Breaking Read online

  A muscle in Zoe’s jaw twitches. “Whatever. Now it’s your turn to share.”

  For a fraction of a second, I consider lying. Ariel left that video for me. I don’t want to let Zoe in on the secret.

  But we’d agreed—her info for mine.

  “There was a video,” I admit, swallowing. “Ariel left it for me on this burner phone she hid in the woods, but it’s water damaged. Won’t turn on.”

  Zoe’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Did you check the SIM card?”

  “The what?”

  She groans, shifting the car into second gear. Fields and phone lines fly past my window. “The SIM card. As long as it hasn’t been damaged, you can pop the card out of one phone and into another and all the data will be intact.” Zoe cocks an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

  I tell her about the conversation I overheard between Jack and his father. “That’s why I went to the Med Center. I searched my mother’s office pretty thoroughly, but there was a locked file cabinet that I didn’t get the chance to check.”

  Zoe glances at me. I wait for her to say something snarky about my mother’s involvement, but she keeps her mouth shut.

  Weston’s slanted gray roof peers over the tops of the trees just ahead. Zoe pulls into the parking lot, jerks her car into a space, and hits the brakes. My body lurches forward, the seat belt digging into my chest to hold me back.

  “So you want to sneak into the Med Center?” she says. “Again?”

  “Tonight’s the anniversary ball. You could sneak in with the rest of the party, and after I arrive with Jack we can slip away. No one would ask questions.”

  “Won’t your mother catch us in her office?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s the president of the hospital. She’ll be in the ballroom with everyone else.” I hope, I add silently. “Why? Do you have a better idea?”

  “Train station,” Zoe says without blinking.

  “You want to run?” I frown. “Why do you need a train? You have a car.”

  “Cars can be found. A train is safer. We could be in a different zip code before the dean even reports us missing.”

  It takes me a moment to understand what she’s saying. “You want to disappear?”

  Zoe chews on her lower lip. “We assume Ariel and Devon died because of what was in the serum, but what if we’re wrong? What if they knew too much, and somebody …” Zoe slashes her throat with one finger.

  I stare through the windshield. I don’t believe my mother would kill two teenage girls just to protect her secrets. But I didn’t want to believe she’d be involved in any of this. Zoe might be right. This could be our chance to escape before it’s too late.

  “If we leave, we’ll be like this for the rest of our lives.” I stare at Zoe’s bandage, imagining her dragging a blade across the pad of her finger. “Do you really want that?”

  “If it means I get to have the rest of my life, then yes.”

  I unlatch my seat belt and grab my bag. “I don’t think that’s good enough for me.”

  “So you’re going back?”

  I nod and push the car door open. “Are you coming?”

  Zoe doesn’t let go of the steering wheel. Her knuckles are white. “I think I’m going to drive for a while longer.”

  “Zoe …”

  “I’m not running away now. I don’t even have any of my things. I just need some time to think, okay?” She flashes me a tight smile. “I’ll text you.”

  “Fine.” I climb out of the car and into the frigid winter cold, slamming the door shut.

  Zoe backs out of the parking space and drives off, leaking exhaust behind her.

  You could be next, I think, and I close my eyes. The darkness behind my lids seems to pulse. I wonder how I’ll do it. Pills maybe? Or I could slit my wrists? I picture the sword in Mother’s office and imagine sliding it into my gut, committing seppuku like the samurai.

  I pull my cell out of my pocket, clicking on Mother’s name. Her photograph fills the screen. She promised she’d be back for the ball tonight, but she still hasn’t answered any of my phone calls. I let my thumb hover over the Call button, and then change my mind and stick the phone back into my pocket again.

  I need to change before my first class, so I head through the double doors and into the courtyard, hurrying so I won’t be late. I race up the stairs and push the door to my dorm open. I’m deep inside my own thoughts and it takes a long moment before I realize there’s someone sitting on my bed.

  Mother lifts her blond head and fixes me with those cold blue eyes. “Hello, Charlotte.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Mother.” The word feels lodged in my throat, like food I can’t swallow. I glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one in the hall behind me, and then I ease the door closed.

  Mother straightens the front of her skirt, even though there isn’t a single wrinkle in the fabric. She’s never been in my dorm room before. Not even on the day I moved in. Darren helped me bring my stuff up while she waited in the car, memorizing case notes for a presentation she had that evening.

  I feel something, but the emotion fades the second I notice it. It was like anger, but more complex. Bitterness, maybe.

  Mother tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, considering me in silence. “You called,” she says finally.

  I usually have such a strong response to her presence. Light-headed, sweaty palms. It’s like she takes up too much space in the room, leaving less oxygen behind for everyone else.

  But I don’t feel that now. She’s just a person, like any other person. Strange.

  I sit on the edge of my bed. “You could have just called me.”

  “I just got back into town so I thought I’d stop by.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “The missing asset? Yes, as a matter of fact. It’s been recovered.” Mother glances at my desk, wrinkling her nose at something she finds distasteful. A tense moment of silence passes.

  “Something weird is going on,” I say finally. “Zoe—”

  “Is that why you broke into my office?”

