Gated (21 page)

“Disgusting,” she mutters before sliding the tray away.

We haven’t talked much for hours. Mom’s concerned about eavesdroppers. The magazines and book under my mattress are making me feel edgy. I want to shove them farther under. Every time my mom leans forward in her chair, I wonder if she’s spotted a bit of paper poking out. It’s excruciating.

Eventually Mom gives up trying to stay awake and
fiddles with her chair until it slides out into a very narrow, very hard-looking bed. She starts spreading out the sheets the nurses gave her. I am nowhere near tired after my long afternoon nap, but I fake a yawn anyway. I’d rather sit in the dark and listen to her sleep than sit around and have to stare at her or play hangman one more time.

Just as we’re turning out the lights—at the uncharacteristically early hour of seven—a nurse pops her head into the room. She’s really young and pretty, completely opposite all of the other nurses I’ve seen today. Her hair reminds me a little of Cody’s. It’s the same medley of browns that his is. She smiles at me and winks, which surprises me. Honestly, it’s a little weird.

“Sorry to bother you ladies, but I need to take”—she makes a big show of checking the clipboard in her hands—“Lyla down for a few more tests.”

My mom starts to stand up.

“No need to get up, ma’am. I’ll just take her for a little while. And you can’t really go with her to the testing room anyway. We’re taking a few more X-rays.” She smiles at my mom. “Get some rest; I’ll come get you if we need you.” She leans back against the door until it opens all the way and rolls a wheelchair inside.

“Can’t I just walk?” I complain.

“ ’Fraid not, hospital policy,” she says. She helps peel back my covers and I exhale heavily, but settle into the chair. I had X-rays earlier and the process was pretty tedious, but it’s better than staring at the ceiling.

“Okay, let’s roll.” I smile at my own pun, but no one else seems to get or notice it.

Mom looks like she’s about to tag along anyway, but then stops herself. It has to be because she thinks it’ll look odd if she goes. She perches on the edge of the chair-bed. Her posture is so rigid that it looks unnatural.

“Relax, Mom, I’ll be right back. I’m fine, the X-rays will prove it.” I want the nurse to think her odd behavior is a direct result of worry and not paranoia.

Once we’re in the hallway, the nurse leans down by my ear. “Ready for a little adventure?”

I turn back to look at her. “What?”

“Cody sent me. I’m his sister, Taylor.” She bounces a little on her toes as she talks. It makes her seem even younger.

“You aren’t really a nurse, are you?” I ask.

“Um, technically, no. But I am planning on studying to be one and I do work here part-time … just not as a nurse.”

I look at the nurses’ station. For the moment no one’s there.

“I waited until the coast was clear,” Taylor tells me proudly. “We can’t have anyone wondering where we’re going, now can we?”

My stomach starts to turn rapid somersaults. “Where
are
we going?”

“Somewhere a little more private,” Taylor says.

Cody wants to see me. He sent his sister in to basically
kidnap me so he could. I should stop her, jump out of the chair, and turn around. His dad’s the sheriff. He’s too close to the one person who could spell big trouble for my family and the rest of the Community. But his face flashes across my brain and I can’t make myself get up and turn around.

Taylor’s still chattering on and on. “You’ve done a real number on my brother, you know? He’s been hanging out here all day begging me to help him see you. He promised to do my chores for the next month if I xt bermanaged to get you out of your room and away from your mom.” She pauses. “Is it true—are you one of those people that live way out on the prairie in that commune-type place?”

I nod.

“Wow, that’s weir … I mean different.” She hesitates a little and seems to consider her next words carefully. “So, what’s the story? Why isolate yourselves all the way out there?”

I give her the usual spiel about how we want to live simply.

“So you’re, like, kind of Amish?”

“What?”

“You know, the people with the horses and buggies that dress all old-fashioned and won’t use electricity or technology. They think it’s evil or something. Do you?”

I shake my head. “Um, no, we don’t. We came here in a truck. And I usually wear jeans or shorts. And we like electricity. A lot.”

She shrugs. “So then you’re not like a cult or something?”

