Allie's War Season One (3 page)

She also looked hurt. “You
are
evil. Did you bring coffee?”

“Yup. With the requisite sugar fat explosion, dunked in chocolate-flavored lard...your favorite.”

She was already reaching for the bag, her eyes faintly quizzical, like they always were when I cracked one of my dumb jokes. She unfurled the crinkled paper and peered inside.

Her voice grew timid. “Allie, will you go with me?”

I failed to completely stifle a snort.

“Come on, Mom. Conversion? This early in the morning?”

As I said it, my eyes made contact with the television.

There, my father held me in his arms, beaming so wide, his eyes so shining that I couldn’t help but feel him, hearing his laugh through the middle of my chest. Only after I could breathe again did I look at my mom. Her deer-like eyes were wide as she munched on the edge of a donut, chocolate frosting coating her small fingers.

“You’ve got to get past this,” I said, hating myself for saying it.

I knew in some ways, my mother’s grief was a lot more honest than mine. It was me who covered myself over in sharp laughs and dismissive shrugs. Or, in the words of the boyfriend before Jaden, a Puerto Rican from New York, I was “a cold white woman, made of ice.”

A faint nausea rose briefly, a pulse of warmth.

I disagree,
a voice said softly in my mind.

I jumped, violently enough to make my mom look over.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she said. She patted my leg. “Are you okay, Allie-bird? You look like a goose walked on your grave.”

I forced my eyes back to the television, watched my dad lean down to help my four-year-old self blow out four pink candles on a cake with white, fluffy frosting. Four-year-old me looked up at twenty-eight-year-old me and beamed, wanting to be my friend.

But watching my younger self wrapped in the gnarled, work-worn hands of my father, I felt nothing but envy.

2

MR. MONOCHROME

I HUNCHED OVER an espresso maker, trying to get the metal coffee filter with the pressed coffee crammed inside to fit the groove. I got it hooked somehow, managed to turn the handle a quarter turn, but it stuck there and wouldn’t budge.

In the background, I listened to the television over the bar. There, our recently-elected president spoke over the flash of cameras and odd cheer or laugh from the crush of reporters ringing him like fans at a rock concert.

The media used a parade of what my grandmother would have called “dimestore words” whenever they described President Daniel Caine. He was never just President Caine. He was
“...charismatic, bold in speech, forty-something President Caine exuding reassurance, his dark chestnut hair shining as he speaks from the White House lawn, the flowers of overhanging trees blending with the honey-blond of his wife’s hair. We only wish we could show you his
real
appearance so you could see how presidential he truly looks...”

Refocusing on the espresso maker, I finally got the filter off and hooked back on the machine. Clicking it on, I waited for the red light, glancing up at the line of blue suits on the television. I noticed the scarf at the blond woman’s throat, the flash of teeth as the man’s avatar rocked his head back in a laugh.

I’d never really followed politics.

But Caine, the new national obsession, was hard to ignore.

Most of my gal pals found him clinically “hot.” I don’t know how they could tell, honestly, since we only ever saw avatars.

Even Jon liked him, and Jon didn’t like politicians...at least not successful ones. Liberals liked him. So did right-wingers. I found myself riveted whenever Caine spoke, but couldn’t say I
liked
him exactly.

Like all humans, he had to wear avatars when appearing in the public feeds. The rumor was, those avatars weren’t far off from his real appearance, though...hardly the norm for celebrities and politicians. He wore just enough to remain legal––meaning, enough that seers wouldn’t be able to track him based on his physical appearance. He didn’t even change his age, or make himself ridiculously handsome, like most celebrities did.

The press corp rumor was that he actually looked better in person.

“...I have every hope here, fellas.” Caine smiled and I felt a kind of exuded warmth. “That this new agreement will establish real stability in a previously turbulent part of the world. Create friends and trusted neighbors out of those who in the past were our enemies.” He paused for just the right beat of time. “You don’t think we’re going to let a few screwballs get in the way of that, now do you...?”

Laughter sparked through the crowd.

“President Caine!” My eyes followed the petite female avatar as she pushed her way to the front. “What will your response be to the terrorists?”

He smiled at her.

“Donna,” he said. “You know I can’t give you details.” He winked at the camera. “...But rest assured, harsh language will be involved. Very harsh language indeed.”

Another collective laugh rolled through the crush.

I leaned my back against the espresso machine, frowning.

Folding my arms, I focused on the dark-skinned, African-American avatar standing just behind Caine. High cheekbones rose above full lips below cat-shaped, amber eyes. His was an undeniably handsome face, one I had also heard mirrored the handsomeness of the man behind it. The female friends of mine who didn’t have a thing for Caine definitely had one for Ethan Wellington, Caine’s new Vice President.

My reactions to him were more mixed.

The guy had
something,
definitely.

Again, I couldn’t decide if I liked whatever that something was.

