I go into my backyard and toward the
fence that separates Boston’s house from mine. I lift up a broken piece of wood
on the fence and crawl through it effortlessly into Boston’s backyard.
“You made it,” Boston exclaims as
soon as I step off the ladder and climb into the treehouse.
Boston is sitting cross-legged, reading
a worn out copy of A New Brain for
Lavender Cross by Luke Danielson, a favorite of ours that came out
this year. It will be the third time he’s devoured the book. One time more than
me.
There’s a plastic coffee cup on the
floor beside him and a perfect view of my driveway from here.
“What are you drinking?” I ask.
“An iced mango tea.” He picks it up
and holds it out in front of me. The water from the melted ice has already
soaked his hand wet. “Do you want to share it with me?”
I accept the cup from his hands and
take a sip. When I hand it back to him, I wipe my hand against my joggers.
“Do you think your aunt will let me
keep this?” Boston holds up a piece of paper labeled Serum 451 Active
Ingredients List.
I forgot that Boston even that had.
Back when Max and I were in Project 451, my parents were mailed a list of the
ingredients that were in the serum before we were injected just in case anyone
had an allergic reaction to it. A lot of people did. I can’t remember the exact
numbers, but at least half of the volunteers got so sick within days after the
injection and had to withdraw from training. Even Max caught a bug, but he
quickly recovered from it. I don’t know anyone else in Academy that was
susceptible to the serum like me, but Boston and I have had discussions about
it. He thinks I may have already built up a tolerance to the ingredients.
Boston found the list while we were
rummaging through the old filing cabinet that Aunt Rosa keeps all of our 451
documents in. We weren’t looking for anything in particular. Boston is obsessed
with Project 451 and I’m always willing to feed into it. I let Boston borrow
the list over the summer as long as he gave it back before I left. He knows
everything about Project 451 even though I‘m technically not allowed to talk
about it with anyone. I signed an agreement, but Boston is my best friend, and
it’s not like he has anyone else to share our secrets.
The aspect we talk about most is the
451 Serum. The 451 Serum alters our DNA so that we can alter people’s emotions.
He couldn’t believe it, and begged me to alter his emotions despite my being
prohibited from doing it outside of training. I made him feel excitement,
nothing harmful. Then I forced him to promise me that he’d never ask me to do
it again. I don’t like being in control like that. Max is the one who wanted to
become a Peace Officer, but I knew during our very first field lesson that I
wouldn’t be taking my final exam. I just didn't know how I would be getting myself out of it. Thankfully the
project got shut down before I had to come up with a way.
“You’re not going to try to make
your own serum, are you?” I joke.
Boston huffs. “Yeah right, that
would be so expensive.” Boston looks over the ingredient list for--most
likely--the hundredth time. I know he has it memorized by now. “Most of the
equipment used isn’t easily accessible, you know. Except in labs. I just thought
it would be a cool thing to hold onto. Like I have a little piece of actual
history with me.”
I smile. Boston’s intentions are
always sweet. It’s his best quality. “You can keep it,” I say. “But maybe we
should photocopy it in case Aunt Rosa needs it for whatever reason.”
Boston nods, his excitement
radiating off his face as he holds the list close to his chest.
“Hey, I have something for you.” I
just remembered that I hid Boston’s birthday present in his old toy chest.
I go to the toy chest and take out
his present, wrapped in blue flannel wrapping paper from our party pantry.
Boston accepts the present with bright eyes and places it on the floor in front
of him so he can open it. He unwraps it with care, and I can tell he really
loves to milk the process. Like savoring a delicious meal.
When he sees what it is, he
practically screams. “Whoa! You did not get
this for me!” He tears what’s left of the wrapping paper like a rabid animal
and holds up the microscope. He admires the display picture on the box, which
will be more difficult to take apart. He’ll have to open it up at home.
I didn’t think it would touch me
this much to see how happy he is with his gift. I saved up all summer for it.
He already had a microscope for kids, but I thought he needed a real one now
that he was turning seventeen.
“Thank you,” he tells me, a little
awkwardly. Boston’s shy about showing gratitude. I think it embarrasses him. He
peers at the ground, then back up at me.
Then, impulsively, I hug him,
burying my head into his chest. “Send me a letter as soon as you get settled at
Crystal Lake.”
“Okay.”
“And you can visit my grandma
anytime. She’s only a five minute walk from your guys’ cabin. I googled it. She
said she’ll make tamales for you if you give her a heads up.”
Boston bobs his head, and I feel him
start to pull away from me. “I can’t breathe, Natalia. You’re really strong.”
He pulls his knees to his chest. “Good to know that serum is still working.”
“Natalia!” I hear Aunt Rosa calls
from the car. “It’s time to go!”
I turn back to Boston. “I guess
Saturday family breakfast is starting earlier than expected.”
“It’s cool.”
“And if your dad forgets to cook
dinner and you're ever hungry, just go to my grandma’s house. She keeps the
most amazing food stocked in the freezer.”
“Okay,” he says again, annoyed this
time. Boston is all okays. I hardly know what he means by them anymore.
“Natalia, don’t worry about me. I can survive two weeks without you.”
“Right,” I nod, realizing that I
must be smothering him.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just
mean, don’t feel sorry for me, okay?”
I nod. I know I’m being especially
maternal, but Boston’s mom left his dad just a few months ago, and his sister
Shannon moved to New York to start her first year at Syracuse last week. Boston
doesn’t have anyone to look out for him anymore. The problem is Boston’s dad is
a total workaholic. He’s so focused on work that he remembers the things he’s
forgotten to do well after he should have done them. “Damnit! I forgot the
milk,” he would say out of nowhere in the middle of watching TV. Or, “The sink!
Your mom told me to call a plumber about the sink!”
Plus there’s the kiss. On the day
that Boston’s mom left, he kissed me in the treehouse we’re sitting in now. We
never talked about it and it didn’t happen again, but I feel obligated to look
out for the boy who’s as much my first kiss as he is my best friend. Mom would
tell me not to think so fondly of any boy, especially a teenager full of
hormones that he can’t control, but I could control them for the both of us.
And Boston’s been my best friend since we were six. I trust him with my heart
more than anyone.
I’ll admit that I’ve developed
feelings for him after the kiss, but he never acted on it again, so I accepted
that he probably did it out of fear or a need for comfort. But we remain each
other’s protectors nonetheless. I think I have every right to make sure
Boston’s okay on his trip.
Max told me that Boston’s at that
age where he is ready to be a man and take care of himself. I guess Max must
know from experience. But I know Boston better than anybody, and I can tell he
appreciates that I do things for him. I can tell by the way he smiles to
himself when he thinks I’m not looking.
Prima (I’m assuming) honks our car’s
horn.
“I have to go,” I say.
Boston nods, and we make our way
down the ladder.
A small part of me wishes I could have
worked up the courage to give him one more kiss goodbye, but I refuse to
believe that I have to act out of desperation for a romance to develop between
us. If Boston wants to be with me, he’ll be with me when he’s ready.
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