Vicarious Read Free

his hearing aid and it makes a sharp whistling sound. My eyes flick to his disfigured ear, to the jagged scar running from his left temple to his jawline. He’s never told me about his injury and I’ve never asked. I heard Gideon telling someone once that it happened in the army.
    â€œI almost never see you with your hair down.” Jesse reaches out to pet my dark hair, his knuckles accidentally grazing my skin.
    I slide away from his touch. In one smooth motion, I take the elastic band from my wrist and pull my hair through it. I double the band and tug until I have a short but secure ponytail. Jesse’s lips curl upward and something stirs inside me. I find it disconcerting, the juxtaposition of his war wounds with a smile that projects so much warmth.
    I am not warm. That is one of the reasons I chose the name Winter.
    â€œJust a minute.” Dropping to the floor, I quickly do twenty push-ups and then spring back to my feet. Exercise helps turn off all the extraneous thoughts in my brain.
    Jesse lifts his legs behind him, one at a time, in a halfhearted stretch of his quadriceps. “You ready for this?”
    â€œYes.” I peek out into the hallway to make sure it’s empty. Gideon, Rose, and I are the only people who live on this floor, but college students occasionally come up here to try to get on the roof through the utility room window.
    We walk down the carpeted hallway, past the elevator to the stairwell. The penthouse takes up the entire top floor of a fifteen-story building, but I always use the steps. I have a bit of an elevator phobia. They feel like tiny moving cages to me.
    â€œDo anything fun lately?” Jesse asks as we start to descend the stairs.
    I shrug. “Nothing special.” The last few days are a blur of sameness. Wake up. Work out with Gideon. Eat. Study. Lift weights. Study some more. Gideon has been homeschooling me with online lessons since shortly after we moved here. I was agoraphobic at first, and both he and Dr. Abrams decided that placing me in public school would be detrimental to my adjustment process. Sometimes I think regular school would be fun, but I still get nervous in crowds. Navigating the packed hallways and common areas would be a struggle.
    A heavy metal door opens out into the lobby of our building. Persian rugs lie over smooth marble tiles, and crystal chandeliers hang from the painted ceiling. A long wooden bar runs the length of the room, empty except for a pair of businessmen sipping from wineglasses. At the far side of the lobby, a half set of stairs leads to Escape, Gideon’s gaming club. Escape boasts three big-screen virtual reality gaming setups, computers for online play, and private rooms for other activities.
    Jesse and I head for the exit. We pass two more men in suits at the revolving door that leads out onto the street. At first glance they look like lawyers or bankers, but they’re too young and their necks are too broad. Their haircuts aren’t quite slick enough. Athletes.
    One of them makes eye contact and nods. He’s got the look of a farm boy—muscular build, tanned skin, clear blue eyes. Wholesome. I don’t really follow sports, but I recognize him from clips on the news. His name is Andy something and he almost led the state university to the college football national championship, but then he fell apart in the fourth quarter and we lost. Tough break.
    I nod back. I like people who aren’t perfect.
    â€œHey,” he says, his voice husky and low. His eyes cling to my form a second too long, as if we know each other, but I’d remember if I’d met him before.
    A third man behind him nudges both of the players forward. He stares at me with dark, unfriendly eyes as the three of them pass by. He’s also lined with muscle but too old to be an athlete. Probably a coach trying to keep his players from doing something stupid and making the late-night news.
    â€œFriends of