The bus stop was a few miles away. I'd passed by it many times in the car with Mel or Jason or Mrs. Hines, and I'd made a note of it in my mind. I had gotten good at that--recording information I thought might be useful later. I'd always been preparing for this moment. The walk wasn't a big deal; in fact, the air and dark and emptiness were amazingly refreshing after being around all those people. I wasn't worried about something happening to me, not really. Maybe that was stupid, but at the moment, I was walking through a really nice neighborhood, where the houses were bigger than barns and everything was gardened and lit up and lovely. This was the kind of neighborhood where people walked their dogs at four in the morning and didn't think twice about it. In fact, even though the neighborhoods became less nice as I got closer to the bus stop, they were still safe. Or, at least, they felt that way.

But, I remembered, there was a time when a dead body had shown up in the Hineses' yard. I couldn't forget that--even in a "safe" neighborhood, anything could happen.

I'd come a long way, though, from the person the Circuit had left me when I was at Oliphant. I was scared enough of them, but what they hadn't bargained on was that I had nothing to lose. What kind of life did I have, anyway? Without some semblance of normality, without some memory of where I belonged and who I was, what was the point? And my best shot at getting those things was reuniting with Henry, with whom I was obviously connected.

Oh . . . ! Had he really been at that party? Had he truly been at the Hineses' house? I would be an idiot to think so. As much as I wanted that to be true, there's no way he could've been so close to me and wouldn't have delivered the message himself. Or was there some reason he might not have been able to?

The last time I'd seen him, he'd almost killed Jason. He'd been brainwashed enough to almost do it . . . if he'd been with the Circuit the entire time since I'd been with him in that cabin, there was no way they'd not continued brainwashing him. That was pretty terrifying, but there was nothing I could do about that. However, if that was the case, he would never have come to that party or contacted me of his own volition. No, there were really two possibilities, as far as I could figure. First, he had escaped the Circuit early on and had been on the run, like I had. Perhaps it was too dangerous for him to directly meet with me, and that accounted for the mystery. Second, he was still working with the Circuit, and this was some kind of trap . . .

Yes, it could certainly be some sort of trap. I knew that. But if so, why go to the trouble? Why wouldn't the Circuit have just killed me when they had the chance? They might have some wicked purpose besides killing me . . . I had to keep that in mind. But why? I was of no use to them--had no information on anything, knew nothing about anyone. Why would they want me around? It didn't make much sense; in fact, the more I thought about all of it, the more confused I became. It was better, then, to move. After months of doing nothing, at least this was something, even if it was something stupid.

A car was honking behind me, suddenly. Several cars had passed, but they'd ignored me, and I'd ignored them. But now this one sounded close, and in fact, just as I was wondering whether it was actually honking at me, it pulled up alongside me, a red sedan, nothing special about it.

In spite of myself, I felt nervous. I was, after all, entirely alone, and it was dark. I didn't turn to look at it. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, crossed my arms over my body, and sped up. I didn't have any weapons except a screwdriver I'd grabbed from a drawer in the kitchen. Why hadn't I thought to take something else? But I could do some real damage with a screwdriver if I had to. I was prepared for that.

"Nadia!"

But someone who knew my name? Oh no--Paolo.

"Why are you following me? Go away!" I didn't stop walking. I didn't turn to face him, but I knew he had unrolled his window and was trying to get my attention.

"Where are you going? Come back. . . Please? I'm sorry for all those people. If you come back, I'll clear them out. I promise!"

I refused to answer him, not least of all because I didn't care about the house at all--a million people or no people, I wasn't going back there. Ever.

"Nadia, just talk to me."

It occurred to me that he was going to follow me all the way to the bus stop. He was not going to leave me alone. Angrily, I stopped and turned to him; he jerked the car to a halt. And I was surprised at the heat I felt when I looked over and saw his face; he was so persistent. It wasn't as if I'd made it easy for him to talk to me. I was nervous looking straight at him, but I had to be confident. For a moment, I forced myself to stare directly into his eyes. It was dark, but their deep brown, calm sleepiness sank into me all the same. My chest fluttered. I had to watch myself.

"Go away," I shook myself into insisting. "I'm not going back. I'm leaving, and I don't want you." But did I?

He turned off the engine and twisted the keys. He was going to get out. I started walking again. No. The car was one thing, but him following me in person? At least I had the potential to outrun him. But before I could do much of anything, he was right behind me. Then his hand was on my upper arm, and he was spinning me to face him. Too close. Too close! My mind started to spin. I felt a little lightheaded. Something about that hand--his fingers pressing into my skin. But Henry! I had to think about Henry first, always.

I yanked my arm out of Paolo's grip, anger rising in me again. He'd been saying something, but I had been too lost in my own feelings to register the words.

"I don't need your help!"

A coolness came over him. He stood there, unsure what to do with his hands, maybe finally turned off by my rebuffs. His face became less pleading, less puppy-dog, more hard, more distant. And against my own sense I found myself preferring his attention.

