The V Girl: A coming of age story

by Mya Robarts

  Veronica notices my anxiety and taunts me in her annoyingly loud voice. “So, V-girl, will you ever take charge?”

  I frown. What is it to her? I hate taking charge because I can’t stand to have these people’s eyes on me and … my mistakes. I know I haven’t been the greatest contribution to the resistance lately, but neither has Veronica. Rey usually keeps the youngest members out of the most dangerous missions: Duque, Holly, Veronica, and me.

  Rey scowls. “Leave her alone.”

  But I’m already sliding mattresses to the middle of the room. “I’ll take charge.”

  “Not another first aid lesson?” asks Joey.

  I shake my head. “Freestyle wrestling. Grab a mattress.”

  “Yes!” Luke exclaims.

  “Work in pairs,” I command.

  Everyone stares at me. I have to demonstrate first. I feel less confident than I’m trying to appear, but I walk straight toward Mathew, who is in a defensive stance over the mattress.

  He’s strong, but I’m fast. In a sweeping move, I’m behind him, pushing his knees with mine and throwing him off balance. I punch his side, using my hips.

  Mathew lands with a thud, but he smiles. “Way to go, Velez!”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Rey smiling appreciatively. I fight the impulse to look at him.

  “Take turns trying to knock your opponent to the ground,” I say.

  The group quickly splits into pairs. I circle them, giving feedback here and there before I instruct them to switch partners. I almost snort when I correct Veronica’s technique as she struggles to keep her balance against Divine.

  I’m giving some feedback to Holly and Duque when someone grabs me from behind. In a fraction of a second, my back lands on the mattress, and Rey’s rock-hard body is above me, his face only an inch from mine. He pins my wrists above my head. I forget how to breathe.

  Rey grins playfully. “Don’t ever leave your defenses open.”

  His body lingers over mine before he stands up. I sit up, wondering if there’s a hidden meaning in Rey’s attitude toward me today.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon scheming and plotting. With our rudimentary weaponry and the ban on gunpowder, the most we can do is mess with Patriot railroads. We’re cautious. We sabotage trains only when storms and tornados erase our tracks. We don’t want to turn Starville into another Midian.

  Rey asks for volunteers for the next mission: an excursion to the electric wires that run north, sixty miles from the lake. There he’ll create an untraceable server with a wireless connection to hack blogs that are free of government censorship. Bandits, weather, beasts, and soldiers are risks we have to consider. We don’t have vehicles, so the five volunteers will have to hike for days. Some of us will stay behind. If the mission goes wrong and nobody survives, there’ll be Comanches left to continue the resistance.

  Everyone volunteers, and now it’s Rey’s call. He’s not a tyrant but a leader who values others’ opinions. The first opinion he asks for is mine.

  “Um … you and I should go … Cara because she’s great with weapons, and Mathew because he’s our best hacker.”

  Others suggest a similar lineup. Rey will go along with Cara, Mathew, and Luke. There’s only one spot left, and I fight for it, but in the end, Rey chooses Duque. Of course. Rey is always trying to protect me.

  The meeting ends, and I hurry to gather my backpack. My bruises ache, but I can’t help but think about achieving my goals. I have a new objective: becoming TCR’s top fighter.

  I find Poncho waiting for me outside, and we dart through the potholed streets. We pass Olga Busko’s house, which used to be Angie’s. She was nineteen, a spinster’s age, and afraid of being recruited. Rey put off marriage to raise Reyna, so Angie married Buck Weaver to get a marriage tattoo. Azzy gave her the cold shoulder after that, but I would have done anything to avoid recruitment, including marrying a man I don’t love.

  Loud footsteps sound behind me, and I turn to find Rey running to catch up. He doesn’t look comfortable, and I’m at a loss for words. If I knew how to apologize, I’d say, I’m sorry. I tried to force him to do something he didn’t want to do, and now he’s acting awkwardly around me. But what’s the point in apologizing? What’s done is done. Words can’t change the past.

  “Hey! Can’t we at least be friends?” he asks.

