Free Parched by Georgia Clark Page A

“Tess Rockwood, the missing niece who returns after a year in the Badlands? That tends to make an impression.”
    I wince. No wonder he’s staring at me. Most Edenites never leave the city, even for a night. “What’s up?”
    â€œAbel said to come say hello,” he says, inclining his head toward the study.
    â€œAbel said to come say hello,” I repeat in confusion. “Why?”
    An embarrassed smile colors his face. His gaze drops to floor. “
I
wanted to come and say hello,” he corrects himself.
    â€œOh.” I nod. I’m momentarily unsure of how to react to this level of social awkwardness. My fingers worry the gold sword on my necklace. “So, he’s got you working weekends, huh?”
    â€œYes,” Hunter replies. “He’s a gauche slave driver who is guileful and malevolent in nature.”
    I blink. “He’s a what-now?”
    â€œI was being sarcastic,” Hunter clarifies quickly. “Or trying to be, I guess.”
    And suddenly, a new level of awkwardness has been reached. “Well, have fun with that,” I say, edging for the front door. “I’m going to get a makeover. An Eden makeover.”
    His eyes examine my face as if I were a science experiment. “You don’t need a makeover.”
    I hook up an eyebrow. “Sarcasm and you do not a fine match make.”
    And it’s his turn to blink in confusion, just for a second, before his face clears into understanding. “I wasn’t being sarcastic,” he says simply. “See you later, Tess.”
    â€œBye, Hunter.”
    â€œYou remembered!” I hear him call out as I head down the hallway. I roll my eyes, a faint smile teasing my mouth. What. A. Weirdo.
    Joggers huff and puff past me, lightly sweating in all-white exercise suits. I scan their faces intently. Izzy never used to miss her Sunday jog:
How can I demand physical perfection in others if I’m not committed to it myself
? My foot jiggles with nerves. I feel a bit sick—lucky I didn’t have a big breakfast.
    Just as I’m about to give up hope, I see her. She’s changed her hair. An elegant pixie cut shows off her heart-shaped face and makes her look a few years older. She’s chatting with a cute little sub that hovers next to her as she runs. It’s soft and cuddly, with snow-white fur and eyes as big as hers. Izzy always did prefer the adorable designs to the more functional types. She’s just about to run right past when I call out a tentative “hey!”
    She glances up and promptly stumbles to a stop. Her eyes widen as she pants, catching her breath, face frozen in a comical mask of shock.
    I wave an unsure hello. “Never thought I’d see Izzy Williams lost for words.”
    â€œMetabolism slowing,” chirrups her sub. “Continue jogging to achieve—”
    Izzy hushes it. It buries its head in her neck, purring. She waves it away distractedly, eyes locked into mine.
    â€œTess?” Her voice is deep with disbelief.
    â€œIn the flesh.” I nod, swallowing.
Please be happy to see me
.
    Her eyes race frantically around my dyed black ponytail and shaggy undercut, my grimy clothes, my dirt-caked boots. “Where have you been? You just—Tess, where have you been?”
    â€œAway?” I offer tentatively. “But I’m back now.” I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. “It’s really good to see you, Iz.”
    â€œYou’re . . . you’re so skinny,” she says. Then her eyes bug. “You got a tronic?” She flips my wrist to get a better look at the four words that glow under my forearm:
No feeling is final
. “
You
got a tronic?” She sounds equal parts disbelieving and disappointed. Izzy and I were going to get electronic tattoos together, the day we graduated education. We’d spent hours arguing over what to get: a heart, a