"All right," he tilted his head. Put his hands in his pockets. Looked off into the darkness. "I tried, but you're stone cold."

I was glad he'd at last realized that. "Yes, I am," I admitted. "I don't know you, and I don't trust you." I had to look at the ground as I added, "And I definitely don't want you around."

Paolo nodded gently. "Message received."

He stepped back a few feet, then began to turn toward his car, but then he caught himself and, with a knowing, slight grin, looked back at me. "You know the buses are on strike though, right?"

The night thickened around us. His words sank in. And I remembered, then, seeing some brief news segment as I'd been flipping channels earlier that day. There had been something about the buses. I hadn't paid attention, but I knew now that he was right.

I hated the triumphant little flicker in his eyes. "You know that, though, don't you? I mean, you weren't planning on a bus, were you? You were going to walk somewhere in the middle of the night. You know exactly what you're doing. You don't need me. You don't want me."

My eyes narrowed. I hated him so much right then. I couldn't give in to him! Not with his infuriating self-assurance. I couldn't stand it! But Henry was my priority. Getting to Henry. It didn't matter how I got there, did it? I might have to suffer Paolo and his superiority if I wanted to get to where I needed to get in time, because I had no idea how much time I had.

"Wait," I muttered as he'd begun to turn again.

He raised an eyebrow, stepped a little closer. I instinctively stepped back. "Yes?" he said.

I chewed my lip, defeated. I knew I couldn't trust him, but I also knew I couldn't get anywhere without a bus, and there was no way I was going back to the house. "You have a phone. Can you look up a zip code for me?"

It wasn't what he'd expected me to say, because his smile flattened, but he took out his phone and lit it up. I read off the digits from Henry, and Paolo thumbed them into his phone.

"Colorado," he said at length.

"Colorado?" That sounded so far! We were in Texas. It was too far, for sure, without a bus. And it was too far for Paolo, probably, too, but I took a chance. I straightened up, feigned regained confidence. "You can come with me if you can take me there."

He widened his eyes. "Colorado? That's--well, that's like, a few days on the road."

"And?"

And what? School? Friends? Parents? Job? Was he willing to put that all aside? I doubted it, unless he had some ulterior motive.

And he must have, because he almost too-quickly replied, "Let's go."

Though I was grudgingly grateful, I was also suspicious, and that must have registered for him.

"It's just a quick trip," he laughed a little. "I've got nothing going on."

I didn't ask him anything else. I didn't want him to back out now that he'd agreed to take me to Henry--of course, he didn't know that that's what he was doing. And frankly, I didn't even know if that's what he was doing. I had no idea what would be out there at the other end of that zip code, not to mention no idea where to go once I got there. But it was what I had, and now Paolo was giving me a free ride. As I slipped into the passenger seat of his car, anxiety churning up and a little whisper in the back of my head that I was being stupid, I reminded myself that I did still have that screwdriver and that I didn't have to tell this boy anything. Once I got where I needed to be, I could easily ditch him.

The car smelled good, like cedar or some type of wood. It made me think of new furniture, or a tree that'd just been cut down. Must've been an air freshener or something. The car was clean, too, not full of junk like Jason's had always been. Nothing looked questionable. I didn't like it; I wanted something to criticize.

Paolo had tried to open my door for me, but I hadn't let him. He sank into the driver's seat and slammed his door. The atmosphere in the car felt heavy, quiet . . . I could hear my own breathing. I felt closer to him than I had even when he'd grabbed my arm. I told myself not to let that get to me--whatever I felt for him, that excitement that had run up and down my body when he'd touched me--I had to suppress that. I couldn't let my guard down. He was way too obliging; he could definitely be with the Circuit.

"Why don't you hang on to my phone, use the GPS on there. I've got the highway and the first exit in my mind, but you'll have to help with directions."

"Fine." I took his phone and put it in my lap. I'd stuffed my backpack on the floor by my feet.

"You got enough?"

"Enough what?"

"Money? Clothes, whatever you need? It's far."

"I'm good."

"All right."

He turned the car on and pulled back onto the street. "What about you, though?" I asked.

Paolo, eyes on the road, took a hand off the wheel and pushed some of his hair off his face. "Don't need much," he replied. We were silent a few moments, but then he laughed a little.

"What?" I glanced at his face, which turned dark and light as we moved under street lights. His profile alone made my cheeks warm. His lips, their perfect curve over his barely-open mouth--I wondered how they felt.

I had to stop myself.

"It's just that you've been trying to avoid me so much, and now you can't get away from me. Just can't believe my luck, is all."

He was right, and I regretted this--but I'd made the decision. No turning back, now.

I looked out my window, ignoring him, rested my head against the glass, then unrolled it a bit to let the night air rush across my uncomfortably warm face and shoulders. I forced my mind toward Henry. His blond and glass and pale--so different from the boy next to me, now. And disturbingly, I found I had a hard time really envisioning Henry; I knew what he looked like . . . didn't I? But when I tried to focus in my mind, Paolo's dark, stirring eyes were all I saw.