  “I never asked you for more than friendship, Rey.” I only wanted a kind gesture that would save me from recruitment.

  He places his hand on my shoulder. “I wish we could go back to what we were before.”

  “Me, too. I just need time. I feel … embarrassed around you. And before I ... I have to take care of some things.”

  He understands what I mean. “Some things? You mean you’re still trying to … you know—”

  This whole conversation feels wrong. I can’t stand it. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.”

  Rey grabs my hand before I can dart away. “Wait. Please … don’t do that. You shouldn’t do something you’ll regret after recruitment when you’re trying to find a husband. You don’t have to.”

  Well, it’s easy for Rey to say that. He’s not in danger of recruitment.

  “Yes, I have to.”

  9

  Drawn

  The Comanches could have taken care of my bruises and cuts, but I was too proud to tell them that I didn’t protect myself during training. When I open the door to an empty examination room, I expect to see Dad, but instead I find the idiot who made fun of me. He’s leaning against a medicine cabinet, scribbling in his journal.

  “Oh … er … I was looking for my dad.”

  Aleksey has barely glanced my way. He’s still engrossed in his notes. I hesitate at the threshold, biting my lip and completely forgetting about the cut.

  “Ow!”

  I’m about to close the door when his deep voice stops me. “Wait.”

  I turn to him warily. He frowns and, without saying a word, points to my bleeding lip. I answer his unspoken question with a lie. “I … I … fell.”

  His cold blue eyes reveal a slight hint of concern. After all, he’s a doctor. I look down, remembering that this isn’t the first time we’ve been alone after one of my falls. Although this time we aren’t naked, my cheeks feel warm.

  “Come here,” he orders.

  I don’t hesitate. Something in his voice compels me to obey. He must have achieved his General rank through his ability to make people follow his commands.

  I stand near him, looking down. From the corner of my eye, I see him examining me.

  “Sit,” he commands.

  My feet dangle helplessly from the examination table. As much as Patriots and cops deny it, this clinic was built for taller patients: drug-filled patients.

  Aleksey gets closer, and my pulse quickens. With gauze, he skillfully cleans my bruises and cuts. I gasp when his colossal hand takes my arm. He applies ointment to the bruises and the pain disappears. I’m not used to this soft touch, and the sensation is nerve-racking and pleasant at the same time.

  Aleksey hands me an icepack. “Keep this on your knee.”

  When he becomes interested in my swollen lip, his face gets dangerously close to mine. My heart beats in an erratic rhythm. I venture a glance his way and regret it immediately. I close my eyes to avoid his piercing blue stare, but I can’t avoid his lingering smell. Or the sound of his breathing.

  He must have brought his face even closer because I can feel his warmth radiating near my face. An intoxicating smell emanates from his muscular body: a mix of clean clothes, wood, and masculinity.

  I shut my eyes with more force than necessary. Aleksey’s mint-scented breath tickles my eyelids, then my cheeks, and finally my lips.

  A soft humming sound escapes from my throat as I sense the heat that flows from Aleksey’s mouth. It feels as though he’s about to brush my lips with his. My stomach contracts, and every nerve becomes alert, but I don’t pull back.

 
Before my lips touch his, the closeness is gone.

  I refuse to open my eyes. My heart is pounding frantically, and I’m breathing at an abnormal pace. What the hell was that? Is that how he treats all his patients?

  I hear him searching through the cabinets, then something meeting the examination table. I open my eyes and watch him scribble on a piece of paper. He hands me the folded note and leaves the room without a word.

  My trembling hands unfold the paper. It’s a prescription.

  I take the medicines from the table and head to my room. My face is still burning, but I feel as though a heavy oppression has lifted from my chest. Now that I’m free of his intimidating presence, I can breathe normally again.

  That night, I toss and turn several times before my eyes feel heavy. My mind is consumed by what happened. I must have imagined the kissing attempt; after all, he’s a professional. Perhaps Aleksey is more decent than I give him credit for. This is the second time he could have overpowered me and didn’t.

