This world houses a million fleeting delights.
I’d be a fool if I denied that. But I ask you, how can they ever truly compare to a long and safe life?
—Pioneer
The trip into town takes forever. There’s not much to look at on the way, just a ribbon of dirt and then blacktop winding through grass and trees. There are other cars now and then, but not enough to feel like we aren’t the only ones on the road. I put my sketchbook and some charcoal pencils in my backpack, but I won’t pull them out until we’re almost there. There’s nothing to sketch here. For now, I sit back and close my eyes and imagine what Will and Marie are doing back home. I drum my fingers against the window and try not to worry about being so far away from them—and the Silo.
This time last week we were all out on the prairie shooting targets. Strange how different things are now. I doubt that there will be more practices anymore. Pioneer will pretty much lock down the development once we get home. The time for practicing is officially over. I don’t like how final everything feels today. And every mile that we put between us and Mandrodage Meadows increases my anxiety. It feels like the end is breathing down my neck now.
Once we get to Culver Creek, we drop the furniture off first. I do some quick sketches of the men helping my dad unload the truck. I try to sketch the people I come across in town. It’s much more pleasant to concentrate on the slope of someone’s forehead or the cleft in his chin than on the idea that he’ll be dead in a few months, even if he is evil.
My mom and I wait inside the truck’s cab. The windows are down, but it’s still extremely hot. I wish we could put the air on, but Pioneer doesn’t like us to keep the truck running. He says someone might carjack us if we do. It’s safer to leave it off and have my dad keep the keys with him.
My mom’s brought a book to keep her occupied while we wait—a collection of poetry. She says it relaxes her, but today her fingers keep flipping the top corners of the right-hand pages. It makes a small thck, thck sound that reminds me of a dripping faucet. It’s maddening, but I don’t ask her to stop, because in her current mood she’s liable to bite my head off.
After the furniture’s unloaded, we pull back onto the main road and head toward the Walmart where we can get most of our supply-list items all at once. Pioneer says it’s the perfect place for us to shop because it’s the only big store for miles and miles. Two towns’ worth of people come to it fairly regularly, so we’re unlikely to attract any attention with our own trip here—except that we’ll have several carts. Dad decides we should split up to save time. He’ll fill part of the list and my mom and I will fill the other.
I actually really like this store. There are always tons of really unique people in it. There’s even a hair-cutting place in front. I like to spend a few minutes there watching the people inside get haircuts. Sometimes they even have tinfoil and other objects twisted into their hair. My mom says that’s how they make it different colors, but the process seems ridiculous somehow. Why go to so much trouble just to go from brunette to blond?
I’ve never had my hair cut by anyone other than Marie, my mom, or someone else in the Community. Usually we’re in the backyard, not in some glass-fronted store where everyone can watch. It’s weird. Mom knows that I love to watch the goings-on inside and usually stands with me for a few minutes before we get down to business, but not today. Today she’s focused on getting in and getting out as quickly as possible. Her eyes already scan the aisles for the location of the first items on the list. I walk as slowly as I can so that I can look into the salon just a little longer.
The stylist in the salon is a big, big woman—and I don’t just mean fat. She’s maybe the tallest woman I’ve ever seen, besides being one of the roundest. Her hair is a shade I’ve never seen on a person before—apricot. It isn’t really curly or straight. It’s more like a puff of cotton fill, soft and springy. Her face is covered in more colors: stripes of blue along her eyelids and slashes of bright pink along her cheeks. She’s clashing in every way possible, right down to her black fingernails and aggressively snug yellow jeans. Her hands are buried in some boy’s longish brown hair.
Cody’s hair, I realize with a start.
No, it can’t be him, can it? I did tell him we’d be here today, so it shouldn’t be that big of a shock, but I can’t help it, it is.
I look over at my mom to see if she’s noticed him. Then I remember that they’ve never met. Pioneer and Brian are the only other people who’ve gotten a good look at him. I’m frozen, afraid to move and attract his attention. Seeing him again has simultaneously scrambled my brain and shaken my insides. I stop walking and stare.
Cody brushes some hair out of his eyes. The hair lady has combed most of it straight into his face and is trimming the back, her mouth moving constantly either because she’s babbling like crazy or really enjoying her gum. Cody puts both hands on his knees. I can see him squeeze them, his fingers taut against his jeans.
He looks up and his eyes meet mine. His eyes widen and then his face brightens.
“Hi,” he mouths.
I just stare back at him. I’m still unsure of what to do. I should run, but if I do, maybe he’ll come out here after me.
Then he lifts his eyes in the direction of the woman’s fingers and his hair and mouths, “Help me.” He grimaces and I can’t help it, I laugh out loud. I clap a hand over my mouth and take a step backward, right into my mom.
“Lyla, what are you doing? We have tons to do, let’s go.” My mom pulls on my arm and I give Cody one last look before I turn toward the maze of aisles and start putting things into one of our two carts. My hands are trembly and I can’t stop looking over my shoulder. I’m praying not to see Cody again, but then hoping to see him at the same time.
