met this creepy guy twice in one day? Potent
unease slithers through me. Neve and I join the line at the end, and I try to
telepathically communicate a silent message to Jenna.

Considering I’ve never demonstrated an
ounce of telepathic ability before, the chance of success is slim to zero. When
that clearly fails, I try sending dagger looks at the back of her head, hoping
she might pick up on the hostile vibes swarming around her. But that tactic is
a miserable failure, too.

“You’re going to draw blood,” Neve says.

“What?” I stare at her in confusion.

“Your lip.” She gestures toward my mouth.
“If you keep biting, you’ll rip the skin.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t realized I was gnawing on
it. It’s a bad habit I unconsciously adopt anytime I feel anxious.

“What’s wrong? Did you and Jenna have a
fight?”

She’s way too perceptive. “Nope. I don’t
have an issue with her. Do you know that guy she’s talking to?”

“No.” She doesn’t even look in his
direction. She pins me with a bizarre look. “What’s the problem exactly?”

“It’s hard to explain. I ran into him at
the gym earlier, and he gave me the creeps. I don’t think he’s a good guy.”

She stares at me as if I’ve confessed to
seeing ghosts or admitted to an alien encounter. I’m struggling to contemplate
the look, and the reason for it, when she bends down and whispers, “I agree.
You should stay away from him.”

“Don’t worry, I intend to. And I’m damn
well going to ensure that Jen does the same.”

As I survey her body language, I’m
wondering how on earth I’m going to achieve that. Jenna is curled against him
and it’s borderline obscene. As I watch, he runs his hand seductively up and
down her arm, and I practically hurl on the spot.

A tall figure stalks forward, and Odie
winds his arm possessively around Jenna’s waist. Oh, oh, I sniff a fight.

I step forward but Neve sets a cautionary
hand on my arm. “Don’t get involved.”

From my location, I’m perfectly positioned
to watch as Odie’s facial expression switches from dark to light, his flare of
anger evaporating as quickly as it appeared. He smiles at The Hulk and walks
back to his seat, without so much as a further glance in Jenna’s direction.

“What the hell happened there?”

My sense of unease has magnified
one-thousand fold. At that precise moment, Jenna looks down the line at me,
similar confusion reflected on her features. Without pausing to think about it,
I duck around Neve and move to Jenna’s side. “Go sit with Odie,” I hiss. “I’ll
bring you a tray.”

Jenna starts to move and then falters.

“Go!” I shove her forward as Odie rises to
meet her halfway.

“Eliminating the competition? I like your
style,” an amused voice says low to my ear.

I swallow nervously and twist around. The
Hulk’s penetrating eyes glisten with devilment and undisguised interest.

“What? No! Ugh.” I fail to hide my
disgust.

“Admit it. You want this”—he gestures
toward himself—“all to yourself.”

He takes a step toward me, and I shiver
under my clothes. Unsettled, I stumble backward into the line and fall,
kick-starting a comical chain of tumbling, which ends with the entire line
behind me spread-eagled on the ground. He roars with laughter, his sultry tone
bouncing off the walls. Extreme mortification mixes with passionate loathing
inside me.

Neve extends a hand to help me up. “I’ve
got you.” She glares at The Hulk, and they trade dark looks before he stomps
out of the kitchen.

I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d
been holding. “You know him?”

“No.” She is emphatic. “I already
explained that.”

Nothing in her face indicates a lie, but
my instinct is sending razor sharp fissures of warning in all directions. For
now, I decide to let the subject drop.

Thankfully, the rest of dinner passes by
uneventfully. There’s no opportunity to talk to Jenna about what happened. Odie
has plastered himself to her side, and I can’t get her alone. Neve is
uncharacteristically quiet, not that I’m one to criticize her for that.

Making my excuses, I head back to my dorm
alone and switch on my digipad, hoping there’s a message from Logan. The screen
pings and I smile like a goober.

From: 
LChandler

To:
SOwen

Hi
Sadie,

Wow.
You’re even prettier up close. I wish we were in the same unit so I could meet
you in person. I guess we’ll have plenty of time for that once we hit Thalassic
City, or am I being too presumptuous?

I can’t
believe you’ve never seen the ocean! That’s tragic. How ironic that once we’ll
be in Thalassic City, you’ll be surrounded by the sea, yet it’ll still be
beyond your reach.

I love
your honesty, it’s endearing, though I hate to say it, but I predict plenty of
yielding in your future (Or perhaps I’m being presumptuous again?!)

What
books do you like to read? And what’s this tarot card obsession?