  The imaginary kiss attempt has left me yearning, but I’m glad it was all in my imagination and that he didn’t cross that line.

  No girl can jump from thinking that a man can rape her to falling head over heels for him.

  * * *

  The sounds of shots and screams penetrate the walls, waking me. Terror surges through my body, paralyzing me. Somehow, I end up beneath the wooden floorboards. I can see everything from my hiding place.

  My father injects Olmo and Azzy with a tranquilizer, and they stop crying. “Lila, as soon as the soldiers are gone, take them to Baron’s.” There’s desperation in his voice.

  Banging noises startle me. The door is about to fall off its hinges.

  No!

  The four colossal soldiers break into our apartment, seconds after Dad shoves Olmo and Azzy into a hidden closet.

  Somebody! Help!

  I can’t scream. I can’t close my eyes. Not even when they crush my dad’s legs with their massive clubs. Not even when they viciously beat my mother’s swollen belly.

  Stop! She’s pregnant!

  “An eye for an eye! Retaliation!” yells one of them. His acne-ridden face, framed by long platinum hair, reveals that he may not be fifteen yet. He’s less built than the other soldiers, but he boasts the same cruelty and sadism when he cuts my mother’s clothes with his knife, slicing her skin along with her dress.

  They take turns abusing her.

  The teenage soldier isn’t satisfied. His blue eyes gleam in the dark as he uses the handle of his knife to attack her.

  Again and again. Her blood filters through the floorboards. The iron, salty smell of it makes me want to scream, but my voice has abandoned me.

  Kill her! I’d rather you kill her … please … stop!

  But she’s still alive and partially conscious when they drag her out of the apartment.

  My screams—not the tears dampening my pillow—jolt me awake. Somewhere outside the clinic, Poncho’s barking overpowers the soft music in Aleksey’s room. Breathing so heavily that my chest hurts, I observe my surroundings. It’s hard to convince myself that I’m back to reality. It’s been five years, but the wet sensation of my mother’s blood on my hands still makes me shiver uncontrollably.

  The gloomy, barely audible music that comes from Aleksey’s room finally convinces me that I’m awake. My dreams are always so vivid that this soothing, celestial tune may very well be part of them. Unfortunately, what I dreamt about was an exact recreation of that day’s events.

  To this day, I feel guilty for not closing my eyes. What kind of daughter witnesses her mother’s most horrifying experience with her eyes wide open? I don’t know what time it is, but I can’t go back to sleep. I work out instead, trying to wash away my guilt with sweat.

  * * *

  My nightmare brings me back to the glade by the river. Watching the lovers may be a perverted act, but I need to remind myself that sex can be an expression of love. I may never feel that kind of love myself, but at least I can fantasize about it.

  They’re mutually inverted with respect to each other, and Joey is on the bottom. I can see the way their mouths tantalize the most sensitive parts of each other’s bodies. I’m trying to imagine how warm and moist his mouth must feel on Divine’s lips when I hear a sound to my right.

  Three feet from me, Aleksey sits down on the grass.

  My first impulse is to flee; he reminds me so much of the soldiers from my nightmares that I shiver. But I stay rooted to the spot, keeping my eyes on Joey and pretending that Aleksey is invisible. The rational part of me says that I shouldn’t feel afraid. If he were anything like those soldiers, he would’ve attacked me by now.

  Joey, as usual, isn’t aware of anything that isn’t Divine. She watches Aleksey warily without releasing Joey from her mouth, and something tells me that they have reached an unspoken agreement. Aleksey agrees not to disturb them; she agrees to let him watch.

  From the corner of my eye, I see that he sits utterly still, the breeze ruffling his platinum hair. Why is he here? Should I leave? Should I say something? I don’t move, waiting for his reaction.

  And yet, I feel as though Aleksey and I are engaged in some sort of silent conversation. We’re strangers with an inclination to watch when we shouldn’t. For a while, it has been the lovers and me. Now it’s the lovers and us. He’ll leave and most likely never come back after recruitment, so why should it matter?

