Adaptation (16 page)

“What if you meet someone you like?”

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not getting involved.”

“That sounds kinda grim, dude.”

“Maybe for you. For me it sounds rational.”

“Love isn’t rational.”

She could barely see his expression in the dark, but she could hear the grin in his voice. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“I’m just saying: Someday you’re gonna meet some guy and he’s gonna change your mind.”

“Yeah? You’re psychic now?”

He shook his head. “No. I just know you.”

Her eyes grew hot. She blinked and inhaled a lungful of fog. “Hey, give me a cigarette,” she muttered.

“You don’t smoke.”

“You can teach me.”

Thinking back on that night, Reese remembered that Julian had never suggested she might meet a girl who would change her mind. Had the possibility never occurred to him? It had never occurred to her. Amber was as unexpected as an August heat wave in San Francisco, and about as irresistible. Reese hadn’t consciously known a thing about what she was getting into when she texted Amber earlier that day. But if she was honest with herself, she realized now that some part of her—the part
that operated solely on instinct—had been aware. How else could she explain her compulsion to change her whole outfit before going over? It was completely unlike herself.

But her fashion crisis was far from the most unusual thing she had experienced today. What did it mean that she had spent the afternoon making out with a girl? Did that mean she liked all girls or only Amber? Did she actually
like
Amber or just kissing her?

Reese rolled onto her side and pulled the pillow over her head, unable to answer any of those questions.

Reese was online surfing for San Francisco tourist
information when there was a knock on her door. “Yeah?” she called.

Her mom opened the door. “David’s downstairs.”

At first Reese thought she had heard her mom incorrectly. “What?”

“David. Your friend. He’s waiting for you in the living room.”

She scrambled to her feet and ran down the stairs. He was standing in the bay window, looking out at the dark street. “David?”

He turned. “Hey. I got your message.”

She had nearly forgotten she had sent it. “Oh.”

“Sorry I didn’t respond sooner; I haven’t been checking the Hub lately. And I thought it would be better if we talked about it in person. I don’t have your phone number anymore.”

She swallowed. All that stressing out over his lack of response for nothing. “You want to sit down?”

He sat on the couch while she took the armchair. “So, your scars disappeared?” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder, but there was no sign of her mom. She would freak out if she heard about this. “Yeah,” Reese whispered. “That scar I showed you on my head at the funeral? It’s gone. So are the rest of my scars. What about you?”

“The same thing happened to me. I thought it was just because of the treatment we got. You know, it was supposed to be really advanced, so maybe—”

“I thought so too,” she interrupted, and then lowered her voice again. “But there’s more. I fell on the sidewalk the other day—someone ran into me. I scraped up my hands pretty badly, but by the time I got home there was nothing wrong with them. It was like they healed within half an hour. I thought maybe I had just imagined the scrapes, but… I don’t think I did.”

He leaned toward her. “You think that’s related to the scars?”

“Maybe.” She told him about her research online and the report about the DARPA initiative on regeneration. “What if that’s what they did to us? What if they made it so that we can regenerate our tissue?”

His mouth opened slightly. A lock of hair fell over his forehead as he scooted closer to her. He reached out and took her hand, and she stopped breathing. “This hand?” he asked.

“Both hands.”

He cupped both her hands in his, turning her palms up as if he could read the lines on her skin. Her memory flashed back to the moment on the sidewalk with Amber after she had fallen,
when Amber had cradled her hands as well. It wasn’t exactly like déjà vu; it was more like she was living in two parallel dimensions at once, and though the experiences mirrored each other, they were slightly different. David’s hands were larger than Amber’s; his thumbs curved over Reese’s palms and traced the hollows of her hands. Her pulse raced within her wrists, and she wondered if he could feel it. A thrill ran directly from where his thumbs touched her all the way to the center of her body, as if he had turned on a live wire connecting the two of them.

He raised his gaze to hers. His pupils were dilated so that his brown eyes were almost black. She was overcome by a feeling of doubling. Her own body was taut with tension, but she could also feel something—someone—else. Another body, with a different interior landscape than hers. A different sense of balance. It was so disorienting that her head spun, and the whole world seemed to bend.

“Reese?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made it worse, so she opened them again, and David’s face was hovering over hers. She had slid down the chair, her head limp against her shoulder.

“Reese, what happened?” He let go of her hands and brushed the hair away from her sweat-dampened forehead.

“I just need a minute,” she mumbled.

He drew back, and she pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. The sensation of the other body was gone, but it had left her with a throbbing headache.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” David looked worried. “Do you want me to get your mom?”

“No!” Then again, more quietly: “No. I’ll be fine. I just get headaches sometimes. It’s a side effect of the accident.” Was she having hallucinations with her headaches now? She had heard that migraines sometimes were accompanied by hallucinations.

“Do you get them often?” David asked.

“I get them when I’m—when I’m stressed out.”

“Maybe I should call your mom. Do you want me to bring you some water?”

“No.” She didn’t want her mom to notice. “But maybe I should go lie down.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m just… tired.” She could barely remember waking up that morning. Maybe everything that had happened had just caught up to her, and having David here in her living room after the afternoon with Amber—The pain sharpened.

“Okay.” He stood up, preparing to go, and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your number? I just got a new cell phone.”

After she gave him her number, she walked him to the front door, pulling it open. Fog was stealing down from Twin Peaks, swirling through the street in ghostly fingers. She shivered. “It’s cold. How did you get here?”

He stepped outside, hands in his pockets. “I drove. I’m just parked down the street.” He began to go down the steps but turned halfway. “Call me if something else happens. I mean it.”