So,
Will Smith. Yeah, okay, it’s a weird fetish but I’m addicted to old movies,
especially sci-fi ones, and Will has acted in some awesome films—Men In Black,
Independence Day, Hancock, After Earth… Honestly, you haven’t lived if you
haven’t watched a Will Smith movie. Just saying …

Bring
your D-pad tonight so we can live chat.

Later,
Logan.
 

I’m hyperventilating and full of nervous anticipation. I
can’t believe this is happening because stuff like this doesn’t happen to me.
He doesn’t think I’m a dork. He thinks I’m pretty—gah!—and he wants to meet me
when we’re in Thalassic City—coronary right there—and he was blatantly flirting
with me. Me!

My head flops back on the pillow as my
mind conjures up all sorts of images of Logan and me, and I let my thoughts
wander into dangerous, unchartered territory. I imagine scorching hot days at
the beach, messing about in the water, and our sand-coated skin as we roll
around, legs, arms, and mouths entangled in desperate need for one another.
Powerful longing whips my body and mind into a wild frenzy, and a yawning ache
wraps around my heart, yearning to transform imagination into reality.

Reality check
,
my cruel inner-taunter crows, and my happy bubble wobbles perilously. After
years of denying myself any suggestion of romantic relationships, it’s hard to
fully believe in my dream. Or to understand whether it’s the
notion
of a
loving relationship that’s driving my bizarre yearning for a boy who’s a
virtual stranger or the emotions I feel are genuinely for him.

It’s not that it’s inconceivable.

My parents met and fell in love
straightaway, or so I’ve been told. Mom never shared the story with me
directly, but my sister, Ella, used to enthrall me with romantic stories of
their courtship at bedtime. Apparently, they were engaged within three weeks
and married in less than a year.

It’s what every girl dreams about—that
all-encompassing type of love that sucks you in instantly, a love that
surpasses your wildest imagination, where everything begins and ends with him.
I sigh.

Of course, those were different times,
before the ban, when people were free to marry and have children, irrespective
of social status. I wish I could say my parents love had lasted, but that would
be a lie. Years of suffering and pain, and lack of money and hope, has ripped
their epic love apart and taken its toll on their marriage. By the time I was
of school age, their love was nothing but a distant memory. I can’t ever recall
any knowing looks, any sneaky caresses, or any stolen kisses.

For the first time in forever, I feel
sympathy for Mom.

Surely, there can be nothing worse than
losing a precious love that’s so rare few ever truly experience it.

I wake up with a jolt. I’m lying fully clothed on the
outside of my comforter. All around me, the sounds of heavy breathing and
gentle snoring alert me that it’s late. Oh my God! I never messaged Logan back!

I silently curse when I spot the time.
It’s 3:55 a.m. on the button. Grabbing my D-pad, I tiptoe out of the room and
run quietly to the library.

The door closes softly behind me, and I
walk toward the window as a mad swarm of butterflies flutter to life in my
chest. You’d swear this was an actual date. Virtual or not, the sensations
flooding my body are as real as if it
was
a proper date.

I’m beyond panicked. I’m terrified.

Logan is already there sprawled casually
on the window seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a D-pad
suspended on his lap. He waves and I return the gesture. A giddy laugh escapes
my lips, and I’m glad this isn’t a real date because I’m certain I’d only
embarrass myself.

Logan flips open his digipad and gestures
for me to do the same. I log into the live chat room using the private link
he’s supplied.

LC: You didn’t reply! I
assumed you’d stood me up.

SO: I fell asleep. Sorry! All
the nighttime disruption is catching up to me.

LC: That’s totally my fault,
isn’t it?

He looks up from his screen and stares at
me. The cord extends and strengthens, and I marvel at our ability to form such
a forceful connection despite the things that separate us. He types without
losing eye contact with me.

LC: Do you want to switch to
video chat?

My blood pressure accelerates so fast I half-expect
some warning siren to emit from the medical chip on my wrist. A customary knot
of tension rips through my gut. My hair falls forward into my face as I type.

SO: Definitely not!!

LC: Why?

Sensing his penetrating gaze across the
divide, I ignore the near-compulsive urge to stare back. Desperately grappling
for a witty comeback that will get me out of this, nothing springs to mind, so
I reply truthfully.

SO: I’m not good with the
spoken word.

LC: ???

I pause, unsure how much of myself I’m
willing to share.

I look out the window across the divide.
Raising his hand to his mouth, he blows me a kiss.

Be still my heart.

I lift my hand and curl my fingers around
as if I’ve captured his kiss.

