Regenerate

  Chapter Twenty

  I gasp as my eyes open. I’m sitting at my study table in my pod. I guess I fell asleep while searching the database for a trace of Dad’s existence. I had no luck. It’s still dark out and I don’t bother checking the time.

  My chest is pounding from the memory. I can still hear the echoes of my own four-year-old screams ringing in my ears. Tears well up in my eyes and I press my palms to them. My mouth gapes in a silent, gut-wrenching cry. How could I have forgotten that day until now? My hands slide down my wet cheeks and cup over my mouth. “Dad,” I quietly sob, emotion pitching the word.

  I cry for a while. Then I stand up from my desk and pull the shears out of my purse hanging on the chair. Still in my formal dress, I crawl across my bed and curl in a tight ball on my side, clutching the shears tightly to my chest. Time gradually slips into tear-filled sleep.

  My mouth tastes like I licked the floor. I glare up at the clock, which says eleven a.m. Did I really manage to sleep in till lunch? Ugh! I roll out of bed and onto my feet. My bright coral skirt swirls around my legs. Apparently I slept all night in my dress. Nice. Staying up most the night bawling my eyes out seems to have given me a crying hangover. I can barely keep my puffy eyelids open enough to see where I’m walking, and my head is pounding.

  I change into the first clothes I touch that are lying on my floor, then slip the shears into my purse and push out of my pod.

  As I bump down the hall to the kitchen, Rax’s final words last night linger in my ears like cobwebs of sound. “Averielle, you really are a woman of strength.” Those were the words dad named me for.

  I all but collapse into my chair at our fake wooden table and balance my forehead on my crossed arms. Side note: pressed synthetic wood smells really weird up close, reminds me of wet fur. The scent makes my head throb a little more vigorously.

  “Incoming chat from: Mom.”

  My pocket vibrates against my skin. I swat it to make it stop. “Not now, Ivi,” I moan.

  “Should I tell your mother you are unavailable to chat?” Ivi asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Averielle,” Mom’s voice snaps from the fridge six feet away. “You do not ignore a chat ping from your mother! I know you are available. I can see you from here.”

  “If you can see me from where you are,” I reply, my head still down on my arms, “then why not just talk to me, instead of call?”

  Mom makes a pouty sound in her throat. The soft whoosh of her chair heralds her move from the fridge to the table. “Because I wouldn’t be able to check my messages without looking away, which would be both rude and inconvenient.” Her tone suddenly evens out till it’s flat. “Now, Averielle, I do not appreciate the manner in which—”

  “Stop it, Mom!” I jerk up from my seat and away from the table. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear a pre-written lecture from a bunch of strangers. Just be you. The real you.” I think I would have tears in my eyes if I hadn’t cried them all out a few hours ago.

  Even though I’m seeing Mom through her projector screen, her expression looks lost. She is a Lost. However, her moment of shock vanishes, and the veil of her vice cloaks her emotion like a robotic mask. Her eyes cool and she starts clicking on her projo-screen as she talks.

  “As I was saying, Averielle, I do not appreciate the manner in which you just addressed me.”

  I press a fist to my lips and shake my head. I guess I do still have a few tears left in me, because her image waves in my vision. Warmth trickles down my cheek and over the edge of my chin, leaving a cool, damp trail.

  Amidst her lecture, I turn without another word and slip out the front door. I’m not sure where to head, but where doesn’t matter as long as it’s away. Thankfully it’s not a school day.

  I race down the corridor and into the air lift, hit ground level, and wait. My foot beats the floor with an impatient rhythm. Halfway down, the lift slows to pick up another passenger. I cross my arms around myself and duck my head, trying to be inconspicuous. Wow, am I wearing red plaid slippers and gold leggings? I really wasn’t paying attention when I got dressed.

  The doors ding open but I don’t look up. I can tell my new companion is a guy by the hand-stitched canvas loafers and jeans.

  Crud. I squeeze myself smaller into the corner and slip out my Pocket Palm to look distracted.

