A couple walks toward us. We smile and say hel o and separate around them on the sidewalk. When they are far enough away my father stops.
We stand in front of our house now, but I can tel that he doesn’t want to continue this conversation inside. I understand. I have something I want to ask him and I want the answer before we go where the port hums and waits in the foyer. I’m worried we won’t have a chance to talk about this again.
“What did you do with it?” he asks.
“I destroyed it. Today, at the work site. It seemed like the safest place.”
I think I see a flash of disappointment cross my father’s face but then he nods. “Good. It’s best that way. Especial y right now.” I know he’s referring to the visit from the Officials, and before I can stop myself I ask, “How could you lose the sample?” My father covers his face with his hands, a gesture so sudden and anguished that I take a step back.
“I didn’t lose it.” He takes a deep breath, and I don’t want him to finish but I can’t find the words to stop him. “I destroyed it. That day. He made me promise that I would. He wanted to die on his own terms.”
The word “die” makes me cringe, but my father isn’t finished. “He didn’t want them to be able to bring him back. He wanted to choose what happened to him.”
“But you had a choice, too,” I whisper, angry. “You didn’t have to do it. And now he’s gone.” Gone. Like the Thomas poem. I was right to destroy the poem. What did Grandfather think I could or would do with it? My family doesn’t rebel. He didn’t, aside from the smal act of keeping the poem. And there’s no reason to rebel. Look what the Society gives us. Good lives. A chance at immortality. The only way it can be ruined is if we ruin it ourselves. Like my father did, because my grandfather asked him to.
Even as I turn away from my father and run inside, eyes burning with tears, part of me understands him and why he chose to do what Grandfather asked. Isn’t that what I’m doing, too, every time I think the words of the poem or try to be strong without the green tablet?
It’s hard to know which ways to be strong. Was it weak to let go of the paper, watch it drift to its death as silent and white and ful of promise as a cottonwood seed? Is it weak to feel the way I do when I think of Ky Markham? To know exactly the spot on my skin where he touched me?
Whatever I’ve been feeling for Ky must stop. Now. I am Matched with Xander. It does not matter that Ky has been places I’ve never been or that he wept during the showing when he thought no one could see. It does not matter that he knows about the beautiful words I read in the woods.
Fol owing the rules, staying safe. Those are the things that matter. Those are the ways I have to be strong.
I wil try to forget that Ky said “home” when he looked into my eyes.
CHAPTER 13
Cassia Reyes,” I say, holding out my scancard. The worker records the number on the side of the foilware dinner with her datapod and gives the meal to me.
The datapod beeps again as Xander takes his food and stands beside me. “Do you see Em anywhere? Or Piper or Ky?” he asks.
Blankets patchwork the play yard on the side of First School. It’s a real picnic—food eaten outdoors on the grass. The workers rush around the yard, trying to get the right meals into the right hands. It’s a bit of a hassle and I can see why they don’t do this very often. It’s much easier to have food sent to people’s homes, schools, workplaces.
“I don’t think Piper and Ky signed up in time,” I say. “Because of work.”
Someone waves at us from a blanket in the middle of the yard. “There’s Em,” I tel Xander, pointing, and together we weave our way through the blankets on the grass and say hel o to our classmates and friends. Everyone is in a good mood, giddy with the novelty of the whole activity. Looking down, trying not to step on anyone’s blanket or in anyone’s food, I walk right into Xander, who has stopped. He turns to grin at me over his shoulder.
“You almost made me drop my dinner,” he says, and I tease him back, giving him a little shove. He flops down on the blanket next to Em and leans over to look in her foilware container. “What did they send us?”
“Meat-and-veggie casserole,” Em says, making a face.
“Remember the ice cream,” I say.
I’m almost finished eating when someone cal s out to Xander from across the grass. “I’l be right back,” he tel s us before he stands up and makes his way through the crowd. I can track his progress through the mass of people; they turn to watch him pass, cal out his name.
Em leans over and says to me, “I think something’s wrong with me. I took the green tablet this morning. Already. I meant to save it for later this week. You know.”
I almost ask Em what she means and then I feel like a terrible friend, because how could I forget? Her Match Banquet. She meant to save the tablet for that night, because she’s getting nervous.
“Oh, Em,” I say, putting my arm around her, hugging her. She and I have been drifting apart lately, but not by choice. This happens, as you get closer to your work assignments and vocations. But I miss her. Nights like this, especial y. Summery nights, when I remember how it was to be younger and have more time. When Em and I used to spend so many of our free-rec hours together. We had more of them, then.
“It’l be a wonderful night,” I tel her. “I promise. Everything’s so beautiful. It’s exactly like they tel us it wil be.”
“Real y?” Em asks.
“Of course. Which dress did you pick?” They redesign the dresses every three years, so Em has the same pool to choose from that I did.
“One of the yel ow ones. Number fourteen. Do you remember it?”
So much has happened since I stood in the Matching Office and picked out my dress. “I don’t think I do,” I say, searching my mind.
Em’s voice becomes animated as she describes the dress. “It’s very light yel ow and it’s the one with the butterfly sleeves ...” I remember now. “Oh, Em, I loved that dress. You’l be beautiful.” She wil , too. Yel ow is the perfect color for Em; it wil look lovely against her creamy skin, her black hair, and dark eyes. It wil make her look like sunshine, the spring kind.
“I’m so nervous.”
“I know. It’s hard not to be.”