by Sara Wolf
“Wow.” My mouth drops open. Shadus stops and raises an eyebrow at me.
“Something wrong?”
“It’s like a dollhouse.” I run my fingers along a polished banister. “Way, way nicer than anything I’ve ever lived in.”
“It’s nothing impressive,” Shadus snorts. “Human architecture is dull.”
“Candies in a bowl!” I lean over and pick a caramel out. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! This place really is fancy.”
“Is there something special about those items?” Shadus asks.
“Uh, hello? It’s cand – oh. That’s right. You guys can’t eat human food,” I unwrap one. “Your loss. These are sweet and delicious.”
“Different emotions have different tastes,” He glances at me from under his dark bangs. “I know what sweet is. Happiness is sweet. So is excitement, and anticipation.”
I stuff as many caramels into my pockets as I can. “Protip; don’t talk to humans about your creepy eating habits.”
He starts up the stairs to floor two. “You’re particularly abrasive for a human.”
“And you use too many big words,” I snap back. The second floor has huge windows and beautiful wood doors. I wish Alisa was here to see this place. She’d love it.
“104.” Shadus motions to a door - my dorm room.
“Where’s the lock?” I raise an eyebrow. There’s a panel on the side of the door, glowing with an electronic pulse.
“Handprint recognition. It also remotely tests your DNA against the computer’s database,” Shadus murmurs. I press my hand to the panel. The door clicks open.
“I don’t know what’s creepier - tech that can probably lock me out of my own room, or aliens who made themselves human bodies.”
Shadus grimaces. “You talk too much.”
“Is that an insult?”
“That’s a personal observation of mine.”
“What’s wrong with your eyes? They’re red,” I fire back.
“I can see perfectly. Your concern is touching but unneeded. Let’s not pretend to care about each other when no faculty members are present. It wastes energy, and we both know it’s a farce.” He looks down the hall. “Laundry room to your left. Bathrooms to your right. Dinner is at six.”
There’s a long, awkward pause. Shadus stares at me with that bored, irritated expression, like he’s willing me to disappear. I get the message and edge into my room. His footsteps echo down the hall. With his crimson gaze off me, I feel like I can breathe easier. I regret what I said – it was rude, but it’s hard to be polite when you’re a foot away from one of the reasons your Mom died.
But he didn’t kill her, a voice echoes in my head. No Gutter touched her. Humans did.
I shake that thought clean out of my head and look around.
The room is simple. There’s two twin beds, a closet and dressers and desks. One Gutter of the same sex is supposed to room with one human. My suitcase is propped at the foot of a bed. I flop on the floral comforter and wrinkle my nose. Roses are more Alisa’s thing, but it’ll do.
I stare at the ceiling fan. I’m officially an EVE, now. This room cements it.
I finger the EVE scar on my belly, right above my stomach.
What the doctors at the EVE clinic told me reverberates in my head; the Gutters can’t eat Gutter emotions. It has to be another sentient being; us. They can only eat emotion if it’s in a certain chemical form - the EVE organ converts emotion into that chemical. And finally; only certain people can be EVEs. Everybody knows that. Genetic dispositions, blood types, health; all of it’s a factor. The clinics test humans for a specific genetic marker that makes it easier for the body to accept the EVE organ.
The first EVEs were those the government scooped up - the homeless and the poor who tested positive and needed cash. But the emotions they produced weren’t hearty enough. The aliens needed fatter, healthier humans. They needed middle America. Posters at the grocery store for recruitment sprang up overnight, government workers on curbs handing out flyers about the benefits and fancy paid housing an EVE got. Middle America started caving with the promise of a good salary on the heels of a bad recession.
And that was just the beginning. Now, there’s an entire desegregated school for Gutters and humans. It’s never been done before. Green Hills is the first of its kind. EVEs usually live on the Gutter reservation in Colorado, but putting teenage EVEs and teenage Gutters together at a boarding school? It’s almost crazy. It’ll either work, or go up in flames. We need to board here, since the EVE organ has to be monitored closely in case something goes wrong.
