Crossed (Matched, #2)

by Ally Condie

Camas is one of the Border Provinces, right along the edge of the Outer Provinces.

I mark my course by people: Xander, a point on the map; my parents, another point; Ky, the final destination.

“I have my final work position,” Xander says. “It’s in Central. Like yours. But they want me to have experience in the Border Provinces first.”

Xander’s tone is sober. “There are things I need to learn there for my work assignment that I...

The idea of Xander in Central feels right and final. Of course he would belong in th...

“Not the way Ky left you. He didn’t want to go. Do you know what it’s like for someone to choose to leave you?” “I didn’t choose to leave you behind. We were Relocated.”

“You left me before you left Oria.”

then back at me, his blue eyes serious. He’s changed, since I’ve seen him, become harder. ...

For Xander, I began to leave when I chose Ky. Xander looks down at our hands,...

The Society, with their extra crops, has blurred the line between seasons, between when you can plant and harvest and when you must let things lie.

Xander asks, “Are you still going to the Outer Provinces to find him?” “ Yes,” I whisper.

Xander forces a smile, tries to speak lightly. “You really want this? You want Ky, whatever the cost?”

“So where do you draw the line? What won’t you give up?” I swallow. “My family.” “But you don’t mind giving me up,” he says.

“I’m not,” I say softly. “I’m not giving you up. Look.” And then I risk it. I pull open the bag and show him what’s still inside, what I kept. The blue tablets.

they are still Xander’s gift. Xander’s eyes widen. “You traded Ky’s compass?” “Yes,”

Xander smiles and in the expression I see surprise and cunning and happiness all mingled there together. I’ve surprised Xander—and myself. I love Xander in ways that are ...

“Good-bye,” I tell Xander, my voice catching. “I don’t think so,” he says, and he leans down to kiss me the way I kissed him earlier, right near my mouth.

Vick and I lift one of the bodies and carry it toward a grave.

Still, part of me wants to believe that the flood of death carries us someplace after all.

“You know what it means?” he asks, finally. “It’s about someone hoping for more,” I tell him noncommittally. “It’s part of a poem from before the Society.”

belongs to Cassia and me. I won’t speak those words to anyone again until I can tell them to her.

She didn’t know I was there. I stood, watching her read the paper. I saw her lips forming the words of a poem I didn’t know, and then of one I did.

Usually, Vick doesn’t care when I don’t answer him, but this time I see a challenge in his eyes. I start planning the best way to take him down. The increase in firings has affected him, too.

“You never cut notches in your boot,”

“No,” I agree. “Why?” “No one needs to know,” I say. “To know what? How long you’ve lasted?” Vick asks. “To know anything about me,”

The colors are the red orange brown of my childhood, and their texture is the same: dry and rough and—in November—cold.

Which I like. I always carve myself into what others want me to be. With Cassia on the Hill—only then was I truly myself.

“That doesn’t look like anything.” “It looks like the moon,” I tell him. “When it’s thin.”

Earlier today some air ships came for the bodies. That hasn’t happened before. I don’t know what the Society has done with them, but I wish I’d thought to climb up to the top and write something to mark the decoys’ passing.

Luck is not a word the Society encourages. And it’s not something we have much of out here.

We all started running to take cover. A few of the boys ran out into the street with their guns and shot at the sky.

“Why aren’t you out there trying to shoot back?” Vick asked me then.

“No reason to,” I said. “The ammunition isn’t real.” I put my standard-issue gun on the ground next to me. Vick puts his gun down, too. “How long have you known?” “Since they gave them to us on our way here,” I said. “What about you?” “The same,” Vick answered. “We should have told the others.”

“I was stupid. I thought we’d have a little more time.” “Time,” Vick said, “...

“I’d blow everyone on those air ships away. Pieces of them would come down like fireworks.”

“I wonder why they don’t just give us blue tablets,” I say. “Then they wouldn’t have to bother with our meals.”

“Know what?” I ask. “The blue tablets don’t save you. They stop you. If you take one, you’ll slow down

“I should have known,” I say. “If something happened to the Society, they wouldn’t want anyone to live on without them.”

Vick’s the only decoy who has a miniport—a device roughly the same size as a datapod.

but now and then—like when he tells new decoys the truth about the village and the guns—he hides the port somewhere for a little while.

Vick thinks so. He thinks the Society listens all the time. I don’t think they care.

I wonder who they think is the bigger threat. He’s young, but the Officer in charge of this transfer reminds me of the one who used to be in charge of us on the Hill back in Oria.

“Up on the plateau. What was that? What happened there? The casualties wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if you’d all stayed down in the village.” “There was snow up there this morning and they went up to get it,” I say. “We’re always thirsty.”

“There aren’t many reasons to do anything,” Vick says. “Hunger. Thirst. Not dying. That’s all there is. So if you don’t believe us, take your pick from the other two.”

“They’re on the ship,” the Officer says. “We’re going to take you all to a new village, and we’ll give you more supplies.” “And more water,” Vick says.

Vick and I both curse under our breath when we see the replacements on the air ship. They are young, much younger than us. They look to be fourteen, thirteen. Their eyes are wide.

“The Society must be running out of bodies,” I say to Vick, keeping my voice low.

We both know the Society wants the Aberrations dead. It explains why we’re dumped out here. Why we don’t get to fight.

We fly blind. The air ship is windowless except for the pilot’s compartment.

There are fields like this one all over the Outer Provinces. But I still know exactly where I am because of what I see in front of me. I’m home. It hurts. There it is on the horizon—the landmark of my childhood. The Carving.