Cold Tomorrow

[1]

CHAPTER ONE

It's cold up here. I sit with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie as the air runs its icy fingers though my hair and seeps through the holes in my jackets threading. No matter how many layers I put on, there is no escaping the winter weather.

From my place on the roof of my real mother's house, I can see a good portion of eastern Sydney. The suburbs unfold before me, street after street of suburban houses aligned in neat little rows, all of it covered in the thinnest layer of snow and ice, glinting in the afternoon sun.

For the past two weeks, I've watched the world freeze in reverse. Snow thinning, dripping, rivulets turning to rivers, then gushing currents all headed down the gutter. My white world has turned to a wet one, where the footpaths are in a constant state of dampness and the trees are their own personal rain clouds, water dripping from barren branches and landing on passers-by.

It's strange, watching my home thaw. I've seen the Earth freeze again and again and again because of a disease I had no control over, but I've never been able to witness what happens after my departure. Never seen the light in people's eyes as they realise I'm gone or the joy of news reporters announcing that we're finally headed for warmer weather.

Interestingly enough, while the temperature has been rising, the clouds have never strayed. Every now and then, the sun slips out from underneath the thick coverage, but it's never long before the clouds return, hungrily swallowing the sunlight like starved ghosts. I can only assume that the cloud cover is hanging around because we're going into winter. Maybe that's just what it's like here in winter – cloudy, cold, wet. If I hadn't swapped back, I'd have no way of knowing. I've never lived somewhere where my disease hasn't had an effect on the weather. Maybe some places are always cloudy, maybe sunlight is over-abundant in others – I've probably even lived in those places, but I wouldn't know.

There's a scuffling behind me then and I look over my shoulder just as Caden pulls himself up the last of the way onto the roof. He's been wearing the same pair of jeans for the past three days, and while it should be gross, I can't help but find an attractiveness in his i-couldn't-care-less attitude. He looks as though he's dressed thoughtlessly, wearing only jeans with a plain shirt and a mismatched jacket, but it suits him. His dark brown hair, still wet and dripping from being washed, catches the setting sun, and it only makes him look more handsome. Looking back, it's funny that it took me so long to realise he was gorgeous. Any other girl would have picked that up in an instant

"Man, couldn't you have left a ladder so others could get up?" he asks.

"I could have, but you managed without one, didn't you?"

"Barely," he says, sitting down beside me, dangling his legs over the edge. "Your telekinesis must be getting better if you can get up here."

I shrug. "It's unpredictable. Most of the time its uncontrollable and sometimes I can't use it at all. It's rare that I can use it easily. I just got lucky today."

He nods and looks out over the city, his head elsewhere.

"Did you have something you wanted to tell me?" I ask.

"Huh?" he asks, still elsewhere, his eyes glazed over as they are so often these days. Ever since we lost Rand, he's been more distant and harder to reach. So often I find I have to dig through layers of defences just to speak to him – the real him. Secretly, I worry that he won't ever be the same as he was Before.

Before.

There's before and then there's Before. In my mind – and probably Sarah's as well – it means before we swapped back. In Caden's, it means before Rand – Caden's temporary guardian and life-long friend – died. To my mother, Katherine, it probably means before I ran off and got captured and before her brother, Patrick, revealed he was a traitor and before she copped a bullet to the side and nearly died. Yeah.