the more that you say, the less i know

part ii: every bait-and-switch was a work of art

"So," David says, "I'm surprised your Special friends haven't found us yet."

They spread their hoverboards open to soak up power from the early morning sun. They can rest for a few hours — David is hungry and he's starting to feel the effects of the inland heat on him, although Shay hasn't complained.

She's been remarkably docile, actually, ever since David told her that he was taking her to the New Smoke. Not happy, of course — there's a scowl permanently plastered on her face and she mutters the word "Random" loud enough for him to hear every time he has to stop and rest — but she hasn't tried to steal his board and run away, so…that's progress, David figures.

Shay tosses her head back and smiles at him with too many teeth. "Is this your way of asking where Tally is, David-la?"

He flushes. There's something about the way Shay is smirking at him that makes him feel foolish for still thinking about Tally, for still hoping they might find each other again — like he's a city bubblehead believing in wallscreen dramas and pretty love songs.

Frankly, over the course of the past couple of days, David has wished he could hate Shay. Sometimes she lapses into silence that seems almost thoughtful, and he thinks he might be getting through to her — then she snaps at him with some sarcastic remark, belittling him, the other Smokies, his parents' work. He keeps reminding himself to be patient with her, that she's not herself — it's easier when she says something blatantly untrue, repeats city propaganda that he can simply ignore.

But every now and then, it's as though she's seeing through him, like she knows what he's thinking.

"I'm just saying," he says, pulling out a packet of SpagBol, "I thought Special Circumstances would be all over, looking for one of their own."

Shay slams her board against the rock she's unfolding it on. "Maybe they're busy trying to stop the damage you're causing with all those pills."

"Even Tally?"

Shay snorts, and the swirls in the snake above her eye start spinning faster. "Tally-wa is the same as she ever is. Busy with her boy."

David wills himself not to feel anything at the thought of Tally and Zane. "Is Zane…okay?"

Shay bites her lip, her sharp teeth drawing blood instantly. David at least is used to the sight of blood; he doesn't look away even as she digs her teeth further into her flesh. "He's still walking and talking, if that's what you mean. No thanks to any of you."

"You know the cure would've worked if they had taken it correctly," David says evenly.

"And yet, they didn't," Shay says. "Did you really think two bubbleheads were going to follow directions? Did you even tell them the pills had to be taken together? And now he's a mess."

David ignores her accusations, because admitting that she has a point won't do any good. "You said he was walking and talking."

Shay spits blood onto the ground. "It doesn't matter. He's so…"

"Ugly?" David suggests, his voice dry.

"You wish, David-la," she says, and he feels his face heat up again. "He's weak. All shaky and pathetic. He can barely do bubblehead crap — I saw him throw up after drinking half a glass of champagne. And Tally thinks he can be one of us?" She turns away. "He's never even cut himself."

Cut himself? David blinks, refocusing on the mass of scars on Shay's arms. Of course there are too many to be an accident, and no pretty or ugly could cut a Special that deeply — but then that means that Shay —

He can't even imagine it. Where he comes from, pain is a signal, a warning from your body that you should listen to, because it means things are not good. David doesn't seek it out, as a general rule.

For a moment, he thinks maybe it's just another city thing he doesn't understand — it would be just like a bubblehead to go seeking danger because they think pain is some kind of exciting, novel experience. But he's met dozens of pretties over the past few months, and none of them have done this to themselves.

David watches Shay from the corner of his eye as she unpacks, her sleeping bag rustling loudly as she yanks it out, anger radiating off her every movement. The strange, thoughtful stillness she had the other night is gone, and David has no idea how to get it back.

"So what is it, an initiation?" David asks, motioning at her arms. "Do you make everyone who joins the Cutters…do that?"

"Nobody joins the Cutters. We were a clique before Dr. Cable even knew our names." She smirks at him. "Nobody else would ever get it."

"I guess I don't," David says, forcing himself to remain calm. "Why do you do it?"

"The city cut us up," Shay says flatly. "So we cut back. Which part is too hard for you to understand, David-la?"

All of it, he wants to say, but he doubts that will make her more forthcoming with her answers. Besides — the worst part is — it does make sense to him, in a twisted way. But then, if she's so angry — if she wants revenge for what the city's done to her —

"Why do you work for Dr. Cable, then? She was the one who caught you, Shay. We wanted to save you before they turned you into a pretty. We traveled for days, non-stop, from the Smoke…" He spreads his hands. "We wanted to make things right. Tally wanted to fix what she did."