  “Now that is the hottest ‘morning after’ look I’ve ever seen.”

  My eyes dart up and there’s Lander, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smiling at me. His blond hair is still freshly wet, making the waves of his hair more distinct and really sexy. Life is so unfair.

  “Ew. Don’t say things like that; it makes you sound like a creep.” I straighten and adjust the drooping sleeve of my sloppy-fitting shirt, back onto my shoulder.

  He tilts his chin up, resting his head against the wall, but still watches me. “Maybe I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

  I glare at him but decide against attempting to banter. I just want to crawl in a hole and hide. I rub my hand over my cheek and up through the knots of my partially-curled hair.

  Oh yeah, I forgot we curled it last night. I’m like a walking tram wreck. My ears feel like they’re on fire, but heading back to my pod wouldn’t help at this point.

  Lander moves up next to me. “You all right?” His tone is soft and sincere now.

  “Not really.” I meet his blue eyes with my chalk-dry, bloodshot ones. “Where did you go last night? One minute you were there and the next . . .”

  I can’t figure out how to finish that statement. I want to rail on him for ditching me, but that would sound totally desperate and pathetic.

  He clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Something came up and my uncle needed me back ASAP. Did your friend get you home ok?”

  Lame, fake excuse. My friend? Isn’t he Lander’s friend too? I shrug and nod in response. Just admit you didn’t want to be stuck another minute with me on our freaking mercy date.

  “Good,” he says.

  He doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s good. He sounds irritated.

  The door dings and slides open, and the two of us get off. Side by side, we walk through the lobby and out the front doors.

  The crisp, late morning air hits my still-groggy cheeks like a wake-up slap to the face. It makes my dry eyes water.

  Lander draws a deep breath and sighs. “Nothing like cold air to get you up and awake, eh?”

  He turns to me and studies my face, his gaze lingering on my stinging nose and cheeks. I must look ridiculous.

  Something about Lander has shifted again. There’s a lightening of his tone and an easing of his expression, but that’s not the shift I sense.

  “How was the rest of the party?” He smirks and tugs one of the fuzzy dreadlock curls of my hair. “Judging by the looks of it, I’d say it was a pretty wild night.”

  Watching Lander talk, he seems off. Once more he’s got that cool, distancing charm that’s edgy and a little smug. I don’t think it’s completely fake, but still, it’s not the same guy who slid over to check if I was all right a few seconds ago.

  “It was fun,” I answer. “Not wild, but fun.”

  We stop in front of the bi-peds.

  His lips pull into a sly smile. He steps intimately close and rolls the lock of my hair between his fingers. “Sorry to hear that. Wish I could’ve stayed and added more excitement to your evening.”

  My pulse speeds, but this back-and-forth act of his really ticks me off. “Which you is the lie?”

  He startles and drops both my hair and his confident expression. “What?”

  I straighten to my fullest height, though I’m still inches shorter than him. “Is this flirty, smug you the real Lander? Or is the one that kissed me on the tram last night the real you?”

  He takes a step back and stammers over his answer. “I—don’t understand what you mean. I’m always me.”

  I let out one humorless chuckle. “No, you
’re not. You bounce back and forth all the time. You put on like you’re the same, but the two are completely different. One version of you I really like.”

  Lander’s brow pulls up.

  Oops. I gulp and hurry to finish. “The other version I can’t get myself to trust. It’s like you skew yourself until who you are is somehow a lie.”

  Lander’s mouth gapes and his eyes look like I smacked him across the face. His head is cocked back as if I were armed and dangerous. Maybe I am.

  My fingers drum against the shears in my purse as I search my own thoughts, trying to fit together all the pieces I’ve gathered. “At first I thought maybe you didn’t know you were doing it. But now—” I pause and look him in the eyes. “I think you do.”

  Lander’s Adam’s apple visibly bobs as he swallows, and he takes several more steps back. He presses his tongue into his lower lip and squints at me, long and scrutinizing. He shakes his head, his wet, wavy hair knocking against his angular chin.

