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debating something. “No one is supposed to be out here.”
I’m not entirely sure what to make of her. Inside, she was all polish and poise–a model of what I should aspire to. But out here, away from Mother and the crowd, she’s like any other girl from school. Only infinitely more beautiful.
  She holds her hands before her and mimics pushing us back to the house. “Go.” I glance at Beck, who–to my surprise–shrugs, and walks away. 
When he’s a few feet ahead of me, Annalise laces her fingers around my arm. A slow humming fills my ears as she tightens her grip. “Keep him away from Callum, Lark.” She releases me and the humming stops. “And don’t wander the grounds again without permission. You’re lucky it was me who found you. I won’t tell–this time.” 
My insides roll, leaving a sick feeling in their wake. Something about Annalise feels dangerous. “I will. I promise.”
At the intersection of paths, Annalise heads to the left while Beck continues straight, toward the house. 
“Best wishes,” I call after her retreating figure. 
She doesn’t lift her hand or even acknowledge she heard me. 
On tiptoes, I race back to Beck and latch on to his arm. “What was that?” I ask.
“Maybe she’s had to give up more than she wanted to get where she is?” Beck’s monotone voice fills me with alarm. 
I pull him to a stop. “I admit Callum would never be my choice of mate, but the State selected him for her. Just like they selected you for me. He must be perfect for her.” I wave my hand around the garden and toward the house where we can see the party through the huge windows. “And Mother said she’s going to rise quickly. Her path is guaranteed.”
He grins. “Are you saying I’m perfect?”
I give him a playful shove. “Perfect for me. Not perfect.”
He turns around and jogs backward. “I’ll take that.”
My cheeks flush red. Or at least they would if I wasn’t half frozen. “Stop teasing.”
He speeds up his backward jog. “Make me.”
As I chase my best friend back toward the house, I realize that Beck’s right. I wouldn’t give up everything to be part of this life. 
I would never give up him.
     
     
     
     
     
    Larkstorm

 
     
    1
     
    “Beck, c’mon. It’s time to get up.” 
    Nothing. 
    I glance at my wristlet. We’re going to be late. 
    “Beck,” I whisper, putting my face closer to his. 
    A warm, bronze hand reaches for my arm, as if trying to pull me into the twin bed, but then it goes limp and nothing else happens. Beck lies curled in a ball and his unruly mop of blond waves peeks out from beneath the striped comforter. His other arm is flung across his face and holds the covers in place. He looks like his eight-year-old self when he sleeps. Not a nearly eighteen-year-old man.
    “Beck!” I raise my voice.
    “Lark? Hmmm.” His eyelids flutter without making any sort of commitment.
    I rub his warm hand with my free one. “Please get up. You’ll make us late for school.”
    He yawns and grins at me. “All right.” 
    Now alert, he kicks back the covers and stands up. His foot strikes his history book and it skids under the bed. I shift my weight and take care not to crumple the scattered papers next to Beck’s bed. 
    “Your area is disgusting.” I wrinkle my nose.
    He flashes a toothy grin at me and tightens my wrap around my shoulders. “I know. I like it that way.”
    Of the twenty-six students who live in our house, Beck and I are the only boy and girl who share a room. My eyes dart around his side. A sharp division of cleanliness separates my half from Beck’s. His side—the far side—is a mess. His lacrosse gear hangs off his desk with the stick acting as a makeshift coat rack. Piles of both clean and dirty clothes litter the floor. 
    Despite Beck’s messiness, sharing a room with a boy only bothers me when the other students tease us about it. It’s not as if we had any say in the matter. My mother demanded we be placed together