by Julia Karr
“And you, Joan. I want to see you again tomorrow. I think some nutritional therapy will do you a world of good.”
Drowsy had been an understatement. I barely noticed what my father’s house looked like. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
I woke up in a panic, having no idea where I was. I rolled over and cried out when pain cut through my shoulder. Moments later, there was a tap at the door, and a man’s voice said, “Are you all right? May I come in?”
“Sure.” I managed to push myself up to sitting with my good arm. As I adjusted the sling, memories of what had happened played through my head. I looked up as the man entered.
“Nina.” He started toward the bed but hesitated when our eyes met.
“Dad?” This wasn’t at all what I thought it would be like. We were supposed to rush into each other’s arms, crying and laughing and immediately loving each other. But at this moment, I wasn’t sure what I felt.
He moved a step closer, like I was a wild animal he was afraid to spook. In the end, he sat in a nearby chair. “Layla told me you were hurt. What did Doc Churchill say?”
“That I’ll be fine in a few weeks.” I watched him looking at me. Wondering if he saw traces of Ginnie in my face. I wondered if he was even thinking of her. Maybe Layla was his girlfriend, or his wife. I had no idea what his life was all about. “Where’s Joan?”
“The girl you came with? She’s in the next room, still asleep, I believe.”
“I should be there. She might freak out when she wakes up.”
“Betts is with her. She was a nurse before she joined the Resistance. She’s dealt with reclaimed FeLS girls before. Your friend’s in good hands.”
Speaking of hands, I looked down at mine; without looking up, I said, “Pops is dead. Kasimir Lessig killed him.”
My father didn’t say a word. Eventually, I raised my eyes. Dad was staring out the window, his eyes misty—and a deep need to comfort him rose in my chest.
“He was so proud of you,” I said softly. Spying my bag in the corner, I maneuvered myself out of bed. The bag wasn’t easy to open with only one hand, but I managed. “This was his.” I held out Pops’s ginger tin.
My father took it. He ran his fingers gently across the dented lid. “They discovered our man inside.” His shoulders heaved. “There was nothing I could do.”
I threw my good arm around my dad, and we cried.
EPILOGUE
I’ve been in the GUI for almost a month.
Joan’s getting better every day. Betts is so patient with her, and Doc Churchill has her on a special diet. She’s starting to look and sound like the old Joan. Mike and his mom would be so happy to see her this way.
The day after the Sisterhood exposed Lessig, we heard about the major shake-up it caused. Kasimir Lessig and Angelo Fassbinder are enjoying the hospitality of B.O.S.S. at a special facility in New York. I’m guessing B.O.S.S. wants information before those two will be reassimilated. I sincerely hope Lessig suffers, a lot. Oh, and the GC relieved Xander Critchfield of his presidential duties. Apparently, they haven’t dismissed the FeLS program yet. Its fate, and that of the girls in it, still hangs in the balance.
I’ve received one message from Wei. Her mom fled the country, mostly having to do with the arrest of her relatives in Japan. But her dad risked everything and stayed—remaining a Media employee. After Dorrie’s broadcast, when everyone saw Lessig admit to setting up Mr. Jenkins, Media offered him Lessig’s job in an attempt to save face. Although he hasn’t said yes for sure, Wei thinks he’ll probably take it. That can only be good for the Resistance.
Wei is still at her home with her father. Gran will be joining them when she gets out of rehab, and Dee will move back with them then. Though Wei said Dee really loves living with Martin and Percy. She told me they threw Dee a huge birthday party in one of the rooms of the Art Institute. Wei sent a digi. Dee’s radiant. I cry every time I look at it. Not just because I missed her special day, but she thinks I’m dead.
I understand why they told her that. The reasoning behind it makes sense. Miss Maldovar is Ed’s sister, and she’s obviously going to keep inserting herself in Dee’s life. The risk of Dee’s letting it slip that I’m alive to Miss Maldovar, to this woman she may trust, is too great. Wei said she’s dealing with it pretty well—or as well as can be expected.
Dee and Gran both know about Pops’s death. But neither knows the truth of how it happened. Thankfully, Dorrie had cut off the transmission before it was broadcast to the world. It’s better that way, I think. They miss him enough as it is; they don’t need to know the details of how he suffered.
Dad and I put a stone marker in the church’s graveyard. I go there pretty much every day to talk with Pops. Sometimes my dad’s there, too.
I was right. Layla’s his girlfriend, wife, whatever. I want to hate her, for Ginnie’s sake. But I can’t. She’s nice. She loves my father. And he seems to love her. Although I overheard him one day, when he was talking to Pops, say that he wondered if he’d made the right decision all those years ago. That Ginnie was his one true love. I couldn’t help but feel sad—for both of them. But the past can’t be changed. We’ve got only the present and the will to work for a better future.