  Aleksey stays where he is, watching the show for a while. Our eyes meet for an instant before he looks away. Unlike most soldiers, he hasn’t tattooed the contour of his eyes. Even so, his eyes look beautifully piercing.

  “An expanse, as green and deep as the sea,” he says, as though he’s talking to himself.

  I can’t make sense of his words “I … what?” He shakes his head, gets up, and walks away. His cape billows majestically behind him.

  From that moment on, Aleksey becomes my voyeurmate.

  In our duty to protect civilians, we often find ourselves between a rock and a hard place. When it turns out impossible to preserve both—civilians’ lives and their integrity—it’s not even a question what a good Accord cop must choose. Recruitment may not be a perfect institution, but it’s an institution that helps preserve civilian lives.

  Sgt. Gary Sleecket of the 25th Accord Unit

  10

  Proposal

  “He’s hot, isn’t he?” Azzy whispers.

  We’ve spent five hours in line at the ration center, and we’ve only just received our coupons. Poncho follows us closely along the dirty sidewalks while a dozen Accord cops patrol the potholed streets, flaunting their red capes. They’re here to ensure that no one disrupts the delicate rationing system.

  “Well, he’s monstrously built, but with an okay face.” It’s better to not reveal much around Azzy. Otherwise, I’d admit that Aleksey is so ruggedly handsome that he hardly looks human.

  “I meant Tristan. He’s staring at you again.”

  Oops. She caught me thinking about Aleksey. My cheeks feel warm, and this time, it’s not because of Tristan’s stare.

  I turn my head to find him leaning against an Accord ambulance. Tristan is lanky—thank God—so he doesn’t resemble a soldier. Whenever I catch him staring, I blush. He always offers me a reassuring smile.

  The soft drizzle forces Azzy to pull on her hood. “You need a boyfriend.”

  Azzy’s more delusional than I thought. How am I supposed to find a boyfriend in a town where young people don’t hang around members of the opposite sex unless there’s a chaperone involved?

  I try to change the topic. “We’ll be late for physical education.” I train the twins as much as Olmo’s health and Azzy’s stubbornness will allow.

  “Lila, you never flirt because you don’t like Starville dudes. You’re kind of judgmental.”

  I snort. They’re misogynistic bullies. By Starville’s standards, if a woman takes initiative, she’s a slut. Starvillers are even less sympathetic to rec
ruitment victims when they are known to be flirts.

  “You’re always so paranoid when it comes to men.”

  I hold my tongue. She’d be paranoid, too, if she’d witnessed our mother’s attack.

  Azzy addresses my thoughts. “I didn’t see it, but I heard it. And I have to live with it as much as you do. Anyway, there’s no reason to assume that all men are bad. Not even all the soldiers are monsters.” We pass a group of street musicians who are playing under the overpass, and she moves her hips rhythmically to their music. “Think about it like this: We’re at war. Flirting could be another weapon—and you’ll need all the weapons you can get. Try it. Next young guy we see. I’ll give you my portion of bread today.”

  I pretend to ignore her, but maybe she has a point. Except I don’t know how to flirt.

  We turn a corner and see Luke Rivers riding his pinto horse several meters ahead of us. I can’t believe I’m giving thought to this. He ignores me during TCR meetings, and now I’m supposed to flirt with him?

  “So, am I supposed to say,” I do my best impersonation of Elena’s seductive purr, “Hey stud, wanna make a baby? Because if that’s what you’re saying, I’d rather—”

  “You don’t have to do anything special. Just don’t act like you’ll throw your knife at anyone who dares to look at you. Smile and be polite.”

  I cringe. “Me? Smiling? It’ll look so fake.”

  “Fake, my ass! You shouldn’t use the war as an excuse to not live your life. People are getting killed, but they’re also flirting, finding mates, and getting laid.”

  I sigh. I may as well try it to shut her up. Although I’d rather jump into the river from the highest cliff than flirt.

  Luke notices me, and my stomach somersaults violently. When he gets closer, Azzy nudges me. I almost back down, but I don’t want to look too conspicuous by changing directions abruptly, so I tentatively smile at him.