Shay whips around, her eyes flaring. "Well, she did such a great job. Betraying me at the Smoke, leaving me in the city when we were bubbleheads — you two really are made for each other, you know that? Your egos could power a hundred cities together."

He sighs. "Are you ever going to forgive us, Shay? We tried. I swear we tried. And you know I — " He swallows, feeling selfish for even having the thought. "I never meant to hurt you. Maybe I should've told you about me and Tally first, but — "

"Stop it," Shay snaps. "Just stop talking to me. You keep saying this crap, and you know what? Maybe none of it matters. Maybe it's too late and I just don't care what you have to say anymore."

Irritation rises in him. "Have you considered for a secondthat this isn't all our fault? The Smoke was doing fine until you told Tally where it was! You gave her those directions. The Specials never would've asked her to spy for them if you hadn't given her that note in the first place! Do you ever think of that?"

Shay's laugh is sharp and bitter. "Does that help you sleep at night, David-la? Blaming me? Telling yourself that Tally would've never betrayed you if it weren't for me?"

David hates that he flinches, but at least Shay doesn't seem to notice, because she is still talking, the words tumbling out of her fast and angry.

"The Specials have always known about the Smoke. Every sad, cowardly little ugly that stays behind when their friends run away gets rounded up and interrogated. They wouldn't let Ho turn pretty, when he came back, you know that? Not until he told them everything he knew. You think you could just run around, stealing uglies away from their cities, and nobody ever noticed?"

"You don't understand," he says, his voice shaking. He doesn't even know how to answer her, but it doesn't matter, because he suddenly doesn't care. He doesn't want to change her mind, all he wants is to finally say everything that's been building up inside him for the past year, shoot the words at her like arrows. "You've never understood. You're still just a city kid — you can surge all you want, Shay, but you still don't know anything about what the Smoke means, what these cities are actually like — "

"I don't understand? Take a look in the mirror, David-la. Or maybe don't," she adds mockingly. "You have no idea what it's like. You've never woken up on an operating table with a whole new face. Nobody's ever messed with yourbrain. Maybe you're the one who doesn't know anything about the real world."

"And you do? Do you even realize that Dr. Cable is just using you? What happens if you really get rid of the Smoke, Shay? Is she going to send you after someone else? Do you get a choice?"

This time, Shay is the one who flinches, like he's struck her. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

For a moment, he thinks maybe he's gotten through to her, but then her face twists. "I hate you," she spits. "And since you asked — no. I'm never going to forgive you, David-la."

They fly in silence for a long time after that. The sun rises harsh and hot, and David wordlessly heads inland, towards the ruins where they'll shelter for the rest of the daylight. Shay's board has been paired to his to stop her from escaping, forcing her to follow him as he takes them further east, away from the coast.

David has to give the Rusties this: their cities were built to last, their paved roads and steel building frames still intact after all these centuries. Nature has tried to take the land back, but all it can do is grow over and around the metal and concrete.

These new cities are not nearly so permanent; all it would take is a simple glitch, a flaw in their systems, and their foundations built on smart matter and nanos would collapse. Not even collapse — they would simply flicker out of existence, as though they were never there.

These ruins are small, nothing like the impossibly tall towers of Tally and Shay's city. They're overgrown with vines and sheltered by trees that have bent over the low roofs. David turns his hoverboard through the empty eye of a windowframe, landing in a small room.

"We'll stay here for the day," David says, the first words that he's said to Shay in hours. She just grunts in response.

David walks across the wooden floor, idly kicking debris out of his way. Try to reach her, Mom had said. David grimaces. Clearly, he's doing a fantastic job. Why had he let her get under his skin like that? He's always prided himself on never losing control with city kids — he's scolded them more times than he can count, has raised his voice a few times — but never like that, barely conscious of what he was saying, the words spilling out from some dark place inside him.

He hadn't even known that he'd felt all those things. He'd thought he'd made his peace with what happened to Tally.

And to Shay. Shay had been there, too.

