Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,33

shouldn’t be. Instinct told him this was wrong.

He should have let her go.

***

But the feeling passed quickly, like a wave of vertigo. Maybe he was still unsteady from the kiss. Yeah, that was it.

He and Amber climbed the rest of way to the front door. A sea breeze followed them through a marble archway, and into her house through two glass-inlaid mahogany doors.

Inside, the peach colored carpet was spotless. Someone had even vacuumed it in perfect rows, like farmland. The scent of lavender and orange soap wafted over them.

Aaron knelt to unlace his shoes, but Amber yanked him back up. She pressed her finger to her lips, then hurried him past a living room, where her dad was watching television.

Aaron strained his neck to get a look at the man’s face. But all he saw was gray hair, cut military style—before he tripped on a staircase and slammed his knee into the riser, rattling the whole flight.

Amber shot him a furious look and dragged him up the stairs and out of view just as her dad turned around. Upstairs, her bedroom had a balcony and a view of the islands.

“Sorry, it’s a mess,” she said, shutting the door quietly.

“Amber!” her dad yelled from downstairs.

“Fine Dad!” Amber rolled her eyes. “He wants me to leave the door open.” She kept it closed, though.

Aaron narrowed his eyes. “Am I in danger?”

“Only if you do that again,” she said.

“And then what?”

“He’ll get his rifle.”

Amber circled her room, tossing laundry into the closet. Meanwhile Aaron reclined on her bed next to a powder-white teddy bear the size of real bear. His body sank into the turquoise down comforter, and his elbow struck an object. An open shoebox, doodled with hearts. He looked closer . . . letters.

Amber saw the shoebox and snatched it up. Blushing, she shoved it out of view.

“What are those?” said Aaron.

“Love letters.”

“From wh—?” But before he could finish the question, an odd stiffness gripped his chest. “Oh.” He sat forward, kneading his palms. “Never mind.”

“Well since you’re jealous,” said Amber, plopping down next to him, “they’re letters my great-grandparents wrote each other.” She slid closer to him, and he felt his breath stop in his throat.

“You still have their letters?” he said, sounding more relieved than he should have.

“I’m weird. I know,” she said.

“How old were they?”

“Our age. It was right before everything changed.”

He understood what she meant. “So they weren’t halves.”

Amber nodded. “Don’t you think it’s scary that everyone from before the discovery is dead?” she said. “I guess that’s why we’re special . . . the fourth generation and all that. Because there’s no one left who remembers.”

“You mean what it was like?”

“What true love is.”

Aaron felt a chill. “Is that why you keep their letters?”

She glanced up. “I want to know what it’s like to have a choice.” Over her head, dust swirled through shafts of sunlight, blazing like flecks of magnesium. “You’re the only boy I’ve ever kissed like that. Are you proud of yourself?”

“No. Now I’m never going to get you out of my head.”

Up close, her eyes appeared layered, freckled like jade crystals. “I wish I had more than five days to know you, Aaron.”

“How do you know you don’t?” he said.

She leaned forward to kiss him. “Stop asking questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” she said. “Let’s just make it count.”

At that moment, the door banged open, and Amber jumped away from him. Her father stood in the doorway.

“Son—” His gray eyes flashed between them. “I expect your folks are having dinner soon. It’s best you headed home.”

Aaron walked downstairs in front of Mr. Lilian, still drunk off the man’s daughter, euphoric.

The TV in the living room showed a televised political speech of some sort. Aaron was almost at the door when he recognized the politician on the screen—and his scalp tingled.

It was Dr. Casler Selavio, towering over an audience of reporters and flashing his dazzling rows of teeth for the cameras.

Aaron halted to listen.

“Rest assured the Brotherhood does not endorse the juvengamy procedure,” said Casler. “Our mission is to help past victims cope with their loss, not create new ones.”

A journalist asked a question. “Doctor, you claim you’ve invented a cure for half death, but have you considered the ethical implications of such a cure?”

“I’ll leave that to the Chamber of Halves,” said Casler. “For those interested, a demonstration of the technology will be given on Wednesday.” He signaled for another question.

“Dr. Selavio—” yelled a reporter. “Are the rumors

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