One thing I love about senior ladies. No bull.
I shrug. “You know how it goes. I had that project to finish.” This morning, I’d love to avoid a deep discussion with Miss Edith about my health and side projects for the Scythe. “How’s Killer?” That’s her cat, as well as a possible segue to a new topic.
Miss Edith takes another long sip before replying. I know her system. She’s debating about whether to push me here. At last, she replies. “Killer is up to her old tricks as always. Brought me a dead mouse yesterday.”
In other words, she is deciding not to push. Yay.
“Sounds yummy.” I scoop my school backpack from the floor. This one actually has notebooks and pens inside instead of darts and bombs. “You know the routine,” I add. “Take care of Mom. See you after school.”
Miss Edith waves to me as I leave. “Say hello to that MacGregor boy,” she adds.
“I always do.” MacGregor—everyone calls him G—is one of my classmates. We got fake-married in the second grade. It was a recess game and, sad to say, it’s the closest I’ve gotten to dating anyone, before or since. I should stop trying to resurrect that relationship, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Leaving the factory behind, I trek through back alleys and side streets until I leave the Ozymandias Chemical complex. Soon I reach Winter’s Run, the main town nearby. The area’s really cute. The locals have cobbled together new buildings from refurbished bits of stuff. The schools here are collaboratives where families pool resources. Volunteer teachers play by the rules and report all scores to the Authority.
Obviously, this is not where I take classes. If I went to a collaborative, I’d need to give my real name and go to school regularly. Let’s just say that doesn’t fit my current lifestyle.
Twenty minutes later, I come to my school. In old Earth, this place might be called the Chuck E Cheese of academia. It’s an Authority approved, for-profit institution called Learning Squirrel High. And in case you’re wondering, for-profit means easy-to-bribe. The students here are all hiding from the Authority.
Every. Last. One.
Most kids have parents who work for the Scythe. Others are like my best friends, Chloe and Zoe, who attend because their father’s terminal cancer makes him an undesirable. In a collaborative, the school would have to report parental fitness. But Learning Squirrel is pay-to-play. You pay, they play along. Zoe and Chloe’s father is listed as being in perfect health. I’m registered here as Wisteria Roberts.
In short order, I reach a familiar muddy field before a patchwork of double-wide trailers. Learning Squirrel High. Dozens of kids hang out in the central mud pit that’s the waiting area for class to start. The moment I step onto the grounds, Zoe and Chloe make a beeline in my direction. They’re identical twins—tall and willowy with golden hair—but beyond that, they couldn’t be more different. Zoe is a genius with chemicals and sourcing cute clothing. Today, she wears cool black boots and a fitted trench coat that says: I’m runway bound. Meanwhile, Chloe sports the coverall look made famous in gas stations everywhere. Her hair stays pulled into two ever-present ponytails. The look totally suits her, considering how Chloe’s a genius with all things mechanic.
The twins stomp through the mud and stop before me. I point at Zoe’s trench coat. “Why isn’t there any mud on you? Did you create some new treatment chem for the fabric?”
“We’re not talking about that right now.” Zoe tilts her head, making her straight blonde hair fall in a perfect arc over her shoulder. “Chloe and I want in.”
I decide to play dumb. “That’s right. I haven’t been to school in ages. Let me share all the news about Miss Edith.”
“Puh-LEASE,” groans Chloe. “We saw the Authority newsfeed this morning. They’re saying the Sister Rage rebellion broke into RCM1 and killed some Merciless guards. It was a flipping bloody mess.”
That’s nice language from Chloe, by the way. Normally, she has a potty mouth.
“There is no such thing as a Sister Rage rebellion,” I counter. “The Authority made that up so they’d have a fake enemy. And besides …” I nibble my thumbnail. “Last I checked, there wasn’t anything about RCM1 on the news.”
“That’s because you stay off government channels.” Zoe rolls her eyes. “This RCM1 story has Meimi Archer written all over it.”
