Friday Night: Two Days Ago
December it might be, but with the men’s and women’s track teams, the soccer team, and a few other teams contributing for good measure—plus their dates—all packed into the hotel ballroom, the temperature is sweltering. I’m not too bad off in my strapless dress, but the guys are dying. Every chair in the room is covered in a sports coat, each tossed on whichever one was the most convenient at the time because close to half the crowd is drunk. Most illegally. I wonder if Kyle will ever be able to find his jacket again.
The current song ends, and the DJ morphs the final note into some new techno-ish mix. I wrinkle my nose, which, apparently, is the sign Kyle’s been waiting for.
“Drink?” he asks.
Nodding, I pull loose strands of hair off my neck and follow him.
We look like we belong together. He wears this pale green dress shirt that complements my peach dress, and a tie with green, peach and black in it. Normally, Kyle’s favorite clothes include jeans with ripped knees and T-shirts layered over thermals. I had no idea how well he could clean up.
Cute, smart, funny and mine. Well, Sophia’s. And I am not Sophia, no matter how much I want to be. I’m a lie, and Kyle deserves better.
It hits me every now and then. Hits like a punch in the gut, the kind I’m not ready for when my stomach muscles are loose and the wind gets knocked from my lungs. Then, like a good punch in the gut should, it makes me want to crumple into a ball and cry.
This life I’m playing at. These people who think they know me. It’s all a lie. Usually, this not-exactly-profound revelation comes when I’m having fun. It’s as if an alarm sounds in my brain, reminding me of who and what I am. Almost like it was implanted, which maybe it was as some sort of system to prevent me from ever sympathizing or identifying with the enemy.
If so, its creators need to up their game because it’s not working that great. Not only am I identifying with the people around me, I’ve fallen for someone who could be an enemy. Although Kyle’s mystery has become less of a concern recently, displaced by my other issues, I’m still not sure what to make of him. I’m also not sure I should care.
Around me, happily normal people dance and talk. The lights spin in circles, and the fake snow and icicle decorations twinkle. Kyle squeezes my hand, and under those lights, I twinkle too. Just as fake.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just warm.”
I push my guilt aside as we weave across the room. After all, it’s not like Kyle’s been overly eager to share his deepest secrets. For all we’ve hung out together, for all the snooping I’ve done, I know very little about him.
Don’t get me wrong. I know plenty. We talk about classes and music and movies, the places he’s been and the places I want to go. He shares funny stories about driving across Arizona in a car with failing AC during the summer, and how he used to want to be an astronaut and go to Mars until he puked the first time he rode a roller coaster.
I know his mom is a teacher, but I don’t know of what. And I don’t know if she’s his biological mom or a stepmom or an adoptive mom, all of which would be useful clues, but which somehow Kyle manages to avoid discussing no matter how cleverly I bring up family. He turns those conversations right around and asks me about my family.
Every. Damn. Time.
That means I have to lie, and as every spy knows, the more lies you tell, the more likely you are to get caught in one. So instead we talk TV and food and what we want to be when we grow up. I tell him the same thing I told Audrey, and he tells me I shouldn’t join the CIA because they’re evil and he doesn’t trust the government. He says he doesn’t just want to be an ER doctor; he wants to be a doctor assigned to the orbiting “hotel” that’s being built for the booming space-tourism industry. I tell him: see, I was right about you and the urge to fly, but I don’t trust spaceships.
Kyle is very good at talking a lot about himself without saying anything. He’s entertaining. I feel like I know him when the truth is I know nothing about him.
In that way, he’s just like me.
Not good.
Of the forty-six people remaining on my list of possibilities for X, Kyle is the one I have the least useful information on despite the fact that I spend so much time with him. Despite the fact that I’ve been spying on him for weeks. That bugs me.
I don’t want Kyle to be X, but I’m worried. Worried he is, and worried he’s not. That instead, he truly is like me—someone posing here, digging for information that could get an innocent person killed. I’m not sure which of those scenarios would be worse.
