Part 2 (1/2)

”Um ... I don't know.”

”But you heard the things she said,” Blossom insisted. ”They were were mean, you've got to admit it.” mean, you've got to admit it.”

What could he say? She was right in a sense, and he longed to agree with her, just to get her to leave him alone. But he did feel a vague loyalty to Lola, a reluctance to speak against her.

Finally, however, with both of them staring at him, he gave in. ”Yes, she was mean, I guess.”

Did Blossom really smile slightly, or was it only a little twitch in her puffy cheek as she turned back to Abigail? ”See?” she said. ”He thought she was too.”

Abigail seemed rather embarra.s.sed. ”Oh, all right. But you can hardly blame anybody for acting funny in this place. It's so scary, not knowing why we're here, or what's going to happen to us.”

”But you ... you don't seem frightened,” Peter said. ”Even ... even when you first found us, you were so ... calm about it.”

”Was I?” Her pale cheeks flushed slightly. ”Well, I am am frightened, but I guess I don't ... I'm just the way I am.” frightened, but I guess I don't ... I'm just the way I am.”

”Well, I'm not that that frightened,” said Blossom. ”I mean, somebody's going to come and get us out pretty soon, of course. This is all just a big mistake. It has to be.” frightened,” said Blossom. ”I mean, somebody's going to come and get us out pretty soon, of course. This is all just a big mistake. It has to be.”

Abigail's eyes met Peter's for a moment. There was really nothing to say, Blossom was so positive. Peter wanted to believe her, it would be so nice if he could. But he knew they didn't make mistakes like this.

”You've been in state homes all your life?” Abigail asked him, breaking the silence that followed Blossom's outburst.

He nodded. ”And you?” he asked, trying to turn the conversation away from himself. ”What ... what kind of place were you in?”

”Oh, it was okay. I guess I've been lucky. It wasn't one of those huge ones. It was kind of small, and the teachers were nice, and I have some good friends.”

”You mean you don't hate it?” Blossom sounded incredulous.

”No.”

”But there must have been some teachers that were horrible, and some creepy kids that you hated.”

”Well, yes, there were, I guess.”

”Well, you don't have to sound so snooty about it,” said Blossom. ”What's wrong with hating somebody? 'Loathing is endless,'” she quoted in her high-pitched, nasal voice. ”'Hate is a bottomless cup. I pour and pour' Did you ever hear that? It's from some ancient play or something.”

”No.” Abigail seemed embarra.s.sed again.

”That was the only good thing about being in the place I've been since my parents died.” She spoke of their death easily now, as though they had gone for a holiday at a resort development. ”There were so many people to hate, that's what was good about it. But I had friends friends too, good friends, at the school I went to before my parents died.” She paused. ”Do you ... do you want to know something? Something about my parents?” She looked eagerly back and forth between then, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ”I probably shouldn't tell you, I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but ... well, since they did put me in here with you, and everything is so strange, maybe it's okay.” She folded her arms. ”Anyway, I too, good friends, at the school I went to before my parents died.” She paused. ”Do you ... do you want to know something? Something about my parents?” She looked eagerly back and forth between then, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ”I probably shouldn't tell you, I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but ... well, since they did put me in here with you, and everything is so strange, maybe it's okay.” She folded her arms. ”Anyway, I want want to tell. I bet you won't believe it. But it's true, it's really true.” to tell. I bet you won't believe it. But it's true, it's really true.”

Suddenly Peter wanted to know what she was going to say. There was something strangely compelling about the eagerness in her voice; and Abigail, who had been staring into her lap, was now watching Blossom just as intently as he.

”Listen,” Blossom said. ”Listen.” She spoke very slowly and distinctly. ”We lived in a house house. With real gra.s.s around it, and a live growing tree.” She sat up a little straighter, watching for their reaction.

”A house?” Abigail said. ”But-”

”Yes.” Blossom nodded. ”Some people still live in their own private houses. You didn't know that, did you? Hardly anybody knows. I mean, the President President lives in one, everybody knows that. But some of his top advisers do too, his chief aides and advisers. There's a whole neighborhood with houses in it, and a big wall around it. Of course it's a secret, because if anyone outside knew about the houses, they would think it wasn't fair, and it would be bad for the administration's image. So we went to a special school; they never let us meet outsiders. And our house had a swimming pool, and a special room to eat in, that wasn't the kitchen, a room just for eating. And sometimes my mother even made our own food, and it was so good. Oh, it was so good.” She clasped her hands together, and for a moment her eyes slipped shut and her head tilted back in a kind of reverie. lives in one, everybody knows that. But some of his top advisers do too, his chief aides and advisers. There's a whole neighborhood with houses in it, and a big wall around it. Of course it's a secret, because if anyone outside knew about the houses, they would think it wasn't fair, and it would be bad for the administration's image. So we went to a special school; they never let us meet outsiders. And our house had a swimming pool, and a special room to eat in, that wasn't the kitchen, a room just for eating. And sometimes my mother even made our own food, and it was so good. Oh, it was so good.” She clasped her hands together, and for a moment her eyes slipped shut and her head tilted back in a kind of reverie.

Peter found that he was listening closely to her, hanging on every word, just as Abigail was doing. He couldn't deny that Blossom could be fascinating, almost charming in some odd way. And even though her story was preposterous, she spoke with such intensity and conviction that it was difficult not to believe her.

”Really?” said Abigail skeptically.