Shopping always takes a long time for us. Since we only do it once or twice each year, we aren’t very familiar with the layout of the store. We can’t always find the items that are on our list and spend lots of time walking up and down the aisles. Canned goods and cereals are easiest, but things like aspirin and duct tape are hard. Usually I don’t mind, but today I’m willing Mom to move even faster than she already is.
“We’ll be done soon, don’t worry.” Mom pats my shoulder. She must think that I’m nervous for the same reasons she is. Guilt consumes me. I’ve let this boy infect my brain. I’m weak and susceptible to temptation, especially when it comes wrapped in the body of a boy like Cody. I’m the reason for Pioneer’s prayers last night. He must suspect my weakness. Maybe the Brethren—far away but watching me—told him.
I keep searching for Cody as we fill the cart with toilet paper and paper towels, but after at least a half hour, there’s still no sign of him. I start to relax a little. We’ve filled one cart and are halfway through another now. Maybe he had to leave. I try not to let this thought disappoint me too much. It’s a good thing he hasn’t shown up.
I pat my pocket, the one with Marie’s money in it. After we’re done here, I might have a chance to get her magazines. Maybe I’ll try when we fill up the truck with gas. Even though there are books and magazines here, I won’t get an opportunity to buy any. My mom never lets me out of her sight in this store. She says it’s too big and that there are too many opportunities for trouble to find me, but at the gas station maybe I can convince her to let me pay like Marie does and get the magazines there. I’m not excited about the idea. I’m more sick than anything else, but it’s as good a distraction as any to keep me from obsessing about Cody. Plus, part of me wants to be able to do what Marie did, to do something no one expects of me.
“Grab me that big jar of olives over there.” Mom squints at the list in her hand as she nudges me. I scan the shelves, my mind still on the money and my supposed mission and Cody. I turn to hand her the gallon-sized jar, but I let go too soon. The jar slips from between both of our outstretched hands and smashes by my mom’s feet. Olives and light brown liquid spread out across the aisle. My mother lets out a little yelp as some of the liquid splashes onto her pants. They are soaked all along the bottom and middle with juice.
“Sorry!” I squeak.
“It was an accident, no one’s fault,” Mom says as we stoop together to start picking up the broken glass.
A man with a name tag enters the aisle and hurries over to us. “No, no, no, ladies, please don’t go pickin’ that stuff up on your own. You’ll cut yourselves. I’ve got this.” The man waves us away as he pulls out a small walkie-talkie-type thing and starts speaking into it. “Suz, we got a mess on aisle seven.”
My mom’s pants are stuck to her calves. The air around us reeks of olives. “I need to go and try to get this stuff out of my pants,” she says. “I can’t smell this all the way home. I’ll be sick.”
“The bathroom’s up front, right?” I ask as I turn the cart in that direction.
“Yes, but it’s past the checkout lines. We’ll have to check out and then go in, but even then we can’t really leave the cart alone, can we?” My mom chews on her lip. “I’ll just deal with it for now until we find your father.” She shakes her leg out a bit, but her pants are a second skin where the hem meets her ankles. She has to be uncomfortable.
“Why don’t we just find a cheap pair of pants and then you can change really quick while I wait with the carts out here?”
My mom looks like she’s ready to say no out of habit, but then she hesitates. The pants must really be bothering her for her to even consider leaving me alone. I know that the smell is definitely getting to me. I hate olives. We both do.
“Fine, but you have to stay right up front. No wandering around and no talking to strangers.”
I nod my head. “I think I can handle myself for two whole minutes, Mom.” Although at this point, I’m not completely sure.
We pick out a pair of seven-dollar navy pants from the clearance rack and head to the front of the store. I stop just before the checkout, directly across from the bathrooms. My mom pulls her cart up next to mine and heads to the closest checkout line. She glances at me repeatedly while she waits for the person in front of her to pay. I swear she’s convinced that a swarm of psycho killers will come running out of nowhere and snatch me up. I shake my head and look around for my dad. It’s then that I notice where I’m standing—right in front of the magazine and book section. I swallow hard and look up at my mom. If I hurry, maybe I can grab a few magazines and make it through the checkout line before she comes back out.
I wait while she gathers up her bag and her receipt and heads toward the bathroom. She hesitates by the door. I try to smile at her, but my mouth’s gotten very dry all of a sudden and my lips seem to be stuck to my teeth. So instead I wave and hope that I don’t look as nervous and guilty as I feel. She waves back and goes into the bathroom.
I look around one more time for my dad, but he’s nowhere in sight. I inch toward the display shelves full of books and magazines, sure that at any moment one or both of my parents will come rushing up behind me yelling “Aha!” I wipe my palms on my shorts and walk the seven remaining steps to the magazines. I give them one quick scan before I pick the two with the prettiest people on them. I turn toward our shopping carts and try to decide which checkout line looks quickest when I notice a cardboard book display of more than a dozen books with the kind of covers Marie mentioned.
