I follow her anyway. I would follow Kayleigh anywhere.
The path meanders through the garden, twisting chaotically around hydrangea bushes, hulking flowers, and a statue of the first Eldest. Kayleigh doesn’t slow at all, but I start to feel my way around the path, hesitating before each footfall. I wonder how many times Kayleigh has left the Hospital at night, how often she has performed this one tiny form of rebellion against the darkness, against Eldest. Did she reveal her plans to me tonight because I happened to be there when she was ready to go, or had she wanted me to follow her into the dark?
By the time I reach the pond, Kayleigh’s already in the water. Her pants and tunic lie in a heap on the soft ground—I can’t see her clearly from here, but she must only be wearing her tank top and panties. My stomach twists at the thought. We have been living together since we were children; we’ve seen each other naked.
But Kayleigh’s not a child anymore.
And neither am I.
I kick my moccasins off and roll up the cuffs of my trousers, but I don’t dive into the water.
“Come on in!” Kayleigh calls. The water moves around her as she sweeps her arms through it, the sound almost musical.
I shake my head.
“Don’t be a chutz!” she says, laughing self-consciously. She’s more nervous to speak a dirty word than she is to defy the implied curfew and swim at night.
“I’m fine here,” I call back. I stand very still—so still that the koi fish nibble at my toes, their mouths tickling the edges of my feet. I try to stare through the water at their white and orange and gold and red bodies flitting between the roots of the lotus flowers, but my eyes drift up and out.
To Kayleigh.
She’s ignoring me now, caught up in the act of swimming. She’s always loved the water; Harley’s nickname for her is Fish. She glides smoothly, her body lithe and filled with a grace that isn’t present when she’s dry. Her hair swirls around her. The koi, apparently accustomed to her presence, dare to dart close to her, their bright scales flashing next to her dark skin. She takes a deep breath and bends in half, kicking and swimming for the floor of the pond.
I count the seconds, waiting for her to resurface.
I’m about ready to dive in after her and drag her back up when her head bursts from the surface, water arching over her and splashing down. She’s laughing gleefully, excited to be here, now.
And she is beautiful in this moment.
Her skin hidden in shadows, her body highlighted by the white tank top. She swims closer to me, still laughing at her own joke, and I notice the way her top moves with the motion of the water, pulling up and down, giving me tantalizing hints of what the cloth hides. When Kayleigh stands, the fabric sticks to her body, showing me every curve, filling my fantasy with details I’d not dared to think of.
“This,” she says, stepping past me and reaching for her tunic, “is why I swim at night. Because it’s only here, now, that I can be free on this frexing ship.”
She dances away from me then, heading back to the Hospital or somewhere else, I don’t know. I’m left with my feet in the water and fish nibbling my toes and the first important realization of my life:
I am in love with Kayleigh.
The next day, Elder comes.
Doc introduces him at med time, as the blue-and-white pills that are supposed to keep us sane are distributed by the nurses. Elder is tall—already taller than me—and lanky. He looks underfed and scared.
Doc pulls Elder aside and whispers to him privately, then hands him something small. I crane my head around the nurse in front of me, trying to see what it is.
A blue-and-white pill.
My eyes narrow. Interesting. So our future leader is just as crazy as we are. No wonder Eldest had him sent to the Ward.
I swallow my pill dry.
Elder stands near the elevator, watching as people drift past him toward their rooms. Doc’s given him a room near his office—no doubt to keep an eye on him—but Elder doesn’t make a move to go to bed. His big eyes watch us, drinking in everything. It makes me uneasy. I can see how one day this boy will grow into his long arms and legs. I can see Eldest in him.
Eventually the room clears to just us—me and Kayleigh and Harley—and him.
“Right,” Kayleigh announces, cutting through the awkward silence. “Let’s go.”
She jumps up and heads to the elevator.
“Where?” I ask. My eyes shoot to Harley, who’s already following Kayleigh. I don’t want to share night swimming with him, even though I have no claim to it. Or her.
Kayleigh shrugs. “Somewhere.”
The elevator doors slide open, and I bound across the common room to get to them in time. Elder watches me, motionless.
The elevator doors start to shut, but Kayleigh sticks her hand out to stop them. Harley leans forward. “Coming?” he asks Elder.
The kid’s whole face lights up, and he rushes inside.
He’s practically vibrating with joy as the elevator descends. I glower at him. When the doors open, he jumps out, skids to a halt, and waits for Kayleigh to step forward and show him where to go.
We all follow her—Elder bouncing beside her, Harley right beside him, and me in the back.
This was our time.
Something Kayleigh says makes the others laugh. I pick up my pace, eager to hear whatever it is she said. Harley grins back at me.
I shake my head, making the negative thoughts dispel. This was never our time. It was always her time, and she’s free to include whoever she wants.
Kayleigh takes us down the path behind the Hospital and my heart sinks; despite my resolve to not be a chutz over this, I want to keep the water to just us. But instead of veering toward the pond, Kayleigh takes us to the Recorder Hall.
The Recorder Hall is a big brick building, one of the few buildings besides the Hospital and a few remote farmhouses on this side of the ship. Despite its size, only one person lives inside the Hall—Orion, the Recorder, who maintains all the records we have from Sol-Earth, and all the research we’ve done as we—and the generations before us—travel to the new Earth.
Aroo! Aroo! The sirens startle us, making us all jump and then laugh at ourselves.
Elder pauses as Kayleigh strides forward.
“What?” she asks him. There is a challenge in her grin, and I can tell that Elder knows what her smile means: you can defy the dark, defy Eldest, and go with her through the night, or you can run back to the Hospital and never be invited out again.
“Nothing,” Elder says, running to catch up to her.
The solar lamp darkens just as Kayleigh puts her foot on the first step of the Recorder Hall.
Elder pauses again, though no one notices but me.
“Come on,” I say in an undertone. “What’s the big deal? We’re not forbidden to go outside in the dark.”
I can see the whites of Elder’s eyes, huge and staring at me. We’re not forbidden—but we’re not allowed, either. An unspoken rule is still a rule, and Eldest would still look at us as if we had broken it. He would still punish us.
Elder’s jaw sets, and he nods once. He turns on his heel and jumps up the stairs.
Kayleigh has already slipped into the entryway, a vast area at the front of the Hall lined with huge, wall-sized digital membrane screens. She slides her hand across one, bringing it to life. The light from the screen casts shadows behind her, barely illuminating the giant clay sculptures that hang from the ceiling: two globes to represent the two Earths, and a model spaceship flying between them.
Elder’s eyes are on the ship: his future kingdom.