Chan's Story: A Numbers Game Short: (Numbers Game 1.5) Page 3
“Could be worse,” Chan said. “You could be a red.” The words tasted sour in his mouth. There were no reds up here tonight. In fact, it seemed like most of the jumpers each year were yellows. He finally understood why now.
“Nah,” she said. “Nobody expects anything of reds. They’re too far gone. At least they have a place of their own, see. Work camps or city slums, where they sleep in corners and steal nutrition pills. Where do yellows go? Nowhere. They don’t exist. Slip through the cracks.” Her voice quieted. “Just like my mother. She did this first, you know. Hit yellow one year and decided to end it. Left me with Dad and said she was going for a walk. Walked right off this very edge.”
“Sorry.”
“Eh, I don’t remember it. But sometimes I dream that I’m her, you know? I feel her hopelessness, her despair, her determination as she steps into nothing. I think her last thoughts with her before she hits.” Her voice hardened. “I’ve done this a hundred times in my dreams. So you see, it won’t be too hard. Not for me.”
A chill quivered through Chan’s body. “What’s your name?”
“No need for that. We’re jumping, remember?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, you’re answering questions now. Too bad you waited so long to figure out how, eh? Now that nobody will listen to you.” She pulled her knees to her chest and looked out over the city.
He followed her gaze. They fell into an easy silence. Olympus was quiet this time of night, and he could almost believe that he was on a date. That they’d ascended to see the view, to hold hands and gaze at each other on the rooftop. He’d tangle his fingers through her thick hair, and she’d say his name and tell him he was anything but lukewarm and promise never to ignore him. He’d pull her close and tilt her chin upward, and then he’d taste her lips in the darkness. Then he’d walk her home and watch her go safely inside to live another day.
A low chant ascended from below. It was difficult to make out the words, but it had to be the graduates. They were growing impatient. The security guards conveniently disappeared on this night each year, but it didn’t mean the streets weren’t patrolled by Monitors. Graduates could be arrested for breaking curfew the same as any citizen.
“They want a show,” she said. “I suppose I’d better give it to them.” She stood.
“Your name,” Chan said softly. “I bet it’s beautiful.”
The girl shut off her band’s light, plunging her face into darkness. “No. It’s hideous. Just like the rest of me.” Her voice trembled, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “They’re right. I can’t be like this—them—all that. I’m just not the person they want me to be.”
“I know.” She shot him a look, but he stammered on. “I-I mean, it’s refreshing. I just have to know your name.”
She raised her face to sky as if exasperated, but her voice sounded pleased. “Maizel Augustine. Because I wasn’t different enough.”
“Chan Norwell.”
“Norwell. I know that name. Wait, is your mom—”
“Monitor Chief. Yeah.”
“Oh.” She paused. “That explains a lot.”
The chanting rose in volume, as if joined by more voices. Chan peered over the edge to see hundreds of techband lights glowing below—far more than should have been there. The bonfire light in the distance had faded; it seemed the graduates had simply changed the location of their celebration.
“Maybe we should do it together,” Maizel said softly.
“Sure.”
They stood side by side and gazed down at their audience. The graduates must have caught a glimpse of their heads peering over the edge because a cheer went up from below.
Maizel swung one leg over the rail, then the other, so that her legs dangled over the edge of the concrete. She still gripped the rail, though. Chan did the same. Wind swept her hair upward, wild and free. A tear caught the moonlight, and he ached to brush it aside. Instead, he took her other hand. She squeezed it tightly.
“Last words?” she prompted.
He shook his head.
She snorted. “Of course not. You don’t talk.” After a moment, she tilted her head back and looked at the sky. “My mother was a good woman. I remember that much. I’m sure that she’s happier now, wherever she is. No numbers, no assignments, no tethers. She can be herself. That’s all I want.” She squeezed his hand more tightly, repeating, “That’s all.”
Chan took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his body. Suddenly, there at the top of the world, he felt more alive than he’d ever felt before. Maizel’s hair whipped into his face, stinging and leaving behind the gentle scent of soap. Her hand was warm, her fingers small and soft. He could feel her pulse keeping time with his.
His body moved without permission. The fears that had held Chan back his entire life failed this time, and he released her hand to wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.
She shuddered, then leaned against him. Her head rested on his shoulder. He breathed in the scent of her hair, loving how the breeze played with each strand in the moonlight. He loved the color—a brilliant, glowing red, like a bonfire. Warm and bright and impossible to miss.
He sat there, feeling her warmth against his body, awed by this girl’s confidence, her determination to shape the world to her ideals or leave it completely. If Chan jumped, few would notice. But if—when——Maizel went, it would be tragic, the world losing such a bright flame. The very air around her felt warmer and lighter. It made him feel strange. Almost happy. Like someone, somewhere, was cheering for him.