  “Sorry for the confusion. Have a nice day, Averielle.” And just like that he turns and leaves.

  Lander never leaves without having the upper hand. Where was his snarky rebuttal? His quick-witted explanation to smooth all this over? Maybe he didn’t have one, and if not, does that mean I’m right?

  “Averielle!” Kachina calls as she rides down the street towards me. “Yikes, did you run out of clean clothes?”

  Unfortunately, cleanliness is not the excuse for this wardrobe catastrophe; that would be a step up. “Hi, Kachina.” I’m still watching Lander’s retreat when she pulls up beside me.

  “Rax, Jett, and I are meeting at the diner. You guys want to come?”

  “Sure, I’ll come.”

  “What’s he up to?” She nods towards Lander.

  “I have no idea,” I say. What he’s up to, though, seems exactly the right question to ask. If Lander is putting on a charade, what’s it masking? “You know, I don’t think I really know anything about him.”

  How there can be new gossip from four in the morning till eleven baffles me. Kachina is all abuzz as we sit in our booth waiting for Rax to get here. My head still feels foggy and the conversation is lost on me. All I can focus on is that despite our late night out, Kachina still managed to look like a chick straight from stylishous.com.

  “Hey, guys!” says Raxtin as he walks up. “Sorry I’m—” He pauses, catching sight of me. “—late,” he finishes.

  I hunch forward, trying not to catch his amused look.

  Raxtin slides next to me, still unable to wipe the grin off his face. “Good morning, sunshine. Mind if I sit here?”

  “As long as you don’t mind my stench.” I sniff at my own shirt and frown. That’s it, this will never happen again. From now on, all my clothes go immediately in the shoot so I can’t opt to wear them when having a total brain fart.

  Raxtin leans over, whispering so close to my ear I can feel his breath. “You do have a smell, but trust me, it doesn’t stink.”

  I bite my lip as a rush of adrenaline washes over me.

  We pull up our menus, and the selections are pathetically few. Still no meat, and half the dairy products have even been pulled. What the heck? I’m pretty sure you can’t milk a fish.

  “Rax, did you hear about the investigation?” Kachina asks. “I was just telling the others the latest news.”

  “Investigation of what?” asks Rax.

  A tuber guy hands us our orders, switching up Raxtin’s and mine and nearly spilling them in our laps. Rax catches my onion soup just before it crests the lip of my bowl, then carefully slides it over to me.

  Kachina waits until our server leaves to answer Rax, as if suspicious he’d eavesdrop.

  I smirk. It’s not like he’d even understand her words, let alone whatever the implications are.

  “I overheard Granddad telling Sophi’s Grand that the Department of Food Services is leading a hush investigation into the death of our village fish.”

  I frown down at my disappointing bowl of food and wrinkle my nose. “Good, ’cause this new diet is killing my taste buds.”

  “For real!” Jett says, making a face at the green vegetable hanging limply from his fork.

  Kachina continues, her hands splayed wide on the table like she’s laying out a map. “Rumors are circulating that it was sabotage of some sort.”

  “Sabotage?” asks Rax, sounding amused. “That’s a new one. Who would care about a bunch of fish?”

  “No one can figure that part out,” says Kachina, turning her attention to her fruit and Gel-EE salad.

  I sink my cheek onto my fist, giving my head a rest while I wait for my soup to cool. “If this is such a hushed thing, how are we hearing about all of this?”

  Kachina rattles off the long line of sources this information has trickled through to reach her. I think I lose count at the fourth person back.

  I try not to make a face; I know how much she lives for gossip. But when your original source is several villages away and more than ten people removed, can you even still call it a rumor? At that point I think it falls in the realm of folklore.

  “Wow,” says Jett, “that is quite a source. I’m surprised they even heard about it in the Delaware colony. The DFS isn’t having much success at keeping it ‘quiet.’”

  Kachina swats at his arm. “You guys, this is legit. And when you see it on the news feed, I’ll graciously accept your apologies.”

