Until the Beginning
Page 12
“I hope you don’t mind, then, if I leave you here in the truck.” She runs a hand through her hair, releasing a mini–dirt cloud. “I could use a swim.” Opening her door, she steps out of the cab and goes around to the back of the truck to get some clothes and a towel out of her backpack. Then, walking onto the beach, she kicks off her shoes, strips off her tank top and jeans and dives into the water wearing only her bra and panties. They’re blue. Not sky blue—a darker blue, like the ocean.
I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see her strip. Juneau’s underwear has more material than most of the bikinis you see in L.A. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s wearing lingerie at all. Maybe I was expecting her to go commando, being raised by hippies and all. Or maybe I expected her to be super-modest. Then again, she’s not only seen me naked, but dressed me while I was unconscious. Kind of a strange situation for two people who have only kissed. Okay, rolled around on the ground in a mad passionate kiss, but whatever.
I try to erase all thoughts of Juneau and her soft mouth and our steamy make-out session. We’re not only on a mission—we’re fugitives. Even if both of us wanted to, there won’t be much time for rolling around anywhere in the near future. I lean my head out the window for some fresh air to cool me down.
Juneau splashes around for a moment, rubbing her hands over her hair and up and down her arms, washing off the dirt. Then she turns and swims toward the river’s far bank, using broad strokes as her body glides through the water. In ten minutes she’s across a river that would have taken me twice that time to swim. Without taking a break, she turns and heads back.
I lay my head back against the seat and finally let myself think about what has happened to me. I died. And then came back to life. So I’m basically undead. I’m a zombie.
An immortal zombie, I remind myself. One that doesn’t smell like rotting flesh or have limbs falling off. I congratulate myself for looking on the positive side of things, but still can’t help feeling like a freak.
I watch Juneau’s head bob up and down as she executes a perfect crawl. She saved your life, I think, and feel torn. Part of me is just happy to be alive. To have survived a fatal gunshot wound. But another part is pretty freaked out. I’m something else now. Something that even Juneau isn’t, since she isn’t supposed to undergo the Rite until she turns twenty.
I’ve taken a drug that my dad would give his left arm to have, and it’s changed me forever. I don’t even know what it means. Do I have magical powers? Does this slowed-aging thing make me immortal? Awe and fear fuse inside me and rise like lava, scalding my chest and my throat.
I close my eyes and breathe out deeply, then inhale another lungful of air and blow it out as slowly as I can. I’m okay. I’m alive. And I’m with a girl I’m falling for. Okay, let’s be honest, have fallen for. Past tense.
Opening my eyes, I watch as Juneau strides out of the water, dripping wet as she reaches for her towel. She rubs it over her head, wipes down her body, and then does a trick where she wraps the towel around herself, takes off the wet clothes and puts on dry ones without showing skin. Finally, she’s walking toward the pickup wearing black jeans and a red tank top. Her cheeks are flushed from the swim.
She spreads out the towel and wet clothes in the back, combs her hair down so it’s pixie instead of punk, and climbs into the driver’s seat, leaning back on her door to face me. “I’d unstrap your seat belt if I didn’t think you’d fall over,” she says with a ghost of a smile.
“How long will I be paralyzed?” I ask.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve got a while to go,” she says. “You won’t need food while you’re still under the influence of the death-sleep. Most of my clan members stay in the medicine hut for four days, sleeping the whole time with two or three short awakenings. You’re awake for long stretches, talking and making sense. It’s like the fact that you were already on death’s door has given you superpowers.” Juneau says it jokingly, but spots the look on my face and pauses. “What?” she asks.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s kind of frightening to hear that I’m an anomaly: no longer a ‘normal’ human, but not like the rest of your clan. I don’t even understand what my ‘new and improved’ body can do.” My joke falls flat. I shake my head. “Okay. What this means is I’m eighteen years old and I’m never going to get older. I won’t grow another inch, won’t develop past where I am right now. Right?”
She nods. “Pretty much. But you’re alive. And I happen to like you the way you are right now.” She leans over and wraps her arms around me, and I rest my head on hers.
We sit there for a full minute, her soft hair cushioning my cheek. Finally she pulls back, enough so that our faces are mere inches apart. She closes her eyes and leans in to give me a warm, soft kiss, and then stays close, running her fingers through my hair. I breathe in her breath and it calms me. Centers me.
“I promise to tell you everything I know about the Rite I gave you,” she says. “I’ll tell you everything the elders taught me about the Yara—the truth along with the lies.