He’d gotten his praise from the graduates below. It hadn’t felt anything like this. His family, his friends, his accomplishments. None of it had made him feel like this girl he had known for ten minutes.
Fates, he told the stars. Whatever you are, you’re clever.
Even if Chan didn’t jump, he would never go to the Academy. He’d never join his brother, and he might never see his family again. Whatever assignment he was given would be drudgery, he knew, something any child with a brain could do. Manufacturing or transportation or something stupid.
But maybe he could make an imprint on the world in this one way, in this one, tiny way.
“If that’s all you want,” he said, “you don’t need to jump.”
“Hmm?”
“You want to be yourself. No expectations, no numbers.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her voice cracked, and he could feel her shudder. She was fighting desperately for control.
He plunged on. “Well, you said it yourself. No one expects anything of the reds. Yellows have nowhere to go, but at least reds have a place.” He gestured to the black patch of sky in the distance. “So let’s become reds.”
She considered that for a long moment. “We’re only Rated once a year. They’ll just track us down and ship us off to our assignments.”
“We’ll hide among the reds for as long as possible, and by the time they arrest us, our scores will have plunged. Not even the yellow employers will want us then. We’re yellows by accident, Maizel. Surely we can become reds on purpose.”
She pulled away and looked up at Chan in wonder. “You’re serious.”
“Of course.” He put his hand against her freckled cheek, and she leaned into it. He wiped away a single tear with his thumb. “I think your mom would want you to experience a little freedom before she sees you again. We’ve wasted sixteen years for them. We deserve some time off. Just think of all the places we could explore and the things we could do—and nobody will look twice. This could be the freedom you want.”
“Wow. You’re becoming quite the talker. But what do you want?”
“To follow you around. You know, keep you out of trouble. Or in trouble, as it were, since we’re trying to be reds and all.”
She frowned suddenly, blinking her eyes quickly. He was mesmerized by her long dark lashes as he watched her fight for control again. When she noticed him watching her, a sheepish grin spread across her face.
Maizel leaned forward. He could feel her breath on his face. “I could get used to it.”
He couldn’t help it. All rational thought fled as he sat with his arm wrapped around a beautiful girl with moonlit cheeks. He closed the distance between them and let his lips brush hers. She responded. He pulled her in closer. She melted into his embrace and returned his kiss with fervor. The heat he’d felt around her earlier was now like molten rock boiling inside him.
The wind whipped her hair around them both, and he lost himself. He was in the sky, and the world was below, but somehow there was no up or down. Just Maizel. Just the cool wetness of her tear-stained face and the warmth of her soft lips. She let go of the rail and entwined her fingers in his hair. It sent shivers of pleasure down his body.
Then the wind slammed into them from behind.
With a yelp, Maizel leaned backward, grasping for the rail, but it was too late. She screamed as she tumbled off the edge.
Instinctively he reached out and caught a sleeve and some hair, but the momentum of her fall pulled his other hand off the rail and his body followed until leg caught on the bar, wrenching his knee. He quickly wrapped his other leg around the bar and held on tightly. Upside down.
Monkey Boy. Wasn’t that what they’d called him? The fates definitely had a sense of humor.
Maizel looked down and shrieked—a shrill, desperate cry. Grunting, Chan took a second to think as he watched Maizel swing precariously beneath him. The intense pain in his ribs from his mother’s “affection” threatened to make him black out. They were probably only bruised, but his vision was beginning to blur.
A spotlight flashed on from down below and found them. He closed his eyes against the brightness and looked away. The cheering from below swelled. Where had they gotten a spotlight?
“Don’t let go!” Maizel gasped.
“I’ve got you,” he said, panting. Her sleeve or her hair should have given way, but somehow both of them held long enough for his free hand to find hers. He forced himself to breathe, ordered his lungs to accept air. In. Out.
“Do it! Do it!” the crowd chanted. There must have been a huge group now if he could hear them from this height.
“Are you hanging from the rail by your legs?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m going to swing you upward. Try to grab the rail, okay?”
“I can’t!”
“Don’t look down,” he said. “Imagine this is a one-story building, nothing more. When you get to the top, hang on. I’ll pull you the rest of the way. Ready?”
“No, but go ahead.”
He gritted his teeth and began to swing his arms. It took more strength than anything he’d ever done. After a minute or two, his abdominal muscles were screaming and he wasn’t sure if he could get her high enough. His entire side was on fire now, and he wanted nothing more than to let go and curl into a ball and whimper. On the eighteenth swing, she reached out with one hand and nearly caught the rail but yelped as her palm slipped free.
“This is it,” he gasped. His legs shook, and his palms were sweaty. He couldn’t hold her much longer. “I can’t—”
The moon illuminated her face on the next pass, and he saw both fear and determination in her expression. She let go with both hands this time and flew through the air, arms extended. The rail nearly slipped through her grasp before she caught hold. The sudden weightlessness nearly threw Chan off the edge himself.
