Regenerate

  We all look at Jo’s hands, even Jo. They are a strange greyish brown, and the color seems more than just surface debris.

  “This?” asks Jo, holding up her hands. “Girl, this is nothing but good old-fashioned soil. REAL soil. Not that homogenized chemical compound you’re probably used to. This is the real deal.” She smiles at the grime on her skin.

  Kachina’s shoulders quiver involuntarily. She looks horrified. Her face is puckered up and her mouth hangs open.

  Jo’s pleased smile turns into something with resolve behind it. Her lips purse tightly together. “You kids come with me.” She opens the gate and gestures for us to follow her in.

  Plants both growing and uprooted cover most of the area, but there is a small, freshly turned space of dirt in the middle.

  Jo steps into it and spreads her arms out wide. “This garden is full of life: spontaneous and cultivated, wanted and unwanted.” She squats down and motions for us to do the same. “I want each of you take a handful of this earth.”

  She reaches down and demonstrates.

  We follow her direction. The dirt is warm against my fingers. Its texture is soft and fine, yet gritty at the same time. It’s so un-uniform, and heavy.

  “Now, take a good smell,” she says. She brings her handful to her nose and draws a long draft of air through her nostrils.

  Kachina’s eyes are as wide as pancakes and she sits there frozen. The boys hesitate and try not to look at each other.

  I drop my eyes to my handful of dirt. Earth, as Jo calls it. It’s dirty, yes, but sort of beautiful in its own imperfect way. I bring it to my nose, close my eyes and breathe deep. It smells warm, hearty, and surprisingly fresh. Odd as it may sound, it smells like I’d imagine a real home would feel, just right somehow.

  “That, kids,” says Jo, “that is the smell of possibility, of potential. In this soil is a force powerful enough to keep the world and everything on it running. Its nutrients feed the plants, the plants feed us, and when we ourselves become earth, we nourish the plants. It’s a beautiful cycle that all connects. Everything needs connection to thrive. We’re meant to.”

  She drops her handful and rises to her feet, clapping her hands to dust them. “Say what you will about hygiene, but me, I love that smell. It’s better than any chemically composed perfume or soap.”

  The others rise too, Kachina faster than the rest, but I sit all the way onto the ground. I press my palms onto the earth and comb it with my fingers.

  “Well, come on in and I’ll feed y’all,” Jo says with a nod of her head.

  I bite my lower lip. “Actually, Jo, could I stay out here a while longer?” I can’t explain why, but I’m not ready to leave yet.

  Jo turns back and studies me, and her weathered old brow wrinkles as it rises a fraction.

  I swallow and watch my own fingers sift through the soil. “Maybe you could show me how to work with the crops, like you were just doing.” I peek up to gauge her reaction.

  Jo presses her hands to her stomach and I think her eyes are glossier than before. She smiles. “I’d love to.”

  When it’s time to go, we say our goodbyes and head out the door, but Jo pulls Lander aside. She waves us to go on ahead and wait at the path, claiming to need a minute to talk to Lander about his grandfather.

  I swear he goes a shade paler.

  We do as she says, waiting at the edge of the foot path. What on earth did she have to say to him that the rest of us couldn’t hear? It seems like a good five minutes before Lander catches up. He walks with brisk, sharp steps. His gaze is focused on a ground he doesn’t seem to actually be seeing. His hands are shoved so deep into the pockets of his hoodie, you can see the bulge of his knuckles.

  “About time,” says Raxtin.

  Since when did Rax become a punk to people?

  Lander tosses a nod of acknowledgment, but his eyes look so distant I doubt he even heard what Raxtin said.

  “What did Jo have to say?” asks Kachina.

  “That the last tram gets here in twenty minutes, so we’d better hustle,” Lander says with a hard, flat tone. Then he gives each of us a stern glance.

  Wow, I’ve never heard him talk like that, not to anyone. His expression is icy, void of emotion, but I get the feeling he’s coiled up inside, like a cornered lion.

  Before the others can say anything else, I jump in. “He’s right. We can’t afford to miss that tram. Let’s hurry.”

