My mom nodded.
"Well," I said, "at least he showed people they could fight back."
"Did he?" my mom asked. "Or did he simply become another example of the Inquisition's power?"
I looked back up at the video just as the Inquisitor set the torch to the haystack. As the hacker began to burn, his cries mixing with the cheers of the crowd, my mom turned off the video and set the display to a serene mountain scene.
She turned to me and reached for my hand, squeezing. "My Star, one day, when you're older, you'll make a difference. A real difference. But you need to be ready. Hone your skills. And…" she ruffled my hair, "try to avoid stupid mistakes." She stood and walked toward the kitchen and I slumped in the couch, depressed.
All of my practicing was for nothing. I didn't want to end up like that guy in the video. "I guess I'll stop hacking then," I announced to the world in all my despondent pre-teen angst.
My mom turned back, a mischievous grin forming on her face. "I didn't say to stop," she said, winking. "I just said to be careful."
When I finished fixing his site, Jax hugged me, and I melted a little.
"Thanks, Scarlett. Now, how about that dinner? On me." He glanced at the computer. "I owe you."
I linked arms with him, happy to have spent a few hours immersed in something that took my mind off my future. "You do owe me, don't you? Is this going to be a real dinner, or are we dining on airport food again?"
"Real dinner. I've got something I want to tell you. Something important."
He looked at me with such intensity, my stomach knotted. Maybe we were finally leaving the friend zone? Suddenly the test seemed far away as he walked me to my car, and I followed him to the nearby hotspot for dinner.
***
His words took time to sink in. "You're leaving?" I asked, my burger and fries forgotten.
"Looks like it. It's an amazing opportunity, and you and I both know Montana is a dead end for our careers." He looked so earnest with his beautiful half-smile and handsome face. Even in shades of grey he radiated confidence that had been reducing me to jelly since the moment I hit puberty.
"But New York? That's so far away. When do you leave?" I choked back my tears, refusing to cry in front of my best friend. But this whole thing felt surreal, and my heart was breaking as surely as if he were ending our friendship.
"In a week. Classes start on the first."
I gulped. "That soon?" I wanted to grip his hand, to feel the physical presence of him, to assure myself that he was still here, still a part of my life, but I kept my hands in my lap instead.
He reached into the inside pocket of his leather bomber jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to me. The messy loops of his familiar handwriting filled the page.
"It's my new address." He tapped his e-Glass. "And with this we can talk anytime, day or night. See each other every day. We'll keep in touch. I promise."
I forced a smile and kicked myself for being so selfish that I'd make him feel bad for his dream coming true. Some friend I am. "I'm so happy for you, Jax. This is wonderful. You're going to be the best pilot in the program!" And I meant it, even if a small corner of my heart withered in my chest. I meant it.
"You'll be joining me soon," he said. "As soon as you pass your test and get approval, I'll make sure they have a place for you there."
I excused myself to use the bathroom, and only then did I let the tears fall. It was silly, stupid and entirely juvenile, but I missed childhood. I missed, for just a moment, the simplicity of not having to wrestle with this kind of loss, these kinds of pressures. As a child I could imagine anything was possible. Now, barely eighteen, I knew some dreams weren't meant to be, and never would.
I washed and dried my face, and studied my appearance in the mirror. I couldn't tell if my eyes looked red from crying ("Your eyes look red—with some swelling," Evie helpfully informed me.)
"Thanks, Evie." I reapplied my mascara, careful lest I make myself into a clown without realizing it. I knew from the comments of others that my silver eyes were startling and my pale blonde hair coveted by those who grew theirs from a bottle. I'd always assumed my strange eyes were a result of my genetic color-blindness, but there's no real proof that's true. Regardless, it always struck me as odd that others could see me in a way I could not see myself.
Finishing up a light coat of pink lipstick, I shoved it into my purse and plastered a smile onto my face. I would not ruin Jax's good news with my own maudlin desires and disappointments.
I returned to the table and, with my appetite gone, fiddled with my uneaten food.
"No hurry," Jax said. "The server had to leave for her break, so I settled the bill, but we can hang out and talk."
I didn't know what we could talk about. Yes, we could 'see' each other daily, but that wasn't the same as hanging out all night watching movies and eating popcorn and chocolate chip cookies until we were sick to our stomachs. That wouldn't replace time spent in the sky together, sharing our passion of flight. That would never be enough for what I'd hoped would one day grow between us.
I tried to smile at him as I stood and grabbed my purse. "I should get home. It's getting late."
He stood and put his arm around me. "Cheer up, Scarlett. You're still my best friend in the world. Nothing will ever change that." Something in his eyes shifted as he looked down at me. "Please remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what life brings us, you have always meant more to me than you'll ever know."