Does she really hate him? It wasn't as though David had hurt her on purpose — they hadn't ever promised each other anything, either, had only argued and kissed and argued again. And then there was Tally, and then everything had just fallen apart, the city had taken her away…

They cut us up, so we cut back. Maybe she does hate him, but she hates the city just as much. How can she think the Smoke is her enemy, when Dr. Cable has done that to her? She hadn't answered him, when he asked what comes next. She'll never be able to take down the Smoke anyway; Diego and the New System are too big to be she turn on Dr. Cable then? Would she and her rogue group of Specials disappear into the wild, attacking anyone who gets too close to them? Would they just…never stop, attacking the New Smoke over and over, trying to chip away at it? Does Shay even know? How can he get through to her when her only constant seems to be her anger — at him, at Tally…

It happens all at once. He takes another step forward, through a pile of crumbling, matted leaves that is as thick as carpet — but unlike a carpet, there's nothing underneath. He barely has a moment to see the hole in the floor surrounding his ankle before his balance tips. One moment he is on assuringly solid ground and the next there is nothing underneath him, nothing to grab onto.

He has only just registered that he's falling when his left side suddenly splits with pain, an explosion in his shoulder that makes him see stars. It fades as quickly as it's struck, but in its wake it leaves a horrible burning, his shoulder screaming in pain. It feels as though his bones are grinding against each other like two stones trying to spark a fire.

The fuzzy static in his vision clears and he realizes that he's not falling anymore: he is in fact very still, clutched in the grip of something strong. Slowly, he looks up, and sees Shay looking back at him through the hole in the floor.

She's holding his forearm with both hands, her eyes wide and almost frightened. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," he says. "Can you grab my other hand?"

He swings his arm to reach her, wincing when the movement jostles his left shoulder, and Shay grabs his hand, pulling him back onto the floor.

"That was stupid," she says, some of the Special haughtiness returning to her expression. David scowls at her.

"I know," he mutters. "I was just — distracted."

"You, not focused?" Shay presses a hand to her cheek in fake shock. "What are you, one of us city kids? And you hurt yourself," she adds. "Like a littlie falling off a hoverboard."

"It's just dislocated," he says through gritted teeth. He's never dislocated his shoulder before, but he had to pop his kneecap back into place once, after taking a particularly bad fall down a hillside. The joint still twinges when it rains. "I can fix it myself."

"Don't be an idiot," Shay says. "You'll make it even worse."

Her hand is surprisingly gentle, wrapped around his arm, and David lets her push him to the floor, her other hand warm on his chest. She slowly stretches his arm out, pulling and rotating it, until David hears a faint pop, the painful tension in his shoulder dissipating.

Shay doesn't let go right away, her fingers pressing into his shoulder and upper arm, working away the stiffness and the lingering pain. David stares at the canopy of trees through a hole in the ceiling, trying to fight the lassitude that's stealing over him.

They're not friends, he tries to remind himself. As soon as they get to Diego, she's going to try to betray him — how, exactly, he doesn't know, just that…she will. She hasn't hurt him so far, but — he can't trust her. Even though they were friends once, even though they were almost more…

He's finding it very difficult to remember why he can't trust Shay, in this moment. So what if she just saved his life? So what if she hasn't betrayed him yet? She's just…she's not…

She's not Tally. He has been trying so hard not to think the words, doesn't want to admit that this is what it comes down to. But they slip through anyway, the way that they always do whenever he tries to look at other girls at the Smoke. Tally is different, Tally isn't like the other city kids. David isn't really sure how, only that — she just is, she understands things that nobody else does.

And yet, looking at Shay, her sleeves rolled up to expose her scars, David thinks maybe there are some things she understands all too well.

You've never woken up on an operating table with a whole new face. Nobody's ever messed with your brain.

Shay is pulling off his jacket now, pushing his shirt aside and spraying his shoulder with medspray. The cool mist switches off his nerves, numbing the last of the pain. Dimly, some part of him misses the warmth of her hands.

She's not Tally, he tells himself again.

"Thanks," David says. "For catching me. You know, even though you hate me."

Shay just scowls, like his gratitude annoys her more than anything else. "I don't want you dead, David-la. We don't kill people."

David can't help it. He barks out a short, dry laugh. "Right. Special Circumstances really cares about saving lives. That's why my father is dead."

Shay goes still next to him. "That was when I was a bubblehead." She looks at him, her dark eyes unreadable. "I wouldn't have done that. Your father…wasn't a bad person."

That gives David pause. "You knew my dad?"

