Adaptation (17 page)

Reese shut the door. “Yeah, but I’m fine now. It’s—it’s not worth talking about.” She dragged the suitcase toward the closet, pulling open the sliding door to push the suitcase inside. But there wasn’t enough space on the floor. Her laundry basket took up most of the room, and shoes and bags were piled up around it. Embarrassed that Amber was seeing all of this, she hastily dragged the closet door shut, but it was too late—Amber was standing beside her, fingering the edge of a red dress that peeked out from among Reese’s darker clothes.

“What’s this?” Amber asked.

“It’s a dress, obviously.”

Amber shook her head playfully. “Oh, Reese. Can I see it? The color’s nice.”

“I don’t wear it anymore.” Reese pulled it out, remembering the last time—the only time—she had worn it, at a fund-raising gala she had gone to with her mom more than a year ago. They had sat at a round table in a hotel ballroom, listening to speakers talk about violence against women. The dress was dark red, with spaghetti straps and a simple bodice that flowed into a knee-length, fluttery skirt. Her mother had picked it out for her, and Reese had shivered in it all night. The ballroom had been overly air-conditioned, and the dress wasn’t exactly cozy.

“Can I try it on?” Amber asked. “It’s pretty.”

Reese was surprised. “Go ahead. You can have it.”

“Let me try it on first. It might not fit.” Amber pulled off her
T-shirt and unbuttoned her jeans, pushing them off her legs, and Reese froze as she watched Amber shimmy into the red dress. It got stuck halfway on, and Amber said, her voice muffled by the fabric, “Can you help me out? I think I might be too big for it.”

Reese remembered the times she had gone shopping with Madison, who liked to try on every single prom dress in Macy’s even if she didn’t have the money to buy a single one. They crowded into tiny dressing rooms together, and Reese helped Madison button and zip and smooth out those gowns. But never—not once—had she felt as self-conscious as she did now, when she put her hands on the hem of the dress—
her
dress—and tugged it over the curves of Amber’s hips and breasts. Her hands trembled as she tried to zip up the back, but it wouldn’t budge, and the stubbornness of the zipper broke the spell that had fallen over her. She laughed in relief. “I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Ugh. That’s a bummer. I really like the color. Well, will you unzip it?”

Reese realized she had relaxed too soon, because once the zipper was down, Amber took off the dress, and then she was standing there in Reese’s bedroom wearing only her underwear. Though they had done plenty of kissing, this was the first time she had seen Amber undressed. Reese forgot to breathe. Amber’s bra was pale pink with white stripes, like a pastel candy cane, with a froth of white lace on the edges of the cups. It was nothing like the bras that Reese’s mom bought for her. This was a confection, meant to be seen. Reese wore plain, taupe-colored bras selected by the gray-haired bra-fitting lady at Nordstrom, who had a measuring tape slung around her neck and came into the
fitting room with her to prod her breasts into proper formation. “Enjoy it while you’re young!” she would say in her dry, slightly accented voice. Reese always thought she must be Russian, and the bra lady’s words echoed inanely in her head now as she looked at Amber, who still hadn’t put her clothes back on. She was watching Reese with an expression that was half a question, half an answer. She took the few steps across the room to Reese and kissed her.

A few moments later, Reese let Amber pull off her own shirt, and there she was, kissing a girl, skin to skin, and she wondered,
Is this what it feels like to be a lesbian?
Amber’s body, like her own, but so unlike her own. Soft. Her skin warm, flushed.

Reese’s phone rang, and at first she barely heard it, enveloped in the haze that descended on her when Amber was so close, but then Amber picked up the phone and silenced it.

“Hey—” Reese said, reaching for the phone.

“Later,” Amber said, and put the phone in the top desk drawer. Then she took off her bra.

The world spun, and Reese had to sit down on the edge of her bed. Amber’s hands slid around Reese’s back and unfastened her bra too, and they lay down, breast to breast, as goose bumps rose all over Reese’s skin.

