But then Xander looks at me and asks, “What are you thinking about?” and I answer, “That we are very lucky,” and I mean it. There is stil much to discover. Until now, I have only known Xander as a friend. Now he is my Match.
The hostess corrects me gently. “Not lucky, Cassia. There is no luck in the Society.” I nod. Of course. I should know better than to use such an archaic, inaccurate term. There’s only probability now. How likely something is to occur, or how unlikely.
The hostess speaks again. “It has been a busy evening, and it’s getting late. You can read the courtship guidelines later, another day. There’s plenty of time.”
She’s right. That’s what the Society has given us: time. We live longer and better than any other citizens in the history of the world. And it’s thanks in large part to the Matching System, which produces physical y and emotional y healthy offspring.
And I’m a part of it al .
My parents and the Carrows can’t stop exclaiming over how wonderful this al is, and as we walk down the steps of City Hal together, Xander leans over and says, “You’d think they’d arranged everything themselves.”
“I can’t believe it,” I say, and I feel opulent and a little giddy. I can’t believe that this is me, wearing a beautiful green dress, holding gold in one hand and silver in the other, walking next to my best friend. My Match.
“I can,” Xander says, teasing me. “In fact, I knew al along. That’s why I wasn’t nervous.” I tease him back. “I knew, too. That’s why I was.”
We’re laughing so much that when the air train pul s up neither of us notice for a moment, and then there is a brief moment of awkwardness as Xander holds out his hand to help me climb aboard. “Here,” he says, his voice serious. For a moment, I don’t know what to do. There is something new in touching each other now, and my hands are ful .
Then Xander wraps his hand around mine, pul ing me onto the train with him.
“Thank you,” I say as the doors close behind us.
“Any time,” he says. He does not let go of my hand; the little silver box I hold creates a barrier between us even as another one breaks. We have not held hands like this since we were children. In doing that tonight, we move across the invisible divide that separates friendship from something more. I feel a tingle along my arm; to be touched, by my Match, is a luxury that the other Matchees at Banquets tonight do not share.
The air train carries us away from the sparkling, icy-white lights of City Hal toward the softer yel ow porch lights and streetlights of the Boroughs.
As the streets flash past on our way home to Mapletree Borough, I glance over at Xander. The gold of the lights outside is similar to the color of his hair, and his face is handsome and confident and good. And familiar, for the most part. If you’ve always known how to look at someone, it’s strange when that directive changes. Xander has always been someone I could not have, and I have been the same for him.
Now everything is different.
My ten-year-old brother, Bram, waits for us on the front porch. When we tel him about the Banquet, he can’t believe the news. “You’re Matched with Xander? I already know the person you’re going to marry? That’s so strange.”
“You’re the one who’s strange.” I tease him, and he dodges me as I pretend to grab him. “Who knows. Maybe your Match lives right on this street, too. Maybe it’s—”
Bram covers his ears. “Don’t say it. Don’t say it—”
“Serena,” I say, and he turns away, pretending that he didn’t hear me. Serena lives next door. She and Bram torment each other incessantly.
“Cassia,” my mother says disapprovingly, glancing around to make sure that no one heard. We are not supposed to disparage other members of our street and our community. Mapletree Borough is known for being tight-knit and exemplary in this way. No thanks to Bram, I think to myself.
“I’m teasing, Mama.” I know she can’t stay mad at me. Not on the night of my Match Banquet, when she has been reminded of how quickly I am growing up.
“Come inside,” my father says. “It’s almost curfew. We can talk about everything tomorrow.”
“Was there cake?” Bram asks as my father opens the door. They al look back at me, waiting.
I don’t move. I don’t want to go inside yet.
If I do, that means that this night is coming to an end, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to take off the dress and go back to my plainclothes; I don’t want to return to the usual days, which are good, but nothing special like this. “I’l come in soon. Just a few minutes more.”
“Don’t be long,” my father says gently. He doesn’t want me to break curfew. It is the City’s curfew, not his, and I understand.
“I won’t,” I promise.
I sit down on the steps of my house, careful, of course, of my borrowed dress. I glance down at the folds of the beautiful material. It does not belong to me, but this evening does, this time that is dark and bright and ful of both the unexpected and the familiar. I look out into the new spring night and turn my face to the stars.
I don’t linger outside for long because tomorrow, Saturday, is a busy day. I’l need to report to my trial work position at the sorting center early in the morning. After that I’l have my Saturday night free-rec hours, one of the few times I get to spend with my friends outside of Second School.
And Xander wil be there.
Back in my bedroom, I shake the tablets out of the little hol ow in the base of the compact. Then I count—one, two, three; blue, green, red—as I slide the tablets back into their usual metal cylinder.
I know what the blue and green tablets do. I don’t know anyone who knows for certain what the red tablet does. There have been rumors about it for years.
I climb into bed and push away thoughts of the red tablet. For the first time in my life, I’m al owed to dream of Xander.
CHAPTER 3
I’ve always wondered what my dreams look like on paper, in numbers. Someone out there knows, but it isn’t me. I pul the sleep tags from my skin, taking care not to tug too hard on the one behind my ear. The skin is fragile there and it always hurts to peel the disk away, especial y if a strand or two of hair gets caught under the adhesive on the tag. Glad that my turn is over, I put the equipment back in its box. It’s Bram’s turn to be tagged tonight.