Lost in my thoughts, I bump my shoulder on the door on the way out.
“Walk much?” Audrey asks. On the note of people who are still on my list for X, I hope it’s not her either. She was my first non-unit friend, and all I’ve done is lie to her. Unlike Kyle, I’m certain Audrey is a good person. That makes me a crap person for deceiving her.
I turn and discover she and Chase are following me. “Need practice.”
Chase loosens his tie. “Or maybe you need to drink less.” His own breath is laden with illicit booze from the flask he snuck in. “Heat in there’s gonna make us all fall asleep.”
Kyle hands me a cup of nonalcoholic punch, and the four of us wander away from the refreshments and into a deserted part of the lobby. We’re not the only ones trying to escape the crowd or the heat.
Chase collapses onto the wide, old-fashioned windowsills along the back of the building. “No cooler out here? Seriously? Did someone get the furnace stuck on high or what?”
I inspect the ancient windows along the wall. They’re narrow and metal with a locking mechanism along the sides. I flip the mechanism a few times and tug, but the window sticks. Dirt rubs off on my hands.
“That might work,” Kyle says. “Hold up, you’ll get your dress all dirty.”
“I’m fine.”
He elbows me out of the way, and I elbow him back, but then step aside, settling for sticking my tongue out at him. I could probably force the window, but I shouldn’t be showing off how strong I am. Not to mention, bending over like that is a bit risqué in a strapless dress.
Chase tries another window but doesn’t fare any better than me. Meanwhile, Kyle rolls up his sleeves and gives the one I’d been working on a good yank. In a screech of metal, the casement shoots upward. Audrey and I clap as a gust of cold air rushes in.
Grinning, Kyle steps back and examines his hands, which are coated in black dirt. “Gross. These things probably haven’t been opened since the hotel was built.” He sticks a hand back under the window and bends over, examining it.
I finish off my punch and throw our cups in the trash. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a catch. There’s nothing but friction keeping this thing from falling. Watch it crash and the glass break.”
“Dude, leave it be,” Chase says, struggling with another window. “Friction seems good enough.”
Naturally, that’s when friction fails.
The window opened with lots of force and shrieking metal, but the change in temperature means it closes with the smoothness of butter. The glass rattles in its frame, but the metal hits something soft to break the impact—Kyle’s hand.
“Fuuugh!” He clamps his mouth and eyes shut against the pain.
While Audrey screams, I rush to the window and yank it open so Kyle can remove his hand. He wraps his left one around his right as he doubles over. Blood pours through his fingers and drips on the floor.
Chase swears, turning pale. “That looks bad. I’m going to get the car. I think you’re going to need stitches.”
“I’m fine.” Kyle doesn’t sound fine. His voice is strained, and he breathes deeply to control the pain.
“Yeah, right,” Audrey says. She looks faint as she grabs Chase’s arm, and they run toward the entrance.
Blood doesn’t bother me, and I have training in field medicine. “Let me see.”
“No, stay back. Don’t want you getting bloody.” Kyle shuffles away from me. He opens his hand and inspects the damage. From where I stand, it’s all a red mess. “It’s just a cut. No big deal. I need to wash it off.”
I press my lips tightly, watching the blood run down his wrist, thinking of my mission in spite of my concern for him. “That’s one hell of a cut. Chase is right about stitches.”
“Seriously, I’ll be fine. I don’t want stitches.” He jogs down the hall toward the bathrooms. The other people hanging out in the lobby grimace and leave.
Feeling useless, I hang around by myself for a minute in case Chase or Audrey return, then take off after him when they don’t. The blood trail leads into the men’s bathroom. Since there’s no one else around, I barge in.
Kyle already has several paper towels wrapped around his hand. He laughs when I appear around the row of sinks. “Excuse me, I don’t think you belong in here.”