He tries to recall if his dad had ever met Shay. David never introduced them, obviously, and his parents had their own friends, mostly among the middle-aged Smokies who had been the first runaways. Sometimes they met with the younger runaways and showed them the ropes — only ever introducing themselves as older Smokies, not giving away their role as the founders — but they preferred to do it without David around. And Shay had stuck to him like nanoglue, in those days — catching up to him when they were working, slipping in her hand in his, blisters against his calluses.

"After the operation," Shay starts, the words coming out slowly as though she's still gathering the memory. "Dr. Cable kept asking me to talk to your parents. She wanted to know where they'd hidden the data they'd stolen. And where you were. It was so — " She pauses, pressing her lips together. "It was stupid. They were never going to give it up, and Dr. C should've known it." She shrugs. "But your father was still nice to me. All the way until the end."

Something heavy pulls at David's heart, a strange mix of pride and sorrow. He can picture his parents, his dad's face that looked so much like David's own, steadily refusing to back down to the city authorities.

It must mean something, that Shay remembers this, even now. That she still remembers this kindness.

He can picture Shay too, suddenly, prettified and vapid, all her free will sucked away. He had barely thought about her when they'd taken her away from Special Circumstances, but it comes rushing back to him in this moment. Why hadn't he tried harder to help her, to change her mind?

Because she's not Tally. There it is again, and shame curls in his chest. Maybe he hasn't forgiven Shay, either. Maybe he has blamed her, for giving Tally those directions, for being the first push that collapsed the Smoke's foundation. If Shay is the reason that Tally destroyed that locket, if Shay is the reason that David met Tally to begin with, if Shay is the cause of all of this, then he doesn't have to think — doesn't have to admit —

Slowly, he breathes out. "You weren't yourself, Shay."

The corner of her mouth twitches, as though she might smile. "That's what your father said." She shrugs. "Still. I was a total idiot bubblehead, helping her. I —"

She hesitates. Her eyes flick up to him, wide and dark. "I…" she starts again.

David doesn't break away from her gaze. The air feels still and fragile around them, as though they are suddenly somewhere else, in a different place and time, and if either of them moves, the veil around them will be torn. He doesn't know what she's about to say, but he wants to hear it, whatever it is. He wants to hear her out.

Shay looks away. "Never mind."

He doesn't sleep well that night — what Mom calls frayed sleep. As a child, instead of asking if he had nightmares, she and Dad would ask if he had the frays. At some point, it devolved into a joke — Your father looks like he has the frays, doesn't he? Mom would ask, on days when Dad was particularly disheveled.

The phrase used to remind him of home, of his family, but at some point he realized that it was just another city thing — what doctors must have called the condition twenty years ago, when Mom and Dad were last there.

David hasn't slept this badly in a while, not since — since — everything with Tally and the Smoke and his father — and before that, when he was a child, when his parents had first told him why they lived outside of the cities. He'd had nightmares, then, of Special Circumstances breaking down their door, taking his parents away, holding him down with knives in their hands.

These dreams don't feel like nightmares, he's not afraid, only — they're too real, he's racing over the river again and his heart is hammering in his chest, he pushes his board faster and faster but Tally is still gaining on him. Shay's body sags against him as he twists his board around trees, knowing he has to escape, knowing he can't take Shay with him, not knowing how to let go of her.

He wakes up mid-chase, still feeling the weight of her in his arms.

The sun is going down, bathing the empty building in soft pink and purple light. David sits up, bracing himself carefully on his right elbow, and turns to look for Shay.

She is lying down a few yards away from him, her head propped on her bag. Her eyes are closed, her hands folded almost demurely over her stomach. The pose reminds him of photos he saw in the Rusty magazines at the Smoke. He thinks they must have been fashion photos, because they didn't seem to have any purpose other than to show off Rusty women wearing fancy dresses. The pictures were always of a lone woman, lying in a giant bed or a field of flowers, with captions that said things like Sleeping Beauty or Waiting for the Prince.

David shakes his head. Shay is hardly waiting for him to save her, and even if she were, they're the farthest thing from a prince and a princess — him with his handmade clothes and unsurged face, her with her scars and all her anger.

Her eyes fly open and David starts, his heartbeat speeding up for just a moment. Shay turns her head and smirks at him. "Did I scare you?"

"You surprised me," he corrects her, turning over to face her fully. It's true that the first glimpse of her face jolts him with fear, but it fades after a few moments. If he focuses on just her eyes, watching her expressions instead of letting her face overwhelm him — it's not so bad, really. No surge is that shocking once you try to look for the real face underneath it.

