Push Read Free Page A

that?” she asks.
    “The music? Dubstep.”
    Carly nods. “I’ve heard dubstep before, but this is darker, sort of experimental.”
    “These tracks are old,” Luka says. “Maybe from the nineties? Jackson turned me on to them.”
    “I like.” She taps my shoulder next. “You look better. You have some color back.”
    “I’m better.” So much better. Because Jackson’s alive.
    He might not have made it back from the mission, but he’s alive somewhere. The question is: Where?
    Then I remember the cave, the gurneys, the clones lined up like cuts of meat in a butcher’s case. I gasp as my little euphoric bubble of hope bursts: What if the Drau have him? What if they’re going to use him as an original donor, create an army of clones from his DNA? I think of the girl in the cold room, her brain removed, the shell of her body kept alive by machines.
    My fingers clench, digging into my thighs.
    Luka cuts me a sharp look. I turn my face back to the side window, not wanting him or Carly to catch the resurgence of my panic.
    Jackson isn’t going to die like that.
    I’m going to find him. I’m going to bring him back. I’ve lost so many people I care about. I won’t lose Jackson, too.
    This time, I will get a say in how things pan out. This time, the ending of the story won’t shatter me. I won’t let it.
    A few minutes later, Luka pulls up in front of Carly’s house. I climb out, pull the seat forward, and hold it as she untangles herself from the backseat. She stares at my face for a few seconds.
    “You wanna come do the Friday night dinner thing?” she asks, not even trying to disguise the plea in her tone. Her mom has this thing about the whole family being together for dinner on Friday nights. She doesn’t mind if they have friends over or head out after. But she’s non-negotiable on anyone skipping out on it.
    Doing the Friday night dinner thing with Carly’s family would go a long way toward closing the distance that’s been growing between us for weeks, a crack that’s becoming a chasm. I hate to disappoint her, but every minute that ticks past could be putting Jackson’s life at risk. Getting Luka alone to brainstorm a plan has to be my priority right now, and Carly’s just handed me a golden opportunity.
    “Maybe tonight’s not the best,” I say. “I’m not sure I can handle the crowd.” Truth. I may be ditching her, but at least I’m not lying. I try to ignore the feeling that I’m letting her down.
    Carly skews her lips to the side but doesn’t argue. She looks disappointed but not pissed. My explanation’s plausible. I never want much company on the tail of a full-blown panic attack. Mostly, I just want my bedroom and my music.
    Then she glances at Luka and I have the crazy idea she’s going to ask him to dinner. With her parents. And her brothers. Is she kidding? A boy who isn’t related to her at family dinner night? They’ll chew him up and spit him out. I guess she has the same thought because the invitation never materializes.
    “You sure, Miki? I know Mom would love to see you.” That’s as close to begging as she’ll get.
    I almost cave. Then I think of Jackson, trapped somewhere in the game, and I say, “Sorry. Call me after, ’kay? Maybe you’ll come over?”
    She brightens a little. “’Kay.” Then she gives me a quick, one-armed hug. As she does, I catch sight of my backpack, rammed into the corner of the seat. I freeze.
    Jackson’s backpack. It’s in the trunk. I have a place to start, the seeds of a plan.
    As Carly heads for her front door, I expect Luka to start talking. When he doesn’t, I ask, “Do you know where he is?”
    “No.” He looks at me, then back at the road, his knuckles white where he grips the wheel.
    Disappointment and worry sit in my chest like an unchewed chunk of cold, greasy pizza.
    “But he’s alive, Miki. I know that much.”
    “Alive for how much longer? I keep thinking they have him. That they’re going to use him to