Chapter 7
Turns out I don’t need coffee as much as I thought I did. The sheer adrenaline of knowing that Hux is behind me is like having
a jumper cable on my nervous system.
He’s a Mach.
I kissed a Mach.
My hand shakes as I fumble for the computer mouse. A feeling like a fishhook below my belly button fights to drag my gaze
to where Hux is seated across the room. In my periphery, I can see him shooting dark glances my direction. I bite my lip and
square my shoulders, focusing on my screen and only my screen. If only I could actually see the images; they blur in front
of me as I click senselessly.
“You okay?” Nef whispers, pretending to stretch her neck while she looks to make sure the coast is clear.
Ms. Astor has been replaced by a Hammer, but he seems to be more interested in whatever is streaming on his DopaMine feed than keeping an eye on us.
Still, we have to be careful. There are two outside the door, and they patrol the hallways now.
“I’m fine,” I whisper back. I haven’t told Nef what happened. She thinks I just went home. “Just tired.” That’s not a lie.
I am exhausted. Still, my entire body is on fire with electricity, a live wire.
When the bell sounds for our break, I jump about ten feet in the air. Shaking limbs to try to dispel some of the energy, I
follow Nef to the door. I know there are at least a couple of people between me and Hux, can almost feel it, but I am not
going to look back to check.
“Hart,” he calls from behind me as soon as we step into the hallway, and my stomach swoops.
I don’t stop, but Nef elbows me in the ribs.
“Hart, I know you heard me,” Hux says, his voice closer now, lower, just for me.
The crowd slows as everyone bottlenecks toward the mess hall, and I shut my eyes in frustration. There’s nowhere to run. When
I force my eyes open and look over my shoulder, Hux is cutting through the throngs of people, gaze fixed on me.
“Ripley. You can’t avoid him forever,” Nef says, her tone low and playful.
Of course. She just knows about the kiss. She doesn’t know about the whole “he’s a terrorist” part of this equation.
“Ripley,” Hux says, and this time, he’s right behind me.
I can feel the vibration of his voice in my chest. The crowd ahead of us thins, and for a second I consider ignoring him and disappearing into the cafeteria.
It’s not like we could have that conversation in front of people.
And his only other option would be what—throwing me over his shoulder and marching us out into the hallway?
My blood races at the thought. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Nef smirks. “I’ll give you two some privacy,” she says, walking backward for a couple of steps in order to throw me a mock
salute.
“Come on,” Hux says, and I sigh, letting my shoulders drop in resignation as he motions to an empty utility closet on our
left. Unlike a classroom, it at least isn’t packed to the gills with cameras and microphones. After checking to make sure
that no one else is inside, he gives me an after you motion and then follows, closing the door and crossing his arms across his broad chest.
“Nef knows where we are,” I say defensively, and Hux’s expression creases with confusion for a beat before he understands
what I’m saying. His face slackens as he rolls his eyes.
“You know,” I add, “if I’m a target.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Also, you dropped this,” he deadpans, flipping something in the air.
I catch it with one hand, opening my palm to the poker chip.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Ripley,” he says, voice low. As chatter filters in from the hallway, he steps away from the door. Closer to me.
I take a giant step back, tucking the chip in my pocket.
“That’s what Machs do. They blew up a boat, Hux. A boat with kids on it.”
Huxley stops. “I didn’t know about the kids. And they didn’t end up being on the boat, I swear. No one died.”
I drop my arms to my sides as I let out a humorless laugh. “That’s only because your little plan failed. You missed the target.”
Hux surges closer. This time, I don’t back up. I’m angry. More than that, I’m right.
“Don’t pretend you understand,” he shoots at me. “I don’t know how long you were eavesdropping, but no matter what you think
you heard, you’re wrong.”
“Oh, so you were just pretending to be terrorists?” I volley back. “It was all a game of charades, a little improv, where
you discuss human beings, children, as targets?”
This time, his next step forces his body into my personal space, his foot slipping between mine. “A conversation, by the way,
that you weren’t supposed to hear. You followed me, and that was stupid and dangerous. You have no idea how badly that could
have gone.”
“Oh, because if they had seen me, you’d have to kill me?”
Hux reels back as if I’ve slapped him, the motion so sudden that his elbow careens into the wire shelf. As the cleaning supplies rattle, he winces and rubs at his arm, and I feel a sick warmth of vindication.
“Or,” I continue, “try to kill me. Since clearly you aren’t even very good at being a terrorist.”
Hux grimaces. “Do you know what Henderson was doing out there, on the water? Do you know what that little yacht vacation was
actually for?”
The clever retort dies on my lips. I didn’t know there was a reason for billionaires to go on a yacht. I didn’t think yachts
had utilitarian purposes, really. Yachts seem like a “just for vibes” kind of boat. But I don’t say that. Hux already thinks
I’m silly and emotional, not even smart enough to be his friend.