I crack open the window by my bed. Outside the grass is dried golden, and fallen leaves scatter like bright red wounds into the earth. This school borders a small town in the hills of Napa wine country. I take a deep breath. It smells crisp, better than the oppressive smog of Los Angeles I’d lived in all my life. Alisa is still smelling that smog, and with her intense asthma, it affects her much worse. I squeeze my eyes shut. She just has to hold on a little longer. I’m here to bring her somewhere new - to get her the fancy hospital and the fancy house in a clean-aired place that she deserves. I’m here to give Dad the break he deserves.
I rummage through my coat and tap a cigarette from my pack. I look at the ceiling - smoke detectors? The EVE contract said no drinking, no being out after curfew, and to refrain from ‘staying over’ at the opposite gender’s dorm, but they didn’t say anything about smoking. Still, I won’t take the chance of getting kicked out. I pull my hoodie on. Before I can open the door, it bashes my nose and my head splits down the middle with hot agony. Through my tearing vision I see dark hair in a long sheet, with blunt bangs framing a pointed face. Her eye color is streaked with sky blue. It’s the girl Gutter I saw earlier. She smells like roses.
“Oh, kiheresh!” She hisses. “Are you okay, human? Do you have a name?”
“O-Ow. My name is Ow.”
She laughs, nervously. “Really?”
I glare through the pain. “It’s Victoria.”
“Nice to meet you! I’m Raine. Your roommate. Sorry about the door to your cranium.” She holds out her slender hand. I don’t take it, but she smiles and mimes shaking my hand anyway. She flops on the other bed, smoothing out the covers. That pose of hers suddenly makes me realize something.
“I know you.” I point at her groggily. “My sister reads magazines all the time and you’re in them. You’re that…that Gutter model everyone talks about.”
She smiles. “I’m surprised you recognized me. Most people think Gutters all look the same.”
“You’re skinnier than the rest of them. Like a skeleton.”
“I do try to keep a decent figure.”
“I guess starving yourself for vanity is popular with aliens, too,” I grumble and start for the door.
“Not very pleasant, are you?” She singsongs. “No wonder you got Shadus as a culture partner.”
I freeze, my fingers on the handle. “Is he unpleasant? I didn’t notice.”
“Your sarcasm mastery is levels above mine,” Raine chimes happily.
“Your eyes are like his.”
She laughs. “You really don’t know much about us, do you? Are you a Gutter-hater, perhaps? One of those people who refuses to learn about our culture when we’ve learned so much about yours?”
I look back at her. Raine just smiles, voice patient.
“We Gutters are divided into three groups. Illuminators – those who supply the facts and technology. Scientists, if you will. They are represented by the color blue. The Adjudicators – keepers of the laws, and deciders of the punishments, much like your policemen and judges. They use the color gold. And finally; the Executioners. Those who carry out orders. Those who kill, to defend and to punish. Our military. Red is their banner.”
I’m quiet, and Raine delights in my silence, continuing with gusto.
“We do not have presidents, or kings. We have sotho – the leading families. Each faction is led by a fam
ily who has ruled since ancient times. The sotho have different colored eyes. This is what sets us apart, and denotes our rank among commoners.”
“Red eyes for Shadus. Blue for you. Yellow for that last guy. And gray for everybody else.” I say. “So you three are like, royalty.”
“Yes, very good.” Raine smiles. “There may be hope for you, yet.”
“Thanks for the condescending culture lesson, Your Highness.”
I wrench the door open. The hall crowds with ambling girls, mostly human. I mince around groups, listening to the chatter.
“You’re from Nebraska? I’m from Connecticut. California is way too hot for me already.”
“I can’t stand fancy places like this.”
“Did you see their eyes? Oh my god, they’re so pale and freaky!”
In the main hall, Gutters and humans stand separately in tight knit circles, eyeing each other from afar. The Gutter body language is stiff and mechanical - their arms over their chests and miles of space kept between them. A clique of human girls giggles with every Gutter male that passes. They’re good looking, I guess, but that doesn’t take away from the fact they are lizard aliens inside human bodies. Some of us are just too stupid to remember that, apparently. I shove the main doors open, two boy EVEs talking just outside.
