said Amber. “Every generation.”
“You mean half death?”
“People were fine living without their halves for millions of years,” she said. “Like that old woman on the news. Her half probably died ages ago and she didn’t even feel it.” Amber pulled her legs up to her chest. “It wasn’t even until the second generation that people started dying of half death . . . our grandparents’ generation. And back then it took years. Now it’s only a few days.”
“I know. Soon you won’t be able to take a piss without holding Clive’s hand.”
Amber arched her lip in disgust. “Eww, Aaron . . . Why am I even talking to you?”
“Not appropriate?”
“What I meant is I think it’s doing something to our genetics.”
“Like what?”
“Like we’re inbreeding.”
“I get the feeling you know a lot more about this stuff than . . . most people.”
Amber didn’t respond. She rested her chin on her knee and continued to watch him.
“Why did Justin have an appointment with Clive’s dad?” he added, forced to fill in the silence himself.
“Clive and Justin got in a fight,” she said, “and Justin had these chronic headaches afterward. He was threatening to sue, so Clive’s father offered to treat him so he’d keep his mouth shut.”
“Justin made a pass at you, didn’t he?”
Her eyes flashed a warning. “Don’t act like you know my life.”
“Fine. So the vial Clive brought to the beach . . . That stuff came out of Justin?”
“I don’t know, but Clive didn’t have it the day before.”
“There was something written on the side of the vial, some kind of code,” said Aaron. “You remember what it was?”
Amber shot him a glare. “Yeah, Aaron, I have photographic memory.”
“It was four letters,” said Aaron. “I’m not asking you to memorize the bible.”
Amber was about to snap out another retort when her eyes brightened. “Hold on,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “I think Clive took a picture on my phone.” She flipped through her photos then showed one to Aaron.
They stared at the photo on her cell phone screen together. The vial, just as Aaron remembered, now with an ID code clearly silhouetted against the fluid.
JGEM130301
“The numbers are a date,” said Aaron, “March 1st.”
“No duh,” said Amber, “I can read too. That’s the day Justin disappeared. The letters are initials.”
Aaron nodded, feeling a wave of chills. “Justin Gorski and Emma Mist.”
They both fell silent. Slowly, Aaron released his breath and cupped his face in his hands. Amber quietly returned the cell phone to her pocket, and by an unspoken agreement, they didn’t bring it up again. There was nothing else they could do.
Amber broke the silence first. “Why are you scared of meeting your half?”
“Because I don’t want to spend my life with a stranger,” he said.
“You know the first second you see her, you’re going to change your mind,” she said. “You don’t need clairvoyance to love someone.”
“I know, but it’s supposed to be more than that with your half.”
“It’s not,” she said. “The high wears off after a few months. Then you’re just two ordinary people faking it like the rest of the adults.”
“At least it’s better than it was before.”
“You mean pre-discovery? Clearly you haven’t seen the bad ones.”
“What bad ones?”
“Like my parents. They’re rotten and they hate each other’s guts. Just because they’re joined at the hip doesn’t make them saints . . . They actually bring out the worst in each other.” Amber swiveled away from him again. “And that’s what I get to look forward to.” A few strands of her hair came loose and dangled in front of her eyes.
Aaron resisted the urge to brush them back. “Is that because you’re Clive’s half?” he said, dreading the answer.
She bit her lip and edged away from him, and a single teardrop teetered on her eyelid. Aaron recognized right then what he should have seen from the beginning. The redness of her cheeks. Amber had been crying before she came to his house.
“I’m sorry—” he began.
“I have to go,” she said, and without a glance backward, she fled for the door.
“You don’t have to,” he blurted out, halting her in the doorway and immediately regretting it. “I mean—you’re allowed to stay.”
“Oh, really?” she said, “Actually, Aaron, what I’m allowed to do isn’t up to you.” Then she gave him one last look that set his skin on fire and vanished into the hallway. A few seconds later, he heard the front door close.
Aaron grabbed his volleyball again and lay on his bed, loathing the