Suddenly, I become very interested in the straps on my backpack. “What makes you say that?”
“Come on,” groans Chloe. “RCM1 is your number one spot to steal shi—”
“Language,” interrupts Zoe.
“To steal stuff,” finishes Chloe. She then sticks out her tongue at her sister. I love Chloe.
“About RCM1.” I raise my pointer finger. “I always make a donation in the same amount. So it’s not really stealing.”
“We know that,” continues Chloe. “What we’re saying is this: You did something that could land you in buttloads of trouble. Zoe and I want the details so we can help.”
Emotions battle it out in my nervous system. There’s the warmth of gratitude for the fact that I have such amazing friends, followed by the chill of terror that Zoe and Chloe will ever get involved in my vortex of crazy.
“Your mother works triple shifts as a medic,” I explain at last. “All she wants is to keep you and your father off grid. I can’t pull you into my stuff. That would paint huge targets on your backs.”
Zoe frowns. “Because you work for the Scythe?”
I lower my voice. “You really shouldn’t say his name out loud.”
“Like his criminal ass is some big secret,” says Chloe. “You’re missing the point. All Zoe and I do is read books, invent stuff, and hide out. There are houseplants who’ve seen more of the world. We’re ready for action. A-C-T-I-O-N.”
“Besides,” adds Zoe. “Dad doesn’t have much longer.” Her big blue eyes glisten. “We can’t lose you too, Meims.”
They both look so open and helpful, I hate to shoot them down. An idea occurs. “I know a way you can help. Luci might be alive. Maybe you can hack into some systems, see what you discover.”
Zoe and Chloe share a long look. My heart sinks. I know what that particular flavor of glance means. To them, my revelation is no revelation.
Chloe is first to speak. “About that …”
“You knew?” I take a half step backward. “How could you keep it from me?”
Zoe moves closer. “We weren’t certain, but we had our suspicions.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Still not understanding.”
“We want to be supportive,” adds Zoe. “But Chloe and I talked it over. There are things about Luci you didn’t need to know because...” She taps her chin. “How do I put this?”
Chloe hooks her thumbs into the back pockets of her coveralls. “Here’s the deal. If I had a little sister, I’d never make her work in a garbage dump, especially at the ripe old age of ten.”
“Or eight,” adds Zoe.
“Actually, I was six.”
“That’s what we’re saying.” Zoe points at my nose. “You were a child. It makes sense that you’d idealize Luci at that age. But your sister did things that were, well, bad. She’s still doing them.”
All of a sudden, it’s like I’m channeling Fritz. “Define bad.”
Zoe lifts her chin. “I found some people mentioning Luci and Josiah in chat rooms for Authority workers.”
“More like ranting,” clarifies Chloe.
My world tilts on its axis. “You’re saying that Luci and Josiah are not only alive, but they’re working for the Authority? That’s not possible.”
“How can you know for certain?” asks Zoe. “Will you risk your mother’s life on that? Because if you reach out to Luci, she could blow you both in. Right now, your sister doesn’t know where you are.”
Protective energy rushes through me. “Luci would never place Mom at risk, even if we did tell her where we live.”
“I don’t know; you should read these rants.” Chloe lets out a
low whistle. “According to these folks, Luci is an entitled—”
Zoe raises her hand. “Language.”
“Witch with a B,” finishes Chloe. “And Josiah’s both handsy and disgusting.”
All their insights hit me like so many stones. The stuff written on chat boards is probably just a bunch of rumors. At least, I hope it is. But the point about my working at RCM1 at six? That’s totally valid. I’d just never thought about it that way before.
I hug my elbows. “This is super confusing.”
“Sorry, Meimi.” Chloe winces. “But before you take risks for Luci and Josiah, we thought you should know.”
Ding, ding, ding!
For the record, I’ve never happier to hear the class bell. And I must admit, I did get the information I needed about RCM1 from Chloe and Zoe. I just discovered a whole lot more about Luci, too.