  Raxtin’s jaw muscles bulge and his lips are pressed into a thin, tight line. He looks from me to Lander and back, then his expression eases. “All right, Averi. If you want to hurry so much, I’ll race you.”

  I wrinkle up my nose. “What?” He can’t be serious. “What are we, nine?”

  “Ready,” he says, drawn-out and slow.

  I glance at the others and I know they’re having none of it. “Raxtin, racing is for little kids,” I say.

  “Set,” he draws out the word again, his deepest dimple starting to show. His stance is poised for sprinting.

  I clamp my mouth shut and brace for the word.

  “GO!”

  I burst forward, pushing myself as fast as my legs will take me, pulling at the ground with each impact of my feet. The wind whips my hair behind me like a horse’s mane. My lungs have a rhythm, just like my furiously pumping heart. I forgot how amazing it feels to run at full speed.

  Raxtin and his long, strong legs keep steadily ahead of me, but even so, I think he’s holding back. We used to race each other all the time, and I’ve seen how he can move when he really tries. He looks like he’s out for a morning jog.

  “Put some effort into it! This is a supposed to be a RACE, you punk!” I shout at him with panting breaths.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to get too far ahead and have you get lost,” he calls back over his shoulder.

  “You brat!”

  He lifts his hands to either side. “What? I’m finally evening out our childhood scores.”

  Just then, the station comes into view.

  I smirk. “Wanna bet?” I set my jaw and push myself even harder. My legs feel like they’re on fire and my lungs are aching a little, but I’m determined to push through it.

  “What the…? Hey!” Shouts Raxtin as I pass him up.

  He too puts on a burst of speed, and we book it for the station head to head. Our shoes slap against the concrete platform at just the same time, and we pull ourselves to a stop. The others are nowhere in sight.

  We both stoop over and brace our hands on our knees, trying to catch our breath.

  Raxtin looks at me with a huge grin. “Apparently you still whoop me racing. Well done.”

  I smile too, but my lips are too tired to form words. I nod, still gulping for air. I want to say thanks, or at least something snarky, but all I can think about is how much I want the tingling in my limbs to stop, and the fire in my lungs to quit burning. I press a hand to the stabbing pain in my chest. It feels like my heart is actually trying to beat its way out. I shut my eyes.

  “Averi,” says Raxtin.

  Why does he sound so refreshed and calmed? I’m still dying for a decent breath.

  “Averi, are you ok?” he says, his tone more serious.

  I crack my eyes open just enough to see that worried pinch between his bushy dark brows. Then I shut them again as the swimming vision starts. Please don’t do this right now, Averi! For once can you not look like a pathetic loser in front of your friends?

  “Averi, you look as white as a sheet. I’m calling for help.” I hear him start giving Ivi the command.

  Ugh, no! I put a hand up to protest, but it throws off my balance. All at once I’m not really sure which way is up.

  “Oh, crap!” Raxtin shouts.

  Instead of the concrete smashing in my nose, two strong arms wrap around my waist and body. Rax’s Ivi next to me says, “Telling me to call ‘Oh crap’ is impolite and childish. Please try your request again when you aren’t being facetious.”

  If I weren�
�t nearly passing out from an asthma attack, I think I’d bust a gut laughing.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Lander is shouting.

  His voice is followed by two sets of rushing footsteps. The sound of everything has a stretched, distant quality to it.

  “She’s blacking out. Call for help!” shouts Raxtin.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Whether or not I actually did pass out, I’m not sure. But even with my eyes still shut, my awareness is suddenly getting clearer. I’m able to draw more air with each breath I take.

  A breeze whisks across my feet and it’s chilly. Wait, am I barefoot? What on earth has been going on?

  My eyes blink open and my fuzzy vision clears. Grandma Jo is rubbing the bottoms of my bare feet.

  “There you are, sweetie,” says Jo. “That’s right, nice deep breaths. Let yourself come to all the way.”