  We all chuckle and agree.

  As we eat our food, I lean over to talk to Rax, although he’s sitting so close this only requires I tilt about three inches to my left. “Hey Rax, sometime I want to talk to you about the memory you shared at the party last night.”

  His hazel eyes brighten and I swear he leans closer. “Sure. When did you have in mind?”

  I clear the thick feeling in my throat. “I’m going to Grandma Jo’s tomorrow after school, so if you want to come, then—”

  “Say no more, I’ll be there. Do you want to ride over to the air tram station together?” The light in his expression and having our faces so close together makes color rise to my cheeks.

  “Yeah, that would be nice.” Just me and Raxtin? This is both exciting and makes me totally jittery inside.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” says Jett in a loud voice, interrupting us.

  We hold our position a moment longer before turning back to our food.

  Jett continues, “Where the heck is Zeph? And Lander? Did anyone let them know?”

  My mouth full of soup catches in my throat, making my eyes burn, and Rax chokes on his drink.

  Kachina stiffens and straightens. “I think Zeph is taking a little break from our group for a while. I let Lander know too, but he didn’t respond.”

  Jett shrugs and hunches over his food. “Their loss, I guess.”

  Silence falls over our small, fragmented foursome. Am I the only one who feels uncomfortable with it? Part of me really misses Lander. The other part is relieved he’s not here making things awkward with Rax. Is that terrible of me?

  My Pocket Palm vibrates against my thigh. I slip it out of my pocket and check the new message.

  Averielle Gouch, report to the Organizer Operations Building immediately. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary measures. Thank you and have a nice day.

  -Arizona Village Safety Commissioner

  It’s stamped with the Organizer’s official emblem.

  “What’s the matter, Ave?” asks Kachina, ignoring that Jett is stealing a bite of her food out from under her.

  I try to smooth my puckered brow and clear my throat. “Um, I guess I gotta go.”

  “Is it your Mom?” Jett asks with a mouth full of Gel-EE salad.

  “No, something from the Safety Commissioner, probably about my visits to Jo, I’d guess. I’ll find you all when I’m done.”

  As I push through the front doors, Rax rushes to catch up and walk beside me. “I’ll go with you.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.
Go finish your food.”

  He drags his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I’m actually headed there too, so we might as well go together.”

  What a bunch of hogwash. I turn to call his bluff, but when I do he’s holding up his device with the same seal and message on it.

  I blink and stammer. “Oh. I guess you are. That’s weird.”

  A prickle of apprehension runs down my spine. Are we in trouble?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My fingers drum nonstop against my arms. I can’t stop fidgeting. Sitting in a tiny square room with no windows and no clue why I’m here is really freaking me out. Granted, I’m on a relatively comfortable chair that reminds me of a mini grey couch, but still, I’m betting if I wanted to leave, I couldn’t just walk out.

  The door swings open and in walks a dark-haired man in a navy suit and a boring black tie, wearing the standard-issue vSpecs. I think I’ve seen him in the diner a few times; if not, he sure looks familiar. He looks the age of a Lost, but he clearly isn’t “Lost” currently. I wonder how many there really are like him and my caseworker. How common is it for the Lost to be reclaimed? Weren’t the rehab centers a flop?

  The man has a flat, white oval device in his oddly slender hands. It’s larger than a Pocket Palm but half as thin. I think it’s the new Psy-Borg. My Mom’s been wanting one of those. They aren’t just a computer; they have some new bio-tech that can all but read someone’s mind, though some think it can do that too.

  He finally looks up from his device and smiles at me, but it doesn’t look nice. “Miss Gouch.” He nods his acknowledgement, takes the seat in front of me, then scoots a fraction closer.

  I wish I could move farther away without him noticing. He presses a button on the Psy-Borg, and it hovers several inches above his lap at an upturned angle. No way. It’s got hover tech. Now that is cool. A projo-screen appears above the Psy-Borg, but I get the feeling the two screens are showing something different.

  “Averielle, isn’t it?”