Page 30

AMITY

“Vale,” I mutter, my cheeks heating up, “I don’t have anything to swim in.”

“We have extra. I’m sure there’s some women’s suits. Let’s at least check,” he says.

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.

Vale nods, looking resigned. “You think I’m going to be better than you, don’t you? I understand.”

I shove him. “Are you kidding? I swam every day for five years.” I shake my head at him. “Really, Vale, I could be your swimming teacher.”

There’s a light of something in his eyes. “You think you can beat me, Pepper?”

“I know I can,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Okay, come on, big talker.” He takes my hand and half drags me to a door labeled “Pool Supplies.” The smell of chlorine is even stronger here and the small room is filled with brushes, nets, and chemicals in tubs.

There’s a washer and dryer in the corner, and Vale rifles through a bin next to the dryer.

He pulls out shorts and a one-piece women’s swimsuit and throws it over.

“There. No excuses, big swimmer.”

“Afraid you’ll lose to a girl from the PS?

” I bait him and step behind a line of shelves piled high with filters and test kits.

I strip down and pull the suit on as I hear the rustle of his clothing.

Trying not to think too hard about that, I grab a towel from a stack behind me and wrap it around my waist.

Gathering up my clothes, I call, “You good?”

Vale makes an affirmative sort of grunt and I peek around the shelves. His back is to me. He’s got swim trucks on so I step out shyly. I’m glad the swimsuit I’m wearing is more of an athletic cut.

My eyes trace the ripple of muscle from his wide shoulders down to his waist. There’s something marring his skin—darker lines.

Apparently, Vale’s survived quite a few cuts and injuries.

The scars look old. He must have gotten hurt a lot when he was younger.

My heart aches and I must make a little noise because he whips around, his eyes wary.

I want to say something, but I’m distracted by the intensity of his gaze, the slight upward curve of his lips. I see his eyes rest on the rounded cut of my shoulders.

“What?” I ask belligerently. The women up here may be weaker than the men, but that’s not the case in the PS. I’m strong, and tall like my mom. “Getting cold feet now, Your Highness?”

He shakes his head, leading the way over to a side door that opens directly into the pool area. There are a bunch of men doing laps. I missed this, the soft splashing, the crawl of swimmers through the water. Something inside me lights up.

“Come on,” Vale says and jumps in with a splash. He treads water. “Come on, Pepper, the water’s fine,” he calls, dunking again and shaking the water off.

I stare at him in the pool while I stretch; the water is dripping off him. I don’t think he knows how…appealing he looks.

Vale laughs, sending a spray of water toward me, and kicks off the wall, swimming easily down the lap lane.

I finish stretching and step in the pool, letting the cold water envelop me, shivering a little.

They keep this pool much cooler than the one I use in Baltimore.

I let the cold invigorate me and kick off the wall, warming up.

Vale didn’t lie. He’s a competent swimmer, smooth and practiced. I duck into the lane next to him, and we swim a couple of easy laps, warming up before he kicks into high gear. I don’t catch him before he gets to the end. He pauses at the wall, grinning back at me.

“Guess I won.”

“That wasn’t winning,” I say, exasperated. “You sped up. You had a head start!”

“ Was it a head start?” he asks quizzically, teasing me. “Or did you just start late?”

“Okay, hotshot,” I say, clinging to the wall and counting down. “Five, four, three, two, one…”

This time we both shoot out at the same time, and I let my legs kick hard. I have a faint impression of Vale beside me, but he’s slightly behind me as I finish, coming up in triumph .

He sputters as he finishes after me. “I’m still warming up,” he complains, grinning.

“Sure you are.”

His arms, holding him up on the shelf, have the same faint scar lines as his back. There’s a big one tracing down his left forearm.

“Vale, what happened to you?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer, glancing away, out to the rest of the pool, before turning back to face me. “Why’d you cut your hair?” he asks without answering my question.