I stop and pick up one with a cover I know Marie will love. It makes me want to grimace or gag or both. There’s a bare-chested man on it and his muscles are so well defined that they look cartoonish, all hairless and tan. His hair is dark and tousled like someone’s just run their fingers through it. Next to him is an extremely busty woman with long dark hair and parted lips. Her hand is draped over one of his shoulders and she’s swooning into him. I wonder if this is how Marie sees herself and Brian when they’re together. I imagine their heads on top of the bodies on the book cover and I laugh out loud. I turn the book over and start looking for the price.
“You’re into romance books?” a male voice says.
I startle and almost drop the book. Cody is across the display from me. His eyebrow is quirked up and he’s grinning at me.
“Um, no, I mean, sort of … it’s for a friend,” I mumble, and my face fills with heat. A tornado of emotions—panic, joy, and horror—swirls through me.
He holds up his hands. “Hey, no judgment here. My mom loves those things. She’s got about a dozen beside her bed right now. Trust me, the one you’ve got there is tame by comparison.” He shivers and then chuckles.
“I thought you’d left” is all I can manage to say.
“I was just waiting to see if I could get you alone. Something tells me your parents wouldn’t approve of us … talking. Right?”
I smile a little. “Um, yeah.”
“Lucky for me you attacked your mom with those olives. I was beginning to think you would leave before I’d get my chance.”
I laugh a little and stare at the books in front of me. Cody flips through a stack of books beside him. “You could always get your friend this one.” He holds up a book with a bronzed and glistening pirate in pants so tight and low that it isn’t hard to guess what’s underneath them.
“Who can resist a dude in extra-tight striped pants?” Cody smirks, and we both laugh.
His eyes crinkle and his lips twist off to one side of his face when he smiles. His hair is still damp from his haircut, tousled and soft looking near the nape of his neck. I have the strangest urge to touch the tiny hairs there to see if they feel the way that I think they do, like duck down.
I’m staring and he’s smiling at me while I do it. I look back down at the books. I have to get away from him. Whatever this is that I’m feeling is all wrong. I know it and yet I can’t make myself walk away. Instead I find myself trying to memorize his face. How can a boy I barely know interest me this much? Why him and not Will?
Will is chosen, like me. Cody’s not. The Brethren have decided that he’s supposed to die. If he was good, he’d be in Mandrodage Meadows with us. The Brethren would’ve seen to it and led Pioneer to him. Instead he’s here in Culver Creek, which means that I’m losing it over a guy who’s been sentenced to death, inherently damaged and evil.
But who knew someone so supposedly evil could seem so … not? Nothing about him screams danger to me. Shouldn’t I have some sort of warning bell going off in my head? Shouldn’t I have an overwhelming urge to run? I don’t. So what does that say about me?
Cody’s watching me. He’d been talking about something a moment ago, but now he’s just staring at me, his head cocked to one side like he’s trying to eavesdrop on my thoughts.
“Where’d you just go?” he asks softly.
“Sorry, I just … should probably find my parents.” I finally commit to what I have to do and it sucks.
“But we’ve only been talking for a few minutes.” He moves a little closer and leans against the book display. His hand is close enough to mine that our fingers touch. My stomach flops around like a fish on land.
“Why don’t we just walk the aisles? If your parents show up, you can tell them that you went looking for them and got turned around,” Cody asks. He hasn’t moved his hand. It’s still touching mine.
I move over a little to put some space between us. “I can’t. I promised my mom that I’d wait right here with our carts. We’re just about done shopping anyway. So this is kind of it, sorry.”
His face falls a little. “You’re sure?”
I nod.
“Lyla!” Mom shouts my name. Her face is the picture of panic. People turn to look at her and then at me. My face flushes and I fight the urge to go hide under one of the clothing racks.
“See? I’ve really gotta go,” I mumble at Cody. I can’t meet his eyes as I talk.
Mom’s already closed the distance between us. “Are you all right?” she asks loudly enough for Cody and several other people standing nearby to hear.
“Mom, I’m fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m Cody.” Cody offers my mom his hand to shake, but she looks at it like it might sting her. “Lyla gave me a tour of your neighborhood when I was there with my dad last week. Sheriff Crowley?”
Mom just stares at him.
“Anyway, I saw her over here and just thought that I’d say hello.” He smiles, but my mom’s face is pinched and suspicious. I want to die.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid we’ve got a busy day ahead of us. No time for chitchat. Come along, Lyla.” She pulls at my arm. Her fingers grip it uncomfortably.
I look at Cody one last time. Our eyes lock for a second. I shouldn’t feel disappointed. I knew something like this would happen. I barely know him. My chest squeezes and I feel dangerously close to tears. Whatever this was, it’s over before it could even start—which, according to everything that I believe, is only right. I just wish it didn’t feel so wrong.
“Hey, wait! Don’t you want your magazines … and books?” Cody calls out, and I cringe. He holds the magazines up where my mom can see them. Mom cuts her eyes at me. I won’t look at her.
“Lyla?” She looks at me like she’s never seen me before in her life.
“Um, I was only looking at them. He must’ve misunderstood.”
Cody looks ready to bring the book and magazines to me, but then he looks at my mom and thinks better of it. Instead he shrugs and sets them down. Mom pulls my arm a little harder.
“Mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Nothing, nothing’s going on,” I say woodenly. It’s true. Nothing is going on, not anymore.