Alienated

Chapter twenty

“You look flushed,” Mom said, resting her palm against Cara’s forehead. “Feel sick?”

“No, I’m fine.” Cara’s flush had nothing to do with a virus. Her cheeks burned as she relived scenes from her most recent dream, a particularly steamy one involving Aelyx. She could almost feel his hands on her body and his hot breath on her throat. As if thinking about him all day wasn’t bad enough, he had to invade her sleep, too?

“Where’s Aelyx this morning?” Mom set a steaming plate of golden waffles on the table, filling the air with the scents of butter and sweet cake. At least the food was good in her virtual hell.

“In his room, I guess.” Where he spends all his time now.

Aelyx had promised things were fine between them, but Mister “I Would Never Lie to You” was about as honest as a felon. He’d been avoiding her for weeks, acting like her body was surrounded by a deadly force field and holing up inside his room, shouting at his friends on the “phone.” Too bad she couldn’t speak L’eihr, because whatever they were arguing about sounded juicy.

“Think I’ll head out early.” Cara held the waffle between her teeth while slipping on her coat.

“You’re not going to wait for Aelyx?”

And endure another painfully awkward walk to school? No thanks. Grabbing her bag, she made for the back door before he could join her. “I’ve got some stuff to do. He can meet me in class.”

She rushed outside, where she was greeted by a friendly neighborhood assault rifle.

Gasping, she pressed a hand over her heart. She kept forgetting about the military dudes who’d materialized last night, right on the heels of ten thousand loopy protesters. After releasing a loud breath, she offered a smile to the young blond blocking her way, then waved to a dozen of his com­rades. “Mornin’.”

The icy blue eyes staring back were not amused. “Where’s the L’eihr?”

“We’re flying solo today.” She pointed past G.I. Jerk, send­ing an unspoken request for him to move, but instead, he advanced, backing her up two concrete steps.

“We’ll drive you both.” He puffed his chest like a primate trying to assert dominance. Someone must’ve sprinkled too much testosterone on this kid’s cornflakes. “Together.”

She glared right back at him for a moment before hop­ping over the iron railing that ran along the steps, landing on her feet with a hard thud that stung her shins. As she walked toward the trail, she called, “Unless the president’s declared martial law since the last time I checked, I’m walking to school.”

He groaned and shouted, “Jones! Spaulding! Escort Miss Sweeney to Midtown High and deliver her to Sergeant Baker.”

The sound of combat boots slapping the frozen ground approached, but her escorts stayed back, giving her a good ten yards of privacy as they all marched on. A good thing, because she wasn’t exactly pleasant company this morning.

The sun rose through dark, heavy clouds, casting a piti­ful glow across the forest. Her fingers felt so empty without Aelyx’s linked among them, but as much as she ached for his warmth and laughter, she couldn’t take another minute of charged silence or empty small talk. She glanced behind her to make sure he wasn’t following.

When had she grown so dependent on Aelyx? She couldn’t identify any given moment that it had happened. It reminded her of a blizzard from years before, when a surprise cold front had dumped four feet of snow on the town. She’d gone to bed completely unaware of the storm and awoken the next morn­ing to an impenetrable wall of snow surrounding the house.

Or maybe a blanket was a better comparison—the way it gathers warmth so gradually that you don’t feel the chill until removing the cover. Yeah, that was just like Aelyx. She’d fallen for him so slowly she hadn’t realized the depth of her feelings until he pulled away. But why would he pull away? He was the one who’d initiated the whole let-me-touch-you-all-over-and-take-your-pulse thing. The jerk.

“Miss Sweeney?”

Cara turned to find one of the soldiers, a fair redhead with so many freckles they almost blended together into a tan, pointing his gun toward the end of the trail. “Don’t get too far ahead. They told us the crowd’s a little wild.”

“Wait,” she said, “they’re here?” HALO had announced a march on City Hall, not on the school. This wouldn’t be anything like the usual demonstrations. An icy chill snaked up the length of her spine and settled near her heart when she imagined what a crowd of thousands could do to her—Cara Sweeney: L’eihr Lover Extraordinaire. Suddenly, she felt like an idiot for not letting the military play chauffeur. An armored Hum-V sounded pretty good right about now.

The other soldier, a vertically challenged brunet, must’ve smelled her fear. “The National Guard’s handling it. We’ve got troops up the wazoo, so don’t worry.”

“Sure,” she whispered with a nod. Why didn’t that make her feel better?

As they approached the end of the trail, a blazing chorus of sirens began to drown out the crunch of twigs and dried leaves beneath their boots. Red and blue lights flashed through the trees as if the school had caught fire, and then the din of ten thousand voices roared in her ears like a cross between ocean waves and radio static. And what a scene.

The National Guard had blocked off the street with con­crete barricades, corralling the chaos at least fifty yards to the left of the school, but rows of armed soldiers couldn’t keep protesters from fighting among themselves or throwing rocks and beer bottles. In all her life, she’d never seen a crowd that large assembled in one place, not even at the Women’s Health March she’d attended in DC a couple years ago. After a gentle nudge from the redhead, she clenched her teeth and strode forward, sandwiched between her guardians.

