Prodigy

choose a girl who has done nothing but
hurt
you. Has June even apologized to you for what happened, has she had to work for your forgiveness? What’s the matter with you?” At my silence, she puts her hand on my arm. “Well, do you love her?” she says more quietly. “Does she love
you
?”
    Love
her? I’d told her so in that Vegas bathroom, and I’d meant it.
But she didn’t say it back, yeah?
Maybe she never felt the same way—maybe I’m just deluding myself. “I don’t know, okay?” I reply. My words sound angrier than I actually am.
    Tess is trembling. Now she nods, silently takes the ice pack from my side, and buttons my shirt back up. The chasm between us widens. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to reach the other side again. “You should be fine,” she says in a monotone as she turns her back on me. She stops in front of the door, her back to me. “Trust me, Day. I’m saying this for your sake. June
will
break your heart. I can see it already. She’ll shatter you into a million pieces.”

P IERRA’S O LAN C OURT H ALL.
    S OMETIME AROUND 0900 H OURS.
    29° F OUTSIDE.
    T HE DAY HAS FINALLY ARRIVED FOR A NDEN’S ASSASSINATION, and I have three hours before the Patriots make their move.
    The night before, I had another visit from the same guard who had once given me a message from the Patriots. “Good work,” she whispered in my ear as I lay in bed, wide awake. “Tomorrow you’ll be pardoned by the Elector and his Senators, and they’ll release you at Pierra’s Olan Court Hall. Now, listen closely. When you’re all finished at the court hall, the Elector’s jeeps will escort all of you back to Pierra’s main military quarters. The Patriots will be waiting along that route.”
    The soldier paused to see if I had any questions. But I just stared straight ahead. I could guess what the Patriots wanted me to do, anyway—they’ll want me to separate Anden from his guards. Then the Patriots will drag him out of his jeep and shoot him. They’ll record it, then announce it to the whole Republic using the rewired speakers and JumboTrons on Denver’s Capitol Tower.
    When I didn’t say anything, the soldier cleared her throat and went on in a hurried voice, “Watch for an explosion on the road. When you hear it go off, have Anden order his convoy to take a different route. Make sure you separate the Elector from his guards—tell him to trust you. If you’ve done your job, he’ll follow your lead.” The soldier smiled briefly at me. “Once Anden is separated from the other jeeps, leave the rest to us.”
    I spent the rest of that night in a fitful state.
    Now, as I’m escorted into the main court hall building, I check the rooftops and alleys of the other buildings along the street, watching for Patriot eyes, wondering if one pair of them will be bright blue. Day will be amongst the Patriots out here today. Inside my black gloves, my hands are cold with sweat. Even if he saw my signal, will he understand what I meant by it? Will he know to drop what he’s doing and make a run for it? As I head toward the courtroom’s grand arched entrance, I memorize street names and locations out of habit—where the main military base is, where Pierra’s hospital rises in the distance. I feel like I can sense the Patriots getting into position. There’s a stillness in the air, even though the buildings here are tightly packed and the streets are narrow; both soldiers and civilians (most of them poor and assigned to tend to the troops) bustle noisily along the roads. Some of the uniformed soldiers on the street look at us a little too long. I note them carefully. There must be Patriots watching us. Even inside the hall, it’s cold enough for my breath to cloud, and I tremble nonstop. (The ceiling’s at least twenty feet high, and the floors are polished synthetic—judging from the sound of boots against it—wood. Not very conducive to retaining heat in winter.)
    “How long is this going to take?” I ask one of the guards as they escort me to my seat at the front of the courtroom. My boots (warm, waterproof leather) echo harshly against the floors. I shiver in spite of the double-breasted coat I have on.
    The guard I spoke to gives me an uncomfortable nod. “Not long, Ms. Iparis,” she replies with practiced politeness. “The Elector and Senators are in final deliberations. Probably going to take at least another half hour.” It’s interesting, really. Because the Elector himself will be