you to memorize the bible.”
Amber
was about to snap out another retort when her eyes brightened. “Hold on,” she
said, reaching into her pocket. “I think Clive took a picture on my phone.” She
flipped through her photos then showed one to Aaron.
They
stared at the photo on her cell phone screen together. The vial, just as Aaron
remembered, now with an ID code clearly silhouetted against the fluid.
JGEM130301
“The
numbers are a date,” said Aaron, “March 1 st .”
“No
duh,” said Amber, “I can read too. That’s the day Justin disappeared. The
letters are initials.”
Aaron
nodded, feeling a wave of chills. “Justin Gorski and Emma Mist.”
They
both fell silent. Slowly, Aaron released his breath and cupped his face in his
hands. Amber quietly returned the cell phone to her pocket, and by an unspoken
agreement, they didn’t bring it up again. There was nothing else they could do.
Amber
broke the silence first. “Why are you scared of meeting your half?”
“Because
I don’t want to spend my life with a stranger,” he said.
“You
know the first second you see her, you’re going to change your mind,” she said.
“You don’t need clairvoyance to love someone.”
“I
know, but it’s supposed to be more than that with your half.”
“It’s
not,” she said. “The high wears off after a few months. Then you’re just two
ordinary people faking it like the rest of the adults.”
“At
least it’s better than it was before.”
“You
mean pre-discovery? Clearly you haven’t seen the bad ones.”
“What
bad ones?”
“Like
my parents. They’re rotten and they hate each other’s guts. Just because they’re
joined at the hip doesn’t make them saints . . . They actually bring out the worst in
each other.” Amber swiveled away from him again. “And that’s what I get to look
forward to.” A few strands of her hair came loose and dangled in front of her
eyes.
Aaron
resisted the urge to brush them back. “Is that because you’re Clive’s half?” he
said, dreading the answer.
She
bit her lip and edged away from him, and a single teardrop teetered on her
eyelid. Aaron recognized right then what he should have seen from the
beginning. The redness of her cheeks. Amber had been crying before she came to
his house.
“I’m
sorry—” he began.
“I
have to go,” she said, and without a glance backward, she fled for the door.
“You
don’t have to,” he blurted out, halting her in the doorway and immediately
regretting it. “I mean—you’re allowed to stay.”
“Oh,
really?” she said, “Actually, Aaron, what I’m allowed to do isn’t up to you.”
Then she gave him one last look that set his skin on fire and vanished into the
hallway. A few seconds later, he heard the front door close.
Aaron
grabbed his volleyball again and lay on his bed, loathing the pounding in his
chest. He tried to set the ball to the ceiling, but it struck the shelf above
him and dislodged a T-ball trophy, which fell on his face.
Aaron
sat up and rubbed the cut on his forehead. Clearly, he had to stay away from
her. He couldn’t afford to fall for her, not with his birthday in two weeks.
To
clear his mind of Amber’s green eyes, he thought about the vial instead, and
the question neither one of them had dared voice: what in God’s name was Justin
and Emma’s clairvoyance doing inside a vial?
***
Health class wrapped up
on Friday afternoon with a video on half disorders. Still preoccupied with the
vial, Aaron didn’t bother watching. He already knew his disorder
wouldn’t be covered.
But the next section
drew his attention back to the screen for a different reason: “Premature
Contact.”
“You meet your half at
age eighteen for a reason,” said the narrator in his British accent, while a
cheesy movie played in the background of new halves holding hands. “Just as
touching a wire to a battery creates a surge of electricity, first contact with
your half literally creates a
Amber
was about to snap out another retort when her eyes brightened. “Hold on,” she
said, reaching into her pocket. “I think Clive took a picture on my phone.” She
flipped through her photos then showed one to Aaron.
They
stared at the photo on her cell phone screen together. The vial, just as Aaron
remembered, now with an ID code clearly silhouetted against the fluid.
JGEM130301
“The
numbers are a date,” said Aaron, “March 1 st .”
“No
duh,” said Amber, “I can read too. That’s the day Justin disappeared. The
letters are initials.”
Aaron
nodded, feeling a wave of chills. “Justin Gorski and Emma Mist.”
They
both fell silent. Slowly, Aaron released his breath and cupped his face in his
hands. Amber quietly returned the cell phone to her pocket, and by an unspoken
agreement, they didn’t bring it up again. There was nothing else they could do.
Amber
broke the silence first. “Why are you scared of meeting your half?”
“Because
I don’t want to spend my life with a stranger,” he said.
“You
know the first second you see her, you’re going to change your mind,” she said.
“You don’t need clairvoyance to love someone.”
“I
know, but it’s supposed to be more than that with your half.”
“It’s
not,” she said. “The high wears off after a few months. Then you’re just two
ordinary people faking it like the rest of the adults.”
“At
least it’s better than it was before.”
“You
mean pre-discovery? Clearly you haven’t seen the bad ones.”
“What
bad ones?”
“Like
my parents. They’re rotten and they hate each other’s guts. Just because they’re
joined at the hip doesn’t make them saints . . . They actually bring out the worst in
each other.” Amber swiveled away from him again. “And that’s what I get to look
forward to.” A few strands of her hair came loose and dangled in front of her
eyes.
Aaron
resisted the urge to brush them back. “Is that because you’re Clive’s half?” he
said, dreading the answer.
She
bit her lip and edged away from him, and a single teardrop teetered on her
eyelid. Aaron recognized right then what he should have seen from the
beginning. The redness of her cheeks. Amber had been crying before she came to
his house.
“I’m
sorry—” he began.
“I
have to go,” she said, and without a glance backward, she fled for the door.
“You
don’t have to,” he blurted out, halting her in the doorway and immediately
regretting it. “I mean—you’re allowed to stay.”
“Oh,
really?” she said, “Actually, Aaron, what I’m allowed to do isn’t up to you.”
Then she gave him one last look that set his skin on fire and vanished into the
hallway. A few seconds later, he heard the front door close.
Aaron
grabbed his volleyball again and lay on his bed, loathing the pounding in his
chest. He tried to set the ball to the ceiling, but it struck the shelf above
him and dislodged a T-ball trophy, which fell on his face.
Aaron
sat up and rubbed the cut on his forehead. Clearly, he had to stay away from
her. He couldn’t afford to fall for her, not with his birthday in two weeks.
To
clear his mind of Amber’s green eyes, he thought about the vial instead, and
the question neither one of them had dared voice: what in God’s name was Justin
and Emma’s clairvoyance doing inside a vial?
***
Health class wrapped up
on Friday afternoon with a video on half disorders. Still preoccupied with the
vial, Aaron didn’t bother watching. He already knew his disorder
wouldn’t be covered.
But the next section
drew his attention back to the screen for a different reason: “Premature
Contact.”
“You meet your half at
age eighteen for a reason,” said the narrator in his British accent, while a
cheesy movie played in the background of new halves holding hands. “Just as
touching a wire to a battery creates a surge of electricity, first contact with
your half literally creates a
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