Reese pulled Amber closer. She couldn’t get close enough. It was extraordinary: the feel of Amber’s skin on hers, the places their bodies fitted together, the way she felt like she would melt if Amber didn’t touch her, and maybe even if she did—

But when Amber’s fingers slid beneath the waistband of Reese’s jeans, she froze. An unexpected panic raced through
her, and before she knew what she was doing, she grabbed Amber’s hand and pulled it away, whispering, “Not yet.”

Amber stopped. She lay her head on the pillow, facing Reese, and smoothed back Reese’s hair from her flushed cheeks. “Okay,” Amber said, and kissed her gently on the corner of her mouth. “Okay.”

Amber left at five o’clock so that she could avoid
running into Reese’s mom. “I could stay and meet her,” Amber suggested as she put her shoes on.

Reese, leaning on the edge of her desk, crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Amber finished tying the laces on her sneakers. “All right. No need to rush.” She got up from the bed and went over to Reese, cupping her face in her hands to kiss her lightly. “So, when will I see you again? Tomorrow?”

Reese rested her forehead against Amber’s. “I can’t tomorrow.”

“Aw, why not?”

“I have to do some stuff with my mom, and tomorrow night we’re having dinner at a friend’s house.”

“How about Sunday then?”

“Yes,” Reese agreed, sliding her hands around Amber’s waist.

“I’ll miss you.” Amber’s mouth was so close to Reese’s that she could feel the movement of her lips when she spoke.

Sunday seemed an eternity away, but part of Reese was relieved to have the break. Things were moving so fast—too fast. Now she felt as if Amber was waiting for her to say,
I’ll miss you too
, and the words stuck in her throat. It was easier to pull her closer, fingertips pressing on her back, and kiss her instead. When they parted a few minutes later, Reese said, “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

After Amber left, Reese went slowly back upstairs to her bedroom. It seemed like a new landscape. The quilt on her bed was rumpled; the red dress lay in a lurid puddle on the floor by the closet. The suitcase still glowered in its broken, bungeed heap in the corner. She had to unpack it sometime. It might as well be now.

She knelt on the floor beside it and unhooked the ends of the bungee cords. The suitcase sagged open. She took out the shattered toiletry kit and didn’t even bother to look through it, simply tossing it in the trash. She went through her clothes, piling the salvageable items into her laundry basket and throwing away the rest. She found debate materials too, down at the bottom of the suitcase. A pile of papers, including information about the national tournament, which she recycled. A notebook that she had used during debates to take notes on the opposing team. The cover was warped, and she threw it away. And wedged into one bent corner of the suitcase she found a thin plastic bracelet with a label stuck on it. Her stomach clenched.

It was the bracelet she had worn in that drab hospital room in the middle of Nevada. The letters printed on it were clear and sharp.

PLATO PA83 HOLLOWAY

What did those letters and numbers mean? She was trying to work out some kind of acronym or code when she remembered the nondisclosure agreement she had signed. Maybe that contained an explanation. What had happened to that? She flipped through the pockets of her suitcase but couldn’t find it. She thought back: She had stuffed it inside, she recalled that clearly, but where? Her gaze alighted on the recycling bin where she had thrown her debate notes. She dragged it over and shuffled through the papers again. There it was. She put the bracelet on the floor and began to skim through the nondisclosure agreement, searching for any sign of what PLATO PA83 might mean. But the more she read, the less she understood—and the more freaked out she became. Phrases leaped out at her as if they were highlighted.

