Gray

Chapter Four

My Match stands by the Vaporbus stop, tapping his feet impatiently, arms crossed. I bite my lip. He's impossible to talk to.

"I-um- never caught your name." The Vaporbus rolls to a stop, and he pushes in front of me, climbing on. I grit my teeth. What a gentleman.

"What's it to ya?" He asks, as I climb into the Vaporbus. He plunks down in a seat, and I sit next to him.

"Hmm, besides the fact that we're going to get married?"

"Yeah. Besides that."

I roll my eyes. "You're impossible," I groan.

"Says you." Ugh, how old is he, two? It's not fair that we have to be married. It has to be a mistake, or something. I've spent my whole life trying to be perfect, and this is how they repay me?

But, it's not a mistake. There are no mistakes when it comes to Matching. I'm a Mutant, a freak. Good for nothing, except being killed.

Just like Seycrid.

Tears well up in my eyes. No, why am I crying? I guess I always must've known it would end like this. I try to be perfect, but I'm not. I'll never be.

"What's wrong, crybaby?" He says, as if talking to a baby. I glance daggers at him, wiping my eyes quickly, embarrased. "Fine. Cry, then."

We sit there, awkwardly trying not to touch each other. It's hard, though, since we're sitting right next to each other. Our legs touch, but we both pull away as if the other person is acid.

"Taylor," he mutters reluctantly.

"Taylor," I repeat, chewing on the name. "Taylor. Taylor...?"

"23749."

"Well, I'm Kamilah." I stick out my hand in greeting, not really expecting him to shake it. "Kamilah--"

"24610. Yeah, I know." He stares at my hand in disgust. "Everyone knows the goody two-shoes."

I take my hand down, gritting my teeth again. "I'm not a goody two-shoes."

He laughs. "Don't flatter yourself. Everyone knows about you, Little Miss Perfect."

I try to ignore him, but how can I? He's so annoying. He keeps talking about how 'ridiculously dedicated' I am to my assignments. I stare at the floor, and finally the bus rolls to a stop.

That was the longest ride of my life.

I stand up and wait for the people in front of me to exit. Taylor doesn't do the same. He elbows and prods and pushes until he's out. Looking through a window, I see him signaling for me to do the same. I shake my head; I'm not going to be rude to these innocently nice people.

"Hey, gray-head, hurry up!" Someone from behind me says, noticing I let the people in front leave first.

Okay, I'l do it.

I walk politely through, muttering, 'I'm sorry's and 'excuse me's; not at all like Taylor did. I make it out, and he grins.

"You call that shoving?" He laughs, imitating a girly voice. "'Excuse me, good sir, but I must leave now!'"

I punch him lightly, though I wish it could be harder. "At least I treated them with a sliver of respect."

Taylor shrugs. "Who says they deserve it?"

He starts walking towards the building, and I follow him. He throws open the door, and it slams in my face.

What a charmer.

I hold the door open for the people behind me (which there were an awful lot of). Eventually, the crowd moves through and I can enter for myself without hurting someone with a door.

I've never been in this building before. Why should I have been? I don't work in Matching, and obviously I haven't been Matched before. I have to say I'm impressed.

Ten or eleven mahogany desks are lined up with attendants behind them. The place is packed; each line has fifteen or twenty people in it. I never realized how many people are involved in the Matching.

Taylor walks into a line calmy, as if he knows what he's doing. How is he always so confident? It's like even if he messes up, tbere would be no shame.

I follow him and stand beside him. I look around awkwardly. All the other couples are holding hands or hugging or something romantic and cute and here we are, standing five feet from each other, refusing to even look at each other.

It's not fair.

Life's not fair.

Why can't I be perfect, like all the other girls here, with their men on their arms or their lips as they go through the happiest day of their lives. Instead, I can just pretend to be perfect, but I can never convince anyone that Taylor is.

We reach the front of the line, and the woman behind the desk looks up, bored. "How can I help you today?" She says in a monotone voice. Yep. Best day of my life.

"We've recently been Matched," Taylor says, looking at me with a sneer. I ty to return it, but I'm not very good at menacing faces, and I probably end up looking like an idiot.

She rolls her eyes, lips pursed. "May I see your wrists?"

Taylor holds out his arm, and she places the area where his Timer is under a scanner.

Oh, no.

We're getting scanned.

They'll notice. They'll have to notice I'm defective. The only times you get scanned are at birth, when you're Matched, and on the day of your death. How could I have forgotten?

Mom says when I was born I was fine. It wasn't until I was two, and Society started mandating immunizations for toddlers. I got the shot, and my body didn't react well. It offset thousands of years of genetic changes from Society; I can see colors and my Timer didn't work.

They banned the shot when I was four. But it was too late for me.

The scanner beeps. The woman nods and motions for my hand. I pull it back, terrified.

Taylor groans. "Oh, what now?"

"I-I-I-"

"What's with you and the stuttering? Just say it!"

"I'm scared it'll hurt," I lie. I suck at lying.

Taylor rolls his eyes, and the woman groans. "Come on, you big baby, it doesn't hurt. I just did it."

My stomach drops. I have to do this. "Fine."

My heart races and I give my wrist to the woman. She grabs it, hands ice-cold. I shiver involuntarily. This is it. I'm going to get caught and pulled into the other room and beaten and killed in the middle of town-

The scanner beeps, much higher-pitched than when Taylor was scanned. "Results inconclusive," the woman says. "Additional screening needed."

No. No. No. This is it.

The woman invites me behind the counter. "We need to have some tests in the back," she says, unentertained. I nod, terrified of what will happen next.