  What’s she doing here? Where am I? I glance around. I’m under open sky again, not the metallic roof of the platform. At the edge of my vision, bare tree branches reach into the sky like bony fingers.

  Standing above me are three familiar faces: Rax, Kachina, and Lander. The first two look really freaked out. Kachina is bawling, and Raxtin’s eyes are rimmed with red. Has he been crying too? How bad off am I? Then I see Lander’s face. His lips are drawn into a tight line, but the surety in his blue eyes makes my tension ease. I’ll be ok.

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Grandma? How’d you get here? What happened? And why are you rubbing my feet?”

  Her wrinkles seem to soften and she looks up at me from her work. “You had an asthma spell. Lander and Raxtin here carried you back to my house since help was going to take a while to arrive. Guess they didn’t have what you needed on board the tram. Now, you sit still and stop using up your breath while I finish rubbing this Asclepias tincture into your feet.” She digs her fingers in a little more vigorously. Ow! “Now that you’re awake,” she continues, “I want you to swallow more of this.”

  The vial is passed to me and I gag down a dropper full of the bitter, biting liquid. It’s a different herb than the one for stomach aches, and it tastes even worse. Like how I’d imagine licking wet paint would taste.

  I lean back into whatever the fabric is beneath my head. Having her soft, wrinkly hands massaging my feet reminds me of how Gran used to stroke my face when I was a little kid and didn’t feel well. She’d trace the line of my hair with her old, velvet fingers and sing me lullabies. I forgot how nice it is to be taken care of. Deep inside my chest feels warm, but not like the burning of the asthma. This feeling is nice. It feels like . . . family.

  I don’t think I would particularly care about the cyber world broadcasting what happened to me—most of my peers wouldn’t be trolling the net anyhow—but Mom won’t give it a rest. One minute she’s up and saying how wonderful the “outpouring of support” for me is (though I’ve yet to get one chat ping or see anyone at our door to check how I’m actually doing); the next minute she’s cursing at her screen and ranting about how horrible and rude gossip is, and why can’t everyone just mind their own business?

  I press my pillow over my head and my nose into the mattress as she starts going off again. I should’ve known better than to leave my door open, but right now I’m too lazy to get up and shut it. Being kept home from school for three days on a mandated medical watch stinks!

  After five minutes of listening to her latest rant, I can’t take any more. I thrust myself out of bed and forcibly shut the door, then plant myself at my desk. I look over at my sad, dried little stem that didn’t make it, and my shoulders feel as if a weight has been placed on them. I rub one of its dried leaves between my fingers and it crumbles at my touch. It’s dead. I swallow the thick feeling in my throat. Sliding the cup aside, I turn my attention back to my computer.

  My fingers fly across the halo-keys. I could use Ivi, but typing it in old school makes me feel more grounded in the physical world. It’s harder to forget what is actually real when your body has to physically move to produce results.

  “Asclepias,” I type in, repeating the name Jo said and guessing at its spelling. Nope. I try several more guesses before I cave. “Ivi,” I say. “Search for ‘what is Asclepias.’ It’s a plant life form.” I’m such a sellout. But selling out does have its perks sometimes. Up pops what I’m looking for. “Asclepias, commonly known as desert milkweed, is a favorite food of various species of butterflies and grows in the southwestern regions of North America,” says Ivi.

  “Ok. Great. What is it good for, medicinally?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry, your question is invalid. Please rethink what you are attempting to ask and try again,” she responds.

  “Invalid? It’s perfectly valid. What medical uses does milkweed have? Like for asthma and stuff?”

  “No need to get upset, Averi. Milkweed has no known uses and is commonly seen as a nuisance.”

  She’s wrong. “Well what about western mugwart? What are its uses?”

  “Western mugwart is also classified as a weed, and likewise has no medicinal uses or benefit.”

  “Yes it does! Mugwart is good for both nausea and digestion,” I say. “I’ve tried it and it works.”

  “Averi, consuming any such plants is ill-advised and may be harmful to your health. I’m afraid your claims are brash and insensible,” Ivi says.