That’s the second time one of them has used that word. Pioneer has always said that they would. He says any religious or political group—any group at all where people are passionate about something—is considered one. He says it’s because people who lack passion and commitment can’t understand those who have it. No matter what we say, they won’t change their minds. And if we’re not careful, they’ll see it as a reason to persecute us.

“Absolutely not,” I say as mildly as I can because it’s the response I’ve been taught, but I’m still irritated by the question. What does it matter to her either way? We’re not hurting anybody, at least not those who leave us alone. In fact, the only people who seem intent on hurting someone are the people here and places like it—first with their words, like right now, and later with their weapons—or cars. It seems Pioneer is right about that.

We roll down the halls in silence for a moment. I concentrate on my hands, which are in my lap.

“I’m sorry, that was a pretty rude question. Sometimes my mouth goes off before my head can censor it. I was just curious.”

“Really, there’s nothing to be curious about,” I say.

“That’s not what my dad says.”

My heart just about stops. She’s confirmed what I already suspected. The sheriff isn’t just going to forget about us.

We stop in front of an elevator and get on once it opens.

“We’re almost there,” Taylor says as she presses the button for the ninth floor.

It’s only now that it dawns on me that I’m wearing a hospital gown … and nothing much else. “Um, but my clothes. I can’t see your brother looking like this.”

Taylor bursts out laughing. “Oh, man, sorry, I almost forgot.” She hits the elevator’s stop button and starts pulling off the scrubs she’s wearing. She doesn’t even flinch when the elevator starts buzzing at us.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean you needed to give me
your
clothes.” I hold up a hand to stop her, but she’s already shimmied out of everything. She has on a pair of very tight stretch pants and a long T-shirt.

“No problem, they weren’t mine anyway. I borrowed them from the locker room.” She holds the clothes out to me. I recoil. The last thing I need is to be caught with stolen clothes.

Taylor sighs. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. They belong to a friend. Trust me, she won’t care. She lives for this forbidden-romantic-interlude kind of Shakespearean crap. And I live for less chores, so hurry up and change so we can get you to my brother and make everybody happy.”

I can feel myself blushing. Is that what I’m about to do? Have a romantic interlude? It sounds medieval … and scarily exciting. I pull on the scrubs and stand next to her. I can’t sit in the chair anymore, I’m too nervous. I’m
swaying a little, and the elevator feels like it’s moving side to side now, but I manage to keep my balance. Taylor starts the elevator back up again and we ride the rest of the way in silence.

When the doors open, we walk out into a completely deserted hallway. It smells new, like sawdust and fresh paint.

“This floor just got remodeled. No one’s using it yet. It doesn’t reopen until next week, which means you guys will have it all to yourselves.” She grins at me.

She leads me down to the end of the hallway and into a room with a bunch of hard sofas and chairs on one side and a row of vending machines and a small kitchenette on the other. Cody’s on one of the sofas. He stands up and grins. “Told you I’d find a way to see you again.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Yes, you’re the king of smooth, little brother. You have one hour. Don’t waste it. Bring her down to five when you’re done—and don’t be late. I have a date of my own tonight.”

A date
. Her words only add to my nervousness. I can’t have a date, not with him or anyone else. I’m intended. I’m Will’s. I don’t move from the doorway. I put a hand on the frame and try to make myself go, but then Cody’s grinning at me again and I’m letting him lead me farther into the room. What is it about this boy that makes me put aside all common sense?

“Sorry I had to have my sister come get you, but I couldn’t really come myself. Something tells me your mom
would’ve freaked out.” He motions for me to sit down on one of the pea-green sofas. I sit at the very edge and watch as he settles down beside me. It’s so quiet for a moment that the silence almost seems to become a solid thing between us, but then my stomach growls out of nowhere. Loudly. I put my hands around it and cringe.

“Hungry?” Cody chuckles, and then jumps back up and walks over to the vending machines. I notice that one of them has a familiar design on it. The same one that’s on the Coke cans from Marie’s little party the other night.
Coke. Yum
.

“Um, I’d love a Coke,” I say shyly.

He slips some coins into the Coke machine and then a few more into another one. Then he stoops over and collects my snack and spreads it out on the thin wooden table in front of me. I examine the little bag there. “Cheetos?”

