Half Lives by Sara Grant Page B

with her in his head. He tells her things he can’t tell anyone in Forreal. He imagines how she would look at him if she
didn’t know his direct connection with the Great I AM. He’s beginning to wonder if she was some sort of hallucination.
    He holds his breath as he approaches the secluded spot. If she’s not there today, he tells himself, he will stop coming here and waiting for her. Part of him wants to turn
around. If he doesn’t check, then he can imagine she’s there, always there, waiting for him. But
believing is seeing,
so says the Great I AM.
    He turns the corner to where the path dead-ends. And there she is. She’s standing in front of him. He almost can’t believe it. He wants to rush to her, but he knows this
closeness he’s created is only in his imagination.
    She’s wearing denim shorts. Loose white threads create a fringe at the jagged hem around her thighs. She’s drawn a symbol on her dingy T-shirt. Three triangles form a
sloppy circle. The triangles float near one another like three separate pieces of pie.
    ‘You came back,’ he says. It takes every ounce of strength to keep his distance. She blinks those green eyes at him. They remind him of the lush oasis around the Mountain
spring. That’s what she is to him. ‘I’m Beckett.’
    As if in a trance, she walks over to him and touches his face. He closes his eyes. His attention narrows to the softness of her fingertips as she traces a line from his brow to his
chin.
    ‘Beckett.’ His name is like music on her lips. When he opens his eyes, she jerks her hand away. ‘I wanted to make sure you were real,’ she says shyly.
    He cocks his head. Such a strange creature. ‘What did you think I was?’
    ‘I don’t know. A ghost or something. I’ve heard rumours that this mountain is haunted by strange . . .’ She wipes her hand on her shorts.
‘Sorry.’
    She climbs up the rock. ‘Come on!’ she calls and he follows. The two stand side by side and stare at the desert below.
    He finally works up the courage to speak to her again. ‘Where did you come from?’ He realizes he is leaning forwards, eager to touch her.
    ‘I live in Vega.’ She points to the Man-Made Mountains.
    ‘Vega?’
    ‘That city down there.’ She bites her lower lip.
    He remembers the lights. This girl was the light in the Man-Made Mountains. ‘Is it safe in Vega? Our ancestors told us of horrible beasties that live Out There.’
    ‘I’ve seen mountain lions and coyotes,’ she says, and backs up to the rock’s edge. ‘Is that what you mean?’
    ‘Not exactly.’ He decides not to scare her with talk of Terrorists.
    The girl sits cross-legged and pats the space next to her. Beckett suddenly feels vulnerable out in the open. He’s been wishing for her and now she’s here, but it
doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t know what to say. She shouldn’t be on the Mountain.
    ‘Where are
you
from?’ she asks and cranes her neck to look up at him.
    ‘I live in Forreal,’ he says. He’s not sure how much to reveal. Suddenly this all seems like such a bad idea. After seeing the lights, Finch is itching for a fight.
He’s convinced that anyone and anything Out There is a threat. What would Finch do if he found her?
    ‘For real?’ she says, breaking the word into two parts.
    He doesn’t correct her. ‘It’s on the other side of the Mountain.’
    She tosses her hair over her shoulder and Beckett marvels at how it bounces and falls down her back. He is mesmerized by her round face, rosy cheeks and full pink lips.
    He sits facing her. He can’t hear the Great I AM over the pounding of his heart. He has so much he wants to ask. He’s imagined this moment over and over, but now
he’s too afraid to break the spell. They take turns pretending not to stare at each other. He tests questions in his mind but none of them seem right. And, as the Great I AM says,
Knowledge can suck.
    ‘I probably should go,’ she says after a few more minutes of