Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (25 page)

But I might as well be alone in this crowd. Nobody’s watching for once.

Yoga class doesn’t relax me like it usually does. I can’t concentrate on my breathing or form. There are too many images flashing through my monkey brain. After a quick change, Liam and I rush over to the library, huddling close together under his big umbrella.

The comforting smell of books and sound-absorbing carpet hits me the moment we walk through the doors. Hardly anything has changed. The librarians’ smiles are so familiar. The quiet beeps of books getting scanned at the checkout sounds exactly the same. I can’t help but glance toward the elevators. No menacing Suits stand guard there today.

“There he is.” Liam heads over to Franco, who watches us from a distance.

Next to Franco is the scaled-down version of the race. I circle the spectacle which takes up half of the room. The detail is amazing. Every building in Panopticus seems accounted for. Small plastic human figures run, frozen in place, with an audience cheering them on from every street corner. Miniature flags hang still from most of the buildings as if the wind has forgotten about them. Children eat plastic ice cream cones. Colored balloons float above their wrists.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say. “It looks like one big, giant party.”

Franco points at the tall New Order Offices. “The race both starts and ends right here.”

“Oh, man,” wails Liam, causing a librarian to shush him. “We have to run that giant hill
twice?”

I smile, noting that the race starts at the bottom of the hill, in front of the government offices, then winds all around the city before coming back and ending at the very top of the same hill.

Franco laughs. “You’re the one who signed up for this torture, you fool.”

There are bleachers next to the finish and volunteers handing out medals, drinks, and bananas.

I shake my head. “I wonder how long it took to make this. I can’t believe how meticulous it is.”

“Yeah.” Franco points to a balcony on the Government Building. “They even have the Representatives watching the race from above.”

Following his gaze, my stomach drops. There, in exquisite detail, stands an exact replica of the red-haired girl who had been dragged into the Citizen Family Planning and Reproductive Services Building.

Right in front of me.

On my birthday.

When everything bad happens.

he red haired replica holds me in a trance.

“Silvia, are you okay?” Liam waves his hand in front of my eyes.

“Uh… do you know who that is?” I point at the small plastic figure.

“Representative Waters-Royce, of course,” Franco replies then pauses. “Why?”

“Wait a minute… is she the pregnant one?” I flash back to watching the news with Mom over a month ago. I’m getting confused. Is everyone with red hair pregnant?

“Yes,” says Franco. “Silvia, is something wrong?”

“Um… not really.” I cock my head. “She looks too young to be a Representative. I… I thought she was someone else for a moment, instead—someone
our
age.”

“Do you mean
our
age or Franco’s?” Liam slaps him on the chest. “He’s practically ancient.”

“Oh, be quiet.” Franco’s gaze catches mine. “I’m not
that
old.”

I flush momentarily, but my mind is busy with other, more disturbing things. I turn back to the race model. “I can’t get over the resemblance,” I mutter. But I only saw that strange girl for a moment. What if I’m remembering her wrong? Maybe they look nothing alike, save for the long, red hair.

“She’s older than she looks.” Franco leans close to whisper. “Rumor is: she’s had a lot of
age-reducing surgery.
And she probably ordered the model designers to make her look young.”

“Plastic surgery?” Liam laughs. “Are you mad? You’ve got more conspiracy theories than brains in that head of yours.”

“It’s why her skin is so tight, especially around her eyes, and why she always looks so awake,” Franco argues, his warm breath on my skin. “I’m telling you—she’s had reconstructive surgery.”

I frown. “But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Surgery’s only done to save lives and ease discomfort. Gus said people aren’t even trained in cosmetic surgeries anymore as it was ruled a waste of resources.”

“I wouldn’t listen to Franco if I were you.” Liam crosses his arms. “He’s full of crap.”

Franco smiles to himself and steps away. My side suddenly feels cold. He runs his hand along the railing around the race model as he walks away. He grabs three sheets of orange paper.

“Here we go.” Franco hands us each a copy. “Now, you can study this at home. It’s got a map, elevation, and expected weather forecast. Although, I truly doubt they can know that so far ahead.”

I take the sheet but keep staring at the model instead, my gaze drawn towards Rep. Waters-Royce. Whatever happened to that red-haired girl? Is Waters-Royce related to her somehow?

The library fills with the excited voices of school children. A field trip has arrived to swarm around the spectacle. We’re no longer the only observers. Their short little bodies keep bumping into my sides until it finally breaks my concentration. I turn to the left and right, but all I see are kids. Where did Franco and Liam go?

I glance toward the exit. They wave at me with grins on their faces like they’re sharing a joke. About me, no doubt. I hurry over, slightly embarrassed but too preoccupied to care much about it.

“What took you so long?” Liam asks.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I say in return.

“We did, but you obviously weren’t listening.” Liam pushes the door to go outside. “Man, I’m starving. How about you guys?”