Two crimson Midtown Fire and EMS trucks idled near the school’s front entrance, and she recognized Dad’s strawberry head bent over a long, portly man on a stretcher. The closer she advanced, the more that patient looked like Principal Ferguson . . . because it was.

“Hey,” she said, tugging on the redhead’s sleeve and point­ing ahead, “that’s my dad.”

“Barry will go with you.” That must’ve been the short brunet. “I need to find Sergeant Baker.”

She jogged over, watching Dad bandage a cut above the principal’s left eyebrow. When he turned to grab the scissors, she noticed a smudge of blood on the breast of his starched white shirt. When Dad glanced up and spotted her, his eyes widened. “What’re you doing here? I left a message for you to stay home.”

“I left early.” She turned to Mr. Ferguson. “What happened?”

“He caught a beer bottle with his head,” Dad answered. “Where’s Aelyx?”

“Home.” Where he’d probably stay if he got Dad’s mes­sage. The prospect of an entire day without him at school both excited and depressed her. Mostly the latter.

“I need a word, Cara.” Mr. Ferguson sat up and swung his legs over the side of the stretcher, then patted a newly vacated spot on the cushion in an invitation to join him. She settled on the edge and gazed at the crowd, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. “I’ve already talked to your dad,” he said, “and he agrees it’s for the best.”

“What’s for the best?”

“If you and Aelyx finish out the school year at home.”

“What?” Now he had her attention. “As in homeschooled?”

“Just this morning, I lost twenty-six kids to Scott High. Their parents don’t think it’s safe here anymore with all the fights and protests.” He shook his head and apologized with his eyes. “It’s nothing against either of you, but I can’t disrupt the education of the whole school for one student. I hope you understand.”

Hell no, she didn’t understand!

“This is crap!” she said, her voice rising above the shouts of the protesters.

“Cara ...” Dad warned from behind.

Ignoring him, she drew in a breath. “You didn’t expel Ronnie McPhail after his eleventy-billionth suspension, but you’re giving me the boot? I’m the valedictorian!” She’d busted tail to hold up her end of the exchange, and this was the thanks she got? “It’s true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“This isn’t a punishment,” Mr. Ferguson insisted. “I even put together an independent study plan, so you won’t have to worry about this hurting your transcript.”

“This isn’t about my transcript. It’s the principle. You’re required by law to provide me with a free and public—”

“Cara!” Dad barked. “Just go home. I don’t want you anywhere near those people,” he said, nodding toward the protest. “We’ll talk later.”

Cara folded her arms. “Fine. I’ll clean out my locker, but this isn’t over.” She turned to Mr. Ferguson and stressed, “This is temporary.”

“Sure.” The flatness of his tone did little to reassure her. “I’ll e-mail the study plan later.”

“Uh, Miss Sweeney?” Soldier Barry tapped her shoulder. “We’re supposed to hand you off to the sergeant first.”

Of course. Because control of her own life was an illusion right now.

Cara sucked it up and waited patiently while her escorts tracked down Sergeant Baker. They seemed like sweet guys, and if she got them in trouble with their commanding officer, they might have to do a thousand push-ups or scrub toilets with their toothbrushes.

Finally, ten minutes after the tardy bell rang, their contact showed up and signed off on the transfer of goods—her—with instructions to meet Blake at her locker. Then the military finally let her go while they assumed their posts outside the front entrance.

With homeroom already in session, the only sound in the foyer was the slow, careful tread of her boots against the tile. She’d never seen it so placid in here—there wasn’t a person in sight. Maybe the classes were on lockdown. It made sense with all the violence going on outside. Each of her squeaky footsteps seemed amplified in the silence, and twice she paused because she thought she heard steps in sync with her own.

By the time she reached her locker, she was ready to take a flying leap out of her skin. Deciding not to wait for Blake, she tossed her book bag to the floor and entered her combi­nation. Seconds later, a crisp leaf of notebook paper fluttered to the ground. It landed faceup, asking in bold block letters, HOW FAST CAN YOU RUN, TRAITOR SLUT? NOT FAST ENOUGH. —HUMANIST

Her palms turned to ice. Before she had a chance to nudge the note aside with her boot, the click of shoes sounded from nearby, and with a gasp, Cara whirled to find Tori approach­ing slowly from the bathroom, wearing a cautious expression. She must have been standing there—watching and waiting—since before homeroom started.

Cara froze. She didn’t like this. Something was off.

“Hey,” Tori said quietly, inching closer until she reached the locker bank.

On instinct, Cara backed up and put a couple feet between them. “Hey, yourself.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I know,” Cara said. “I didn’t have anything to say.”

“You shouldn’t have ignored me.”

Tori’s gaze began darting over Cara’s head—once, twice, three times. When the hairs on the back of Cara’s neck began to prickle, she turned to look over her shoulder, but by then it was too late.