Here goes nothing.

SO: I’ve spent years purposely
sealing my mouth. It’s a hard habit to break.

I give him the once over. Gracing me with
a dazzling smile that would melt the hardest of hearts, he stares straight into
my eyes with jaw-dropping intensity.

I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

This can’t be real. Although I tell myself
that, there’s nothing about this moment that feels fake.

My digipad pings. I didn’t even notice his
fingers flying over the keypad.

LC: I want to kiss you for
real.

I very nearly drop the D-pad on the
ground. My heart is banging frantically around my chest, craving an outlet. I
think I’m having a coronary. Honestly, I do. Logan’s eyes dance vibrantly, and
he gestures with his hands. He wants to know my response. Drawing a long, deep,
brave breath, I type with quivering fingers.

SO: I want you to kiss me for
real, too.

Ping, I send it away before I chicken out.

LC: Ugh, why can’t I be there
with you right now?!

SO: I’m kinda glad you’re not.

LC: What?! Why?!

SO: I just scrambled out of
bed and I’m a mess.

Truthfully? I’m not scrounging for
compliments. I’m being honest, because I’m sure I’m rocking a messy bedhead sleepy-eyed
look right about now that does nothing to increase my chances with the hottie
across the way.

LC: You do not!! You look beautiful.

My insides melt into a gooey pile of mushy
lovey-doveyness.

In that moment, I know I’m done.

I’m a goner. Hook, line, and sinker.

Logan’s already captured my heart and we
haven’t even spoken face to face.

Give that boy an award.

LC: Say something!

SO: I think I’ve lost the
ability to form a coherent thought.

LC: Is that a bad thing?

SO: Yes and no.

LC: I’m confused. Most girls
love to be told they’re beautiful. I’ve certainly never heard any complaints.

I come crashing back to reality with a
bang. Tears prick the back of my eyes at the sudden acknowledgement that I’m
being played. I slam my palm into my forehead and criticize myself for being
such a gullible fool.
Of course, he didn’t mean it, you idiot. You only need
to look in the mirror to verify that.

A caustic pain fragments my heart, and the
desire to flee consumes me. Ignoring the almost-physical ache to look at him, I
cradle my D-pad to my chest and dash from the room.

There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep, so I
sneak to the living room and curl up on one of the couches.

Several shrill beeps emanate from my D-pad
in quick succession, but I ignore him. Burying my head in a cushion, I stifle
my cries. I refuse to cry over a boy. I’m better than this, and I know all too well
how to harden my heart.

I don’t know why I’m so upset. I
should
know better. Guys like him have all the lines down pat. He knew the right words
to say, the right buttons to push. I’m a gullible fool to have fallen for such
a well-orchestrated trap.

And isn’t this what Mom has told me time
and time again? That I’m nothing special, a total freak, and more than a little
foolish. Perhaps moms do know best.

Sometime later, the tread of quiet
footsteps approach, and I wish I possessed the power to disappear.

“Sadie?” Vin asks softly. “Are you okay?”

Oh, God. Why does he have to be awake at
the butt crack of dawn? Hauling myself into a seated position, I gather my
knees into my chest. “Don’t mind me. I’m okay. Just feeling a little sorry for
myself.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He perches
on the edge of the couch. Compassion wafts from him in waves.

“I … not really.” I send an apologetic
smile his way.

“This whole experience is overwhelming.
It’s completely normal to feel out of your depth.” Cautiously, he places his
hand gently on my arm.

“It is?” While that’s not the reason for
my current melancholy, what harm to let him believe so?

“Sure.” He pats my arm. “You’re young.
It’s bound to be difficult to manage so far away from the things you know and
love. It’s perfectly normal to miss your life.”

“Except I don’t.” The words slip out
without thinking, and I wish I could reclaim them. He waits patiently for me to
resume. Oh, crap.

Then I do something most unexpected. I
open up and let him in.

“I hate my life,” I admit quietly. Peeping
at him, I anticipate disgust, shock, or anger, but there’s only empathy, and
that encourages me to continue. “I’ve been invisible my entire life and I’m
sick of it. I wanted this, Vin”—I wave my hands around—“so badly. Because I
need a fresh start. I desperately need to find out if there’s something else
out there for me, because I cannot go back to the life I left. I hate my job,
and the idea of working for the next sixty years and being forced to live
without love—” I momentarily falter as Logan’s image swims in front of my eyes
and a fresh dart of pain flogs me. Perhaps he
was
just the physical
manifestation of all that I crave from life and that’s why I feel such crushing
devastation now.