“Then you can do what I’m doing now . . . figure out what makes sense to you. Which parts you believe—which parts make a difference to who you are. Who you can become.”
I don’t know why I’m so surprised to see her strip. Juneau’s underwear has more material than most of the bikinis you see in L.A. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s wearing lingerie at all. Maybe I was expecting her to go commando, being raised by hippies and all. Or maybe I expected her to be super-modest. Then again, she’s not only seen me naked, but dressed me while I was unconscious. Kind of a strange situation for two people who have only kissed. Okay, rolled around on the ground in a mad passionate kiss, but whatever.
I try to erase all thoughts of Juneau and her soft mouth and our steamy make-out session. We’re not only on a mission—we’re fugitives. Even if both of us wanted to, there won’t be much time for rolling around anywhere in the near future. I lean my head out the window for some fresh air to cool me down.
Juneau splashes around for a moment, rubbing her hands over her hair and up and down her arms, washing off the dirt. Then she turns and swims toward the river’s far bank, using broad strokes as her body glides through the water. In ten minutes she’s across a river that would have taken me twice that time to swim. Without taking a break, she turns and heads back.
I lay my head back against the seat and finally let myself think about what has happened to me. I died. And then came back to life. So I’m basically undead. I’m a zombie.
An immortal zombie, I remind myself. One that doesn’t smell like rotting flesh or have limbs falling off. I congratulate myself for looking on the positive side of things, but still can’t help feeling like a freak.
I watch Juneau’s head bob up and down as she executes a perfect crawl. She saved your life, I think, and feel torn. Part of me is just happy to be alive. To have survived a fatal gunshot wound. But another part is pretty freaked out. I’m something else now. Something that even Juneau isn’t, since she isn’t supposed to undergo the Rite until she turns twenty.
I’ve taken a drug that my dad would give his left arm to have, and it’s changed me forever. I don’t even know what it means. Do I have magical powers? Does this slowed-aging thing make me immortal? Awe and fear fuse inside me and rise like lava, scalding my chest and my throat.
I close my eyes and breathe out deeply, then inhale another lungful of air and blow it out as slowly as I can. I’m okay. I’m alive. And I’m with a girl I’m falling for. Okay, let’s be honest, have fallen for. Past tense.
Opening my eyes, I watch as Juneau strides out of the water, dripping wet as she reaches for her towel. She rubs it over her head, wipes down her body, and then does a trick where she wraps the towel around herself, takes off the wet clothes and puts on dry ones without showing skin. Finally, she’s walking toward the pickup wearing black jeans and a red tank top. Her cheeks are flushed from the swim.
She spreads out the towel and wet clothes in the back, combs her hair down so it’s pixie instead of punk, and climbs into the driver’s seat, leaning back on her door to face me. “I’d unstrap your seat belt if I didn’t think you’d fall over,” she says with a ghost of a smile.
“How long will I be paralyzed?” I ask.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“No.”
“Then you’ve got a while to go,” she says. “You won’t need food while you’re still under the influence of the death-sleep. Most of my clan members stay in the medicine hut for four days, sleeping the whole time with two or three short awakenings. You’re awake for long stretches, talking and making sense. It’s like the fact that you were already on death’s door has given you superpowers.” Juneau says it jokingly, but spots the look on my face and pauses. “What?” she asks.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s kind of frightening to hear that I’m an anomaly: no longer a ‘normal’ human, but not like the rest of your clan. I don’t even understand what my ‘new and improved’ body can do.” My joke falls flat. I shake my head. “Okay. What this means is I’m eighteen years old and I’m never going to get older. I won’t grow another inch, won’t develop past where I am right now. Right?”
She nods. “Pretty much. But you’re alive. And I happen to like you the way you are right now.” She leans over and wraps her arms around me, and I rest my head on hers.
We sit there for a full minute, her soft hair cushioning my cheek. Finally she pulls back, enough so that our faces are mere inches apart. She closes her eyes and leans in to give me a warm, soft kiss, and then stays close, running her fingers through my hair. I breathe in her breath and it calms me. Centers me.
“I promise to tell you everything I know about the Rite I gave you,” she says. “I’ll tell you everything the elders taught me about the Yara—the truth along with the lies.
“Then you can do what I’m doing now . . . figure out what makes sense to you. Which parts you believe—which parts make a difference to who you are. Who you can become.”
