Free Pure by Julianna Baggott Page A

dull whirring that vibrates throughout the Dome at timed intervals. He makes notations in a book he’s supposed to use to keep track of his assignments and his coding sessions. He barely noticed the sounds before. But now that he’s begun, he can sometimes anticipate the quiet tick just before the motors kick in. He knows now that the air-filtration system leads out of the Dome and that the fan blades turn off at certain times for a period of three minutes and forty-two seconds.
    He’s going out because his mother might exist. “Your mother has always been problematic.” That’s what his father said, and ever since Partridge stole his mother’s things from the Personal Loss Archives, she’s felt even more real. If there’s a chance she’s out there, he has to try to find her.
    He gets dressed quickly, pulling on his pants and shirt, looping and tightening his tie. His hair is so short it doesn’t need a comb. Right now he has to concentrate on one thing: Lyda Mertz.

LYDA
CUPCAKE

    WHEN LYDA HELPED DECORATE the dining hall with streamers and gold-foil stars glued to the ceiling, she hadn’t yet had a date. There were a few people she would have been willing to go with, but Partridge was the only one she wanted to ask her. When he did, standing by the small set of metal bleachers out by the athletic fields during a rare moment when she wasn’t being corralled by one of the teachers, Lyda had thought, Wouldn’t it be nice if it was a little chilly and we were both windblown and the sky was blustered, like a real fall day? But of course, she didn’t say this. She only said, “Yes, I’d love to go with you! That sounds great!” And she fit her hands in her pockets because she was afraid he might try to hold one and her palms were now sweating.
    He looked around after she agreed, as if he was hoping no one had heard them, as if he might take it back if someone had. But he said, “Okay then. We can just meet there.”
    And now here they are, sitting next to each other at the skirted tables. Partridge looks perfect. His eyes are such a beautiful gray that whenever he glances at her, she feels like her heart might burst. Still, he’s barely glanced at her even though they’re sitting side by side.
    They’ve piped music in overhead, all the oldest songs on the sanctioned list. This one, swirling now, is a melancholy but kind of creepy song about someone who is watching every step and every breath someone else takes. It makes her feel a little paranoid, overly scrutinized, and she’s self-conscious enough about the dip of her dress’s neckline.
    Partridge’s roommate is leaning up against the far wall, talking to a girl. He looks over and sees Partridge, who gives him a nod. Hastings smiles goofily and then turns back to the girl.
    “Hastings, that’s his name, right?” Lyda says. She’s trying to make conversation, but also doesn’t mind lingering on Hastings, maybe to hint that she and Partridge could be sitting closer, whispering.
    “That’s a small miracle,” Partridge says. “He doesn’t have a natural way with the ladies.” Lyda wonders if Partridge has a natural way with the ladies but, for some reason, isn’t turning on the charms for her.
    Because it’s a special occasion, their food pills—bullets, as the academy boys call them—have been replaced by cupcakes sitting on all the tables on small blue plates. She watches Partridge fit large forkfuls into his mouth. She imagines that it must feel like near suffocation by eating—a rarity. Lyda nibbles her cake, savoring it, making it last.
    She tries to start up the conversation again. This time she talks about her art class, which is her favorite. “My wire bird has been chosen to be in the next display in the exhibit in Founders Hall—a student art show. Do you take art classes? I’ve heard they don’t let the boys take art, only things that have real-life applications, like science. Is that right?”
    “I’ve taken art history.