Free The Here and Now by Ann Brashares

that I am walking briskly away from him.
    “Later?”
    “Now?”
    “I can’t now.” I say that, but I stop. I can’t ignore him. I can’t intentionally hurt him.
    “Prenna, I know there is a lot of stuff you don’t want to talk about, like where you come from. Maybe you think you can’ttell me. And that’s fine. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say, but the thing is …”
    I start walking again. I can’t afford to destroy myself. Not yet.
    “The thing is …”
    I turn a corner. I am practically running.
    “The thing is, I think I already know.” Ethan’s eyes, when I hazard a glance at them, are begging me to talk to him.
    If any of the natives know the truth about you—any of them!—no matter how helpful and kind they might appear, they will take you apart. They might act like they want to help, but they won’t. They will destroy you and destroy all of us
.
    These are the teaching words from my mother, from Mr. Robert, from my friends, from every person I know and count on.
    I am starting to slow down. I don’t know how long I can run from this. “And why is that?”
    “Because a few days ago Ben Kenobi told me. And he said—”
    I turn on him. “Have you not noticed that he is crazy?”
    “I’ve talked to him a lot. I don’t think he’s crazy.”
    “Really?” I’m performing now, and I’m not very good at it.
    “Really.”
    “And what did he tell you?” I try to sound sarcastic and unconcerned, but it’s not coming out right.
    Ethan is being careful. He gives me a questioning look. To my astonishment he reaches out and takes my glasses from my face. He puts them in his back pocket. When he speaks again, his voice is slow and quiet. “He told me you are not from adifferent place.” He is talking so slowly I can hear my own fast breathing between each word. “You’re from a different time.”
    I gape at him. I feel myself deflating. I feel too tired to lift my head. Now what? I need to be amazed by the absurdity of this. Such preposterousness knows no bounds! I need to puff up. I wish I could. “And you are going to believe that because a homeless man who wears peacock feathers told you?” I gesture weakly toward his back pocket. “And he also told you they monitor us with the glasses?”
    Ethan is silent, and I feel a compulsive, panicky energy building, a need to fill the air with words. “If he’s Ben Kenobi, are you supposed to be Luke Skywalker? Am I supposed to be Princess Leia? Or are you seeing me more like one of the weird guys in the alien bar?” I think I’m trying to be funny, but no one is laughing.
    Ethan looks hurt. He deserves some honesty from me, but he’s not getting it. We are deep in rule-breaking territory here, and I need to be careful.
    “I won’t believe him if you tell me not to,” he says, again so quietly I can barely hear. His eyes are locked on mine. He always sees more than he should see.
    Now is my opening, my opportunity to do the thing I was taught to do above all other things: to tell the lie and tell it well. Instead, I am struck dumb, my eyes filling with tears. What a failure I am. I don’t tell the lie or tell it well. I just stand there like an idiot.
    “Oh, Prenna.” He sees my tears. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me. Whatever they say.
    I think I could lie to anyone else in the world right now. I think I could lie in rhyming verse to Mr. Robert or JeffreyBoland or even my mother. I could lie in perfect sonnets to Ms. Cynthia or Mrs. Crew. But I look at his face and I can’t lie to Ethan.
    He starts to reach for me, but I wipe at my eyes and turn sharply in the opposite direction. “I have to go,” I say.
    “We haven’t got much time,” he says to me as I walk away.

    It’s less than half a block before I realize it’s not just the tears blinding me. I strode away without my glasses, and I can’t go back. I’m too proud, too afraid, too determined, and, as the counselors are fond of reminding me,