Designed : A Young Adult Dystopian Romance

Technically, I supposed he was a man, but he was younger than I’d expected, close to my age.

He was big. And angry. His dark brows were drawn together tightly.

It wasn’t the forbidding expression that stunned me. It was his eyes.

Their color was like nothing I’d ever seen before—a spellbinding combination of blue and green so beautiful, so piercing it almost defied reality.

I was so mesmerized it took me a second to realize he was staring at me, too. He’d been in the middle of a question. “So then you’re not hur—” But he’d broken off mid-word.

After a long pause, during which he continued to stare at me like he’d never seen a girl before, he spoke again.

“Your eyes. They’re brown.”

The guy announced this as if it was news, as if I didn’t look in the mirror while sanitizing my teeth every morning and didn’t have this exact insignificant information at my disposal.

“Yeah…” I dragged the word out into a question. “… last time I checked.”

Something about his troubled expression struck a chord of recognition. I glanced from his incredible eyes to the shock of dark hair above them and down to the breadth of his shoulders then the rest of his tall, big-boned frame and then at the name badge on the front left pocket of his company uniform.

Heath.

“Have we met before?”

The guy blinked rapidly and back-stepped toward the delivery van, his head moving in a tight, rapid shake.

“No. I don’t think so. You’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

He paused for my answer, but his back and shoulders were plastered against the front of the van like I was dipped in flu virus and he hadn’t had a vaccination in years.

The instant I said, “I’m fine,” the guy turned and climbed into the van.

Within seconds it was whispering away down the road, the unmistakable Gideon Corp logo on its back doors shrinking and then disappearing as the vehicle rounded the corner.

Oookay.

It was obvious why he was a delivery man for the world’s largest biotech company and not employed in some higher capacity where he might have been required to interact with actual humans on a regular basis.

Totally awkward. But cute.

Heath.

At home I scanned my holo bracelet over the keypad. The front door opened to reveal Dingo whining and hopping on his back legs, nearly knocking himself over backward in his eagerness to greet me.

Whether I’d been gone all day or five minutes, this was how he responded to seeing me again. I loved it.

It was impossible not to be happy to see someone who was so happy to see me.

“Hey boy. How’s my boyfriend? Okay, I love you, too. Give me a minute to put my things down.”

I set my bag on the entry hall table and knelt to accept my dog’s sloppy kisses, returning his affection with a behind-the-ear rub, his favorite.

Like every dog alive in the world today, he was a gen-pet, a genetically engineered animal, but I couldn’t imagine the original biological creatures could have been any more appealing.

I’d seen “real” animals before on the vids—elderly cats that had been born, not lab-created, a Galapagos tortoise that had hatched more than fifty years ago, and an African elephant that was sixty-eight years old.

Sadly, when those precious few reached the end of their life spans, their species would also become extinct in nature.

For some reason, the birds had survived the virus along with some smaller wild animals like squirrels and chipmunks and mice, but there weren’t many of those around the busy base.

Fish had survived as well and comprised a good part of our family’s diet.

I found Mom in the kitchen, pulling things from the pantry and stacking them on the counter behind her.

Apparently, she hadn’t heard me come in because when she turned and saw me, she emitted a shriek.

Her hand went to the base of her throat. “Oh my goodness. Mireya. I didn’t realize how late it was. How are you? How was school today?”

“Fine,” I lied.

School was rarely “fine.” Tolerable was about as good as it ever got, but I didn’t discuss that with her.

My mom was what you’d call “high-strung.” Any minor issue was reason for a major overreaction, so I’d learned not to discuss anything negative that happened, not bad scores or friend drama.

And there was no way I was going to tell her about my accident on the way home.

She plunged back into the pantry, shifting boxes and jars.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the freeze-dried spinach.” Distress was evident in her tone. As usual, it spurred me into action.

Distress plus Mom equaled no fun for anybody.

“Maybe we’re out. Did you check the list?” I crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator and scanned the electronic readout on the door.

It updated automatically whenever we used something, so we’d always know when it was time to re-order provisions.

“List says we’re out.”

“I know what it says, but I’m sure we have at least one package in the house. I remember putting it in here myself, and we haven’t eaten it, unless your father is sneaking spinach in the middle of the night. I can’t believe this! I need it for the recipe I’m making tonight.”

She re-emerged from the pantry and looked me up and down, her already tense face contracting into even deeper grooves.

“Why are you all wet?”

“Rain?” I shrugged.

“I thought the rain had stopped. You’re all grimy.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s going to stain.”

I gritted my teeth, tapping into my patience reserves. Did she think I was playing in puddles and ruining my clothes on purpose? I wasn’t five years old.

Still, I understood what her real concern was. And after all she’d been through, she deserved some extra slack.

My voice was cheerful and light when I responded. “No, it won’t. I’ll throw them in the sanitizer before it has a chance to set. So, is someone coming over tonight or something?”

“No. Your father will be home for dinner, though, and I wanted to make sauteed spinach to go with the salmon tonight.”

“Oooh. Fancy.” My dad’s job as head chef on the base required long hours. He wasn’t home for dinner very often. “Is it a special occasion?”

Her eyes rested on me for a second before flickering away. “We thought we could use some family time, and he’s got so many days off stored up he can never use them all. I guess I’ll have to make broccoli. I know we have that.”

She bent to retrieve a casserole dish from a lower cabinet then reached into the refrigerator for three packets of salmon.

“So what—you tripped and fell?” There was a pause before she continued in a tone flattened by forced calm. “Or was it one of your blackouts?”

Her worried gaze came up to meet mine. I regretted the day I’d told my parents about my memory lapses.

At the time I’d been trying to explain yet another failed test. Though I’d studied hard and knew all the answers, I hadn’t managed to finish it in time. The bell rang, class ended, and I’d had to turn it in half-undone.

Mom had been so upset about the poor grade, loudly bemoaning my future. I’d gotten rattled and slipped, telling her about the lapse.

She’d rushed me to Dr. Rex, overreacting as usual. Worrying. Trying to fix me.

He’d called it an “absence seizure,” and advised my parents to keep an eye on me, as if they didn’t do enough of that already.

“They’re not blackouts,” I protested. “I just… daydream a little bit… that’s all. And it hasn’t happened in a long time. I stepped off the curb wrong and fell, that’s all.”

I didn’t mention the delivery van. I definitely didn’t mention my sore backside, which was no doubt black and blue by now.

“I’m totally fine, and so is my uniform. I’ll go wash it right now.”

Already unbuttoning my pants, I started to leave the kitchen but then turned back.

“Mom—do we know anyone who works for Gideon Corp?”

Her eyes widened for an instant before her usual bland expression returned. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… well, I saw a guy today—outside the school. He was a Gideon delivery man, and… I don’t know… he looked familiar. He was young, about my age, tall with dark hair. His name badge said ‘Heath.’”

She smiled tightly. “Well, you’ve probably seen him around the base. I mean Gideon supplies about ninety percent of the tech here.”

The smile vanished. “They should keep those damn trucks out of the school zone. It’s not safe.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna throw these things in the sanitizer and then study. I have a quiz tomorrow and a test Friday.”

I headed upstairs and down the short hallway to the laundry room. She was probably right.

Although now that I really thought about it—it wasn’t feeling like I’d recognized the guy that troubled me.

What was nagging at me was the distinct impression that he had recognized me.

I was almost sure of it.