Time Next by Carolyn Cohagan

Author:Carolyn Cohagan [Cohagan, Carolyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Girls With Pens
Published: 2018-03-15T04:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

I leave the pavilion, happy to escape the crowd. My Bee hums into place above me. So much for privacy.

To my right, small girls imitate the dance we saw Tabby and the others do. The evening is still and warm. I can feel the pulsing of the music coming up through the grass.

I danced. I wish I could tell Nana.

I wonder what she would think of Silas? Stop it, Mina. Who cares?

I walk away from the building, hoping to clear my head.

I discover Horton Groodly standing at the edge of the lawn, staring into the distance. I’m surprised to see him swaying slightly to the music. He looks better than he did at his home. He’s clean-shaven, and he sports a nice gray suit, but he still looks grumpy as a bulldog. I don’t know if this is his mood or the nature of his face.

Running into him seems fortuitous. I have questions I’m dying to ask him.

I approach with a smile. “Mr. Groodly, I don’t mean to disturb you, but––” I lose my train of thought as I notice what he’s staring at.

In the distance, lit up by spotlights, is a huge silver sphere. It’s four times taller than any lamppost, and it’s just floating there.

“What is that?” I ask.

Without looking away from it, he says, “The earth.”

“Why is it here?”

“Same people who made the pavilion made it. Nice, isn’t it?” His voice is as gravelly and brusque as ever.

“What’s it do?”

He looks at me with disappointment. “It doesn’t do anything. It’s art.”

“Oh,” I say. The conversation doesn’t seem to be going well so far.

“How is Mrs. Alvero?” he asks.

“Not very well, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

We stand quietly observing the sphere. When I feel brave enough, I say, “Mr. Groodly, how long have you been here?”

He coughs. “I assume you don’t mean at the Prom?”

“No, sir,” I say.

He takes so long to answer, I figure he’s not going to. But after a while, he shoves his hands into his pockets and says, “Forty years.”

Wow. He probably can’t even remember Manhattan.

“Why did you leave? How did you leave?”

He glances at my Bee. “I’m not allowed to talk about those things.”

“Can you at least tell me who else used to be a Propheteer?”

Shaking his head, he says, “Ram will tell you when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” I say, frustrated by his stubbornness. “One last question.” Surely he has some sympathy for a fellow refugee. “Can you please tell me where the Forgiveness Home is?”

Surprised, he says, “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

“I, uh—a Propheteer I arrived with might be there.”

He shakes a finger at me. “Anyone who’s been sent to the Forgiveness Home is a troublemaker, and you’re better off without them. Don’t waste your time with deviants!”

“He’s not a deviant!”

He takes in my new dress and shoes. “Living here means making certain sacrifices, but there are compromises everywhere. We wish it were perfect here, but it’s not, because people aren’t perfect. Only God is. And the afterlife.

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