Because this feels like more than a boy
toying with my emotions.

It’s like all my dreams have come crashing
down around me, and I realize how little I control my future, irrespective of
what this opportunity might throw my way.

I’ve never been in control, and nothing
about that has changed.

The enormity of my light-bulb moment hits
me with full force, and I’m instantly aggrieved.

I sigh. “I’ve pinned all my hopes on
Thalassic City, but it’s only now I realize that it’s not going to be the
saving grace I hoped it would be. It’s like my mom said, ‘I’ll be back to my nonexistent
existence before I know it.’”

Numbly, I stare at him. The whole time
he’s rubbing my arm soothingly, and it’s amazingly comforting. He’s the human
equivalent of a large, fluffy blanket, and I wish I could wrap myself around
him and snuggle down. The concept jars me. I’ve always shied away from physical
contact of any type. Allowing myself to get close to someone will only end up
in pain, so I’ve always shielded myself from intimacy in any form.

But there’s something so wonderfully
nurturing about Vin, and I organically gravitate toward him without any of my
usual fear. As if to prove my point, he opens his arms and offers his embrace.
He won’t force it if I don’t want it. I sink into him as if it’s the most
natural thing in the world. Vin holds me in his strong arms and continually
strokes my hair. Gradually, I feel my strength returning.

Mild embarrassment accosts me. Gingerly, I
extract myself from Vin’s arms and push my hair out of my face. “I’m sorry …”

“Don’t be. You have every right to feel
angry and betrayed at the world we live in.” He takes my hands in his. “But you
can’t stop fighting for control of your life. You might not achieve it in the
ways you wish, but there is always hope for the future. Believe in that. It
pains me to hear a young girl speaking in such a defeatist way. Who knows what
the next six months might bring? Don’t lose hope.”

***

I sleep right through breakfast, and I only wake up because
a very annoying redhead throws a cup of water over my face. Shrieking like a
banshee, I hop up, water dripping down my face and over my tank top. “Jen! What
the hell?”

“Your D-pad is driving me mad. It’s
pinging non-stop. Lover boy is keen.” She winks and thrusts my digipad at me.

Last night’s events soar to the forefront
of my mind. “Ugh. Get that thing away from me.” I all but throw it at her.
“Delete them, please.”

“What’s going on?”

I give her a rapid-fire summary of last
night.

“Show me.” She thrusts my D-pad into my
lap.

Groaning, I log on. There are forty-two
messages waiting. Holy crap. He’s very persistent. Or stubborn. Or both.

Jenna scans our messaging from last night
up to the point I fled. “Hmm. I see what you mean.”

My heart deflates further in my chest. A
part of me was hoping she’d tell me I overreacted to the whole thing.

“But here’s the thing,” she adds, facing
me. “Things don’t always come across right when they’re written down. Imagine
you’d had that conversation via video chat as he’d suggested, then you could
have listened to
how
he said those words and
seen
the expression
on his face as he spoke them, and you would’ve known straightaway whether he
meant them or not. Messaging is too impersonal, and it’s too easy to
misconstrue things. And I think
you
confused
him
with your
response.”

Crunching pain rattles through my brain as
I contemplate her words. Jenna speaks a lot of sense and maybe—just maybe—he
did mean it and
I
messed things up with my vague response. God, I’m so
clueless at this stuff, and it’s like crossing a minefield blindfolded with my
hands tied behind my back. I’m not sure I have what it takes to successfully
navigate my way through.

Frustration thunders through me, and I dig
my nails into my leg as a steady stream of curses fly subconsciously out of my
mouth. When comprehension dawns, I clamp a hand firmly over my mouth to shut
myself up. Jenna stares at my shocked expression and collapses into hysterics.
“Stop laughing, this isn’t funny.”

“The hell it isn’t!” She roars with
laughter and tears leak out of her eyes.

Trying to stay mad is virtually
impossible, and soon I’m laughing along with her. “Thanks,” I say when I can
speak coherently. “I needed that.”

“Ah, Sadie. You warm all the dark parts of
me, you know that?” She yanks me into an all-enveloping hug, and this time I
don’t shy away from the close contact, allowing myself to cherish the
burgeoning bond of true friendship. “What are you going to do about Logan?”

“I guess I should read his messages
first.”

Delving deep, I find courage from
somewhere and flip open the screen. The first group of messages are pleas to
come back and apologies for whatever he said to upset me. There’s a gap of a
few hours and then another group of messages begging me to contact him. The
last few are angrier, not that I blame him. The final message was sent forty
minutes ago.