Cody plucks it from my fingers and pulls it open. “Yeah.”

When I don’t react, he gapes at me. “You’ve never had them, have you?”

I shake my head.

“Well then, you’re iou&nevn for a treat. They are by far my favorite junk food.”

I peer into the bag at what look like orange-coated caveman clubs. They don’t look like they should be edible. They look sort of disgusting. I wrinkle up my nose.

“Hey, don’t knock ’em till you try ’em,” Cody says. “Allow me to educate you in the fine art of snacking.”

“I didn’t realize there was any art involved in eating.” I can’t help smiling at him. He makes me feel happy for no particular reason. It’s a little like when I’m with Will, only so much better. It starts to dawn on me that this is what it feels like to really like someone. This is how I should feel about Will, but don’t. It’s Cody I want, and no amount of rationalizing will change that. Whatever this is isn’t rational at all—it’s crazy, stupid, reckless … and somehow perfectly
right
.

“Snacking I get, but this …” I pick up a single Cheeto and dangle it in front of my face. “I don’t know
what
this is.”

Cody chuckles. “It’s food … in the loosest sense of the word. It’s horrible for you and has absolutely no redeeming qualities except that it tastes good. Once you have one, you’ll want another, trust me.”

He’s basically describing my reaction to him. He’s my Cheeto—bad for me, but now that I have a taste for him, I can’t leave him alone.

“What?” He smiles at me.

“Nothing,” I say, and pop a Cheeto into my mouth. If I’m going to destroy myself, I might as well do it thoroughly.

Cody watches me. “Good?”

I think about it. “Yeah, it kinda is.”

He grins and then dips his hand into the bag, pulls out a handful. I shake my head and pick up the Coke. I take a big, long sip and sigh. It’s cold, which makes it even better this time. I think I’m in love with this drink. It is the one
thing I wish like crazy I could smuggle back with me by the truckload.

“Wow, you’re like a soda junkie,” Cody says, his eyes wide, and I laugh so hard that some of the soda fizzes into my nose and makes it burn. My eyes water. Jeez, what is my deal with getting soda up my nose? I seriously need to be careful when I’m drinking this stuff.

“You make junk food seem new and sort of fascinating,” Cody says softly. “Does it ever bother you that there’s so much that you’ve never experienced?”

I lean back against the stiff sofa. My answer comes out in a rush. “I can’t really be bothered by something if I don’t know that it exists. I like where I live and how I live. The smaller your world is, the safer it is, you know? I may not know about every kind of junk food or movie or book, but I don’t have to worry about someone taking someone that I love, or eating something that might ultimately kill me, or wondering every morning if someone will come to my school with a gun and shoot me or my friends, or if a group of terrorists will come and blow up the building where my parents work. The world can be a pretty scary place to live. It’s a lot less scary when there isn’t so much of it open to you.” It’s the closest I’ll come to telling him about Karen or how we came to be in Mandrodage Meadows.

He nods slowly.e n “I guess I see what you’re saying … but those things don’t happen all the time to everybody. And I don’t see how being somewhere smaller and more
controlled keeps you from trouble. If anything, it gives you less room to run. Eventually everybody has to deal with something unpleasant. I don’t think hiding away from those things means that they won’t find you.”

I don’t know what to say to this. My cheeks burn. Maybe I’m not explaining myself right, because what he’s saying makes a sort of sense and now I’m looking at what I said in a different light. I shake my head, try to organize my thoughts so I can make him see what I do. But in order to answer him fully, I’d have to tell him exactly why we’re out in the middle of nowhere. I’d have to tell him about the end of the world. I want to—a lot—but it’s not my secret to tell, at least not wholly.

“Can we talk about something else?” I ask.

“Can I ask you just one more thing? Then I promise we can talk about something else? You can even ask me something uncomfortable … like whether I wear boxers or briefs.”

I can’t help smiling. “You’re assuming that I’m interested in the answer to that question.”

Cody smiles back. “I’m not assuming anything. I
know
.”

I roll my eyes and he laughs.

“Okay,” he says, “last question. Who decides what you can and can’t have where you live?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, does that Pioneer guy make all the rules or do you all get a say?”