Hidden (Book 3 of the Immune Series)

Hemaphobia

Mya

The sky overhead is endless, stretching in every direction, an ocean of gentle shades of white and blue. The clouds spread more like butter than cotton, scattered with no obvious pattern or logic.

It drives me crazy.

Dew beads on the grass under us, wetting the legs of our pants, pressing through the thin blanket we've spread over the ground.

Finn lays down, hands behind his head and earbuds hanging halfway out of his ears. He stares unfocused overhead, blinking sleepily.

"Stop staring at me," he mumbles, plucking one of the earbuds out of his ear.

"I wasn't," I reply, pushing my auburn hair away from my face. "I'm hungry."

"It isn't lunch time yet, is it?"

I glance back at the house, to the analog clock hanging on the side of the building. Eleven-thirty.

"No."

He nods, sitting up on his elbows. With a yawn, he pulls the other earbud out, pausing the podcast he was listening to.

"What are you studying today?" he asks, putting his tablet down in his lap.

"If you call falling asleep while listening to someone talk studying, American History."

"What era?"

I glance at the tablet I've paused.

"Cold War."

Finn nods, squinting at me.

"Boring," he says in a sing-song voice, taking my tablet from me. "I'm listening to a man named Peter lecture me on the fundamentals of geometry and its applications in the real world."

He forms a gun with his hand, pointing it at his chin. When he moves his thumb, his eyes roll back in his head, and he falls back down to the ground. I laugh, rolling my eyes.

"I'll trade," I say, "at least there's some sort of pattern to geometry. There's literally no logic in history. It reminds me of when we used to argue as children, except these grown men have nuclear weapons."

Finn snorts, stretching his elbows.

The sound of brakes squealing fills the air between us, making his eyes go wide.

Our home is surrounded by endless woods, far enough away from roads that no one can see us. It works both ways. We never hear or see vehicles either.

"Is that-?"

"Mom." Finn finished my sentence, pushing himself up off the ground and scrambling towards the door on all fours.

If she catches us outside, we're in for a lecture that pushes the podcasts to the top of our 'Rather Do' lists.

I grab our stuff, ducking back inside right as the heavy deadbolt on the front door turns.

"The blanket," Finn hisses, snatching the tablets from me and sprinting for the study. I glance down at the sopping wet blanket, panic swelling in my chest. Heart pounding in my ears, I shove the blanket under the single couch, counting the seconds until the second lock turns, followed by the knob.

"Oh, Mya."

Mom's face lights up as she sees me, poised with one hand on the arm of the couch and the other rubbing circles on my leg as I awkwardly dig for my pocket.

Except, these pants don't have pockets.

Crap.

"Hi, Mom," I say, painting a beaming smile on my face. She brings her wrist up to her face, checking the time.