Matched

“Don’t ask questions,” the Official snaps at Lon. “Get started.”

And so, for the last time, Ky and I begin to climb the Hil .

When we are far enough onto our own path that no one else can see us, Ky grabs my hand as I reach to untie a red cloth from one of the shrubs.

“Forget it al ,” he says. “We’re going to the top.”

Our eyes meet. I’ve never seen him look so reckless. I open my mouth to say something but he interrupts me. “Unless you don’t want to try?”

There’s a chal enge in his voice I haven’t heard before. His voice isn’t cruel, but he’s not just curious. He needs to know the answer; what I do now tel s him something about me. He doesn’t say anything about yesterday. His face is open, his eyes alight, his body tense, every muscle saying It’s time. Now.

“I want to try,” I tel him. To prove it, I lead the way along the path we’ve marked together. It isn’t long before I feel his hand brush mine and when our fingers intertwine I feel the same urgency he does. We have to make it to the top.

I don’t turn around but I hold on tight.

As we break into the last part of the forest, the part we haven’t charted, I stop. “Wait,” I say. If we’re real y going to clear this Hil , I want to pul out the last tangles and twists so we can stand on the top free and open.

Behind the patience on Ky’s face I see worry, worry that we aren’t going to make it in time. Even now, the whistle could be shril ing below us and I wouldn’t hear it over the beating of our hearts and the sound of our breathing in and out, in and out, the same air. “I was scared yesterday.”

“Of what?”

“That we fel in love because of the Officials,” I say. “They told you about me. They told me about you, the morning after my Match, when your face came up on my microcard by mistake. You and I knew each other al along, but we never did anything about it until ...” I can’t finish my sentence, but Ky knows what I mean.

“You don’t throw something away just because they predicted it,” he protests.

“But I don’t want to be defined by their choices,” I say.

“You’re not,” he says. “You never have to be.”

“Sisyphus and the rock,” I say, remembering. Grandfather would have understood that story. He rol ed the rock, he lived the life the Society planned for him, but his thoughts were always his own.

Ky smiles. “Exactly. But we,” he tugs at my hand, gently, “are going to make it to the top. And maybe even stand there for a minute. Come on.”

“I have to tel you something else,” I say.

“Is it about the sort?” he asks.

“Yes—” Ky interrupts me. “They told us. I’m part of the group that’s going to get a new work position. I already know.”

Does he know? Does he know his life wil be shorter if he keeps working at the disposal center? Does he know he was right on the line between those who stayed and those who moved on? Does he know what I did?

He sees the questions in my eyes. “I know you had to sort us into two groups. I know I was probably right in the middle.”

“Do you want to know what I did?”

“I can guess,” he says. “They told you about the life expectancy and the poisons, didn’t they? That’s why you put me where you did.”

“Yes,” I say. “You know about the poisons, too?”

“Of course. Most of us figure it out. But none of us are in a position to complain. Our lives are stil much longer here than they’d be in the Outer Provinces.”

“Ky.” It’s hard to ask, but I have to know. “Are you leaving?”

He looks up. Above us, fierce and golden, the sun climbs the sky. “I’m not sure. They haven’t told us yet. But I know we don’t have much time.”

When we reach the top of the Hil it feels completely different in some ways and not in others. He is stil Ky. I am stil Cassia. But we stand together in a place where neither of us has been before.

It’s the same world, gray and blue and green and gold, that I’ve seen al my life. The same world I saw from Grandfather’s window and from the top of the little hil . But I am higher now. If I had wings, I could spread them. I could soar.

“I want you to have this,” Ky says, handing me the artifact.

“I don’t know how to use it,” I say, not wanting to reveal how much I want to accept his gift. How deeply I ache to hold and have something that is part of his story and part of him.

“I think Xander can teach you,” he says gently, and I draw in my breath. Is he tel ing me good-bye? Is he tel ing me to trust in Xander? To be with Xander?

Before I can ask, Ky pul s me close and his words are in my ear, warm and whispered. “It wil help you find me,” he says. “If I ever do go anywhere.”

My face fits perfectly into the spot against his shoulder, near his neck, where I can both hear his heart and smel his skin. I’m safe here, too. Some essential part of me is safer with Ky than anywhere else.

Ky presses another piece of paper into my hand. “The last part of my story,” he says. “Wil you save it? Don’t look at it yet.”

“Why?”

“Just wait,” he says, voice quiet, strong. “Wait a little while.”