Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,28

machine had been used recently.

Aaron’s heart gave a jolt. Justin Gorski. So this was how Dr. Selavio sucked out his clairvoyance.

The clipboard lay on a broken concrete slab behind the machine. Aaron unclipped the medical forms and began folding them. It was time to get out of here.

“Put that back,” said Clive, “it’s my father’s.”

When Aaron didn’t comply, Clive lunged and closed his fist on the wad of paper. He yanked so hard Aaron thought his wrist would snap, but Aaron held on, and the folded stack tore in half.

Aaron had the side with the most writing, though, and before Clive realized, he stuffed the wad in his pocket.

Clive’s forearms tensed, but he didn’t attack him. Aaron wondered if it had anything to do with the wounds on his forehead.

Clive’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’ll be going on Wednesday, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring a bag of potato chips for the potluck afterwards,” said Aaron.

“We provide the refreshments,” said Clive.

“Who’s we?”

“The Juvengamy Brotherhood.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Is this the weekly social?”

“It’s a bit more formal than that,” said Clive.

“Is Amber going?”

Clive’s smirk only grew. “You know, juvengamy halves get marked for each other,” he said. “Matching tattoos.”

“I’ve heard about that,” said Aaron.

“Ever seen one?”

Aaron felt his heart quiver. He didn’t say anything.

Clive turned his side to Aaron and removed his gray hoodie. He reached for the bottom of his shirt and lifted the hem to his shoulder—giving Aaron a full view of his side and back.

Aaron stared at the marks on Clive’s torso, and a chill sank into him. The lines were white scars, etched into his pale skin—as they had been since the day he was born. The tattoo resembled a fingerprint, only more symmetrical, more spiral-like. It wrapped around the side of his rib cage and over his shoulder blade, but cut off at his spine.

“It’s only half done,” said Aaron.

Clive let his shirt fall back into place, and his lips twisted into a cruel smile. “That’s because Amber has the other half.”

FIVE

7 Days, 9 hours, 1 minute

At two in the morning, Dominic skidded to a stop in front of Aaron’s house.

“That’s twenty dollars for the gas, fuckface.”

“What is this, Europe?” said Aaron, the image of Clive’s tattoo still vivid in his retinas. He threw his last two ones at Dominic and stepped out of the car, hardly caring that now the rugby player—and probably in a few minutes, Clive too—would know where he lived.

Amber has the other half. Those words haunted him still, as Dominic’s Beamer roared away from the curb, shattering the quiet of the sleeping neighborhood. But Aaron had to see the tattoo on Amber to know for sure. Her shoulders had been bare while they were dancing, but he hadn’t looked. The club was too dark.

Aaron knew he had to quit agonizing over her, his birthday was too close, but he couldn’t think about anything else. No way could he forget her enchanting green eyes, her maddening overconfidence, her nerve.

Seven days—seven days until he turned eighteen and never saw her again.

Back inside his room, Aaron dragged the torn stack of medical forms from his pocket and spread them out under his desk lamp, hands shaking. Under the “complications” section on a form titled “Physical Examination,” Dr. Selavio’s sloppy cursive was barely legible.

Scar tissue obstructing clairvoyant channel. Likely result of massive trauma to channel during birth.

Trauma during birth? But Aaron hadn’t sustained any trauma during birth. Not unless you counted the false alarm story his parents always bragged about to family—how an intern had misread one of the synchronized clocking machines and declared Aaron a stillborn, even though he was crying right in front of them.

With the uneasy feeling his parents hadn’t quite told him the full story, Aaron read the scribbles concerning his condition on the next form, titled “Aitherscope Imaging”—and felt his insides seize up.

Aitherscope registers zero clairvoyant activity and patient experiences inexplicable pain. Suggests extreme vulnerability to clairvoyance. Patient MUST NOT meet his half; initial surge of clairvoyance upon first contact will likely rupture his channel . . .

The rest was torn off, but those three sentences were more than plenty.

Darkness swallowed the bubble of light around Aaron’s desk. He tried to neaten the stack of forms, but they slipped through his jittery fingers and floated to the floor. He rose, tipping the chair backwards. His eyes throbbed, blurry.

Dr. Selavio’s notes about him made two things clear. First, if he met his half on Saturday, his channel would rip open and leak