The Similars (The Similars #1)(44)
I don’t talk to Levi over the break. I have nothing to say to him, and it’s clear he feels the same. But I won’t back down from what I said. I need to know more about Albert Seymour, and if Levi won’t tell me, I’ll find out another way.
As the long weekend draws to an end, I’m filled with a growing sense of unease. In only a few short days, Oliver’s parents will be arriving for the dedication ceremony—when they won’t be able to avoid meeting Oliver’s Similar. I haven’t seen Jane since Oliver’s funeral, and the idea of watching her grieve all over again is nearly more than I can bear. If I could spare her from this, I would. But I can’t stop them from coming. And even if I could, they will have to meet Levi eventually. They can’t avoid the inevitable. Levi exists. Hard as that is for me to process, it’s a fact.
I remind Levi on the first day back after American history, “Oliver’s parents will be here on Saturday. Do you know what you’re going to say to them?”
“Do you?” he shoots back.
During lunch, Headmaster Ransom makes an announcement. We’re all being issued new keys.
“First,” he explains to the hushed crowd, “let me acknowledge what you’re already thinking—that a midsemester key replacement is, indeed, a first for this institution. The old key system has served the school well for nearly two decades. Yet it has come to our attention that there are certain security limitations that we cannot overlook. Your new keys are outfitted with updated software that can track your whereabouts via GPS and serve other important safety functions. Many parents have clamored for these changes in light of the unfortunate incident that happened in the boathouse in September. With that in mind, we ask that you not, under any circumstances, remove your key from your neck.”
Several students start to protest, but Headmaster Ransom holds up a hand and continues, “Each and every one of your parents has already signed a privacy waiver, giving Darkwood permission to virtually track your movements to keep you safe.”
There are whispers all around. Though I don’t say it out loud, I am sure that one of the current keys’ “limitations” is the very loophole that allowed Levi to enter Oliver’s old room.
“Once your key is initialized,” Ransom continues, “during the first twelve hours you wear it, it will learn to recognize you via your DNA, as well as several other markers that are distinctly yours and yours alone.” He doesn’t have to say it, but I’m certain that the Similars will no longer be able to swap keys with their originals, and vice versa.
After we deposit our old keys into a metal box, new keys that look identical to our old ones are looped over our heads. I run my finger along the beveled edge of my new key, along with Oliver’s. I haven’t turned his in. No one except Levi knows that I have it, so the administration can’t ask for it back. And I’m certainly not ready to give it up, not when I haven’t discovered what Oliver was trying to tell me.
That Saturday, with two keys rattling together under my shirt, I walk down to the field where the dedication ceremony will be held. Principal Fleischer instructed me to meet Jane and Booker fifteen minutes ahead of the ceremony to welcome them to campus. When I asked her if anyone had told them yet about Levi, she said it was none of my business.
It’s not hard to interpret what that means. It’s up to me. For whatever reason, I’ve been left with the job of breaking the news to them. Maybe this is what Ransom wants? Maybe he thinks I’m best equipped for this heartbreaking task? I have no idea.
When I arrive at the empty field, I’m bowled over by the beauty of the day. The sky is azure and cloudless, the expanse of grass still green in spite of the mounting cold that nips at my hands and face.
I walk over to where a wooden stake has been hammered into the ground with a sign. OLIVER WARD HALL: DEDICATION CEREMONY. There’s a podium set up next to it, flanked by a few folding chairs.
“Emmaline?”
I turn and see two figures walking toward me. Booker has one arm around Jane like he’s holding her up. Her familiar face comes into view, and I’m instantly filled with love for her and for Oliver—and an intense longing for a life that will never be, not ever again.
“Jane,” I say quietly, and before I know what’s happening, her frail arms wind around me in a hug. A few moments later, Booker clears his throat, and we pull apart.
I finally get a good look at Jane’s face, and I’m stunned by how much older she looks now than before her whole world cracked and shifted like tectonic plates. Her forehead is lined and weary, and dark circles shadow the skin beneath her eyes. I don’t know how I’m going to do this—adding to her pain feels wrong on so many levels.
“I’m so glad you came,” I say, and I give Booker a cursory hug as well. We’ve never been close, he and I, but I can see the toll the past few months have taken on him too.
“Oh, Emma,” says Jane, blinking back tears. “I never thought… This isn’t…”
“Maybe you should sit.” I pull up folding chairs for them. “Were you traveling all day? You must be exhausted.”
Jane shrugs, and Booker rests a hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard being back on campus, knowing how happy Oliver was here,” he says as an explanation.
“Tell us, please, Emma, about your junior year so far. We want to hear everything,” Jane says. “We love you like a daughter. That won’t ever change. Not because—” She stops, unable to say the words out loud. Not because our son has died.