The Ylem

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Authors: Tatiana Vila
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mine. He stared at me for a
few more heartbeats, then turned and said to them, “We should’ve
left minutes ago.” And then he left, just like that.
    “Let’s go,” Mingan ordered Elan and followed
Tristan.
    Elan gave me a small smile, as if
apologizing, and turned away to join them. The twins’ black truck
speeded behind Tristan’s cool orange car a few seconds later.
    Standing there alone, I couldn’t shake off
my confusion. What the hell had happened? There was no reason for
him to leave like that and drag the others along. I hadn’t done
anything to trigger that sadness or madness, or whatever it was.
Anything. So what was his problem? Had it been Chloe with that
sharp stare of hers?
    Ugh. Actually, I didn’t care what his
problem was. Thinking about him was a big waste of time,
remember?
    Still, the wasting of time kept on in bed.
Like with a movie, I searched fast-forward and backward in my mind,
pausing and trying to figure out what went wrong. The movie kept
rolling and rolling, and I only could think of two possibilities:
my tear, which could have taken him aback, and Chloe’s glare, which
could have frighten a Spartan warrior. There was nothing else.
    All this mortified me more than it should
and I didn’t like it. I really didn’t like it. I tugged my pillow
from beneath my head and smashed it to my face. Why was I
interested in a guy like him? In a person who didn’t even spend a
microsecond of his time thinking about me, or anyone—well, maybe
just his model girlfriend. Why did I always think of the
ones who didn't show interest in me and not the ones who did?
    I pulled the pillow off from my face and
threw it aside. I took a deep breath and puffed it out. I only
wanted to know what I did or said wrong. I rolled, annoyed, onto my
right arm and tried to sleep.
     
     
     
     
    7. THE DREAMCATCHER GIRL
    Taos Box,
New Mexico
     
    CALEB
    The echoing roar of water filled my ears,
flashing into my mind memories of my first life, of my human life.
The breathtaking chasm of rugged basalt cliffs looked the same
under the moonlight. I’d been here before, during a rafting trip a
long time ago. I remembered the intoxicating sensation of the swift
rapids rushing through the most beautiful part of the river, and
the cries of ravens, falcons and eagles. But I couldn’t hear them
now. The river was the only thing awake in these moonlit
shadows.
    “It makes you feel like you’re on National
Geographic Explorer,” Nick said with a remarkably funny Swedish
accent. “Without the sunny part, of course.” He brushed his fingers
through the long white-blond spikes on the top of his head. That
hair just couldn’t stay down.
    “It’s one of the primary whitewater rafting
zones around here,” I said, throwing a small rock into the running
water. “Once you ride them, you get addicted.”
    “Man, I wish I could try it sometime. You’re
one lucky skitstövel, Caleb.” Nick told me, choosing his mother
tongue to call me bastard.
    We didn’t go out much in the sun. Our modus
operandi was mostly by night, so I understood Nick’s frustration.
But we both knew the reason for this night-leading life, and it was
far more important than our stupid desires. Without the black
dyeing the skies, Balthazar's presence and guidance wouldn’t be
possible. We needed our father as he needed us.
    “We’ll do it someday, Nick,” I said with a
smile in my voice. It was the kind of thing people liked to hear,
and I wanted to believe in the possibility as well. Perhaps
someday, after getting done with all of this, we could go on a road
trip across America, my country. Nick would love that , I
thought with a smile. He liked it here better than the old
continent. That’s why he hadn’t made any objections to the American
nickname I’d given him. Nicolai sounded way too long and he yearned
for something simpler.
    “Right. Well, in the meantime,” he said,
sitting on a huge bulky rock beside the river. “Bring me káffe ,

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