Entanglement (YA Dystopian Romance) - By Dan Rix Page 0,36

her mom’s bedroom down the hall—and in her dad’s bedroom upstairs. They would wake up any second.

Amber raced down the stairs and caught it on the second ring. “What do you want?” she whispered furiously.

“So you’ve been screening my calls,” said Clive.

“Why did you invite him?” she said.

Clive was silent a moment. “Father did.”

Amber breathed once, and her body’s warmth was suddenly gone. Casler invited him? Surely after what happened to Justin, Aaron knew not to trust him.

“And he’s going?” she asked, but Amber knew it was a dumb question—of course Aaron was going; he always got himself into this kind of trouble.

“I tried to talk him out of it,” said Clive. “But you know how bad a listener he is.”

Only to you. Amber checked the clock in the den. 11:57. She bit her lip. She was starting not to care if her parents woke up or not, just as long as she got to see Aaron right now.

“Clive—good night,” she said.

“Hold on,” he said, his tone suspicious. “What’s the rush, Amber?”

“My parents.”

“They’re asleep,” he said. “Otherwise they would have picked up the phone.”

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, and Clive must have realized he was about to get hung up on, because he changed his tactics.

“I miss you,” he said quickly. “I want you to come over.”

“Don’t you sleep?” she said.

“Not unless I’m with you,” he said.

“Then pretend,” she said and hung up anyway, feeling only a twinge of guilt. He’d be pissed tomorrow, but at least he wouldn’t call back tonight. Tonight she was Aaron’s.

But first, she had to make sure Aaron wouldn’t go to the Brotherhood’s meeting with Clive. She hated that she had to lie to him, but if he figured out how screwed up her parents were, or worse, if he found out what was really going on with Clive—she shuddered at the thought. She would tell him everything, just not tonight.

At midnight, the gardens on Loma Sierra drive glowed blue and magenta under landscape lighting. Tularosa twinkled in the valley below.

The night was electric.

Aaron was waiting, just as they’d planned. As soon as she saw him—wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, arms crossed, leaning against his stolen car like nobody’s business—she fought the urge to throw her arms around him.

“I was just about to leave,” he said with a smirk. “If you kept me waiting thirty more seconds—”

“Well aren’t you impatient to see me,” she said.

His stare made her feel faint, and Amber realized she wasn’t hiding anything from him. She was still flustered from Clive’s call and it was all over her face.

“It was my parents,” she lied quickly.

“It was Clive, wasn’t it?”

“I said it was my parents,” she said. “Can we go?”

He unfolded his arms. “What did he say to you?”

Amber stepped closer to him. “Ask him yourself,” she said. “You’re going to see him tomorrow anyway.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Then he circled to the driver’s side. Frustrated, she lowered herself into the passenger seat.

They flew down the ridge, around switchbacks, and then cruised along State Street, past halves stumbling home with each other, palm trees strung up with white lights, and empty, flashing clubs. A fog floated overhead, stained orange by the city’s lights.

“Please don’t go,” she blurted out.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“I mean tomorrow,” she said. “That meeting. Don’t go to anything he invites you to.”

Aaron shifted gears forcefully, and they sped through a stop sign. “I have to go,” he said. “Don’t ask me to explain it.”

Her heart plummeted. “He’s lying to you,” she said.

“Who? Clive?” he said.

“Casler.”

“About what?” said Aaron.

“About whatever he told you when he examined you,” she said. “He lied to Justin too.”

All Quiet on the Western Front, a movie about the last big war before halves—the World War—showed in the Arlington Theater at midnight. It was mostly empty.

They chose the farthest seats back, and Amber raised the armrest separating them. She leaned into him, her hair draping over his shoulder.

She closed her eyes, breathing in his smell. It was like the poisonous, dizzying fumes that rose after the strike of a match, existing only for a moment before the flame went dark.

She closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to him. During the explosions, her eyelids flashed neon yellow, but she didn’t want to open them. They were in their own world at the back of the theater, a world where they never had to say goodbye to each other, where they were halves, and where juvengamy was only