This time I look away. I can’t talk to him about that. He nods grimly. We both have secrets.

“Let’s do some laps,” he says, changing the subject.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He starts again, swimming at a slower tempo this time, and I begin my routine, starting with the crawl before moving to the backstroke. I see him now and then and he keeps going, steady, not taking breaks.

He’s right. He is a swimmer. He’s lasting longer than I thought he would, keeping up a steady pace.

Beside him I find myself pushing harder, showing off a little.

When he finally stops I glance up at the clock and it’s been half an hour of steady swimming.

We’re both breathing hard and deep, recovering.

His smile is respectful. “Thanks, Ami. I feel better.”

“That was great,” I agree. “I haven’t swum since I got up here. I really appreciate it.”

“Just find me. We can come here anytime,” he assures me, pushing up and out of the water. I blink a little at his triceps .

“Um, yeah.” I push out myself. “I should, uh, probably get back.”

Vale nods. “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him, a little formally. He shrugs.

“Yeah, I do.”

We duck back through the side door and I get dressed again behind the shelving, rubbing as much water off with a towel as I can before pulling my clothes on. My hair is dripping and I rub it with the same towel, wringing the water out.

Luckily it’s not too cold out today. I’ll take a shower when I get back.

“What should I do with this?” I ask, coming out. Vale is dressed. He throws his suit in the open washing machine with his towel.

“In here is fine.”

“Okay.” I follow him out, zipping up my jacket. There’s a side door out of the athletic complex onto the grounds. We follow a pathway that has us circling around, back toward the front.

The whole complex is shut off with fencing and roads, and all the entrances are guarded. There are old sports fields back here, but instead of empty grass with paint marking the fields, they’re filled with trucks.

Rows and rows of eighteen-wheelers are lined up on what looks like the former football field. On the basketball and tennis courts there are dozens of school buses. I stop short, caught off guard by all the vehicles.

I peer down the aisle between them, and the rows go on and on until the fence of the complex, maybe half a mile away. I glance toward Vale, who is scanning the scene also. His face reflects the surprise I feel.

“That’s a lot of trucks,” I say.

“Yeah.” Vale doesn’t add anything, just leads me past. I spot men moving through the vehicles, looking them up and down, bending down to check underneath, like they’re doing an inspection.

“What does the Forge do with…?” I start to ask but Vale cuts me off in a low voice.

“Don’t ask. I shouldn’t have brought you back here. Come on.” He leads the way between two buildings to scrubby grass in the front and the guard booth on the bridge where we came in.

“Is the Forge shipping something? Or moving somewhere?” I mutter, my mind racing to explain the vehicles. Vale shakes his head.

“It’s classified,” he tells me with finality, sounding a bit like Isaiah. But he still looks perplexed. “Let’s just do this thing for my father and I’ll try to figure out what’s going on with the trucks.”

“They’re not always here?” I ask quickly, noting his confusion.

“No. Well, I’ve been away. I don’t know everything that’s happening.”

I’m not sure I believe that. I shiver, the air is cool on my wet hair.

“Here.” I hand him back his baseball hat. “Sorry it’s a little wet.”

“Keep it,” he says. “What about Saturday, where should we meet? Can I come to you, and we can get organized before we go? ”

I wonder what getting organized looks like. I’ve tried to hide where I’m living, and I’m pretty sure Vale didn’t follow me home any of the days we met up at the market.

I consider for a second and he waits, patient, for me to decide.

It’s one of those things that reminds me so much of the Peaceful Society, of home.

I know Vale was raised up here but he’s so…

patient. It’s not the vibe I get walking the streets of Anchorage.

He quietly pulls my knives out and hands them back to me.

“Yeah, you can come over,” I agree. I put the knife away and shove the switchblade into my pocket as I give him the address. Vale pulls a phone out of his pocket.

“Should I get your number?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head, smiling a little. “I’ll see you Saturday.”