Once we step into the foot traffic, Franco puts a light hand on my arm. “Silvia, are you okay? You seem off today.”

“Something’s wrong at work.” Liam digs in his gym bag. “Oh, sweet. I found a snack bar.”

“How can you eat that?” Franco cringes. “It probably tastes like your socks.”

I laugh, and Franco turns his attention back to me.

“How’s work going?” he asks. “How’s Gus?”

I hesitate and glance around, but I’m pretty sure no one can hear us in this crowd. “I really like working for Gus, and I’m pretty sure I won’t get along as well with his replacement.” That’s only a very small portion of the story, but I’m not sure how much to tell without implicating Gus in wrongdoing.

Or myself for that matter.

“I still think it’s weird,” says Liam. “Like I’ve said before, work hasn’t been the same for me either since this race thing started. It seems like everybody’s getting shuffled around a lot, but maybe it’s a coincidence.”

“My mom says to never trust a coincidence.” I veer to the side of the walkway since we’re nearing the tall apartment complex where I live.

“What’s left if you can’t trust anything?” asks Liam. “Just be suspicious all the time about everything and drive yourself nuts? Like Franco?”

“Those are deep thoughts, especially coming from you, little cousin.” Franco rubs his knuckles over Liam’s head, making his golden hair stand on end.

“Stop that!” Liam backs away, almost running into a woman behind us. She hurries around our group without a backwards glance.

In a few steps, we’re at my front door.

“Do you want to come up?” My cheeks warm as I wait for their answer.

“Sure,” says Liam. “You got anything to eat?”

I laugh. “I’m sure Mom would be more than happy to feed you.”

We head into the building, hike up all six flights of stairs, and discover that Mom is, indeed, more than happy to serve up some of her special cookies and soymilk for my friends.

“I suppose your family is also enjoying extra rations for the race?” Mom asks Liam, a big smile on her face. “It will be hard to get used to regular portions once this is over.”

“Yeah, only two more weeks.” Liam eats fast. He sure is hungry.

Franco hangs back. Mom eyes him, some reservation in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because of the memorial video that I showed her or due to the fact that Franco seems more interested in the contents of our apartment than in filling his stomach. He wanders around as if our small home is a museum. At one point, he disappears from the combined kitchen and living area entirely. Mom throws me a look, and I hurry after him.

I hover in my bedroom doorway, watching Franco examine my room. Fortunately, there’s no underwear or bras lazing about on the floor. I’m not sure whether to be flattered by his interest or feel like some new plant specimen he’s investigating.

Franco looks at everything, touches nothing, and then stops short in front of my dad’s photo hanging on the wall. As Franco stares at my dad’s red hair and blue eyes, I find it hard to breathe.

We both remain silent and unmoving.

My ears hum. I start to sweat. The banter from the kitchen sounds muffled and far away.

The longer Franco stands in front of my father, the faster my heart races. It’s beating so hard; I barely hear the words he speaks as he runs a finger along Dad’s picture frame.

His broken voice comes out in a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

I catch my breath. He’s
sorry?
What the Hell does that mean?

“What are you sorry for?” I burst into the room.

Franco jumps a foot away from my dad’s photograph. “I… I meant I was sorry for your loss.”

I cross my arms. “That’s something you say at a memorial service which was eight years ago, as you may remember. That’s not something you say now.”

“But look at this.” He gestures at the picture. “Your dad’s face is the first thing you see when you wake up every morning, isn’t it?”

I slowly nod, hating that he’s right.

“It’s just…” Franco can’t rip his gaze away from my father’s image.

“Am I depressing you?” I ask. There’s nothing I hate more than being the subject of someone’s misguided pity. “You’d think that, with all I’ve told you already, you’d almost expect this, but… I guess maybe not.”

“Please don’t get mad, Silvia.” Franco averts his gaze. “I certainly don’t mean anything against
you
of all people.”

“You think I’m weak, don’t you?” My tears threaten to burst like a storm cloud. “You’re no better than all those psychiatrists, looking down on me and telling me I’m pathetic.”

He crosses the room and grabs hold of my arms. I don’t even fight back. I’m so mad at him for making me cry and so angry with myself for not being in better control of my emotions.

“That’s not what I think,” Franco assures me. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re a lot stronger than the rest of us. If I lost someone I loved, I’d hide or destroy every picture. I don’t think I could bear seeing them at all if that was all that was left for me.”

I swipe at my streaming eyes. “You’d rather live in denial?”

“Oh, denial’s not such a bad place to live.” Franco half-smiles and half-frowns. “Sometimes, it’s the only way to survive.”

“I can’t live like that.”

Franco’s grip tightens. “I can see that. And that’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

“You
admire
me?” I sniffle. Great timing for a runny nose.

Steps approach in the hall. Franco drops my arms and takes a step back, right before Liam pokes his head in my room.