Wei said Paulette told her that she’d located Sal. He’s out west, on NonCon reconnaissance. She didn’t know how long he’d be gone. When he returns, she’ll tell him where I am. If he even wants to know, I thought.
And Chris. She said Chris left after taking Dee to Martin’s. He told Wei that he had something he needed to work out and he’d come back when he knew what to do about it. She doesn’t know that he means me.
Sal or Chris. Not a decision I’m prepared to make yet.
I found myself at the graveyard once again.
“Pops, it’s your Little Bit.” Tears stung my eyes. “You told me to always seek truth. It’s easier to find when it’s about people’s rights and how they should be treated. But the truth about one’s heart . . .” I threw my arms around the cold stone, wishing it was my grandfather. “Pops, that truth is so hard to find.”
I’m not sure how long I’d been prostrate on that marker, but a growing warmth on my back caused me to glance up. The sun was shining through a break in the clouds. I imagined I heard Pops saying, “Truth never remains hidden, Little Bit. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder for it.”
For the first time since I’d arrived at Castle Combe, I felt strong and hopeful. Pops always did tell the truth.
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Turn the page to see where Nina’s journey started . . . in
I
“ Nina, look.” Sandy jabbed me in the ribs.
I glanced up at the AV screen expecting to see the latest vert of back-to-school fashion for sixteens.
“No, there.” Sandy jerked my arm, bringing my attention to the doorway.
Four guys approached us, lurching and swaying through the moving express. They sat across the aisle, immediately crowding together in a knot. A low buzz of unintelligible words, accom-panied by the occasional rowdy snort, rose from their cluster.
“They’re eighteen,” she whispered. “I bet it’s that one in the middle’s birthday. He’s cute!” She wriggled in her seat.
By the way he kept admiring the tattoo on his wrist and fingering the Band-Aid behind his ear, where his GPS had been, I knew she was right. I involuntarily touched my own tracker. The tiny grain-sized pellet embedded beneath the skin barely registered on my fingertips. What would it be like to be able to go someplace where you were untraceable?
Before my thoughts went any further down that path, Sandy said, “They’re going into the city to celebrate. I wish—”
“No, you don’t.” My stomach turned at the thought of eighteenth celebrations. We’d heard all about them, particularly the Angel affair. I quickly blocked the images from my mind.
Sandy “humphed” back into the seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Those stories c
an’t be true. Guys wouldn’t do stuff like that. I mean, look at them . . .” She leaned toward me conspiratorially, but I saw her peeking at the boys from under her bangs. “Someone that cute could never do those kinds of things. Listen . . .” She fished around in her bag and handed me a rapido. “You’re the one who took all those art lessons. Draw the tattoo. Okay?” She stuck her wrist in front of me.
“Sandy!” I pushed her hand away. “We could get arrested!”
One of the guys, not the birthday boy, must’ve heard us and looked over. He ogled Sandy the way I’d seen her stepdad do when he thought no one was watching. I grabbed her wrist and thrust it toward him, showing the absence of the obligatory XVI tattoo. He shrugged and turned back to his friends.
“Hey!” She pulled her arm away from me. “He was going to talk to me.”
“It’s not talk he wants, Sandy. Those stories aren’t all made up. Ginnie said that ever since they started the tattooing twenty years ago, girls aren’t safe. She thinks that—”
“She’s your mom. What do you expect?”
“I dunno.” I shrugged, letting it drop. Sandy was so caught up in all things sixteen that there was no reasoning with her. Her mother and mine were galaxies apart in just about every way possible. Mrs. Eskew not only allowed, but encouraged Sandy’s sex-teen ways. She was even prepping her for FeLS. My mother, Ginnie, on the other hand, was doing everything she could to keep me from applying for the program, even though it was about the only way out of our tier-two status. When I tried talking about it with her, she’d say not to worry. I wouldn’t be a low-tier forever. But she never told me how I’d move up. It wasn’t like I wanted to join FeLS, but outside of marrying some upper-tier guy, I didn’t have many options.
Sandy snatched a retractable zine chip from the rack on the back of the seat in front of her. She let go and it snapped back in place. She grabbed another, doing the same thing. I sighed. If she’d reached for a third, I would’ve stopped her. Sometimes I felt more like Sandy’s mother than her best friend.
Her mood suddenly changed, thank goodness. “Scoot over,” she said. “We’re almost to that big farm and I want to see the cows. Can you believe people used to eat meat? Makes me want to puke just thinking about it.”
