Scripted by Maya Rock Read Free Book Online Page A

that could spark memories of the departed Characters.
    I comb through the shelves and closet, though I’m certain I don’t have anything of Belle’s. I get down on the floor and peer under the bed, discovering a turquoise ring that went missing a few weeks ago. I drop it into my largely empty jewelry box. Searching for reminders soothes me. Slowly, today’s events are making sense. Except for her age and the fact that I knew her, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about Belle’s cut, really.
    She is a Clause 53, Item A, cut, like most Patriots. Item B—Risk to the Show—cuts are for Characters who crisp, or break the fourth wall in a particularly egregious way. There’s only been one in my lifetime—Lynne Thrush, who lost it at her son’s Double A ceremony, complaining that Media1 played favorites in assigning. I wasn’t there—the Double A is a Special Event, and attendance is optional, though encouraged. Lia had gone, of course—there aren’t many Special Events she misses—and had later told me how the Authority rushed in out of nowhere and seized Lynne while she ranted.
    It’s only when Characters are getting cut that the Authority interact with us. I’ve heard the Authority are Sectors military or maybe ex-military, hired by Media1 to maintain the peace. They’re like police for the Reals and mostly deal with them. Except when it comes to Patriots.
    Sometimes I wonder why the Reals don’t send crickets to escort the Patriots, instead of big men with guns. I’ve never heard of anyone resisting. Why would they? Becoming a Patriot is in the Contract.
    â€œRawls was running laps.” I hear Lia outside now, her voice soaring over the sound of Mom’s cooking. I go to the window behind my desk and peek out at the Herrons’ porch. Below me, Lia and Callen are standing next to the porch swing, facing each other.
    â€œSo?” Callen backs away from her, raking his hand through his hair. The equivalent of a full-blown temper tantrum for him.
    â€œSo, don’t you have to stay in shape too?” she says, scowling. She takes a step forward, and he moves back farther, trapping himself in the corner of the porch.
    â€œI don’t understand why you care so much,” he grumbles.
    â€œWe’re
so
close to the Apprenticeship Announcement,” she sighs. She kisses him on the cheek, her hair concealing the point of contact from me, like a stage curtain. Lia’s
liberato
outfit looks so much better than mine. Her short-sleeved white blouse with little flowers embroidered at the collar is tucked into her tight fawn-colored skirt, which stops right above her knees. She’s wearing her chunky clogs, which put her a head above Callen.
    Their voices get lower, unintelligible. I back away from the window and sit on my bed, pushing off my sneakers with my feet. Five months ago, I was sitting here while Lia was at my desk saying she thought Callen was a possibility.
    I think that’s how she phrased it too.
A possibility.
She’d used the same word when casting last semester’s Drama Club play. She ticked off Callen’s good qualities one by one, as if she were contemplating an expensive purchase.
Excellent at baseball. Nice hair. Sometimes funny.
She’d even fralled something like,
Probably good for my ratings too.
    I remember watching her and thinking,
Maybe I should say something.
But then, in the next moment,
What’s there to say? I have feelings that are going nowhere?
I tried to convince myself it wasn’t that bad. Lia had dated and dropped a series of boys after Martin. I assumed her relationship with Callen would be the same, measured in days rather than months.
    Four and a half agonizing months.
    The worst part is that, even after spending so much time with him, she still doesn’t know him. Not the way I do. Maybe that just comes with the territory of being obsessed, or maybe I’m