“And we still want in on whatever troubles you,” adds Zoe. “You can trust us. We’ll help.”
And I do trust them. Trouble is, I still trust Luci, too. There must be some explanation for all this. I just have to find my sister and get it.
Chapter 10
Zoe, Chloe, and I step into the double-wide trailer for science class. A bunch of mismatched chairs are lined up in three rows. MacGregor Jacoby sits up front. He’s a total bad boy with his heavy-lidded eyes, black leather jacket, and tousled dark hair. The kid is totally out of my league. I should not say hello to him. It’s just a recipe for humiliation.
Then again, it’s not like I have tons of chances to interact with guys my own age when I’m awake.
I pause by his rickety desk. “Good morning, G.”
Did that sound weird? Needy? I have no idea. Math formulas have rules. Guys? Not so much.
G slowly lifts his brows. This kid knows how to work his swagger, all right. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Meimi. We got fake-married in second grade.”
“Not ringing any bells.” He shifts in his chair. “Wait, you hang with Zoe, right?”
“Sure, she and Chloe are my best friends.”
“You think Zoe likes me? Ask her.”
This is a reasonable request. Not sure why G can’t do it himself, but hey, what I know about men is very little. Cupping my hand by my mouth, I call across the trailer. The twins have seats in the far corner, so it’s the fastest way to get the job done. See? Logic at work.
“Hey, Zo! G wants to know if you like him.”
For the record, everyone wants to know if Zoe likes them. She’s that girl. Best to get the requests done quickly.
“Not interested,” says Zoe smoothly.
“She thinks he’s a douchebag,” adds Chloe.
“Language!” Zoe elbows her sister.
G slowly shakes his head. “Do me a favor, loser. Never talk to me again.”
I stagger backward. He asked me for help. I did what he wanted. Now, there’s no more confusion for G on the Zoe front. Problem solved. What’s up his butt, anyway?
Boys are so confusing.
Crossing the room, I slip onto a chair beside the twins. My face is burning up, I’m so humiliated. I’m not a loser, really. It’s just that I plan to make more friends after my next prototype is done. Maybe.
Zoe pats my hand. “Don’t worry about that guy. You were just trying to be nice. Chloe set him off. She shouldn’t have added the douchebag reference.”
“True,” says Chloe. She raises her voice as she adds: “G is more of a dick than a douchebag.”
Zoe sighs. Looks like she’s giving up on saying language for the umpteenth time this morning.
“Thanks guys,” I say, and I mean it.
Unlike boys, girls are the best.
At the front of the room, our teacher looks up from her rusted metal desk. She’s a rail of a woman with frizzy brown hair and beady eyes. Although her name is Gertrude Bumgartner, we call her the Bummer because, well, that’s what she is. You know the tone of voice you use when someone asks you to run upstairs for the millionth time … and then keeps forgetting what you’re supposed to look for? It’s a particular kind of whine that mixes resignation and rage. That’s how the Bummer speaks all day long.
“Morning, class,” says the Bummer. She doesn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “My data pad says we’re having a hologram message today from none other than the Doctor Godwin, leader of the Authority’s creature development program.”
My skin prickles over with awareness. Godwin is giving us a message, today of all days?
No need to freak out. It’s probably just a coincidence.
A spider bot crawls into the trailer, scales up the wall, and perches itself in a top corner. Light sears out from its round body; another hologram appears in the front of the room.
It’s Godwin.
“Hello, young people,” says the doctor. “I have great news for you today. In response to the latest set of murders by the rebel group calling themselves Sister Rage, our own beloved President, Mother Hope, has authorized me to lead the next phase of our genetic modification and creature development program.”
I tilt my head, considering this latest batch of lies. Mother Hope would never hold off on the next phase of developing attack animals. What’s Godwin getting at, really?
The doctor straightens the neckline of his lab coat. “For some time, we have sought to create the next generation of both the Merciless and their Horde. We’d set steep deadlines for our scientific team on this project, as well as severe penalties for missing goals. Unfortunately, those scientists failed us. Now we’re seeking a new group of brilliant minds to see this project through.”
