Verify
Page 27
“He has to leave the city,” Index says gently as Dewey looks on, his battered hat clutched in his hands. “I know you were hoping you could convince him to stay here in the station, but he’s not prepared to deal with any of this. We have new identities for you arranged. There’s a Steward living near the state border who can help you get across into the outskirts of Madison. We have a small group there that will assist you and your father while you get settled.”
“There are people who know the truth here,” I say. How can I leave Atlas or Rose, or the memories of my mother? “We just need to give it more time. Or try again.”
Dewey closes the door on that hope. “The experiment failed. People have moved on. If you could walk on the streets you’d see them going about their lives as if nothing happened. Since you can’t, you’ll have to trust me.”
“Atlas doesn’t believe that.” He has gone out every day to search for signs that the spark has been lit. So far he hasn’t found any, but so many people received those pages. There have to be some who understood the words and cared. There have to be.
“Atlas is clinging to the idea that Atticus can be found.” Dewey sighs. “I wish that were true. He was a dear friend. If I thought we could gather the papers we needed to try again, or that your friend knew where to find the information about his location . . .” He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, it will take months or years before we have the supplies and manpower to mount another try.”
“But—”
“Margaret Thatcher has been credited as saying you may have to fight a battle more than once to win it. We will just have to wait, Merriam, until the time is right to fight again.” Dewey puts his hand on my shoulder. “Your father is waging his own battle. Perhaps that is where you need to focus your attention now.” When I say nothing, Dewey nods. “The last train out leaves in two days. If you are on it, as I suspect you will be, I wish you great luck in your new life. When you need me, I will be here.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then puts his hat on and disappears out the door.
Index tells me I should get my things together. So, I go upstairs to the room filled with now empty bunk beds I once shared with a half dozen Stewards and begin to put my few belongings into my backpack. Because Dewey is right. My dad has a battle ahead, and I can’t even leave this building. What good can I do? Especially without the supplies we will need to mount another attempt to make people see the truth. Maybe by the time we get the papers necessary to try again, people will be ready to see what we see when we read those words. Or maybe . . .
My heart leaps. Maybe Dewey and the Stewards are wrong and we are the ones who need to see things differently. Maybe the battle has to be fought another way.
We know the truth. We can’t help but look at the world and not see what we know. But what if we tried to see it like everyone else?
Thunder rumbles, and I think back to that night on Navy Pier. Not of the hope and excitement I felt, but of how people reacted when I handed them the books and the papers. I picture their faces and hands and hear their voices in my head. Surprised. Reluctant. Uncomfortable. At times they were angry because they saw paper the way the government told them it was supposed to be seen, not the way we see it. They saw it as selfish or indulgent or anti-country. So is it any surprise that when they looked at the words on the page or the ideas inside the covers, they saw those the same way?
Most couldn’t see the truth through the lens colored by lies. So they recycled the paper as they were told to do. That means we have to present it to them in a way they don’t question. That somehow feels familiar.
I sit in the gathering room alone, watching the screen, searching for a way to make that happen. Uninspired, I start to turn away but stop as an advertisement for makeup comes on. The model is stunning. Confident. Happy. Just like everyone watching wants to be as she applies the sharp red color to her lips, winks, and then goes to join a handsome man. It’s the type of product advertisement I’ve always ignored but Rose and all the other girls in school love. The kind that Rose’s mother has in her magazine. The type that makes people study the page to see how they can be that beautiful and happy, too.
And suddenly, I have an idea.
I work on a station tablet throughout the subsequent hours as everyone else akes preparations to leave the next day. Index comes in and tells me the plan for me and Dad to be smuggled out of the city is ready. Dewey is watching my father until it is time for us to leave. A few of the remaining Stewards stop by to wish me a safe ride and to tell me they will try again when the time is right.
I nod and keep drawing.
Sharp lines. Strong colors. No longer am I trying to re-create something my mother would have drawn or something that my teacher would approve of in class. This is my vision. My passion captured with each stroke. I started this fight to finish my mother’s work. But while this started with my mother, it is about so much more now. It’s about me. And it’s time to make the choice to do it my way.
Since I can’t use my old information, I create a new email account, then send my work to Rose, hoping my friend will read a message sent from an unfamiliar address. I’m careful not to say anything the government could question, and gnaw on my cheek as I wait anxiously for a reply. Almost immediately, she responds that she knows a great place to get free makeovers and warns that I should immediately take advantage of the offer or I might miss out.
If someone finds the message, they will think Rose was just passing along a fashion-industry tip. Which is exactly what they are supposed to think. I grab the blue hat out of my bag, tuck my hair under it, and head out to find Atlas, who has grown more resigned to losing his father and saying good-bye to me.
Thunder crackles outside as I tell him, “I have an idea. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” he asks as I head for the door. “The Marshals are still looking for you. It’s why you have to leave the city.”
“I know,” I say with confidence that helps keep the fear away as I sneak out the door into the thick air. The promised rain is on the way.
Rose is waiting for us at the open back door of Gloss, as I knew she would be. After all, it is where she procures the makeup she always has handy. “This way,” she says as we weave through a storeroom filled with samples to her mother’s office. “There’s a few people working late on the next issue, so I set up in my mom’s space upstairs. No one will bother us there.”
“Set up?” Atlas asks. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re not giving up,” I say as Rose leads us to her mother’s expansive office filled with images of Gloss covers, along with a familiar image Rose loaded onto the screen—the one I sent to her. The one she tells me her mother loves. A new logo for Gloss.