”Yes,” Blossom insisted. ”My father was a psychiatrist. He checked people out, people they were thinking of hiring. And that's why we got to live in a house, and have meat every week, and a pool, even though all the press releases said we lived in residential megastructures like everybody else.”

Peter leaned back again. Blossom's story was a direct contradiction of information that had been drummed into him for his whole life, but nevertheless he believed her. Why should I make it up? her tone implied with every matter-of-fact word. It was the same way when she had gotten him to admit that Lola was mean; Lola really had been mean, after all.

”I just thought of something,” Blossom said. ”The food thing doesn't work for me anymore, and it never never worked for them, but maybe it would work for you. Why don't you try it, Abigail?” worked for them, but maybe it would work for you. Why don't you try it, Abigail?”

”I'm not really hungry,” Abigail said.

”Me either,” said Blossom. ”But I mean, what else is there to do until they come to get us out? Come on, just try it? Just get down there and stick out your tongue.”

”Well ...” said Abigail. She was clearly uncomfortable. Peter wished Blossom would leave her alone.

”But why not?” Blossom said. ”Are you afraid?”

Abigail shook her head. ”No. It's just that ... I'm not hungry now. And if you're the only one it ever worked for, then you should probably try.”

”Well, all right,” said Blossom. ”I'll do it now. But I'll get you to do it some sometime.” And once again she began laboring awkwardly over the screen.

Peter closed his eyes. It was difficult at first to get into the daydream; the hard realities on the other side of his eyelids did not want to retreat. But gradually his head began to fill with warmth. The steps dissolved into a white mist, and back through the mist came his old room, his and Jasper's room. Jasper, sitting on the bed and taking off his shoes, smiling, punching Peter on the shoulder and telling him not to worry. ”You're okay, Pete, you're better than a hundred of those slobs put together. Tomorrow I'll tell them so myself.” Jasper's strong, hard body as he got into bed, so different from Peter's. Strong, to protect him, to take care of him. Jasper, who always took care of him- Jasper, sitting on the bed and taking off his shoes, smiling, punching Peter on the shoulder and telling him not to worry. ”You're okay, Pete, you're better than a hundred of those slobs put together. Tomorrow I'll tell them so myself.” Jasper's strong, hard body as he got into bed, so different from Peter's. Strong, to protect him, to take care of him. Jasper, who always took care of him- ”What?” said a voice. It sounded real, but it was a familiar voice, and Peter knew it was part of his daydream. How strange, that the dream should sound so real. ”What,” said the voice again, ”are you doing down on the floor like that?” And there were footsteps, and he heard Blossom's noises stop. But that voice, how could it be real? Apprehensively, he opened his eyes.

His feet on the spiral stairs, the top half of his body already through the hole, looking around at the three of them with an expression of amused bewilderment on his face, stood Jasper.

Chapter 5.

Abigail hadn't heard the boy approach either. She had been sitting there trying not to look at Blossom and making an effort not to get weepy about being here, when suddenly someone said something and there was a boy, a very attractive boy, climbing quickly up to the landing.

”What,” he said, looking around at them briskly, ”are you doing down on the floor like that?” Blossom was perusing him from her kneeling position, and Peter was gaping at him, his usually expressionless face spread wide open in disbelief. Abigail couldn't imagine why he should seem so surprised; it had been startling to see the boy appear, but it wasn't as if he were a ghost or anything.

”Food,” Blossom said, pulling herself up to her step and still eyeing the boy. ”Food used to come out of that slot. I was trying to make it come out again.” As she explained, the boy turned away from her to look appraisingly at Abigail. His eyes were a very intense shade of blue-gray. Abigail met his gaze for a moment, then looked down, a flutter of excitement beginning in her stomach. Already his arrival had changed the situation completely for her. Blossom and Lola, after all, were girls. And Peter, though he seemed nice, wasn't very good-looking and was so terribly shy. But this new boy! He was just the kind of boy who got her all stirred up, who distracted her, who made it practically impossible to think about anything else. And even though she knew that it was wrong to have such feelings, she could not make them go away.

She looked up at him again. He already seemed slightly bored by Blossom's explanation of the food machine, staring off into the distance and tapping his foot restlessly. His dark blond hair was just curly enough, Abigail reflected, and just the right length to set off the planes of his lean face. He was wearing athletic clothes-a white T-s.h.i.+rt and gray sweat pants-but they certainly looked good on him: It was clear that the body underneath, which he held erectly, was hard and smooth-muscled.

And of course it wasn't just the way he looked, it was the confidence and energy and potential high spirits that he exuded. They rippled in the air around him like waves from a pebble tossed into a pond. Though his presence made her tense, Abigail nevertheless felt suddenly more comfortable, more at home, than she had felt since she had entered this place.

Peter was still gaping at him, but now he seemed puzzled. ”And now it doesn't work at all, n.o.body can make it work,” Blossom finished, and, with a quick glance in Abigail's direction, the boy turned to Peter, really looking at him for the first time. Abigail felt her heart contract in a sudden spasm of pity-the expression on Peter's face had become so unutterably pleading and pathetic, like a begging dog looking up at his master. But why?

The new boy didn't seem to notice. ”So,” he said, ”you the only other guy? Anybody else around?”

Peter was studying his face intensely. And all at once his expression faded, the life in it suddenly draining away. He looked down.

”Huh?” said the boy.

”Um ... there's another girl,” Peter said, his voice fuzzy. ”Lola. We haven't found anyone else yet.”