“I don’t think I can take a whole year sitting in the same room as these freaks, but my mom would kill me if I messed this up. She’s gonna use the money to pay off dad’s gambling debts -”
“Yeah? My mom forced me here, bro, so I can ‘pay for my own college’. It’s so stupid. I don’t even wanna go to college –”
The grounds are open and friendly. There’s no dark spot for me to huddle in and smoke without being noticed. I find a space behind the gym - a brick cove with dumpsters blocking the view. The smoke rises in a comforting spiral and tickles my throat. My nerves melt away. Gutters or no Gutters, I’ll stay and get that money. Shadus is an arrogant piece of work. Raine is too happy-preppy. Even normal, gray-eyed Gutters seem uptight and frigid.
I eye the protestors at the front gate. Signs wave, peeking between the fence with hateful words. The chanting is a dull buzz. News vans spill cords and cameras and lights, reporters with coiffed hair gesture in front of voracious lenses. I duck lower behind the dumpster. The security at the gates holds the protestors and reporters back, night sticks and stun guns hanging on their hips. Not everyone is happy aliens and humans are going to school together. ‘Too dangerous’, the protestors shout. But dangerous for who? Gutters, or us? I spot anti-alien logos on shirts. PFE - People for Free Earth. The sight of the logo, an orange circle enclosing a bird wing, punctures my stomach with splinters. Mom’s group.
A faint PA voice from the school announces lunch. I don’t want to go in. I don’t want to see those pale-eyed faces, how they eat at the table, what they’re eating. I sure as hell don’t want to see Shadus. I’ve got a Gutter for a roommate, a Gutter for a culture partner. I’m surrounded. I suck in a breath and try to call up Alisa’s happy face, Dad’s weary grin. Mom’s death, caused by the Gutters, destroyed us.
But because of the Gutters, I can start to put us back together again.
2. The Devil
Raine snores like a congested elephant, the last thing I expected of a seemingly perfect pretty alien-girl. It makes it hard to get a wink in edgewise. I pull the covers over my head and text on my phone with Alisa. She says to call. The phone rings once, and she picks up.
“Vic! Okay, tell me all about it. What do they look like? How old do they look? Are they pretty? Are the boys hot? Or are they just plain freaky? Do you have your own room?”
Raine chokes on a snore, and rolls over. Alisa giggles at the sound.
“I have an alien for a roommate,” I whisper. “You know Raine? That model you’re always going on about in your magazines?”
“That’s her?” Alisa squeals. “Oh my god, you have to get her autograph for me.”
“Gimme a break.”
“Please, Vic? Please?” She uses her pouty voice, the one that punches hole in my heart. I bite my lip.
“Ugh, fine. I’ll get you an autograph.”
“Yes!” She hisses in victory.
“How’s Dad?”
Her giggles fade. “Oh, you know. Tired. Same as always. He had four shifts today. I’m making muffins for him to try and perk him up.”
“I miss your muffins. I miss him. I miss you.”
I hate the crack in my voice as I say it.
“Vic…” Alisa trails off. “We miss you, too. It’s hard. Being alone. Going to school alone.”
“Do those girls still bother you?”
“It’s okay, really. I’m taking the long way so they won’t -”
“Alisa, you have to stand up for yourself!”
“I’m fine! It’s okay. I’ll manage until you get back.”
I wince, my eyebrows pinching painfully. Alisa’s asthma made her a target for girls at her school. I walked with her every day to and from school, her shield against the jeers. How can I be her shield if I’m so far away, now?
“Promise you’ll call a lot, Vic?” Alisa murmurs.
“I will. I promise.”
Her serious tone lightens, and she barrels into a story about discount shopping at the mall. The pressure of the day hits me like a sledgehammer, and my eyelids ease closed. Her cheery voice lulls me to sleep.
When I wake up, her text awaits, full of smilies; ‘Try to stay awake next time, dork J’.
Those stupid text faces give me strength.