“...I truly believe that we are now laying the real foundations for peace and prosperity in the future,” Caine spoke out over the crowd. “Paving the way for a time when human being will no longer fight human being...”

A low hiss emanated from the espresso maker at my back...just before it sprayed wet steam all over my uniform. Jumping forward with a yelp, I saw the metal filter belch water and coffee grounds through a warp in the seal. I was still staring at the machine, trying to decide how to proceed, when my best friend, Cassandra Jainukul approached.

Everyone but her mother called her Cass.

When we were kids, it had been Cassie.

“Hey.” Cass took in the issue with the espresso maker with polite disinterest. “Jon’s here. So’s your buddy.”

Gripping the filter’s plastic handle with a resolve I didn’t feel, I gave it a jerk. More steam and water vomited, drenching my shirt.

Cursing, I leapt back, soaked to the skin.

“Do you want me to call Jon over?” Cass folded her arms, bunching up the uniform under her breasts. “Or not?”

“What for?” I muttered. “He sucks at fixing things.”

“No, dummy.” Cass pushed shocking, dyed red hair out of her dark eyes. “Not for that. For that guy...your
friend.”

When we were kids, I would have done anything to look like Cass. Her dad was Ethiopian and Thai and her mom something like Scottish and Indian. Cass ended up with a blend of all four that made her beautiful and unique-looking with a delicate face, high cheekbones, full lips and giant, liquid eyes. Her figure had always been better than mine, too. Leggy and big-chested with a tiny waist. She blew stray bangs out of her eyes.

“...What’s his name,” she prompted. “Your friend. Mr. Monochrome. The sexy guy with the black hair sitting in your section.”

I turned too fast, knocking the coffee filter with my arm. Cass watched it fall to the rubber mat with no reaction on her face. Turning, she stared openly at the man in the corner booth.

“Isn’t that the shirt we looked at in Aardvarks? You said you liked it, right?”

I nodded. I remembered.

“That’s creepy, Al.”

I said, “Where’s Jon?”

Cass aimed a finger at the bar.

My brother sprawled over a counter stool like an adult in a child’s chair. Catching my glance, he waved a hand sharply for me to come over. I rolled my eyes.

“Bossy,” I mouthed. “Pushy. Bossy. Control freak...”

When Jon threw a spoon at me, I ducked, smiling, and glanced at Cass. She was still staring at Mr. Mono, her lips scrunched in vague puzzlement.

When Jon motioned us over again, she smirked and started sashaying in his direction. Cass always flirted with Jon. It made my teeth grind sometimes, but I knew she did it to mess with him as much as anything. She knew she lacked the requisite, er, equipment, to catch my brother’s eye...but she’d also had a crush on him since kindergarten.

Watching Jon’s knee jiggle up and down as I followed her, I got a flash of what he’d been like back then, when most people still called him “Bug.” Skinny and pale with thick glasses and too-large hands, he’d been mostly a non-entity in high school, despite getting bullied by some of the real turds among the jock contingent.

He started doing martial arts before Dad died, tired of being stuffed in lockers and covered in ketchup packets for “being a little faggot” by the mentally-challenged of gym class. Now he had the broad-shouldered, sinewy body of a career athlete. His old coke-bottle glasses had been replaced by contacts over green-flecked hazel eyes, and he’d grown into the hands, too.

According to Jaden, Jon and I were a little creepy for brother and sister—even adopted brother and sister—in that we hung out together so much. But I wasn’t about to ditch Jon as a friend just because his parents were cool enough to adopt me.

Anyway, Jon wasn’t into girls. He never had been.

I watched his eyes swivel to the dark-haired man in the corner booth.

As soon as I got close enough, he let go with a not particularly stealthy whisper.

“Why didn’t you call me? I told you to call me!”

“I didn’t know.”

“How long has he been here?” Jon demanded.

“Well, if I knew that, I would have known when he got here, right?” I folded my arms. “I didn’t. Know, I mean.”

For an instant this stumped Jon. He squinted at me.

Cass said, “I don’t know, Al.” Her lips pursed. “You sure you don’t want to talk to this one? Before Jon goes all kung fu on his ass...?”

It was my turn to stare at Cass. “What?”

She nodded towards Mr. Monochrome. “Him. Look at him.”

I felt my jaw tighten, even as Jon gave Cass an incredulous look. Then both of us turned, following her gaze to the man with the coal-black hair.

I mean...I knew Cass was right, in a way.

He was really cute.

Well, not
cute
exactly...but he had something, for sure.

Whatever that something was, it was pretty damned sexy.

Moreover, Mr. Mono had little in common with my usual breed of stalker. He didn’t stare at me nervously, clutching flowers or bad poetry that rhymed. I’d never seen him wear crosses or pentagrams or so much as a Buddha T-shirt. Most of the kooks who followed me around seemed to be looking for something...a savior, maybe. Or maybe just a purpose.

This guy seemed to have all kinds of purpose already.

He practically
breathed
purpose.