Community, page 31
Lucas nodded. “I’m in.”
Zaiden did not ask her to join the council. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten about her entirely. Her cheeks felt warm.
“We should head to the studio if we’re going to make it on time,” Noa said.
“We should,” Zaiden said. “But there are about a hundred Harmonizers out looking for the three of you.”
Lucas nodded. “You’re right. It’s probably best if we hang back, find somewhere to hide.”
Seren shook her head. “I want to go with you.”
Zaiden gave her a barely-there smile and nodded. “Okay.”
“We can hang back,” Lucas said, grabbing Noa’s hand. “Noa should rest, anyway.”
“I’m fine,” Noa said. “I’m not the one who got shot.”
They all looked at Seren, and she blinked.
“Oh, right!” Seren glanced at her shoulder. How had she forgotten? The bleeding seemed to have slowed. She felt a deep throbbing coming on as the adrenaline subsided, but otherwise, she was fine. “We can worry about that later.”
“You two should get going,” Lucas said, checking his watch one final time.
“Be safe,” Zaiden said.
Lucas nodded. “You too.”
54
ZAIDEN
Zaiden must have been walking. He could feel himself moving, but his mind was elsewhere. The image of his father’s burning body was etched into his memory. Like a tape on loop, the scene played over and over in his head. His father … the gun … Alaster sneaking up behind him … the fire … the screams. Every time he blinked, the image of his father’s blackening body returned.
Seren kept her hand tightly clasped in his on the walk, steadying him. They didn’t speak to each other, and he was grateful. Zaiden didn’t have anything to say.
Somehow, he and Seren made it to the studio without her being recognized. He supposed that was the nature of people, though: to be distracted.
He certainly was.
Zaiden stared at the studio door for a moment. He’d been here just twelve hours prior, with his father. In just twelve hours, his life had turned completely on its head. How was it possible for so much to happen in so little time?
“Are you okay?” Seren asked gently.
“No,” Zaiden said. “But I will be.”
She squeezed his hand. The gesture gave Zaiden the courage he needed to go in. With a deep breath, he opened the studio door. Silently, Seren let go of his hand and indicated that she was going to stand in the back. She gave him a final squeeze, and then she disappeared in the darkness.
Zaiden turned his attention to Marcie, who stood in front of her anchor news desk. She was deep in conversation with one of her cameramen—the one with the hairy wrists.
Zaiden froze. Could he really do this?
You have to do this, he thought.
“Marcie,” he croaked.
Her eyes snapped up, and Zaiden forced a diplomatic smile onto his face. She ran to him and engulfed him in a hug that squeezed the air from his lungs.
“Zaiden! Oh, thank Warren. You look terrible. Where’s your father?” Her rushed words mashed together. She paused and looked him over once, her face contorting in mild disgust.
Zaiden knew he looked like a mess. His hair stood on end, his nose was bloodied, and his clothes were covered in soot. He would need some serious cleaning up in the next fifteen minutes if he planned to go on camera.
“My father isn’t coming,” Zaiden said. His voice cracked on the words, but he cleared his throat to hide it. He pushed past her and took the seat at the anchor table. Marcie followed close behind, her heels clicking obnoxiously on the hardwood floor.
“What do you mean, he’s not coming? We had a plan. He has to—” Her nose crinkled as she neared Zaiden. “What’s that smell?”
My father’s burning flesh.
“I mean, he isn’t coming,” Zaiden said firmly. “I will be speaking in his place.”
“So, the executions—”
“Are off.”
“I don’t understand. I thought your father said—”
“My father is dead,” Zaiden snapped.
Marcie recoiled.
“What?” She choked the word out, disbelief distorting her beautiful features. Marcie placed a hand on the table to steady herself. “I … I don’t understand,” she stammered. “We were… He was—”
“Pull yourself together,” Zaiden snapped. He flinched at the harshness of his own voice.
Zaiden remembered that when his mother passed, someone—Sawyer, maybe—had told him about the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Looking at Marcie, he was certain he’d entered the anger stage. He tried to steady himself.
It isn’t her fault.
Zaiden knew he was being insensitive. Marcie and his father had been close. The two of them had spent many evenings together, talking business—and likely engaging in romantic behavior, too. In any case, she was clearly upset.
