Elites of Eden (Children of Eden #2)(24)
She presses her lips together briefly. “Not many. According to my source, perhaps twenty still walking the streets.”
“Oh, that’s . . . Wait, what do you mean still?”
“Oh, honey, you’ll be just fine. We found a real genius to make your lens implants, bought the most secure identity, bribed all the right people . . .”
“What are you saying?”
She bites her lip. “My source told me that the survival rate for second children trying to integrate into society . . . isn’t as high as we’d like.”
“You mean, we die?”
“No, no,” she hastily begins, then amends it to “Well . . . a few are captured. But there are a lot who simply . . . disappear.”
A chill tickles my spine.
“Don’t worry, honey, it won’t happen to you. We’ve taken every precaution.” She shakes her head as if tossing away the unpleasant thoughts.
I’m haunted by the image of second children disappearing. The way Mom said it, it sounded like they just evaporate, turn into mist and drift away. It must be the Center, though, capturing second children. They must be dragged away into the night and fog, and no one ever knows what happened to them.
Mom won’t talk about it anymore, no matter how much I press. Not long afterward Ash comes home, and with a quick mutual glance Mom and I agree not to discuss anything serious or worrying in front of him. Stress aggravates his condition. I also want to ask where I’ll be going. Will it be to a childless couple? Will I be posing as an orphan, adopted by a kind relative? I might even have a brother or sister. Will I like them?
My new family must be kind, though, if they’re taking the risk of welcoming in a secret second child. They’ll be generous and loving and patient and caring, and they’ll help ease my way into the world. I know they will, because only that sort of person would defy all Eden to help a child.
How can I worry too much when I have Lark’s company to look forward to? Dinner passes insufferably slowly. I know I should be savoring every moment with my family before it all changes, but my thoughts keep straying to tonight.
Before I go to bed, I look at my strange, multicolored eyes. What will I feel like when my eyes are flat and dull like everyone else’s? I won’t be me anymore.
Even though everyone I’ve really seen in my life (all four of them, aside from passersby last night) has these flat lifeless eyes, it shocks me to imagine seeing them staring blankly out of my face. Those flat eyes are unnatural, wrong, in a way I never appreciated before, until it became personal. All the light and variation of my irises will be crushed. They’ll be a dull gray-blue. I’ll look like a blind girl, though my vision will be unchanged.
Mom ducks her head into the bathroom, and I blink to hide the moisture gathering in my eyes. “Your dad and I are taking the day off of work tomorrow to be with you, and Ash is staying home. We’ll have a real family party then. All your favorite foods. And we’ll have a chance to talk about . . . ,” she breaks off, “some important things you need to know.”
Whatever they are, why did she wait until my final days to tell me?
Soon afterward, everyone is in bed. I pretend to sleep, too, but under my bed is a bag containing the clothes I plan to wear. I breathe slowly, quietly, listening to the sounds of the house: Ash turning in his sleep, the soft settling sound the walls make when the temperature drops at night. When I’m sure everyone is deeply asleep, I grab my bag and slip out to the courtyard.
Right on the other side is the world. And Lark. My fingers tremble as I strip off my nightclothes and stand almost naked in the dark. Above me the stars twinkle dimly, and I tilt my head back to let their muted light fall on me. I know almost nothing about the stars, not their names or the science behind them. But I love looking at their glowing patterns because they remind me that there’s a world outside of my courtyard, outside of Eden even. And they make me think of my most treasured possession: the ancient, faded, crumbling photo from before the Ecofail that Mom smuggled out of the archives. I’ve brought it to share with Lark. She can keep secrets.
I thought more about what to wear than I did about leaving home. The fact embarrasses me, but I know that if I didn’t have the distraction of Lark and sneaking out, I’d be going crazy with what’s happening in the rest of my life.
After long consideration and much pawing through my meager wardrobe (mostly made up of duplicates of Ash’s school uniforms and casual clothes), I settled on one of my few feminine pieces: a deep red skirt that flares to my mid-thigh. The material is imbued with subtle sparkles that flash when the light hits them just so.
For the rest I chose black, partly from limited choice, partly from an instinct that tells me I may need to blend into the night if anything goes wrong. I tuck my black leggings into my soft ankle boots, and adjust the shoulders of a snug synthwool sweater knitted in an open weave. I know I’ll look dull alongside the lurid magenta and ultramarine and canary colors favored by the residents of Eden. But the shock of red at my hips is a rare treat for me. I hope Lark likes it.
I don’t want to risk triggering the alarm on the front door, so I scale the wall—now I remember why I rarely wear skirts—and sit at the top, hunkered low to reduce my profile, looking for Lark. For one terrible moment I don’t see her. Then she emerges from the shadows, starlight on lilac, and the entire world seems to settle into place.