Coda by Emma Trevayne Read Free Book Online Page B

to me, and I’d be more than a little okay with just staying like this forever. I’m not even sure I need the tracks that work to leach the chill from my bones, calm my stomach, and drag my mind from dark places. Haven relaxes by degrees until her head is on my shoulder, plastic headset digging into my collarbone. I don’t move.
    I concentrate on remembering to breathe. My eyes close for an instant; I see red and snap them open again. Slowly feeling returns to my toes.
    The static hiss of near silence signals the end of the music. I edge out from under her, lay her head down on the single pillow, and adjust the blanket. She’s not completely asleep—a word I can’t make out forms itself on her lips—so I set up another handful of tracks and leave her to rest.
    Alpha and Omega burst through the door an hour later, cheerful and loud, fighting to tell me and our father about the games they played with Fable. It’s impossible not to smile, and in any case I don’t want them asking what’s wrong, but I put my finger to my lips and tell them Haven’s asleep. While I cook and all through dinner, I compose lyrics in my head—a sad, slow lament—while they compete to see who can be more quiet.
    It’s Omega, but I give them both a square of chocolate for dessert.
    Haven joins us in the kitchen, creased from sleep, her face streaked and swollen. The twins jump up, homework forgotten on the table until she reminds them. Even then, she’s the one who clings to them for another minute.
    “Hungry?”
    “No.” She shakes her head, her hair spilling into red-rimmed eyes. I toast a slice of bread anyway, and make tea from peppermint leaves and the last of the sugar. Crumbs land on the table when she leans over to help Omega with a math problem.
    Later, when they’re in bed and I’ve failed at getting my father to eat, we go back to my room. “Your mother,” she begins after a long silence. I hold my breath. “Is that why you could handle it? I’ve never seen a body before.” Her voice tightens, and I lace our fingers together.
    “I guess? Mostly I was worried about you.”
    A smile flickers dully on her full lips. “You never talk about her.”
    “You don’t talk about yours either.”
    “True.” She looks out the window.
    “Do you miss her?”
    Haven shrugs. “I miss the way she was, before . . . When she was herself.”
    Yeah. I miss the way my mother was before , too.
    “I hate them, Anthem. Everything they do. The Corp. They wreck people. I wish they’d all just . . . die.”
    “Maybe you should tell your father what we saw today.”
    “He won’t care.”
    I can’t believe that’s true. She’s too good, too generous, and she must get it from somewhere. But I know she believes it, and she’s the one who matters.
    “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I just”—I shake my head—“I don’t have any answers.”
    “Maybe I do,” she says, her head jerking sharply away from the window to look at me.
    “If you mean what we were talking about in the park.” It feels like that was days ago.
    “No, not that. I mean getting into the mainframe. Changing things.” Her set jaw could smash glass.
    I grab her shoulder, rigid under my hand and a layer of purple lace. “Haven, what do you want to do?” I ask slowly.
    Quiet. “Nothing,” she says finally, a smile appearing on her face, too bright and wide. “Come on, lie down with me.” I hesitate and she rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to attack you.”
    “Yeah.” My laugh sounds false even to me. The bed creaks as we move around. She must be able to hear my heartbeat, fast and loud, when she puts her head on my chest, but she doesn’t comment. I inhale through fine, rose-scented hair that tickles my nose and shift on the hard mattress. She asks if I’m comfortable and I just tighten my arms. Sleep finds her first. I stare at the ceiling, wishing I couldbe down in the basement, screaming my lungs out, the wail of Johnny’s guitar