Shay returns his gaze, steady and unblinking. Unnerving as it is, at least it's not disgust, the way pretties look at him whenever he brings them the cure. They try to hide it — city kids aren't intentionally cruel, not really — but David never misses the curl of their lips, the way they grimace before taking the pills from his hand.

"Can I ask you a question, Shay?"

She raises her eyebrows. "Do you see me stopping you?"

Well, I haven't asked it yet, he thinks, but manages to hold himself back. "What are you going to do? Once you find Fausto?"

"Do you really think I'm going to tell you?"

"Just curious. Will Dr. Cable be mad at you guys?"

Shay sighs. "Probably. She's such a psycho."

"Croy told me what she did to you," David says softly. "I wish we had gotten to you sooner."

Shay bristles. "It wouldn't have made a difference. Besides, imagine being a random forever." She flashes David a sharp-toothed smile, but when he doesn't react, she flops her head back down, resting it on her arm. "She just…"

Her tattoo starts spinning faster, the copper glow chasing itself around the snake pattern, in a neverending loop. Outside, the wind has picked up, whistling through the empty spaces in the ruins, rustling the tree leaves.

"She thinks she owns us," Shay says, her voice flat. "But she doesn't. Nobody does. I won't let anyone, ever again."

David is silent. Responses half form in his head, the beginnings of sentences like That's not and The Smoke would never, but the rest of words won't come. Why doesn't he ever know what to say to her? He has dozens of speeches memorized about the operation, the pretty regime, the systems of the cities. He's convinced a hundred kids to leave their homes for just the promise of freedom. Suddenly, none of his words seem right.

Once, he could have said anything to her, and she would have believed him. She had wanted him, once. She had wanted him, and he had pushed her away. Now the crumbling floor of the ruins seems like it spans miles, David on one side, Shay on the other.

Finally, he says, "I don't think anyone could ever own you, Shay," and it stings a little, it feels like admitting that she'll never choose to stay.

They are getting close to Diego. David doesn't tell Shay so, but she must know. Their supplies are dwindling; he only took enough to carry them through the journey.

The city is hard to see from the air, sitting in a valley surrounded by mountains. Signs of civilization quietly announce its presence, though, as they get closer: scattered satellites and transmission towers rise from the landscape instead of shrubs and trees; the handscreen in David's pocket buzzes as it begins to pick up a signal from the city grid.

They're a few klicks away when Shay slows down. One of the lights comes on David's board with a little ding, warning him that his board is using its own power source to pull hers along.

He turns to face her and sees her looking distant, her lips moving and her fingers twitching, doing a dance that he doesn't understand.

She catches him watching. "Fausto is here," she says.

David nods. "What did he say?"

"He told me where to find him." She raises an eyebrow at David. "Let me guess. Trap?"

David holds her gaze. "We're not trying to trick you, Shay. We won't do anything to you that you don't want."

He waits for a retort, but it doesn't come. Instead, Shay looks at him for a long moment, then she heaves a sigh. "Just take me to him."

Maybe she is still planning to betray him; maybe she has merely given up. Either way, David doesn't want it — doesn't want to be another person taking her choices away from her. They have hurt each other enough — he has hurt her enough.

David kneels on his board and opens the control panel. The panel lets out another ding as he unpairs their boards.

"What are you doing?" Shay asks.

"Go find Fausto," David says. "I'm not going to force you to come with me."

She snorts. "What, you're just letting me go?"

He nods. "I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

He shrugs. "You could have tricked our boards and taken me back to Dr. Cable a week ago. But you never did." He tilts his head at her. "Why not?"

Shay shifts her weight on her board, bobbing gently up and down in the wind, her eyes on the mountains that rise over the city. "I thought I could," she says softly. "But when I saw you again…"

Her mouth quirks up in a smile that's almost rueful, sad, and she gives him a little shrug. "I guess I don't hate you after all."

Her words take a few moments to settle, like birds circling their nest and then finally coming home. He had suspected, maybe — hoped, even — that it had meant something, the way she'd touched him in the ruins, the way her gaze had drifted over his face without fury or disgust.

He can't find the place inside him that was always so heavy, whenever he thought of Shay — cold and hard as stone, weighted down with resentment and bitterness. When he looks at her now, something muted and hazy unfolds in him instead, warm like a humid summer evening. It feels dangerously tender, like it might hurt if he prods at it too much.

"I don't hate you, either," David says.

Then he lets her go.