  “No. What’s insensible is that one, I know more than a massive super-database, and two, that I’m arguing this much with a flipping computer interface. End convo.”

  The screen disappears.

  How does the computer not know any of this? My life was just saved by an old woman rubbing a plant extract on my foot, and the rest of the world knows nothing about the plant but where it grows and what bugs eat it.

  “Incoming chat from: Raxtin Ray North”

  “Receive!” I say a little too eagerly. “Hey, Rax. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Averi,” he says quietly, glancing around. “Um, I’m kinda at your door. Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Why didn’t you press the buzz—”

  He flashes his armband at the screen. “Is your mom distracted?”

  I check her chat status and it says Unavailable. Of course. Why did I bother checking? “Yep. Be right there.”

  The two of us slip past her office door and into my room. I turn off the three-hundred-sixty-degree camera setting just in case, then release a big sigh and sit down on the bed.

  Raxtin sits next to me. Right next to me.

  “So, what’s up? Why are you using the re-router?” I ask, reaching over and touching the place it sits on his arm. Then I quickly fold my hands in my lap.

  He gently clears his throat and points to the time on the wall. “School hours.”

  “Oh. I forgot. It’s like a time vortex over here.” My eyes scan my pod, then come to rest on him. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  He returns my gaze. “Yeah, no problem.”

  I swallow hard then slip off the bed. Sitting so close feels a little too nice. I take up a post leaning against my dresser, facing him. “Where’s the other part? Won’t they notice you staying in one place?”

  Raxtin’s eyes dart to where I’d been on the bed, then back to where I am now. He crosses his arms over his chest. “Jett and I share all our units the last half of the day, so he’s carrying it for me.”

  “Nice. What brings you over at the risk of getting caught?” He used to hang out over here all the time. I don’t know when he stopped exactly. But now it feels more exhilarating than before, mixed with a high level of awkward discomfort.

  He shrugs and glances around. “I dunno. School just isn’t the same when you’re not there.”

  I feel a smile trying to break free, so I gnaw on a fingernail to hide it. “Thanks . . . but today is an A day. We only have one unit together.”

  He scratches his neck. “True.”

  A long pause follows.

  Raxtin clears his throat. “I was just w
orried about you and needed to make sure you were doing ok.”

  I drop my hand so he can see my smile. “Despite what the stupid health people fear, I’m doing totally fine. I could be at school right now without any problem.” I swipe the small vial Jo sent with me and twist it between my fingers, watching the liquid inside. “Their paranoia over us GAPs kills me sometimes.”

  He nods. “It is kind of over the top.”

  “Incoming chat from: Mom,” says Ivi.

  I draw a sharp breath. “Crap! Quick, get over by that wall,” I point.

  Raxtin dives for the wall.

  “Receive,” I say.

  “Averi, I— is your three-sixty view off? It is off. Why? Did it break?”

  I comb my fingers through my hair draped across my shoulder. “Um, no. One of my friends called a little bit ago and that side of my pod was a mess. I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

  She blinks, still a little confused. “Oh. Good thinking, I suppose. Anyway, I thought I heard you talking to someone. Is there someone there with you?”

  I draw a deep breath. “Oh . . . my therapist told me to talk my feelings out verbally. She said it was healthier that way.”

  Mom makes a face, her nose wrinkling. “Talk them out loud? I’ll have to have a word with her. Don’t let the neighbors hear you. It makes you sound crazy. I wouldn’t want to fight that rumor too.”

  Thanks, Mom.

  Once the chat ends Rax looks at me with puppy eyes. “Sorry your Mom’s like that. With everything you’ve been through the last while, I’d hoped she’d gotten better. I guess not.”

  I choke on the sliver of pain pulsing in my throat but say nothing. I just nod and fight the moisture building behind my eyes.

  “You wanna go on a walk with me?” he asks.

  Man, do I ever. “I can’t leave the building,” I remind him.

  He crosses his arms and his stance widens as he cocks his head. “You lost the present I gave you already?”

  His doubtful stance is really attractive, so his words take me a moment to process. “Oh yeah! My armband. That’s right.”