  Anxiety stabs at me with sharp, dirty fingernails. I should be grateful to feel anything—even this—but I fight it, hating that she can reduce me to a nervous wreck with just a few words.

  “Who told you I broke in?” I ask.

  Mother lifts an eyebrow, her way of telling me that no one had to tell her. She knows everything, always. “A few of your teachers have let me know you’re skipping classes again. And Amelia says you missed your last shift at the Med Center.”

  I stand, my bedsprings creaking as they release my weight. “That’s because—”

  Mother lifts a hand, stopping me. My mouth snaps shut without consulting me first. The anxiety is still there, simmering below the surface of my skin.

  “You had until the day of the anniversary ball to prove to me that you were serious about staying at Weston. That was our deal.”

  “You’re making me leave?” I manage to choke out.

  “You were arrested, Charlotte. Honestly, what did you expect?”

  I was arrested, and I have been skipping classes and shifts at the Med Center. I just didn’t think she was paying attention.

  “Grab whatever you need for the week. I’ll send Darren for the rest tomorrow.” Mother uncrosses her legs and stands. I catch a glimpse of bloodred on the soles of her shoes. She’s wearing Louboutin heels, the exact ones I saw in her office. “I’ve arranged for several tutors to meet with you once you’re back in the city. All you have to do is pick your favorite and send me an e-mail so I know who to make the check out to.”

  The order is like an itch that needs to be scratched. It feels weird to ignore it, to stay put when she’s told me it’s time to go. I imagine weeds growing out of my feet and digging into the floor beneath me, rooting me into place.

  Mother lifts her head, noticing that I’ve made no move to follow her to the door. “Charlotte,” she sn
aps. “Darren is waiting.”

  “When did you get back?” I ask, staring at her shoes.

  “I don’t see why that’s—”

  “Did you stop at the Med Center first?”

  Mother frowns. “No, I came straight here.”

  But she couldn’t have come straight here, because she’s wearing the shoes she left in her office. It’s such a dumb lie. I can’t imagine why she’d tell it. Unless she needed to cover up other, bigger lies.

  “Don’t you want to know why I broke in?” I’m surprised by how calm I sound. My anxiety has gone still as untouched water. Not a single bubble breaks the surface.

  “I assumed you were looking for painkillers again,” Mother murmurs, staring down at her phone. She’s trying to pretend this conversation doesn’t bother her, but a wrinkle creases the skin between her eyebrows, and her shoulders have gone tense.

  I reach down deep, trying to find that numb place where snuffing an emotion is as easy as blowing out a match. I expect to search for it, but it’s waiting just below my skin. It’s like a current running through me. Like a river. I step inside, and it sweeps me away.

  “Ariel left something for me before she died,” I say. “A bottle.”

  To anyone else, Mother’s expression would’ve seemed to remain the same. But I see fear reflected in her eyes, in the set of her lips. “Is that so?”

  “Zoe told me she got the same thing from our school nurse. They said it was a vitamin supplement. But you know what it really is, don’t you?”

  Mother lifts an eyebrow, but otherwise her expression doesn’t change. “Do I?”

  “You know because you created it. You or some other scientist at the Med Center. You created it and you gave it to Devon and Ariel. You know what it did to them.”

  “That’s a delightful little story you’ve concocted, but I’m afraid it’s fiction. Now, come along. I want you on the road before the morning traffic into Manhattan.”

  She says this so easily that I almost don’t notice the twitch at the corner of her mouth. I’ve known my mother’s tells since I was nine years old. I know when she’s lying to me.

  “I drank it, too,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Am I going to commit suicide? Or do you still think this is a story I’m making up?”

  My desk lamp illuminates the lines of Mother’s face. For a moment, she doesn’t look like a person at all. She looks like she’s made of marble, all sharp angles and hard stone.

  “Fine,” she says through clenched teeth. “You win. I’ll get you the antidote once we’re back in the city. Happy?”

  “There’s an antidote?”

  “Of course there’s an antidote,” Mother says, flippant.

  For a moment I feel nothing, and then—anger fear relief sadness loss hate—it all slams into me at full force. I press a hand to my chest. I can’t catch my breath. It’s like being hit when you’ve never been hit before.

  I think of Ariel, her lips blue beneath the surface of the water and partly opened, like she wanted to tell me something. I think of Devon lying on a bed of leaves, her fingers curled toward her palm.

  “You let them die?” I ask. “How could you do that if there was a way to save them—”

  The muscles in Mother’s jaw grow taut beneath her pale skin. “The project you’re referring to is highly classified,” she says in a cold, deadly voice. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details with my daughter. Now, for the last time, get your things.”

  “What about all the other Weston students? They’re being drugged, too, aren’t they? Are you allowed to talk about them?”

  Mother passes a hand through her hair, leaving a few locks standing on end. She looks mussed, and she never looks mussed. She never looks out of control.

  “The Med Center’s relationship with Weston goes back decades,” she answers finally. “The students here are intended to succeed. That’s all you need to know.”

  “So you’re drugging us?” I say. “How do you do it? Do you put something in our flu shots? The water?”

