Page 37 of The Beta Test

Every instinct screams to argue—nobody corrects my organizational systems! But she has a point. My list is tidy and color-coded, but the sections don't align with the layout of the store. I swallow my pride and say something I never, ever thought I would say to Analiese.

“You’re right, thanks. That’s a good idea.”

Analiese's eyebrows lift a fraction. It’s clear we’re both treading into unfamiliar territory here. An awkward silence settles between us, both of us keenly aware that whatever this is, it's new. Maybe Connection Services forced us to see each other differently. Or maybe we're just two people using each other for a better essay grade and reading way too much into standing in a kitchen together.

I break the tension with a sweep of my arm towards the couch. “I have the movie ready to go. And some snacks.”

She nods and we both move to the large, comfortable sectional in the den. We claim spots as far away from each other as possible, while still in reaching distance of the snacks on the coffee table. I switch on the movie and grab my notebook and pen, ready to jot down any key details. Analiese does the same.

The movie starts, and Catherine and Heathcliff's doomed intensity pulls me in almost instantly. Occasionally, derisive snorts sound from Analiese’s end of the couch to signal her dislike for the story. I don’t react. Her attitude is expected—one doesn’t jump to burning other people’s science projects without killing a little bit of your soul first.

When the credits finally roll, I cross my legs on the couch and turn my pages of notes back to the beginning. Yes, I took more than one page of notes and may have included a few themed doodles.

“Well?” I turn to face her. "What did you think? Could you feel the love between Catherine and Heathcliff this time, or are you still immune?"

Analiese rolls her eyes. “Pure love? More like pure dysfunction. They’ve said maybe five words to each other, and two of them were grunts. How can you build a relationship on that?”

“Not everything has to be spoken! Didn't you see the way they looked at each other on the moors? They're connected to something deeper than words—to the land, to each other. It was beautiful.”

“Are we using ‘wild’ to mean ‘toxic’?”

I gasp. Toxic?!

She steamrolls on. “Look, I get it—they’re ‘connected to nature.’ But seriously, they’re rolling around in the mud more than they’re talking. That’s not passion, that’s bad hygiene. It’s disgusting.”

No wonder she has no hope for Braden and me. She's even more cynical about love than I imagined—though, given what I now know about her parents, it's not entirely surprising. Something tugs at me. An unexpected, almost protective urge to prove to Analiese that love doesn't have to look like what she's seen.

“Maybe if you’re passionately in love with someone, a little bad hygiene is easily overlooked. They’re so consumed by their love for each other they can’t even think straight. Don’t you think that’s romantic? At all?”

“Hardly,” she scoffs. “Since when is lack of thought considered romantic? He barely speaks, she’s a drama queen, and neither of them understands boundaries. If that’s romance, I’m not interested.”

“Okayyy. But don't you ever wish for the kind of love where it's all-consuming and makes your entire body ache? They love each other so much it's practically destroying them.”

Analiese points a finger at me. “Exactly. If a relationship is destroying you, it’s not healthy.”

My eyes roll before I can stop them. “I’m not sure people went to therapy when Brontë wrote the book.”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they didn’t need it. And let me tell you, Heathcliff and Catherine need therapy STAT.”

“Therapy would make for a very boring romance novel. In fact⁠—“

The insistent buzzing of my phone cuts me off. Jenna’s name flashes across the screen. My gut sinks. I know exactly why she’s calling.

Chapter Fifteen

“Are you going to get that?”

Analiese’s question snaps me to attention. She’s eyeing me quizzically—understandably, since I’m staring at my phone as if I’ve never seen one before. Before I can even move, it diverts to voicemail.

Then the texts start.

Jenna: WHERE ARE YOU??

Jenna: ARE YOU ALIVE?

Jenna: Please tell me you didn’t get in a car accident.

The phone buzzes in my hand like an angry wasp, and honestly, it’s just as terrifying. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Analiese lean closer, trying to get a glimpse at the screen.