Hux can read the answer on my face, and he leans closer, eyes searching me. “He was scouting for a suitable dumping ground
for toxic waste.” Hux nods at whatever he finds in my expression. “Yeah. They’ve been looking for a way to covertly get rid
of seven million tons of dangerous shit, Ripley. You know the cost of keeping Alba running? Battery acid, mercury, lead. Graves
signed a bill. Gave them the legal loopholes. If they are able to dump the waste in the water where he was vacationing—as
the company calls it—it will destroy the wildlife for a thousand square miles. Another part of the earth will be turned to
poison. Forever.”
The words sink in, and while I try to keep my face neutral, I can tell that Hux knows he’s hit his mark. Another part of the
earth. An ending of the world, if only a portion.
“So yeah, Ripley. I want them scared. I want them all scared to try something like that.”
Me too. My mind fills with images of blue water turning black, lifeless sea creatures bobbing on the surface.
But another thought cuts through the horrific picture he’s painted: two kids, ages seven and five.
“What he wants to do is wrong. But what you almost did is also wrong, Hux. You put innocent people in danger, and if the administration
could prove any legal wrongdoing, they’d stop him. If you don’t like the law, you have to change the law. If we can just get
enough people to vote—”
“You cannot be this na?ve, Ripley!” Hux cries, cutting me off. As I stare, he lets out a huff and spins around, throwing his
arms out. “You? I mean, you’re actually one of the only people in this training center that I thought would get it.”
What does that mean?
But Hux isn’t done. “We can’t just sit back and wait for a happy ending. This isn’t a DopaMine channel. We have to fight for
a new beginning in the real world. No matter the cost.”
“Even if that cost is people’s lives?” I bite out, fighting to keep my voice low. If the Hammers barge in and Hux tries to kiss me as cover again, I’m punching
him square in the mouth.
“I don’t want to kill people,” he says evenly. “And, for what it’s worth, I haven’t killed anyone.”
The yet is silent. It hangs in the air, like a sword over both our necks. Still, my heart steadies at his words. He can still get
out of this.
“There are other ways to make changes,” I say, though I hesitate to say more. It was one thing to tell Nef about Lyceum. It’s
another to tell Hux, especially when Uri and Lena made it clear that Lyceum and the Machs are not on good terms.
Hux eases closer, and I meet his eyes. “From the day we met, I knew you had a soft heart, Ripley. I knew that I could—” He
cuts himself off and swallows, his throat going. “That’s rare, now. It’s not a bad thing. But leading with that soft heart
instead of your head . . . that’s dangerous. Some people are just bad. And bad people in power are dangerous.”
“So they deserve to die?” I whisper.
Hux considers this for a moment, gaze darting between my eyes. “If they don’t, others will.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how it works—not how democracy works. We all have power. No one has to die, if we get people
to vote—”
“You think President Graves will listen to a vote?”
Stop talking, I think, but I can’t. My mouth is moving two beats before my reasoning.
“Of course,” I whisper, to hide how my voice is trembling.
“He isn’t a monster. He’s just a person.
A father. A neighbor.” A soft smile, big hands opening a packet of chalk.
A warm voice asking if I liked cheese pizza or pepperoni.
The memories flash behind my eyes, unbidden.
I hate that it makes me want to cry. “You don’t know him. ”
Hux makes a face. “And you do?”
“Yes,” I say, hating that there are tears in my eyes now. “I did. He was my neighbor, Hux. And he . . . he’ll do the right
thing. It doesn’t have to end like this.”
Hux freezes. When he does move, it’s a sharp tilt of his head. “What did you say?”
A tear escapes, and I brush it back roughly with the back of my hand.
“I grew up next to the Graves family. Before we moved here, before my parents were . . . lost their jobs. Our families were
friends. My parents were close with Graves. And I was close with . . .” I can’t say his name. “The family,” I finish pathetically.
“I mean, I didn’t keep in touch, when I moved here. I wanted to write letters, but instead I wrote . . .”
I trail off, biting my lip. There’s absolutely no way I’m telling Hux about Written in the Stars. How much I missed the boy I loved, how I wrote down our best memories from Before in the strange new After, because it felt
like the only way of holding on to him after he was gone.
Hux goes quiet, blinking several times as he looks to the side. It’s like he’s trying to piece something together, but I don’t
know what.
“He was your neighbor?” Hux repeats, his voice empty. “Just like I am now?”
“It’s not the same,” I say, my voice bitter. “Not at all. So no, Huxley Finn. I don’t think killing people is the answer. Because they’re human. And no one is past saving. Past reason. In eight months, when people go to vote, we will get our new beginning.”
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. For a long moment, those green eyes search my face, and then his lips set
in a thin line, and he beelines for the door and disappears, leaving me standing alone.
I hold myself against the supply shelves, not daring to move until I’ve dried every tear.