“I’m sorry,” he said, touching her shoulder gently.
She shook with sobs beneath his touch. Uncomfortable, he removed his hand.
Even in the dark studio, he could feel the curious gazes on him. Zaiden tried to ignore them. They’d hear the story soon enough—or at least, the story Zaiden planned to tell.
He took a deep breath and composed himself.
“Can I get some makeup over here?” Zaiden called into the darkness.
A team of makeup artists rushed to Zaiden and began to fix him up, wiping the blood from his skin and covering the bruises. They had questions in their eyes, but none dared to ask them. Zaiden stopped them after just a few minutes of work. There wasn’t enough time for perfection.
“How many minutes until we’re on air?” Zaiden called to the hairy-wristed cameraman.
The guy checked his watch. “About five,” he said gruffly.
“Great.” Zaiden swiveled to Marcie. She was still staring out into the distance in a state of shock. He touched her gently again. “Marcie?”
Marcie looked up, surprised that she was being spoken to.
“I’m going to announce my father’s death. You will sit beside me. None of your usual pep lines or evening announcements. I will also denounce my father’s response to the rebellions and call off the executions. I want no comments from you. Understood?” She nodded, wordless. “Yes, like that.”
He caught Seren looking at him. Their eyes met, and she gave him a reassuring nod. Zaiden gave her a small smile in return.
Following Zaiden’s gaze, Marcie spotted Seren.
“Intruder!” she shouted, pointing at Seren. “Rebel!”
Seren’s eyes widened.
Zaiden held his hand up before anyone could overreact.
“Don’t. She’s with me,” he said.
To his surprise, that was all he had to say. Everyone returned to their post, leaving Marcie baffled.
“But, but … but she’s a rebel. She’s a murderer! She—”
Zaiden rubbed his eyes. “For once in your life, Marcie, please just shut up.”
Marcie’s mouth dropped open.
“Two minutes,” the cameraman said.
Seren, now presumably safe from harm, stepped out of the shadows and moved closer—close enough that she was just out of the camera’s shot. “You look great,” she said to him.
Zaiden looked down at himself and his singed clothing. His father would have never been caught dead looking like this on the Evening Broadcast.
“Really?” he asked.
“Really. Like a true leader.”
The cameraman gave a signal that they had one minute until they were on the air, and Zaiden’s nerves intensified. Twenty thousand people would be watching. Twenty thousand people—and he had no idea what he was going to say, unsure whether he’d be emotionless and empty, or if he’d fall apart and cry.
“Are you ready?” Seren asked.
Zaiden took a deep, ragged breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The cameraman held up three fingers … two … one…
The clock struck 7:30 p.m.
The camera flickered on.
The Evening Broadcast began.
55
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is harder than I thought and more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. None of this would have been possible without my mother, Ginny, who read this book more times than I did, and supported me every step along the way.
I’m eternally grateful to the Wolfe family for giving me the creative space to start this novel during a wildly uncertain time in all our lives.
To Robin Fuller, who spent hours helping me edit these pages – thank you. To Julia Bender, for making Seren come to life on the cover– you are my hero.
To Aaron Rizzo, Zoe Waltman, and Nectarios Papadopoulos – for encouraging me to write the damn book over drinks in my parent’s kitchen. Thank you.
A very special thanks to Kali Greenwood, for being my first and most enthusiastic reader.
To all my friends who have supported me in getting there by reading early drafts: Chris Hellmer, Erin Breen, Chris Davis, Joanne Meredith, and Becky Holmes-Farley. You guys rock.
Finally, to those who took a chance on an unknown author and made it this far in your reading journey: thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoyed the journey, and I cannot wait to share the next one with you.
Nicole Meredith is a Denver based writer, hiker, and coffee enthusiast. Nicole was born in Rochester, NY and graduated from Villanova University with degrees in Analytics, Finance, and Peace & Justice. Her work has appeared on theBolde.com, a website for women dating in their 20s, as well as various travel websites. Nicole's passion for storytelling began at six, when she used to write plays and force her sister to perform in them. She has since learned that book writing is a better way to preserve friendships. This is her first novel.
Nicole Meredith, Community
