The Stolen Star

3

There’s a chair under me and a plate balanced on my lap. Fork in my land. Bottle of water stuck between my leg and the arm of the chair. David sits across from me, laptop on his legs, his own plate on the couch cushion beside him.

Everything is foggy and cold. I woke up, went to the bathroom. Then…

Can’t figure out how I ended up sitting here.

“Eat,” David says, gesturing with his fork.

“Where’d you get all this?” Bacon, eggs, a biscuit. The bottle water. “Did you get paid?”

“Yep. I even got enough food to last us for a few days.” He pauses and chews on a piece of bacon. I eat a piece of my own. The savory flavor makes me close my eyes and just enjoy the moment. I hadn’t had bacon in years. Even though we cooked it regularly in the diner, everyone who worked there was forbidden from so much as sniffing the food prepared for those who could pay. I savor the taste of the eggs and the biscuit. It had been a while since we have eaten a full meal.

David closes his laptop and sets it aside. “I think we’re going to have to find a new place.”

I look up, startled. “Why?”

“I’m just concerned we’ve been here too long.”

“It’s only been a couple of months. We lasted at the last place a full year.”

“We were further from the cities, last time. We’re five miles from New Orlando. We’re too close.”

“Everybody here is just like us. Everybody is running from something. I don’t want to leave right now.”

I could stay if I want to. I’ve stayed with David because it’s easier being with someone than alone. I’ve felt like I’ve owed him for caring for me for so long, but that feeling has changed lately.

If I wanted to, I could apply for a place in the metroblocks. Apartments there come with jobs and food vouchers for the store within the block. They are self-contained and can support thousands of people without any outside assistance. When a person is accepted into one block, they can transfer to other blocks, all over the world.

We have registry papers. They’re fakes, but good enough to pass through any inspection. “I don’t want to leave, David,” say again.

He looks at me with eyes like ice. “We don’t have a choice, angel.”

He’s called me angel since he found me. It’s not exactly a term of endearment. I’ve never figured out why he gave me the name. “You can leave,” I say, sort of breathless from the shock of actually saying that out loud.

He raises one eyebrow and leans forward. “Serah. You can’t make it on your own. Your little job wouldn’t support you on your own for more than a couple of days. You can’t walk a mile home without the gangs attacking you. If I hadn’t gotten paid, all you would have had to eat in three days in a moldy potato.”

“I’d find a way. My boss has other jobs I can do.”

David scoffed. “Oh, yeah. You’d be a whore? You’d let men have sex with you for a couple of credits, most of which your boss would take?”

I look away. I want to cry, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “I just don’t want to run again. As hard as living here is, running is even harder. I’d rather have a roof over my head than have to sleep in an abandoned car for a week while you try to find us the least-damaged abandoned building.”

He crossed the space between us and kneels in front of me. “I know it’s hard. We’re getting closer to finding a permanent place.”

I shrug. “And what then? Do we just stay together forever pretending to be siblings?”

“There’s always college. You’re smart enough to get noticed by recruiters. And just think, if you get accepted into a school and graduate, you’ll get a place in a metroblock for life.” He takes my hands and squeezes them reassuringly. “And trust me. This time, I have a lead on a place we can stay for a while. There’ll be plenty of food, water, and even electricity. There’re no neighbors, no patrols, and best of all, no gangs.”

“You have this place for sure? We’re not going to get there and we’ve got to wait a week for a sick old man to die, or some family get evicted?”

“It’s ready and waiting for us.”

“How?”

He presses his lips together, his teeth clamping down on them from inside. I know this look of his. He’s debating whether to tell me.

“A very generous client who needs me to do some very detailed, important work. There can’t be any distractions and definitely no interruptions.”

I spy my tattered work uniform tossed over the back of a folding canvas chair. My bloodstains are bold against the pale pink stripes. “I need to go tell Mindy I’m leaving,” I say.

“We really just need to get on the road. It’ll take us most of the day to get there.”

I don’t ask how we’re getting there. Usually it means stealing cars. Walking. Occasionally, we can scrape together enough money for train tickets. Once, once long ago, we even took an airplane.

I shake my head. I’m stubborn. He knows it. “I’ve never had anyone I wanted to say goodbye to. Give me this, David.”

“An hour. You go right now and come right back. The car will be here for us in an hour.”

That makes me pause. “Someone’s coming to pick us up?”

“It’s a huge job, angel. They don’t want to risk me not making it there.”

“An hour,” I concede.

I eat quickly, even though the food is cold. Cold is better than nothing. After David takes my plate, I return to my room and dig clothes out of my backpack. We travel light. I have two pairs of pants, three shirts, and a few changes of underwear. Not much else. I even lost my hairbrush in our last move. My hair is so fine it’s easy to pull up into a ponytail, so it’s not a loss I mourn too much.

I dress in cargo pants and a t-shirt. The neck has been cut out and it droops over one shoulder. As I reach over to tug it back up, I stop.

The curve of my shoulder catches my attention. My palm fits perfectly over the pale curve. I can feel my shoulder joint beneath my skin and muscles.

Why is this so important?

I blink away the fascination and pull my hair over my exposed shoulder. The pale blonde strands reach nearly to my waist. I twist it loosely to keep it from flying all over the place. David is back in his room, stuffing things into his backpack, when I walk out.

“All your stuff together?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah. In my bag.”

“Be back in an hour. Less, preferably.”

“I will.”

As I hurry down the stairs and squeeze out the door, the thought of never coming back at all enters my mind.