Sara Grant - Dark Parties

SARA GRANT

LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY

New York Boston

Copyright 2011 by Sara Grant

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: August 2011

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-316-08594-6

To my parents for teaching me the skys the limit and to my husband Paul for giving me wings.

Im standing in the dark, not the gentle gray of dusk or the soft black of a moonlit night but pitch-black. My heart batters my ribs like a bird beating its wings against a glass cage. I wave my hand in front of my face. I cant see it. I never knew it could be so dark. My edges are merging with the inky blackness around me. My dad would finally be proud of me. Ive blended in.

Someone touches my elbow. I jump.

Im right here, Neva. Its Ethan. By my side, like always. Hes here but not here. I grope his arm, his shoulder, his neck, and touch his face. He guides my fingers to his lips and kisses them. Follow me. I feel his words on my thumb, his warm breath, the nudge of his lips as he forms sounds. He pulls me to the floor. Every cell in my body ignites with the thrill of possibilities. In this nothingness, anything can happen. Maybe I can find what Ive lost with Ethan. Tangle my body with his and only feel, not think, not see.

But we all agreed: No sex. Not just tonight. No sex until were sure we wont create another generation like us.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I clear my mind as we crawl toward the nest of pillows we piled in one of the corners earlier this afternoon. I try not to form pictures in my head. That would defeat the whole purpose. We are supposed to be escaping in the dark, but I am a hostage to my fear. Any time the lights go out panic grabs me by the throat. My skin sweats and stings like blisters forming after a burn. Im tired of being scared all the time.

I can do this.

I can.

I grit my teeth and try to ignore the rush of blood in my ears.

Just move.

I bump into a pair of feet. Pointy-toed boots. Braydon Bartlett. I see the red leather in my minds eye. Thats how I think of other people. I distill them into the defining features they have created for themselves. Braydon always wears those shoes, shiny with no creases or scuffs. All most of us have ever owned are hand-me-downs with other peoples footprints. We shouldnt have invited him. Even though hes got the right last name with a direct genetic line to one of our founding fathers, theres something about him that I dont trust. But my best friend begged me, the girl with the jagged scar, a rosy S still healing on her cheek. She told her guardians that it was an accident. But I watched her sketch the letter before she carved it permanently with the knife. She shouldnt have done that. Anyone with an identity mark gets hassled more by the police. But thats Sanna.

I move forward and stumble over her bare feet. She rebels against any constraints, including shoes.

Sorry, I say. She steps around me and whispers something to Braydon. Then I hear soft squeaks as their lips meet. Im glad its dark and I dont have to watch.

I sweep my hand back and forth across the floor. This way, I say to Ethan, whose hand is touching my ankle. We move together. The darkness gives us the illusion of solitude, but were the opposite of alone; my friends have gathered for a little experiment before we go our separate ways.

Weve been planning this for weeks, a Dark Party. One final rebellion before we take our place as respected members of society. It was another of Sannas brilliant ideas. We want to discover who we are without the burden of sight. Its easy to believe we are the same inside because we look so similar. Sanna says only in the dark can we know the truth, but Im not sure. Darkness conceals.

Sanna wanted me to host the party. A Dark Party at the Minister of Ancient Historys house. Thats how she talked everyone into it. The greater the risk, the greater the thrill. Ive known most of these people all my life, but theyre Sannas friends. They dont trust me, never have. Im the Minister of Ancient Historys daughterguilt by association.

Sanna convinced everyone to pitch in. Nicoline brought black plastic bags. Ethan found towels to tuck under the doors. Sannas brother gave her three rolls of duct tape. We never ask how he gets the things we need.

It took us an hour to make my living room lightproof. We taped black bags to the windows. We switched off the lights. After a few seconds, our eyes adjusted, but we could see each other in shades of gray. Not good enough. We attacked every point of light and doubled the bags on the windows.

We could still see outlines, silhouettes of ourselves. The small red light on the backup generator seemed to illuminate the entire room. We unplugged everything. When I switched off the light again, there was only pure, dark, silence.

Now I hear the hum of hushed voices and the rough-and-smooth sounds that bodies make when coaxed together. Maybe weve made a mistake. We hoped we would find ourselves in the dark, but instead we are tempting our celibacy.

Ethan and I finally find our pillows. We lie side by side, our elbows and ankles touching, yet he feels miles away. Darkness dips its icy fingers under my skin, but I refuse to give in.

I try to erase all thoughts and images. Dont think of the color of the pillowcases or the holes in their lace ruffles. One imageno matter how smallleads to an avalanche of pictures. First I see the living room with its worn leather couch, the fireplace and its fake flames, the bookshelves crammed with dusty volumes of our approved history. But now, as if lifted by balloon, my vision expands to include my square brick house, which blends with the dozens of similar houses in my neighborhood. As I float upward, I see the green and concrete squares of the City, which is multiplied a thousand times to create a haze of gray that is Homeland. I let the image blur and fade to black.

I shiver.

Its okay, Ethan says, and slips his arms around me, which makes me colder somehow.

My eyes ache for shape and color, but the blackness surrounding me seems to have substance. I roll up on one elbow to face him. Dont think of his name. His name conjures up the images Im trying to escape. His skin the same color as the milky tea we drink. His ears are the same shape as my fathers. His short brown hair a confusion of waves like everyone elses. I see myself around every cornerevery minutelike living in a maze of mirrors.

My grandma told me once about a time when we were different, a long, long time ago. Stories handed down through the generations in whispers about life outside the Protectosphere. A time when we could leave and were allowed to return. I still see her every day, even though shes long gone.