Free Parched by Georgia Clark

“Just some fruit is fine.”
    Lucky for me, robots don’t hold a grudge. Kimiko rolls off to the kitchen without another word.
    â€œI was thinking we could have dinner together tonight,” Abel says.
    I raise an eyebrow. “We haven’t even had breakfast yet.”
    â€œI mean, a special dinner. To celebrate your homecoming.”
    â€œOkay.” I nod, trying not to feel wildly overparented.
    â€œKimiko will do the cooking. The kitchen isn’t really my forte. She’s been a real addition. Very helpful.” Abel begins chattering blithely about Kimiko’s make and model: she’s called a Companion, very articulate, designed to be socially intelligent and synergistic with everyday life. . . . I nod politely, trying to gauge the subtext of what’s going on. He seems nervous. The shock of my return? Uncertainty about our future? Or guilt about his involvement in something that sent me to the Badlands in the first place? I suppose it could be all three.
    I eat Kimiko’s fruit salad obediently, savoring the sweet slices of nectarines and plums. Good, healthy food was a part of my old life. As I crunch a green grape between my teeth, I almost swoon.
Showers. Soft beds. Fresh fruit. Why did I ever leave?
    And so when Abel asks me what I’m going to do today, I don’t hesitate.
    â€œI’m going to see Izzy.”
    Izzadore Lucy Williams and I met on the first day of pre-education. I’d been busy stealing all the coveted golden building blocks from the communal stash in order to make a castle. When the teacher finally worked out that someone wasn’t playing fair, she gently suggested I show her what was under the basket behind me. When I did, nothing was there. The blocks were gone. Izzy sat a few feet away, a pint-sized picture ofadorable innocence. Under her cute ruffled skirt hid a treasure trove of gold. We split the blocks, then worked a two-man scam on Alby Peterson for his milk and pudding cup. We’d been partners in crime ever since.
    Part teddy bear, part shyster, that’s how she’d always been. I’m average for my height, but Izzy clocks in at five foot two. Her enormous dark blue eyes rimmed with ridiculously long lashes give her a look of perpetual naïveté, which we often used to our advantage. She commanded male and female attention effortlessly and collected broken hearts for a hobby. She was excellent.
    Izzy’s father is a Guider, which means they live in one of the South Hills houses that have a killer view
and
a pool. Even though every house in Eden is supposedly as good as the last, some are simply more advantaged, and people who work for the Trust are always given the “advantages.” We’d spend our weekends soaking up the sun by the pool, workshopping our love lives—hers: colorful, mine: nascent—and starting rumors about people we didn’t like.
    But then Mom died and I left. I have no idea how she’ll feel about seeing me. Betrayed? Ecstatic? Furious? For all her wickedness, Izzy is, at her core, a total sweetheart who always had my back. I didn’t even say goodbye.
    â€œI’m heading out!” I call to Abel, who’d disappeared into his study after breakfast. “I’ll see you later!”
    â€œTess. Greetings.” Abel’s assistant, the tall boy I met yesterday, emerges from the study.
    I’ve completely forgotten his name. Harrison? Hugo? “Hey, um—”
    â€œHunter,” he supplies, unfazed at my faux pas. Physically he’s neither particularly good- or bad-looking—mop of dark hair that looks uncombed, typically pale Eden skin, thickish eyebrows above eyes that could be gray or green. It’s his unselfconscious focus on me that’s the point of difference.
    â€œHunter, right.” I laugh, shifting awkwardly in his gaze. “Sorry. Bad with names. Surprised you remembered mine.”
    He cocks his head at me.