Classified Nondisclosure Agreement An Agreement Between Clarice Irene Holloway and the United States

I have been advised that the unauthorized disclosure of classified information by me could cause damage or irreparable injury to the United States…

I have been advised that any unauthorized disclosure of classified information by me may constitute a violation of the United States criminal laws, including the provisions of Sections 641, 793… the provisions of the Intelligence
Identities Protection Act… I recognize that nothing in this Agreement constitutes a waiver by the United States of the right to prosecute me…

Whosoever, through gross negligence… shall be fined under this title or imprisoned… In time of war, with intent that the same shall be communicated to the enemy… shall be punished by death or by imprisonment…

She had signed this document without reading it—Agent Forrestal and Dr. Brand had made it sound so completely routine—and now she wondered what exactly she had agreed to. A lifetime of keeping her accident a secret? And why was the punishment so severe? She had never signed a nondisclosure agreement before, but she didn’t think that death or imprisonment was a normal repercussion.

She scrambled to her feet and went to her desk, dropping the bracelet and the agreement next to her laptop and pulling open her drawer to grab a pen. She saw her phone sitting there where Amber had put it, the voice-mail indicator blinking. She picked it up and pressed the voice-mail button.

“Hi, Reese, it’s David. Just wanted to see if you’re feeling better. Also, I think I had one of those headaches today. Call me when you get a chance.”

He sounded tense in his message, and Reese was about to call him back when she heard the front door open downstairs and her mom’s footsteps in the hall.

“Reese?” her mom called. “Are you home?”

Reese put down the phone next to the agreement. Maybe she
could get some more information about it before she called David. She went downstairs.

For as long as Reese could remember, she and her mother had a standing date on Friday nights to watch a movie and eat whatever they wanted, as long as they didn’t have to cook it. Tonight her mom had brought home Thai takeout and the latest Jane Austen movie. Reese could barely pay attention. It was yet another rendition of
Pride and Prejudice
, starring one of Hollywood’s newest it girls, and as this Lizzy Bennet wandered across the English countryside, Reese tried to figure out how she could ask her mother legal questions without raising her suspicions. She waited until the credits began to roll before saying, “Can I ask you something?”

Her mom was sitting in the armchair, legs propped up on the coffee table with a mostly empty martini glass in her hand. “Of course, honey. What is it?”

“I was researching something today, and I found this nondisclosure agreement that seemed weird to me. It said that if the person talked, they could be punished with death or imprisonment. Is that enforceable? Doesn’t that seem insane?”

Her mom’s eyebrows rose. “Death or imprisonment? I’ve never heard of an NDA referencing that. Lawsuits, yes, but not… what kind of NDA was this? For a corporation?”

“For the government. The United States government.”

“I don’t think anyone could be imprisoned or killed, honey. That does seem a bit extreme. Can you tell me a bit more about it?”

“Well, it listed these laws—one of them was the Intelligence Identities Protection Act. Do you know anything about that?”

Her mom swung her legs off the table and put down her martini glass. “Not really. That must relate to treason and those kinds of issues. I suppose in the case of treason, people can be executed. They have been, in the past, but not without a massive trial. It’s very, very unlikely to happen.”

“What about imprisonment?” Reese pushed. “Could that happen?”

Her mom gave her a curious look. “It’s more likely than state-sanctioned execution, but… why are you asking this? What are you researching?”

“It’s just something that Julian and I are working on for this blog he wants to start about conspiracies,” Reese lied. She hoped her face didn’t give her away. Her mom was pretty good at scoping out liars.

“What does an NDA have to do with it?”

“I just found one online, and it seemed—it seemed related.”
Crap.
She was screwing this up.

Her mom’s eyes narrowed on her. “Sometimes in the case of someone who is privy to information they were not authorized to receive, they are asked to sign an NDA after the fact. Does that sound like the agreement you found online?”

“Um, yeah. Exactly like that.”

“I see.” Her mom paused. “Well, I’ll tell you this, honey. A minor—someone who is under the age of eighteen—can’t be forced to sign an NDA like that.”

“Really?”

“Only in very specific circumstances would an NDA hold up
for a minor. In situations involving health care in a life-threatening situation
maybe
, and only in some states. Or, I don’t know, in the case of something so top secret it truly would cause harm to the government. But even then, death or imprisonment is highly unlikely. I don’t think any court of law would uphold that kind of an NDA forced on a minor without parental approval.”