The Similars (The Similars #1)(26)

For one fleeting moment, I don’t hate him. That moment vanishes as quickly as it came.

“What should I have done?” he presses. “Skipped the assembly? Blindfolded you during my induction? Would that have even helped?”

“No.”

Levi’s eyes pierce mine. “Then what? This isn’t my choice, Emmaline. None of it is.”

“Can we please not talk?” I ask. “It was better when we didn’t talk.”

I grab the primer and carry it outside, where I pry open the paint can with the end of a screwdriver, pouring paint into a flimsy aluminum paint tray. I like this task. I like the way the paint spills into the metal pan in a puddle. I like using my hands and not thinking. I turn up the volume on my plum and try to lose myself in Ollie’s favorite tunes.

As we continue to work side by side, not talking for at least an hour, the sun dips into the horizon. It turns downright chilly, and I zip my hoodie to my chin. My plum eventually runs out of battery—stupid thing keeps glitching on me, probably because I keep forgetting to update the software—and there’s not enough sunlight to recharge with solar, so we work in true silence. I feel empty and spent without the music Ollie loved coursing through me.

I’ve only managed to prime one small area, but the distraction is more than welcome. I won’t mind doing it every day—trudging out to this abandoned spot and running this same brush over this same wall for the foreseeable future. The thought is comforting.

I’m enjoying the peace when we hear the scream.

Levi and I both freeze. Our gazes meet.

“Did you—?” I start.

“Where was it—?”

I point to a far corner of the boathouse. “It came from inside.”

I start toward the direction of the scream. Suddenly his hand covers my mouth and his other arm is around me, holding me close. His mouth is at my ear. I feel his breath. My own breathing hitches at his closeness, my pulse racing in my ears.

“Don’t talk,” Levi says. “It’s not safe. Please.”

I nod, and he lets go of me, though my heart doesn’t slow. Summoning all my confidence, I step toward the wide double doors, aware that Levi is following me. Inside the boathouse, the rows of racing shells look formidable in the dim afternoon light. It’s nearly dark in here now, but we can’t turn on a light.

Levi pads toward the far end of the boathouse, carefully stepping so as not to make the ancient floorboards creak. I follow quietly. We move to the other side of the rack of racing shells. This part of the boathouse is even darker, since little light makes its way between the stacked boats. I step over a few loose rags, noticing a rowing oar on the ground—but nothing else is amiss. Levi and I exchange a glance, and we both shrug. We heard it, didn’t we? That piercing scream? Someone else must be here.

Levi stands amid the canoes and runs his fingers through his hair, stumped. But I’m not ready to give up. I know what I heard, and it came from inside this boathouse—I’m sure of it. I start peering into the canoes. Cushions, a crumpled old lunch sack—I’m about to concede that we’re alone when I see it.

There’s a dark form inside the canoe in the corner. At first, I can’t tell what it is. I have to bend down and get my face up close to it to make sense of what I’m seeing. And then I scream.

It’s a body.





Prudence


We lean over the canoe, Levi and I. In my mind, I’m taken back.

Oliver in his bed, not waking up. Oliver, not breathing. Oliver, dead.

Looking at this body, at the person lying in this canoe, I’m overwhelmed by the same paralyzing fear I had then.

I take a deep breath and reach out to the body, my hand trembling, and sweep the hair from the person’s face.

It’s her.

I gasp.

Levi recognizes her at the same time I do. “Is that…?”

“Pru.” I’m sure it’s Pru and not her Similar. These are the athletic clothes Pru was wearing a couple of hours ago. I’d recognize them anywhere. “It’s not Pippa. Pru’s on the crew team,” I say, my voice frantic. “That must be why she was here.”

“I can’t find a pulse,” Levi says, all business, but I can only think one thing: Not Pru. Not Prudence too. No, no, no.

“Maybe you’re not doing it right,” I snap as I watch Levi search Pru’s wrist for signs of life. A part of me wishes this was Pippa lying here, and that Levi was feeling this pain instead of me. I know it’s wrong, but still—I hate him for it.

“Got it,” Levi mumbles. “There’s a pulse. She’s alive. For now.”

“Dash,” I bark. “Call the school nurse.” When Dash doesn’t respond, I remember. My plum’s dead. I wasted my last bar of battery listening to The List, and now when I need it—when Pru needs me—I can’t help her.

“Your plum,” I say to Levi, pushing the panic out of my voice. “Can you signal the infirmary?”

Levi nods, pulling his plum from his pocket and scrolling over the screen. He fumbles like he doesn’t know how to work it.

“Hey,” I say, my voice cracking. “Quickly! Do it already!”

“I just got this thing,” Levi explains as he searches for the emergency icon. After what feels like forever, but is only a few seconds, he finds it and presses. “First phone.” He shrugs.