The concern in his voice sent a warm tingle through her. “I will.”

She watched him until she lost sight of him on the sidewalk, and then she went back upstairs, her head pounding in time with her heart. Her laptop was still open, the screen saver sending
multicolored spirals across the monitor. She ran her fingers over the touch pad and the browser lit up, showing a site listing the top ten tourist destinations in San Francisco.

What was she doing with Amber?
Besides the obvious
, she heard Julian quipping. She picked up her phone, clicking through her contacts to find Amber’s number. Amber had already texted her earlier that night, saying that she wanted to see her again. Reese hadn’t replied yet, but now she did.

> Tomorrow morning I’ll take you to the beach. Pack a sweater. Your tour guide, R.

Oh my God, it is cold,” Amber said, wrapping her arms
around herself as they crested the sand dune and looked out at Ocean Beach.

“I warned you,” Reese said. They had ridden the N Judah all the way to the end, sitting side by side, thigh pressed against thigh. She tried to play tour guide, pointing out the sights along the way, but the N Judah didn’t exactly run through the most interesting parts of the city, and Amber herself was so distracting: warm and sweet-smelling, the curve of her lips shining in the sunlight that poured through the streetcar windows.

Amber had kissed her when she arrived at her house earlier that morning—just flat-out kissed her—and Reese had nearly fallen over on the front step. Now all she could think about was kissing her.

Except it was kind of hard to do that when they were slipping and sliding down the cold, sandy hillside toward the ocean, the wind tugging at Reese’s ponytail and whipping it around her face. But even though it was cold, it was clear, and Reese was thankful that the beach wasn’t swathed in damp fog. Amber ran ahead to the firmer-packed sand and stood there with her back to Reese, looking out at the ocean as it roared onto the land in bubbling white foam, leaving trailing strands of seaweed behind.

“Wow,” Amber breathed. “This is very cool.” When Reese came to stand beside her, Amber slid her arm through Reese’s, pulling her closer so that their hips touched. “It feels a lot bigger than the Atlantic.”

“Did you used to live on the East Coast?”

“Yeah. I went to school there—at this private school in Massachusetts for a while.”

“Do you miss it?”

“School? Or the East Coast?”

“Both.”

“I don’t miss school. I don’t miss the East Coast. I like where I am.” Amber gave Reese a smile that made Reese’s heart race. “Wanna find a place to sit down?”

“I brought a blanket.”

“I know.” Amber grinned and stepped away. Her hand slid down Reese’s arm until she caught Reese’s fingers in hers, tugging her along the beach.

They found a relatively sheltered spot where the sand dune created a kind of windbreak, and they spread out the blanket, anchoring it with Reese’s backpack and themselves. The beach was mostly deserted, except for a few people walking their dogs,
and once they lay down on the blanket it wasn’t nearly as windy as it had been when they were standing at the edge of the waves. When Amber leaned over her, Reese felt as if they were entirely alone. A smile pulled at Amber’s mouth, and when they kissed, Reese could feel the smile imprinted on her own skin.

Kissing Amber was like falling into the sea: Her body surrendered to the pull of the tide, buoyed by the saltwater, every breath tasting like the ocean. Reese lost all sense of where the surface was. All there was, was this. Amber’s lips, her tongue, her hands stroking back Reese’s hair, curling around her head and holding her steady. If their first kiss had been a bit awkward, that was gone now. Now it felt as if they had been dancing this dance together always, and somewhere within herself Reese noticed this. When they parted so that they could breathe in the salt air, Reese rose up on her elbows and pushed Amber onto her back so that her pale eyes reflected the blue sky.

Amber giggled, whispering, “What are you waiting for?”

Reese looked down at her, drunk with kissing, and said, “I don’t know your last name.”

Amber put her hand on Reese’s neck, her fingers sliding against the pulse in her throat. “My last name is Gray. What’s yours?”

“Holloway.”

There wasn’t much gloss left on Amber’s lips, but they still seemed to shine as they curved up. “Reese Holloway,” she murmured.

Reese felt so full at that moment, as if her heart had expanded to at least twice its normal size, and it was pushing at the walls of her body in a deep, insistent rhythm. “Amber Gray,” she said, the name almost swallowed by the crash of the surf.

Amber pulled Reese’s head down to hers, her mouth brushing against Reese’s ear. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The next afternoon, Amber came to Reese’s house. She had invited herself over, saying coyly that she wanted to see where Reese slept at night, and Reese couldn’t say no.

After Amber arrived, she wandered through the ground floor, peeking into the living room, the kitchen, the office in the back where Reese’s mom sometimes worked from home. “Where’s your room?” Amber asked.

“Upstairs,” Reese answered.

Amber smiled at her and held out her hand, and Reese took it and led her toward the stairs.

Nerves fluttered in her stomach as Reese opened the door to her bedroom. She had straightened up that morning, even dusted the furniture, but now the door banged into the edge of her suitcase, which had become wedged into the corner between the door and the closet. She kicked at it, trying to shove it out of the way, and Amber asked, “What happened to your suitcase?”

“I—it was in an accident.”

“You were in an accident? Or the suitcase?”

“Both, I guess.”

Amber came into the room and went directly to the bay window, peeking through the blinds at the street before sitting on the edge of the desk. Her eyes traveled over the space: a giant Rhapsody of Emily poster on the wall beside the door; a big bulletin board covered with notes for the national debate championships; a bookcase filled with books and debate trophies; her
desk and desk chair; her bed, covered in the floral-patterned quilt her grandmother had made. And in the corner, the suitcase. “Nice room. Very organized,” Amber said. “What happened in the accident? Were you injured?”