Dressing for the first day of school is the same as outfitting yourself for battle. It makes the first impression - tells people where you’ve been for the summer, or how well off you are. It’s the outermost layer of the stinking onion that is every person in the world. Some layers are shinier than others. My layer is made of frayed jeans and mismatching socks. Gutters seem to understand how important clothes are to humans - Raine has an entire closet of couture clothes she picks over carefully. The Gutters yesterday dressed in decent, clean-looking things. Even Shadus’ combat boots looked shiny and new.
“You guys study our fashions or something?” I pull my faded shirt over my head. Raine turns at the question.
“We’ve grown up studying human culture in order to fit in better, clothes included.”
“Yeah? What about when you were lizards? Did you guys wear clothes in your original bodies?”
“No. Our harder skin did not need protection as yours does. Our sensitive areas were protected naturally by plates of keratin. But we arranged our fringes in different fashions, wore bone and xelan jewelry, and dyed our scales according to our moods. The concept is the same.”
Scales. Fringes. I shake my head to clear it of the image - Godzilla wearing necklaces, his body dyed in pink and purple stripes. Raine’s mouth twists into a smile as she decides on a floaty white dress, grabs her books, and taps her feet into leather sandals.
“I am excited for this year,” She says. When I don’t say anything, she keeps on. “Teenage EVEs are supposed to give off the most delicious emotions, what with your hormones causing your lives to have much emotional fluctuation.”
“Sounds like good eating.” I roll my eyes. She smiles, oblivious to how grossed-out I am.
“It is. The taste of the emotions is much stronger than an adult’s.”
I shudder. Raine just smiles wider.
“Have a good day, Victoria.”
The door shuts behind her. She’s obviously never been to a human high school. There are no good days.
I zip my hoodie up and lock the room behind me. The hall floods with perfume and cheery laughter and the gauzy glitter of sun glancing off first-day-of-school makeup.
Every girl has a story. It shines in the color they choose for their nails, the way they dress their hair. Raine is impeccable; fashionable side ponytail, pale blue nails. I’m lackluster; my dishwater blonde hair is pin-straight with split ends for days; my nails are bitten sh
ort and dotted with flaking black polish I haven’t redone in weeks. I’m wearing mostly black. I’m tall, but that’s the only good thing about me. I’ve got no curves, not like Raine. The EVE girls come in all shades – preppy girls with metallic polish and updo’s, wholesome suburbanites with braids, the goths with purple lipstick and pinstripe socks, and the anime nerds with their iron-on Naruto patches and baggy jeans. The Gutter girls are almost all the same – their fashion is carefully neutral, yet contemporary and stylish; skinny jeans, blouses, blazers, with modest makeup and jewelry. They look fine, but none of them stand out or look unique.
Some girls recognize Raine and stop her in the hall, squealing about her latest spread in such-and-such magazine. Raine takes it all with a gracious smile. She has no trouble speaking with humans, and she pisses none of them off. She could teach Shadus a thing or two, that’s for fucking sure.
The protestors are up bright and early, marching along the front gate. Camera bulbs flash as reporters take pictures of the school. Security patrols up and down the lawn, ushering us to get to class. One protestor screams hysterically, loud enough for me to hear.
“Run while you still can, kids! Run! Run while you have the chance!”
Students stop to stare at her. A security guard pulls his hat further over his eyes and waves his hands as he grunts.
“Keep walking, please. That’s it, just keep walking. The sooner we get you inside, the better.”
“Why do they want us inside?” A girl whispers to her friend.
“The protestors might throw things,” I answer automatically. “The PFE’s there, too.”
“PFE? Who’re they?”
Her friend rolls her eyes. “Those people who had that stampede back in the day? At that protest? We were, I dunno, seven?”
“That was them?” The girl’s voice pitches up. They take the left fork, I take the right and try to quell my roiling stomach at the mention of the stampede. The hall packs with overdressed people. Boys have their hair gelled, the strong scent of an ungodly amount of Axe stinging my nose. But boy Gutters are the same as the girls – stylish, yet homogenous. The Gutters nod and smile, looking a little lost in all the boisterous human energy. Voices are shrill with nervousness, students calling to each other like they’re best friends already. We’re from all over the country - there’s no way anyone’s made friends yet. Or maybe they have. Maybe all the cliques magically formed overnight, and I’m alone.