  Mother presses her lips together, considering me. Her cold stare is a challenge. I don’t look away.

  “It’s in the food, actually,” she says after a moment. “In order for the supplements to work, you need to eat at least seventy-five percent of what you’re served. I brought you here to be a part of the program, but you never eat enough for the supplements to take effect. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  I think of the dozens of half-full plates, of organic quinoa and locally grown broccoli going cold in front of me. I always saw the uneaten food as an act of rebellion. My way of proving that Mother couldn’t control every aspect of my life.

  Mother holds the door open. “Get your bag,” she says, tapping her foot. The bloodred heel clacks against the hard wood.

  I want to say no. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she tells me everything she knows about the serum and Weston and the Med Center.

  But Mother has never told me the truth when she didn’t want to. I could stand here glaring for as long as I want. Nothing will make her say anything she doesn’t want to say. Even her revelation about the food felt like a slap. Her way of telling me that I can’t even succeed when I’m being programmed to.

  My body realizes I’m giving up before my brain does. My shoulders slump. I lean over and wrap my fingers around the leather strap of my backpack.

  “That’s better,” Mother says as I follow her into the hallway.

  Chapter Thirty

  Darren stands at the curb beside Mother’s sleek black car. I follow her through Weston’s double doors, pausing at the top of the concrete staircase so she can pull on her leather gloves. Darren nods when he sees us and crosses to the back passenger seat to open my door.

  I stare at the car’s tinted windows. That’s it, then. My next five minutes are planned out, just like the next year and five years and fifty years of my life. Just as my mother knows that I will walk down the steps and wait while Darren opens my car door, she knows that I will go to whichever tutor she picks for me, whichever therapist she deems acceptable, whichever college she chooses. She knows I’ll take the antidote she didn’t offer to Devon or Ariel, and never speak about any of this ever again.

  My phone beeps. Mother’s head snaps up at the sound, and I half expect her to demand that I hand it over. But she just turns and starts down the steps without me.

  I dig the phone out of my pocket and check my message. Zoe.

  Screw it. I’m in. The last train leaves at ten. I’m on it if we don’t find anything. Meet me at the Med Center at seven?

  “Charlotte,” Mother calls from the bottom of the steps. “Let’s go.”

  I put the phone back into my pocket, and I glance over my shoulder at Weston. It looks like a cold concrete mountain in the middle of the trees. Row after row of empty windows stare down at me. I half expect to see Zoe appear, frowning, as she watches me leave her alone to deal with what’s happening to her.

  But there’s no one. The windows stay empty.

  I walk down the stairs. Darren opens the door, and Mother puts a hand on my shoulder to guide me into the car. It’s like she knows I want to run. I squeeze the strap of my backpack, listening to the squeak of my skin against the expensive leather. Somewhere far away, a crow caws.

  “Charlotte,” Mother snaps. My feet obey even as my brain rebels. I slide into the car. The buttery leather seats are warm to the touch. I cross my legs, preparing for the long drive back to Manhattan. Mother slams my door. Darren starts up the engine, and the car roars to life.

  “Wait,” I say. Darren glances at the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t move the car. I roll down my window. Cool air curls around me, chilling the leather beneath my legs. I recognize the cold but don’t feel it.

  Mother already has her phone out of her pocket, and she’s staring down at it, studying something that makes her frown.

  “You aren’t coming with me?” I call back at her. She lifts her he
ad suddenly, like I’ve shocked her.

  “I have work,” she explains, slipping the phone back into her pocket. “And the ball is tonight. Did you forget?”

  I clear my throat, keeping my face cool. “When will you be back in the city?”

  Mother gives me a curious look. I wonder if she’s touched by the question. If she expects that I’m asking it because I’ll miss her, because I want her home with me. Mother doesn’t do emotion, not ever, and it doesn’t show in her face now. But I can’t help wondering if, somewhere below the steel, she cares about me at all.

  She straightens her head. “Not before the end of the week,” she says, her voice clipped. “I’ll send someone to the apartment with the antidote but, otherwise, you’ll have the place entirely to yourself. How lucky. No parties.”

  Her voice is so carefree when she says this that you’d think she hadn’t realized that all my friends are dead. Almost all of them.

  I clear my throat. “You’ll get Zoe and Jack the antidote, too?”

  “Of course,” Mother says, too quickly. Her mouth twitches. Liar. She raises her hand in half a wave and turns back to the phone she’s still holding. Darren pulls away from the curb.

  I stare through the window at my mother until she becomes a tiny black dot against the gray sky. Darren turns onto the main road, and she disappears.

  I need to break out of this car.

  I come to this conclusion after we’ve been driving for roughly ten minutes. Pine trees and telephone lines and the odd red farmhouse fly past my window. I clasp my hands in my lap, thinking. Darren has the radio on, tuned to a classical music station that I’m sure my mother insists on listening to whenever he drives her around. Bach or Chopin or some other boring dead-guy music drifts through the speakers.

  There has to be a way out of here. Darren pulls up to a stoplight. I move one hand off my lap and over to the door handle. Keeping my gaze focused on the woods outside my window, I place my hand on the door handle, and lift …