Huh. I may not understand all guys, but Godwin? The dude is transparent to me, it’s so obvious what he’s up to: his old scientists didn’t get the job done, and so Godwin had them killed. Now he’s looking for fresh workers from the under-eighteen crowd.
“Therefore,” continues Godwin. “We require an elite group of brilliant high school students with malleable minds and a strong work ethic. We have new, uh, technology that can load the needed learning into your minds.”
I roll my eyes. Sure, they can just load in learning. I’ve heard about that tech. Maybe it works for one kid in a thousand. For most folks, the process just melts your brain into goo. Everyone knows that it’s a lot easier to wipe specific memories away than add new ones.
A chill moves up my arms. At least, I hope everyone knows that. I scan my classmates. No one here would be dumb enough to volunteer, right?
“The standard school year ends on June first,” says Godwin. “That’s just a few short weeks away. Summer school will then begin at ECHO Academy, which is the world’s finest institute for scientific minds. Anyone sixteen to eighteen years old may submit to take aptitude tests for admission to my unique summer program. The more current skills you have in the sciences, the more likely you are to be accepted into the program, and to have success with the knowledge implants.”
Zoe pokes my shoulder and mouths two words. No way.
I silently reply. Agree.
“And here is the best part,” continues Godwin. “If you prove valuable to the Authority over the summer, we will provide you with a sponsor family to cover your entire tuition at ECHO.” Godwin gestures toward the Bummer. “Don’t be shy. Submit your name to your teacher, take our screening tests, and serve the Authority. Thank you.”
The light on the spider bot dies out. The image of Godwin disappears.
Slumping over her data pad, the Bummer takes over the speech. “Now I’m supposed to ask for volunteers with some basic skills.” The Bummer flicks her finger across the screen some more. “The Authority especially needs those with knowledge of chemistry, mechanics, and drift science.” She pokes her tongue in her cheek for a long time.
Danger sign.
The Bummer doesn’t often think for herself. But when she does? It’s usually accompanied by that poke your cheek with your tongue move.
“Wisteria, Louise, and Drillbittina. Don’t you th
ree have some science skills?”
My eyes widen. Definite trouble ahead.
When it comes to aliases, Wisteria is me, Louise is Zoe, and Drillbittina is Chloe. Sure, we kids call each other by our actual names, but that’s because the teachers don’t remember our names anyway, whether fake or real. And now the Bummer not only figured out our aliases, but she’s also got some ideas on our skills? Scary. Although, to be fair, Chloe did make up her fake name Drill-bit-tina in honor of mechanics, so there’s that.
“Wisteria Roberts, we’ll start with you. Do you have any particular skills in drift science?”
I do my best dumb bunny impression. “Drift science. Whatever does that mean?”
The Bummer lets out the softest of groans. “Let’s see what it says here.” She starts reading from the data pad. “The drift refers to the dimension drift, the arm of science that specializes in how our reality overlaps with others. Things are connected in ways we sense are present, even if we can’t detect them.” She looks up. “I think it’s like, step on a crack, break your mother’s back. That kind of thing. ”
A totally lame description. Drift science is only the coolest thing in any universe.
The Bummer goes on. “Drift scientists create calculations, design equipment, and envision connecting worlds together. The practice combines engineering, quantum physics, computer science, and a little artistry. Some call it the ultimate scientific pursuit.”
And we have the best toys. Not that I’m saying those words out loud right now.
“Any of this sound familiar to you?” asks the Bummer.
I scrunch up my face to make it look like I’m thinking. After a decent pause, I reply. “Nope.”
“Okay, sounds legit.” The Bummer types a few keys. “Next up.” She looks to Zoe. “Louise Jones. Any special skills related to chemistry?”
Zoe glances around the room, as if seriously contemplating this question. She also puts in a good pause before speaking. “I use bleach to clean the toilet.”
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