Super

38. days past

TEN YEARS EARLIER

The girl stepped out of the building, casting a quick glance up at the sky, which had darkened with rain clouds. The air had a pre-storm scent to it, which was unusual, because it didn't rain often in the City. During this period, even less.

But then, a lot of strange new things were happening in the city.

She drew up the hood of her jacket over her head, though she knew it wouldn't offer much protection against the rain. The material of the cloth was dark and flimsy, meant for defense against the sharply cool night air, not rainfall. She wondered for a moment if she should go back inside to put on her leotard so the rain would have to soak through three layers of clothes, but thought better of it, owing to the fact that it was probably already soaked with sweat, and the sky was growing too dark for her to be out alone.

Setting her jaw determinedly, she swept her dark hair up into a ponytail and tucked it inside her hood before rushing to cross the street. The lights of the Heron Ballet Academy shut down as she walked away from it, dousing her in darkness, and she felt an uncharacteristic chill as she made her way down the street.

It was mostly empty of people, it being late and about to rain, and there were no cars around either. The Academy was located far inside a narrow street which didn't allow space for many vehicles. It wasn't far from her house, thankfully, which was in a location as remote as the Academy, or else her parents would never have let her attend.

Let me attend, she thought with faded bitterness. As if it wasn't their choice for me to attend these classes, but mine.

It wasn't her house she was headed to now, but someplace different. She was supposed to go straight to her house after her classes, but she could always make up an excuse. And anyway, her parents did think that she was supposed to stay back for an extra half an hour to train with the rest of the girls, which wasn't necessarily true. If it wasn't for her carefully structured lies, she would never get to meet—

"In here," said a voice at her ear, and she would have jumped out of her skin when she felt the hand at her elbow if she hadn't already known who it was. The boy walking next to her carried no umbrella, and his overgrown black hair was a damp halo, but he looked unbothered. Her hands tightened around the straps of her drawstring bag, and she looked away from him as he steered her into a service alley and up a lowered fire escape ladder.

She couldn't see his face as he climbed up the ladder in front of her, but she knew that if she could, it would be solemn. He was serious for someone his age, too serious for someone so young, and she was one of the few people who knew why, or was willing to. He opened the door to the empty apartment with a key she hadn't seen earlier in his hands, and held it open for her as she stepped inside.

"I see you've done a bit of redecorating," she said dryly as he shut the door behind them, looking at the lone table in the middle of the room with scraps piled onto it. She was familiar with the place, knew every wire and every piece of metal on the table, but there was something new to the clutter. The door of a car, ripped of the hinges.

The brown-eyed boy said nothing, moving to the table. She smelled him as he moved past her, an odd mixture of musk and smoke, but nothing to indicate the kind of conditions he lived in. His jacket wasn't as worn as his jeans, but worn still, and it still tugged at the strings of her heart to see him this way.

"I have something to show you," he said, pushing a mop of dark hair away from his forehead, and her hands reflexively reached to draw her hood back. Her fingers curled around her hair—as dark as his, black as a crow's feather against an expanse of white, and she pulled her hair free.

"Did you eat?" she asked, and the tiny bit of light that had appeared in his eyes faded to blankness. She pressed her lips together, taking a step towards him. "Look, I—"

"Doesn't matter," he said, turning away. There was something in the palm of his hand, she noticed, a small, square object, flat and light-looking. He palmed it and set it down on a cleared spot on the table, and her eyes followed, something close to excitement bursting in her chest.

This was the one thing that brought them together—the one interest they shared. Neither of them looked like they would be interested in something like robotics, and the only people they could share this interest was each other. "Is that it? The microchip?"

He nodded, and her heart soared. "It was hard to get," he said, slowly and reluctantly, looking up at her with eyes as dark as smoldering coal. "The debt—I don't know if we could ever—"

"Stop right there," she said, cutting him off, and slung her bag off her shoulders, opening it with a smile. She rummaged about inside it while he looked on in confusion. Finally, her fingers found the lunchbox, and she freed it, raising it triumphantly in the air.

"This calls for a celebration," she said with a smile, and he tilted his head questioningly, though she could see his eyes warm a bit at her enthusiasm. "I didn't have anything in mind when I made it, but it must have been fate."

She pulled open the lid, and the scent spread through the air, dissolving in the musty air like dye in water. She saw his face slacken, all expression erasing itself from his face for a brief moment before it came back in full force. He straightened, smiling—a full, real smile, the one that brought out the light of his eyes and the crinkles in his face, the kind of smile that made her want to freeze the moment and record it, to show it to herself over and over like a vision of hope.

"Apple pie?" she asked, grinning.