A large hand appeared from behind and clapped over her mouth, tugging her backward. She tasted salty flesh, and she kicked out fiercely, flinging herself forward in a wild attempt to escape. She searched in vain for Tori, who’d vanished from view. Pulse pounding in her ears, Cara sucked a panicked breath through her nose and tried to think rationally. Pow­erful arms lifted her off the floor and no amount of flailing helped. Noise! She had to make noise. She screamed, but only muffled grunts escaped from her covered lips. A dozen gruesome images flooded her mind, and she kicked her heels against the assailant’s shins in panic. It didn’t slow him down at all.

He dragged her into a dark room and she heard the door click shut. The scent of wet mops and ammonia told her they were inside the janitor’s closet, but the low sliver of light leak­ing from beneath the door wasn’t enough to make anything out. Feeling her eyes widen in the darkness, she tried to scream again, digging her heel into her attacker’s foot. He pressed his hand even harder against her face and hissed in pain.

“Shut up, Cara! It’s just me, calm down. God damn it, that really hurt!”

Her galloping heart skipped a beat. Eric?

“You’re safe. I’m gonna move my hand. Promise you won’t scream, okay?”

She nodded and Eric pulled his hand away, but then she burst forward, swinging her fists blindly at him. “You asshole! You scared the crap out of me!”

Tori’s voice ordered, “Quiet! We’re trying to help you, but we’ve only got a minute.”

As Cara’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, she was able to identify the outlines of her ex-friends. She and Tori stood nose to nose—or considering their height difference, more like nose to boobs—inside the cramped space while Eric pressed against the door in a futile effort to give her some space.

After Cara caught her breath, she hissed, “You had to ambush me—you couldn’t just send an e-mail?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tori whispered. “E-mails are hacked every day. The last thing I need is proof that I talked to you.”

“Well, what about the cameras?” Cara asked. “Whoever’s in the office just saw you two drag me in here.”

“No, they didn’t,” Tori said. “I shut them off after I grabbed the closet key. I’m an office aide during homeroom now.”

“So you’re the one turning off the cameras?” Cara asked. “Does that mean you two covered for whoever pushed Ashley down the stairs?”

Anger and pain thickened Eric’s voice. “You really think we could do that? I mean, I’d kinda like to choke you for almost breaking my shins, but—”

“I have no idea what you could do,” Cara told him. “I never believed you’d go after my best friend.”

Tori took a step closer. She finally seemed willing to look Cara in the eye. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen. He was the only person I knew at the meetings, so we sat together and . . .” She trailed off, looking down for just a second before lifting her gaze again. “Then I realized he was the only sane one there. The others are nuttier than squirrel mierda.”

“So you’re not really together?”

Tori bit her lip. “No, we are.” She shrugged, looking help­lessly at Eric. “I don’t know. He just sorta grew on me.”

“Like a fungus,” Eric added. “Those were her exact words.”

Cara rolled her eyes. “How romantic.”

“Moving on . . .” Eric prompted.

Tori nodded. “You have to send the A-Licker home.” A noise from the hall startled them, and Tori lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “I know you wanna birth his alien babies or whatever, but it’s gotta stop. The Patriots aren’t screwing around anymore.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” Eric said. “The meetings are scary now. People talk about declaring war on the government—like full-on civil war. And guess who’s traitor number one?”

“Aelyx?”

“Unh-uh.” Tori pointed at Cara. “His girlfriend.”

“I’m not his—”

“Whatever,” Eric said. “It’s your fault he’s here to begin with, and everyone hates you for it.”

“Everyone?” she asked.

Tori let her arms hang limp, shoulders slouching like she didn’t have the energy to stay angry anymore. She heaved a sigh, and when her eyes met Cara’s, they glistened with unshed tears. “You’ve still got a couple fans. We’ve been look­ing out for you.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Eric said. “Marcus was running his mouth last night after the meeting. He didn’t say who, but HALO’s got people following you to learn your routine, and they’re gonna try to jump you and Aelyx the next time you leave your house.”

“So don’t leave your house,” Tori said. “You shouldn’t even be walking the halls alone.”

Cara thought back to that day at the nature preserve. She’d known it wasn’t a hiker watching them from the trees.

“Someone’s leaving threats in my locker, too.”

“Probably Marcus,” Eric said. “He hates you worse than jock itch.”

Tori hooked a thumb at the door. “I should go soon, or Mrs. Greene will wonder what took me so long in the bathroom.”

Eric nodded. “Me, too.”

“Be careful,” Cara warned, trying not to imagine what the Patriots would do to Eric and Tori if they discovered a pair of moles within their ranks.

Tori started to say something but hesitated, and after one quick wave, she and Eric were gone, leaving Cara alone and a little dazed inside the dark closet. Their exchange seemed surreal, as if she’d wandered in there among the buckets and urinal cakes and imagined the whole thing.

Pressing her ear to the door, she listened for squeaking soles or hushed voices. After hearing none, she stepped slowly into the hall and squinted against the brightness. A quick glance up and down the corridor showed she was alone, so she reopened her locker and retrieved an armload of books.

But wait. Where was the note and, more importantly, where was her bag?

She’d dropped it right there before Eric dragged her into the closet. After scanning the hallway for several minutes, she gave up. Screw it. She shoved the books back in her locker and slammed it shut. After everything that had happened that morning, schoolwork hardly seemed like a priority anyway. And to think scholarship money had lured her into this mess.