Resonance - Erica O'Rourke Page 0,61

for the rest of the season, no matter how hard the school petitioned the conference.

“Thank God,” he said when I met him outside the coach’s office.

“You don’t like basketball?”

“I don’t give a hot damn about basketball. I have bigger things to worry about than a carnival game on steroids.”

“I think it’s supposed to be fun,” I said as we headed back toward my locker. “Don’t you have fun?”

He draped an arm over my shoulder and eyed Bree as we passed her in the hallway, gave her a lazy, inviting nod. “Sure. But it’s a little more horizontal.”

“Gross,” I said, shoving him away. “Can you please try not to make things worse around here?”

“Saved your ass, didn’t I?” He popped a can of Coke and drained half of it while I sputtered in outrage. “How are things with Addie?”

“Better, I guess. She’s not actively trying to stop us.”

“Was that a possibility?” The rumble in his voice sounded like a threat.

“If she thought she could get me to stay, maybe. But she knows better.”

“Good.”

“You don’t get frequency poisoning,” I said, tugging my locker open and changing the subject. “Why the sugar addiction?”

“Grew up that way.”

So had Ms. Powell. The memory prompted another question. “How do the Free Walkers deal with frequency poisoning? They can’t go around mainlining corn syrup.”

“They’ve got a few tricks. Tuning strategies, earplugs, devices, surgery. The longer they spend in Echoes, the more drastic the treatment. None of them are perfect solutions, but they keep ­people sane.” He considered. “Mostly.”

“Other hybrids are immune too? Or is this a result of the swap?”

“All hybrids. Yet another reason we’re good at cauterization. Now lay off. You’re starting to sound like Eliot.” He glanced around, scowling. “Where’s Einstein, anyway?”

“Going over the tech.”

“Right. He’s done that a hundred times already.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Hardly. He can’t even lie to himself.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder, and we headed toward the commons.

“We all lie to ourselves. It’s a survival technique. Anyway, I’m glad he’s gone. I need to talk to you.”

I wondered what lies Simon was telling himself—and what lies I believed. “Oh, well. As long as it works for you.”

“If we’re going to sell this,” he said, ignoring my sniping, “you and I need to sell it. Nobody’s going to believe that we took off together if you keep glaring at me like that. They’ll think you killed me and buried the body in a shallow grave.”

“Tempting.” I tilted my head back and batted my eyelashes. “Better?”

He dropped onto one of the benches. “Sit on my lap.”

I glowered at him. “I’m not a Pekingese.”

“The last time you touched me, you nearly broke my nose. Time to make up some ground.” He nodded toward Bree, who was watching us from across the commons, eyes narrowed.

“I’m not kissing you,” I said through a smile as brittle as winter leaves.

“Pretend you’re kissing him.”

“But I’m not.”

“You’ve done it before. Twice, if memory serves. Imagine you’re sending a message: one to him and one to the world.”

So my words had gotten through. “Does he always see me through your eyes?”

“Only once we touch. Then it fades in and out, like a radio signal. Contact boosts it again, like when you recharge the stars you leave in Echoes. So if you want to have a conversation, you’re going to have to use me.”

A thought struck. “Did you see me? When Simon was here and we . . .”

“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “Good times.”

“Can you block it?”

He shrugged. “If I try hard enough.”

“Try harder,” I ordered, and my heart went abruptly, painfully still. “Were you influencing him?”

His smile dropped away. “Echoes are alive, and part of being alive is making choices, mistakes and all. Denying someone their choices is like saying they’re more houseplant than human.”

My blood started moving again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He grinned again. “Feel free to show your gratitude by kissing me. Bree’s watching, you know. Showtime.”

A quick glance over my shoulder proved him right.

Instead of flipping Bree off, I tugged my sleeves down until only my fingertips were poking out. Simon looked up at me, cocksure and expectant.

I traced his cheekbone, his jaw, the line of his throat, letting his signal travel through me. Slowly I bent until my lips hovered next to his ear. His hand curved around my hip, blatantly possessive.

Threading my fingers through his hair, I murmured, “The next time I kiss you, it’s going to be in person. And it’s going to be amazing. And I don’t