Page 31 of The Last Love Story

“So they deserve to die?” I whisper.

Hux considers this for a moment, gaze darting between my eyes. “If they don’t, others will.”

I shake my head. “That’s not how it works—not how democracy works. We all have power. No one has to die, if we get people to vote—”

“You think President Graves will listen to a vote?”

Stop talking, I think, but I can’t. My mouth is moving two beats before my reasoning. “Of course,” I whisper, to hide how my voice is trembling. “He isn’t a monster. He’s just a person. A father. A neighbor.” A soft smile, big hands opening a packet of chalk. A warm voice asking if I likedcheese pizza or pepperoni. The memories flash behind my eyes, unbidden. I hate that it makes me want to cry. “You don’t know him.”

Hux makes a face. “And you do?”

“Yes,” I say, hating that there are tears in my eyes now. “I did. He was my neighbor, Hux. And he... he’ll do the right thing. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Hux freezes. When he does move, it’s a sharp tilt of his head. “What did you say?”

A tear escapes, and I brush it back roughly with the back of my hand.

“I grew up next to the Graves family. Before we moved here, before my parents were... lost their jobs. Our families were friends. My parents were close with Graves. And I was close with...” I can’t say his name. “The family,” I finish pathetically. “I mean, I didn’t keep in touch, when I moved here. I wanted to write letters, but instead I wrote...”

I trail off, biting my lip. There’s absolutely no way I’m telling Hux aboutWritten in the Stars.How much I missed the boy I loved, how I wrote down our best memories from Before in the strange new After, because it felt like the only way of holding on to him after he was gone.

Hux goes quiet, blinking several times as he looks to the side. It’s like he’s trying to piece something together, but I don’t know what.

“He was your neighbor?” Hux repeats, his voice empty. “Just like I am now?”

“It’s not the same,” I say, my voice bitter. “Not at all. So no, Huxley Finn. I don’t think killing people is the answer. Because they’re human. And no one is past saving. Past reason. In eight months, when people go to vote, we will get our new beginning.”

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. For a long moment, those green eyes search my face, and then his lips set in a thin line, and he beelines for the door and disappears, leaving me standing alone.

I hold myself against the supply shelves, not daring to move until I’ve dried every tear.

Chapter 8

When I get home, I rush to my bedroom for the last pamphlet. Maybe Hux is a lost cause, but talking about President Graves reminds me that my parents used to care, Before. After a couple hours of sleep, when I head to Lyceum headquarters, I leave the pamphlet on the kitchen table.

Energy thrums in my veins, because it all feels real now.Thisis how we make a difference. Hux is wrong. People matter, words matter, the vote is going to matter. We just have to remind people—people like my parents—of that.

I find a corner of the prep room and write quietly, letting the hours slip by in a peaceful blur. Someone has left an outline, and the text of the pamphlet flows out of me. I can’t stop writing.

I only look up as Nef and Uri come in, followed by two other members whose names I don’t know. One is a tall, gangly girl with long dark hair, and the other is a blond girl with wide blue eyes that are so light they’re almost white.Uri introduces them as Meg and Candice. Nef sits next to me and waggles her eyebrows.

“So? Hux. What did he want? Besides you, of course,” she whispers.

Uri’s brow furrows as he clocks Hux’s name on his sister’s lips, but he doesn’t look up or ask questions. For a moment, I consider telling the truth—telling Nef who Huxley really is. It could be something Lyceum could use. Maybe we can write about it and expose their location.

But Hux would be arrested. And he wouldn’t be shipped off—he’d be killed. While it’s important to stop the Machs, that cost is just too high. That’s what makes us different. We don’t trade lives.

“He just wanted to make sure I was okay,” I lie.

Nef thinks, then wrinkles her nose. “Boring,” she intones, reaching for a pen.

“I’ve been drafting a new pamphlet,” I say, to change the topic. “It’s a great idea, to get people excited about a new candidate. I think if we start with the positives...”

Suddenly I’m aware of the silence, that everyone in this room is listening to our conversation.

I bite my lip and bend back to my writing. Candice stalks over and borrows my first page; she and Meg confer for a moment, voices low, but before I can ask if there’s a problem with my draft, they all set to copying and printing, and I join, until the basket of new pamphlets is full. Uri volunteers to take the basket to the loading dock and Nef joins him.

That leaves me alone with Meg and Candice. Which isn’t weird until I look up from writing and see them both staring at me with unreadable expressions.