The Similars (The Similars #1)(25)

“I’m only trying to help,” my father says. I know he means well, but it feels patronizing. “Emma, if I could change this, all of it, I would…”

“No offense, Dad, but I’m pretty sure even you aren’t powerful enough to bring back the dead. But thanks. You know, for offering,” I add.

His voice softens. “Emmaline, honey. What can I do?”

I sigh. If my father’s emotionally unavailable, it’s not his fault—not entirely, anyway. He had to raise me alone all these years.

“Nothing, Dad,” I answer. “We’re survivors, right? It’s what we do. First Mom, now Oliver.”

“You’ve been through more than any sixteen-year-old should have to deal with,” he says. “And for that, Emmaline, I am truly so—” His voice cuts out.

“Dad?” There’s only silence on his end. “You still there?”

“Honey, it’s work. I have to take this. Can I call you later?”

“You know where to find me.” I don’t let on that his abruptness makes me feel even more alone than I already do. I’m used to it, though that doesn’t make it any easier.

I say goodbye and start down the dirt path that leads from the main house to the boathouse, where I’ll do my duty. I’m not familiar with the route, since I rarely visit this part of campus, but it’s scenic. As I descend the hill to the shoreline, I glimpse a stark cement-block building that looms over the other side of Dark Lake. Rumor has it, the building was once home to a scientific research facility that was closed down years ago. I trip over my own feet as I try to get a better look at it, but then trees encroach on the path, and the building shifts out of my view.

When I arrive at the boathouse, I get why Ransom asked us to paint it. It needs a major renovation. I’m doubtful Levi and I will be able to turn it into a thing of beauty, but as long as we get our duty over with, that’s all I care about.

Out from under the canopy of the trees, the sky is very blue. Sunlight reflects off the waters of Dark Lake, rendering it almost beautiful. I approach the dilapidated boathouse and am about to peer inside to see if I’m alone, when I hear a rustling of cracked leaves.

Levi has arrived.

As I turn to watch him approach, it’s like I’m suddenly on autopilot. Must not talk to him. Must avoid. I’m angry at him, and I’m heartbroken. But mostly, I’m afraid. I’m not afraid that he’ll hurt me, and I’m not suspicious of him for being a Similar, as so many people in our country and at Darkwood are. I’m afraid of the way my pulse quickens when I stare at his face.

I wrench open the boathouse door and step inside. The interior is lined with close to fifty racing shells, stacked upside down on racks that run from floor to ceiling. A few canoes sit right-side up on the floor, and next to them is a tall ladder. To my left lie paint cans, brushes, and other equipment, loosely covered by a drop cloth. I walk straight to the painting supplies and begin sifting through them.

“Dash?” I say. “You there?”

“Always,” Dash responds in a familiar voice that I can almost imagine is connected to a real human. “Where else would I be…Paris?”

I laugh, even though I feel like crying. “I think you made your first joke, Dash. Nice work,” I tell him.

“New operating system, new me,” Dash says. “Soon I’ll be mastering sarcasm.”

“Can you play The List?” I instruct him.

“Queuing The List,” says Dash. The playlist Ollie made me last year floods the buds embedded in my ears.

A few moments later, I feel Levi’s presence. I quickly mumble, “Volume, up,” then add, “Background noise, silenced,” hoping to drown out every last sound that’s not the music. I look at the paint cans. They all appear to contain the same drab, mossy-green color, so I grab two cans by their handles and lug them outside, taking a second trip to gather brushes, rollers, and tools. Levi follows my lead. I don’t look over my shoulder, but I sense him behind me, gathering paint cans and tracing my steps outside.

We work in silence, though it’s not silent for me. I have Ollie’s playlist to keep me company. I’m mixing some of the green paint with a wooden dowel when a hand touches my shoulder, and I startle.

“What?” I snap, ruder than I intended, as I turn to face Levi.

He speaks, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, since I’ve silenced all background noise. Once his lips stop moving, he stares at me, waiting for a response. I shrug and go back to my work.

Levi taps me on the shoulder again. It’s clear he’s not going to leave me alone.

“Pause music,” I say reluctantly. As the sound of the world returns, Levi speaks again.

“Primer,” he says. “You can’t start with green paint. You need a base.”

I stare at him for a second, standing there in front of me in the bright daylight. He’s wearing the same jeans he had on yesterday, plus a white short-sleeved T-shirt. I wonder if he’s cold. He doesn’t look it. His muscular arms look like they’d be warm to the touch. I don’t respond, I simply head back inside the boathouse to fetch the cans of primer.

“Emma,” he calls out. I turn and look at him again. “I’m sorry you had to find out about me like that.”