Daphne’s jaw tensed. “Why are you telling me?”
It was a good question. Zada’s brain scrambled for an answer. Maybe it was simply her mouth failing to contain the truth, like water overflowing from a bottle.
Except that reasoning felt weak, even in the privacy of hermind. She’d kept secrets before. She knew how to school her expression and say the right things, no matter what her useless mind conjured. It was all part of her duty, as a student of Dalrymple Academy and a citizen of New Ionia.
Maybe she’d told Daphne for the same reason she’d asked Daphne to accompany her to the shopping district. She missed her friend. And now, faced with this new chapter of her life, she felt the absence of Daphne all the more acutely. If she was honest with herself, blurting out this life-ruining secret of hers might have been a bid to keep Daphne looking at her for just one second more.
Zada settled for, “Perhaps because you’re the only person who wouldn’t tell me that I must be imagining things. That everything will be all right.”
“No, I wouldn’t, would I?” Daphne said softly. “So what do you want me to say?”
“I don’t expect you to say anything. You don’t owe that to me, not after what I did to you.” Zada sighed. “I suppose I wanted to tell someone, at least once, and be heard. That’s all.”
She couldn’t bear to look at Daphne now. She darted back to the shade of the entryway and pushed against the sunbaked metal with the edge of her sleeve, mentally drawing up a list of the errands ahead of her.
Organize her notes on the caterers. Report as much as she could remember from her visit to the florist’s shop, editing out the feel of Daphne’s hand squeezing hers. Develop some sort of opinion about buttercream. Remind herself that the Heartsong program was unerring in its selection, and that she would love Buford in time, no matter how she felt now. She was simply overheated and overwrought, too immatureto accept the blessings of her future.
All she had to do was try harder, be better.
She felt a tug, a hand on her arm. It was Daphne, out of breath, standing beside her now.
“Wait.” Daphne closed her eyes briefly, as if making a very difficult choice. Her profile was half in sunlight and half in shadow. “There’s something you should know.”
Chapter SevenIn Which Skullduggery Is Contemplated
Can I come in?” said Daphne in an undertone. “We shouldn’t talk about this out here.”
Zada nodded, heart pounding in her ears. “My parents will be home soon,” she said as she let them back in.
“Your room, then?” asked Daphne. She said it casually, as if they had done this a hundred times. Zada nodded and led Daphne past the credenza piled high with even more paper mail congratulating the future Mrs. Arnoth, up the stairs to her bedroom.
Standing in the doorway of her room, looking at all of her timeworn and familiar things, Zada felt a flutter of panic. What was she thinking? This was her haven from the outside world, the one place where she could be wholly herself. What would Daphne think of this small space—the window collecting beads of water, the ungainly bookshelf, the glowing fish tank, and her unmade bed?
Who would take her chair, with its uneven legs, where she practiced playing her triple cello? And who would sit on the bed?
Daphne solved this particular problem by dropping down onto the floor and folding her legs. Zada did the same, a carefuldistance away.
“Well?” said Zada. “What is it? This mysterious something that I should know?”
Daphne hummed, tuneless. “I’m trying to decide where to begin. Okay.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So what do you really know about Heartsong?”
“I—” It was like Daphne was asking what Zada knew about water, or air, or music. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Come on,” said Daphne, leaning forward. “Wow me. Where’s that girl who taught herself hacking just so she could jailbreak her triple cello? Give it a shot. Nerd mode.”
“Nerd mode,” said Zada. “Is that what you call actually-paying-attention-in-class mode?”
“So far, all you’ve done is stall,” Daphne pointed out. She lifted her chin, and Zada felt herself rising to the challenge.
“Heartsong is a function of the Core,” she began, “which is an imprint of the minds of our five Founders. With their combined wisdom, the Core is functionally infallible. It doesn’t make mistakes. The Core determines school placements, job placements, and matters of the court. As the New Ionian charter says, we strive not to repeat the mistakes of the past, and to eliminate the common sources of pain and suffering—”
“Yes, great, full marks. It’s like I’m back in the classroom. And Heartsong?” Daphne prompted.
“You’re the one who asked for nerd mode,” said Zada. She brushed the hair from her forehead. “Okay, in social studies class, we provide information about ourselves. Our likes, our dislikes, and so on. That data, along with things like our grades, our aptitudes, our spending habits, and our activity onthe various feeds, comes together to form a complete sketch of a person. And one of the ways we use this sketch is that it gets plugged into an algorithm created by the Founders themselves, which finds each person’s perfect romantic match. That program is called Heartsong, and as a function of the Core, it too is infallible.”
“Well,” said Daphne. “You’re close. Heartsong has made some mistakes recently.”
Zada blinked. “That’s impossible. By definition, it’s never wrong.”
