Prodigy

I’d think that Tess was
into
me. But it’s such a weird thought, I quickly push it away.
Tess,
who’s practically my sister, the little orphan girl from Nima sector?
    Except she’s
not
just a little orphan girl anymore. Now I can see distinct signs of adulthood on her face: less baby fat, high cheekbones, eyes that don’t seem quite as enormous as I remember. I wonder why I never noticed these changes before. It only took a few weeks of separation to become obvious. I must be dense as a goddy brick, yeah?
    “Breathe,” June says beside me. She sucks in a lungful of air as if to demonstrate how it’s done.
    I stop puzzling over Tess and realize that I’ve been holding my breath. “Do you know how long it’ll take?” I ask June. She pats my hand soothingly at the tension in my tone, and I feel a pinch of guilt. If it wasn’t for me, she’d still be on her way to the Colonies right now.
    “A few hours.” June pauses as Razor takes the Medic aside. Money exchanges hands—they shake on it. Tess helps the Medic put on a mask, then gives me a thumbs-up. June turns back to me.
    “Why didn’t you tell me you’d met the Elector before?” I whisper. “You always talked about him like he was a complete stranger.”
    “He
is
a complete stranger,” June replies. She waits for a while, like she’s double-checking her words. “I just didn’t see the point in telling you—I don’t
know
him, and I don’t have any particular feelings toward him.”
    I think back to our kiss in the bathroom. Then I picture the new Elector’s portrait and imagine an older June standing beside him as the future Princeps of the Senate. On the arm of the wealthiest man in the Republic. And what am I, some dirty street con with two Notes in his pocket, thinking I’ll actually be able to hang on to this girl after spending a few weeks with her? Besides, have I already forgotten that June once belonged to an elite family—that she was mingling with people like the young Elector at fancy dinner parties and banquets back when I was still hunting for food in Lake’s trash bins? And this is the
first
time I’ve pictured her with upper-class men? I suddenly feel so stupid for telling her that I love her, as if I’d be able to make her love me in return like some common girl from the streets.
She didn’t say it back, anyway.
    Why do I even care? It shouldn’t hurt this much. Should it? Don’t I have more important stuff to worry about?
    The Medic walks over to me. June squeezes my hand; I’m reluctant to let go. She
is
from a different world, but she gave it all up for me. Sometimes I take this for granted, and then I wonder how I have the nerve to doubt her, when she’s so willing to put herself in danger for my sake. She could easily leave me behind. But she doesn’t.
I chose this,
she’d told me.
    “Thanks,” I say to her. It’s all I can manage.
    June studies me, then gives me a light kiss on the lips. “It’ll all be over before you know it, and then you’ll be able to scale buildings and run walls as fast as you ever did.” She lingers for a moment, then stands up and nods to the Medic and Tess. Then she’s gone.
    I close my eyes and take a shuddering breath as the Medic approaches. From this angle, I can’t see Tess at all. Well, whatever this’ll feel like, it can’t be as bad as getting shot in the leg. Right?
    The Medic covers my mouth with a damp cloth. I drift away into a long, dark tunnel.
    * * *
    Sparks. Memories from some faraway place.
    I’m sitting with John at our little living room table, both of us illuminated by the unsteady light of three candles. I’m nine. He’s fourteen. The table is as wobbly as it’s ever been—one of the legs is rotting away, and every other month or so, we try to extend its life by nailing more slabs of cardboard to it. John has a thick book open before him. His eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration. He reads another line, stumbles on two of the words, then patiently moves on to the next.
    “You look really tired,” I say. “You should probably go to bed. Mom’s going to be mad if she sees you’re still up.”
    “We’ll finish this page,” John murmurs, only half listening. “Unless
you
need to go to bed.”
    That makes me sit up straighter. “I’m not tired,” I insist.
    We both hunch over the pages again, and John reads the next line out loud. “‘In Denver,’” he says slowly, “‘after the . . . completion . . . of the northern