“Excuse me, I think you’re bleeding out all over the floor. I’m here to help.”
Cradling his right hand in his left, he blows hair out of his eyes. “No help required. I’ve got it under control. A little water, some pressure…” He shifts position, and the towels crinkle. “All good.”
He does look better. He’s got color back in his cheeks, and his breathing is normal. “Are you really, truly sure? I get not wanting to go to the hospital, but that was a lot of blood.”
“Really, truly sure.” He puts his arms around me, continuing to apply the pressure to his hand, which is now behind my neck. “See? I could even dance this way. Don’t make me leave. I’m having fun.”
His heat seeps through the thin silk of my dress. His shirt is slightly damp against my bare arms as I wrap them around him. My heart beats like it’s trying to fly away.
“So?” Kyle has a half smile on his face.
My face warms as I realize how tightly I pressed myself against him, and I rest my forehead on his chest. “You’re adorable when you’re wounded.”
I feel his lips on the top of my head. “You’re beautiful all the time.”
“We should go. An actual man could be coming in here any minute, and your trail of blood is not hard to follow.”
“I’ll tell them you were helping me clean up. Totally believable.”
I don’t move even though it’s my idea to leave. “Uh-huh.”
“Exactly.” Then he leans forward and kisses me, and I’m completely paralyzed because my nerves are too busy exploding to do their jobs properly.
When he finally pulls away, I swear my lips are numb. I’m also slightly light-headed. For a second, I panic, thinking he did something sinister. Then it occurs to me—this might be a normal reaction.
“So you like me best when I’m broken?” Kyle muses. “If I’d known you liked playing nurse, Hernandez, we could have gotten you a costume during Halloween.”
“Dork.” I poke him in the back.
He responds by kissing me again. His good hand slides down my hip, lifting the skirt of my dress, and he traces his fingertips over my thigh. My breath hitches in my throat, and my body aches beneath his touch. I can tell his does too, can feel him hardening against me. I’m half a breath from suggesting we run up to the room we’d booked for the night.
Yet another way I was strangely sheltered before this mission. To have reached nineteen years without having touched someone like this. Or been touched. I mean, I knew all about sex, but it was one of those areas where my knowledge was entirely theoretical. Relationships were strictly forbidden at the camp, and for the most part, I consider my unit members like family anyway.
For the most part. Except for that one kiss with Cole…
I push the thought aside. I don’t want to think, be it about the camp or my mission. I want to feel.
“Soph?” Kyle’s hand pauses on my leg.
I don’t like that. I want him to keep moving, and I shift closer to encourage him. “I’m good.” I bend my head so close, I kiss his chin as I speak.
He laughs. “Very good.”
I slide my arms down his back, reveling in the warmth through his shirt, and bring them around front where my fingers hover over his buttons. Kyle breathes heavily, his arousal hot against me. I focus on that, and it’s as though my brain finally shuts off. I’m all lips and hands and heart. No computer running here at all. I don’t even realize what Kyle’s done until I feel his other hand on my neck.
Then the bathroom door opens. We have a second to split apart. Kyle lunges for the paper towel he dropped, and that’s when I see his right hand.
His perfectly perfect right hand with just a crust of dried blood near his thumb.
He snatches the towel, which is blood-free, and wraps it around his hand like he needs it. But it’s too late. I’ve seen. There’s isn’t even a scab left on him.
I pretend not to notice, but I’m the one who could use the help now because I’m going to be sick. Much as I didn’t want Kyle to be an enemy agent, I can now say with total certainty that Kyle being X is far worse. Every cell and circuit in my brain is shrieking with warning sirens.
“Soph, what the hell are you doing in here?” Chase yells after me.
I leave the explanations to Kyle as I race out of the bathroom and into the ladies’ room next door. Maybe my behavior will help Kyle, the way I’m supposed to help him.
Maybe it’ll distract everyone from inspecting his perfect hand too closely.