It’s a version of the Stewards’ tattoo—with sharp lines looking like pages of the magazine fluttering open and flames of every color shooting out. “We’re just going to change the way we fight.”
Atticus and Isaac could still be out there. People continue to disappear and are shipped off to who knows where for purposes we can’t yet know. But just because we lost the battle doesn’t mean the fight is over. The war has just begun.
“Ready to change?” Rose asks as she pulls out a chair next to a table piled with hair products she gathered for me. Because there is only one option if I want to stay and fight.
Am I ready to become someone new?
I look at Atlas, who is calling Index to tell her we won’t be taking the Stewards’ final train to safety. I think of my father and all we have been through. I love him, but as much as I want to help him, I have realized the journey he’s on is one he needs to take without me. I can’t change him or his drinking. And I can’t shape my life around trying.
Still, uncertainty swirls as I take off Stef’s blue hat and run my fingers along the lining that I will take apart tomorrow. I’m not sure if we can find the location where Atticus and Isaac are being held or what happens to those who are taken away. The truth is, I�
��m not sure of very much at all.
There is only one thing I am certain of. The truth changed my life without my knowing it, from the minute I first heard it.
I take a seat in the chair and nod to Rose that it is time to start. To keep fighting for the truth now, I think, it is only fitting that I have to change again.
Atlas watches as Rose cuts and colors and fusses until finally she is ready to let me see her work.
People weren’t willing to see the truth the last time we fought for it. This time, I think, as I shake out my newly short hair, colored with streaks of bright red and white, I am going to make the truth impossible for them to ignore.
Acknowledgments
Words have power. I don’t think I understood how much power until I began to write books. I realized it anew as I sat down to tell this story. Still, no matter how much power words have, it often takes more than one voice to make sure those words are heard.
As an author, I’m lucky to have incredible voices on my side to help me through the process of story conception to publication. It’s because of their chorus of support and dedication that the words I write are transformed into a book.
First and foremost, this story would never have been told had it not been for the support, guidance, and friendship of Stacia Decker. It’s amazing what ideas a bunch of random emails between client and agent can spark. More amazing still is the careful attention you always give to the story I am telling and to me. You were the first to dedicate yourself to making sure my words are heard, and I am and will always be forever grateful.
Next, words are never written in a vacuum. They are written on planes, in parks and tae kwon do studios, and most of all in my house. Thank you to all my friends and family. But especially, thank you to my husband, Andy, for understanding the late nights, my need to brainstorm when I am stuck even though you have no idea what I am talking about, and for your love. Also, to my son, Max—thank you for your cheerful certainty that I can do anything and your unflinching conviction when you tell people that I’m famous. (Spoiler alert . . . I’m not famous.) And to my fantastic author assistant and amazing mom—thanks for always meeting the bus and helping with homework when I am out of town and for your unfailing belief that my words have value even when I have no idea what I am trying to say.
So many people touch a book once it’s written. To editor extraordinaire Kristen Pettit—thank you for your enthusiasm and your willingness to find the heart of the story I’m trying to tell. I also owe lots of hugs to Ro Romanello and huge applause to Elizabeth Lynch! Also, thanks to Erica Sussman for her vision for HarperTeen and for letting me be a part of it. To my amazing copyeditor Sona Vogel—you are a grammar and fact-check rock star! Edel Rodriguez—I couldn’t imagine a more perfect artist or cover for this book. Thank you for lending your incredible talent to my words. And to production editor Liz Byer, incredible designer Jenna Stempel-Lobell, and the entire HarperTeen and Epic Reads team: thank you for your incredible work.
Words have power only if they are heard or read. I am so grateful to each of the librarians, teachers, booksellers, and readers for taking the time to let my words into their lives. You are the reason my words are more than just a bunch of letters on a page. It is you and your imagination that bring them to life.
And finally, I would be remiss in these acknowledgments if I didn’t extend my gratitude to the men and women of the fourth estate who are the living, breathing embodiment of the First Amendment. We are counting on you to keep asking questions even if they make us uncomfortable and verifying answers no matter whether they are the ones we want to hear. Words have power. We are depending on you to keep using yours.
About the Author
Photo by Tom Frey
JOELLE CHARBONNEAU has performed in opera and musical-theater productions across Chicagoland. She is the author of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Testing trilogy and the bestselling Dividing Eden series, as well as two adult mystery series and several other books for young adult readers. Her YA books have appeared on the Indie Next List, YALSA’s Top Ten Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers, and state reading lists across the country. Joelle lives in the Chicago area with her husband and son.
www.joellecharbonneau.com
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Books by Joelle Charbonneau
Dividing Eden
Eden Conquered
Into the Garden (digital novella)
Forbidden Fruit (digital novella)
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
VERIFY. Copyright © 2019 by Joelle Charbonneau. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
Cover art © 2019 by Edel Rodriguez
Cover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Charbonneau, Joelle, author.
Title: Verify/Joelle Charbonneau
Description: New York, NY : HarperTeen, [2019] | Summary: Chicago teen Meri Beckley’s pride of living in a land of peace, prosperity, and truth crumbles when questions following her mother’s death reveal buried facts, especially that words can have great power.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019009520 | ISBN 9780062803627 (hardback)
Subjects: | CYAC: Grief—Fiction. | Honesty—Fiction. | Government, Resistance to—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C37354 Ver 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019009520
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Digital Edition SEPTEMBER 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-280364-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-280362-7
1920212223PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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