“You did it,” he said, his voice as wobbly as his body. He pulled himself up to the rail and let himself fall onto his back next to her. His body shook violently. She lay there, breathing hard, one leg bent to the sky.
Somehow the stars looked brighter as he lay there. There seemed to be no order to the tiny white lights. They were simply there for their own sake, glowing brightly, bared to the universe.
“Well?” she said, gaining control of her breathing. “What now?”
Chan grinned and forced himself to his feet. “I think someone needs to report those annoying graduates down there. They’re definitely breaking curfew.”
“I agree.” She sat up, still breathing hard, and took his outstretched hand. “And then we’ll take a little walk and see what there is to do in the red district. I hear they have parties at night when everyone’s asleep.”
“Of course they do.”
“And if either of us gets arrested,” she said, wrapping her arm around him, “we’ll just find each other again.”
Chan thought about his house, his belongings strewn across the porch. He thought about Lin, the sister who’d watched him so carefully. She could never know what had happened tonight, but he hoped she could meet Maizel someday. He thought about Deshi, who seemed so confident but was still trying to find himself. And he thought about his mother, who had raised him the only way she knew how.
And finally, he thought about Maizel. She watched him patiently, content to let him work through his thoughts before he answered. Her mouth curved into a smile as her words settled peacefully in his heart. We’ll just find each other again.
He took her other hand and pulled her toward the lift. “Yes,” he said, the rightness of his words giving his voice confidence. “We’ll do that.”
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Treena isn't sure she wants to be Rated anymore. Sure, she's prepared for Rating Day her entire life. Sure, she's one of the top contenders in Level Three school. But this number will brand her forever—a valuable citizen, or a pathetic waste of space. And then there's the the issue of being within 100 points of her top-rated boyfriend if they'll attend the academy together.
But Rating Day comes and her number is announced—and it shocks everyone.
To get her life and boyfriend back, Treena must go undercover and expose a military spy. Doesn’t sound too hard, except that someone wants her dead. And then there’s Vance, the mysterious soldier with a haunted past and gorgeous brown eyes. Together, they discover a dark numbers conspiracy, one that shatters the nation’s future. Treena must join up with Vance if she is to survive the dangerous game of numbers—and the terrible war that rages within her heart.
"Best dystopian fiction I have read since Red Queen!"
-Sheri, reader
"Gripping, from beginning to end . . . a tale as action-packed as Divergent yet as introspective as The Giver. . . . Sure to be an instant classic in the genre."
–R.J. Craddock, author of The Children of Cain series
"This book was amazing! It captivated me from page one and kept me wanting more, even at the end! It's got the deepness of The Giver, with the excitement of the Uglies series, or the Hunger Games. It has romance, but it's not just another love story, it really digs deep . . . I would recommend this to anyone, literally anyone."
-Kat, reviewer
"Better than Scott Westerfeld's Uglies."
–Karen Pellett, reviewer
Coming Soon: Numbers Ignite (Numbers Game Book Two)
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Acknowledgments
For some reason, I thought a short story would be easier than Numbers Game was. Faster maybe, and definitely shorter, but not easier in the least. Turns out I needed plenty of help with this side project, and my writer friends were up to the challenge. I’d like to thank my critique group, including Adrienne Monson, Ruth Craddock, Karen Pellett, Jen Greyson, Roxie Haynie, and Angela Brimhall for their fantastic feedback. I’m also grateful to Cindy Hogan, Tamara Heiner, Susan Tietjen, and Angela Woiwode, all wonderful women and writers I respect
and admire. Special thanks to Casey Messick and Ray Zhang, who answered my endless questions about Chinese culture and the Mandarin language with patience and humor, and to Angela Eschler’s editing team who crafted this into something beautiful. A million thanks to Lindzee Armstrong for making it pretty on the inside and to Steve Novak for making it pretty on the outside. I’m so lucky to be surrounded by professionals and friends who know more than I do.
To my patient husband who watched Blue Bloods for hours at night while I was glued to my computer, thank you. You are my rock and my foundation. Love you.
And to my readers—you are the ones who bring my stories to life. Thanks for your emails, your reviews, and your support. You make my job so much fun. Thank you.
About the Author
Rebecca Rode is a journalist and the award-winning author of the #1 bestselling dystopian novel, Numbers Game, and the inspirational book, How to have Peace When You’re Falling to Pieces. She also writes for Deseret News, KSL.com, FamilyShare, and Provo Daily Herald. However, her true love is writing for teenagers. She enjoys traveling, reading, and martial arts, and she has a ridiculous addiction to chocolate-banana shakes. She lives with her husband and four children. Visit her at http://www.authorrebeccarode.com.