Sandy’s almost as crazy about cows as she is about boys. Truthfully, we’re both animal lovers. That’s one of the reasons we got to be such good friends. When Ginnie moved me and Dee out of the city and into Cementville, I didn’t think I’d ever find a friend. But the first day of school, I met Sandy. We were both wearing the same shirt, with a horse on the front; and after school she got off the transit at the same stop as me. It turned out that we lived right next door to each other. We’ve been best friends ever since. Even if she does get on my last nerve sometimes.
The dull monotony of suburbia and Cementville finally gave way to an oasis of rolling hills and clumps of trees. As the express approached Mill Run Farm, Sandy and I both pressed our noses to the window like little kids. A herd of black-and-white cows was grazing in the distance. Two horses appeared, racing along the white board fence.
“They’re so beautiful,” I whispered.
Sandy gave my hand a squeeze. “Nina, I know you don’t want me to do anything stupid,” she said softly. The farm faded into the distance, and we settled back in our seats. “Hey, did you get all your homework done?”
“Yep,” I said. “Regional Government and Twentieth-Century Literature. Love the Lit. Hate the Gov.”
We both laughed.
“I’m dying in Lit,” Sandy said. “You have to help me out.Promise?”
“Of course.” She always depended on me to explain books to her, and I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she couldn’t or didn’t read, she just didn’t get the deeper meanings. I don’t always either, but Ginnie talks with me a lot about what I read and helps me work through it.
“So. Are you going to take the FeLS prep?”
“Sandy, you promised.” I half glared at her.
“Sorry, I forgot Ginnie won’t let you.” She tickled me. “Come on, don’t be mad.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and I didn’t want to stay angry with her—so I didn’t.
“Are we going to your gran’s first, before we meet up with Mike?” she asked.
I nodded.
“You know your grandfather freaks me out.” She dug into her pocket, retrieving a small bag. “Want one?”
I stuck the frosted lemon drop into my mouth, rolling it around on my tongue until the rough sugar smoothed into puckery sourness. I sucked on the candy. “Yeah, Pops is a little strange. But I’d think you’d be used to him by now.”
Sandy put several drops in her mouth and the bag back in her pocket. “No way,” she mumbled, arranging the pieces with her tongue so she could talk. “I don’t get a lot of what he says, and it creeps me out when he takes his leg off.”
“I’ll try to keep him under control,” I promised, chuckling to myself. As if anyone could control Pops. “Maybe we should go to the zoo. It’s probably the only way we’ll get Mike away from all the new verts downtown.”
“We are going to Gran’s before we meet up with him, right?”
I laughed. We both knew that if Mike came with us, he’d talk Pops into taking his leg off. Mike was fascinated by the prosthesis. “Sandy, it’s just an old GI leg.”
“GI-wha?”
“For the billionth time, microbrain . . .” I tapped her head. “Government issue. Remember back in the 2000s the soldiers were called GIs because everything they had was issued to them by the government? That’s where Pops got his leg after the accident, from the government. He says that’s why it doesn’t work right. It’s cheap. Like something from Megaworld or Sale-o-rama.”
“Hey, come on! These jeans are from Sale.”
“I meant that when rich people get body parts, they get the good stuff, bionic, acts like the real thing.” We both shopped the discount stores, like everyone else who was lower tier. “And,” I added, “I love those jeans.”
Sandy smiled and ran her hands around her waist. “Thanks,” she said. “They fit good, don’t they?”
Her clothes fit her a lot better than mine fit me. As Gran would say, “She’s built like an MK lunar pod.” Which I’m sure is why her stepdad looks at her the way he does.
The men I knew were either crazy, like Pops; half creepy and weird, like Sandy’s stepdad; or mean cheaters, like Ed. He’s Ginnie’s married boyfriend, who also happens to be my little sister Dee’s dad. I had no idea what it was like to have a father, real or otherwise, since mine died the day I was born. All I had was an old photo chip and the stories Gran used to tell me about him. Sandy pulled a mirror out of her purse and fluffed her hair, pouting at her reflection.
“Do I need more lipstick? Mascara?”
“Come on, Sandy, we’re just meeting Mike and Derek—you know, friends.” That’s how I preferred guys, as friends. Any other way freaked me out. Sometimes I wondered if I was some kind of freak myself. Most every girl my age was getting primed for turning sex-teen. I had my reasons for never wanting to have sex. I just didn’t have anyone to talk about my reasons with. Especially not Sandy or Ginnie.
Sandy sighed and put her mirror back. “You never know who might be looking at you.” She gazed longingly across the aisle.
The guy who’d noticed her earlier glanced at me, quickly taking in all the important details. He cocked one eyebrow and licked his lips. I held my breath, scared he was going to speak, but the other guys drew his attention back into their huddle. I exhaled. At least for a few more months I was fifteen—and safe.
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