Natural Selection Read Free Page A

parents. I don’t think I knew that before. I wonder how she feels about coming from such a traditional arrangement. Maybe they imported additional genes from other relatives. I’m not supposed to ask about that, though. It’s not considered polite to ask about an Imrian’s parentage; you have to wait for them to volunteer it.
    Even though I know the girl standing by the archway is Nasha, I barely recognize her. She’s dressed in the same clothing as I am: outdoor gear that will keep us warm as the temperature drops. She has on black trousers with reflective seams tucked into hard-soled boots meant for the rocky terrain, and a long-sleeved black top with a hood to block the wind. Like me, Nasha has a small pack slung over her shoulder. It probably contains the same things mine does: our traditional
kibila
garments, which we’ll put on at the temple. Water and emergency rations, which we probably won’t use. A blanket, in case it gets really cold.
    “
Silim
,” Nasha says.
Hello.
We’re not supposed to use our names, because tonight we are nameless.
    “
Silim
,” I respond.
    Nasha has cut off almost all her hair; what’s remaining is cropped close to her head. She’s not wearing any makeup either, and for the first time I realize she has light brown skin like Aba’s. Apparently her parents are traditional in more ways than one; they gave her the ancestral pigmentation.
    Our parents come forward to greet each other and talk about local events while we wait for the sun to finish setting. They know each other, after all. Isi Na is a small community. When it’s dark, our parents give us the
kibila
farewell. They bow, making sure not to touch us, and say in unison, “May you have fair weather and calm spirits.”
    Nasha and I bow back. My pack bangs against my hip. Then we both turn away from our parents and move toward the trail. We’re not supposed to look back, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes peering forward into the night.

6
Earth
    I was almost asleep when someone unzipped the front flap to my tent and crawled in, whispering, “Shh, shh, it’s me.”
    Morgan. As she slid inside, forcing me to make room for her—it was supposed to be a single tent—her body quivered with barely suppressed energy. I woke up completely.
    “He kissed me, he kissed me,” she said in my ear. Her breath was hot, tickling my skin. I tried to pull away from her, but there wasn’t any room. I shut my mind to her so that I didn’t relive, through her memory, the whole experience. I didn’t want to know what it was like to kiss Zach Montgomery. I really did not.
    “Is he a good kisser?” I whispered, because I knew that’s what she wanted me to ask.
    “Oh my God, he’s amazing,” she whispered.
    I wondered how she knew, since she hadn’t done a lot of kissing yet. Neither of us had. I went out with one of Zach’s friends, Joshua Taylor, last fall—if going out could mean being dropped off at the mall a couple of times. He had kissed me awkwardly in a dark movie theater, and I remembered feeling kind of sick about the whole thing. His breath reeked of mint gum and his hands had pawed nervously at my knee as he leaned toward me. I pulled away before he got too far. I had only gone to the movie with him because Morgan thought it would make Zach hang out with us more. Unfortunately I couldn’t stomach going out with Josh again, and that had resulted in Zach avoiding us completely.
    I turned onto my side in the tent so that I could face Morgan, but it was so dark I could barely see anything, only the shadow of her head against the barely lighter tent wall. “So are you going out now?” I asked, because Morgan wanted desperately to talk about it, and even though it felt like stabbing myself in the gut, I wanted to make her happy.
    “I don’t know,” she admitted. “He wouldn’t say.”
    “Do you
want
to go out with him?” I heard the impatience in my voice and wished I had hidden it.
    “Maybe,” she said,