Genesis Girl

by Jennifer Bardsley

  “It wasn’t like that.” Cal furiously shuts off the image. “She was having a good day. She wanted—”

  “Stop!” Seth covers his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You have to hear it, Seth.” I put my hands on his tattooed arms and pull them down so he can listen.

  “Your mother was so embarrassed.” Cal stares down at his shoes. “I didn’t want her to die being embarrassed in front of her own son.”

  “So you let me think the worst of you? You let me brand you a cheater?”

  “I was going to tell you after she passed away,” Cal says.

  “After the funeral? But by then I had already posted it.”

  “Yes,” says Cal.

  They both stare at each other.

  “The only good thing,” Cal says, trying to get the words out, “is that it launched your career. Your mother would be so proud of you going viral. She would be so proud of Veritas Rex.” Tears course down his face.

  “You’re lying,” says Seth. “She’d be horribly ashamed. She’d hate knowing the world saw that video of her.”

  “Well, yes,” says Cal. “That too. But she’d love you anyway. She’d still be proud of you and of what you’ve accomplished. Just like I am.”

  Seth crumbles. There’s no other word for it. He absolutely crumbles. And then they’re both hugging and crying, and there’s no need for me anymore.

  There’s no need for me anymore.

  And the force of that realization hits me like a stone. My work here is done. And I wait for it, because I know Cal’s going to say it. He’s going to say it again like the real rat bastard he is.

  “Thank you, Blanca. Thank you so much, sweetheart. You’ve brought my son back to me!” Cal tries to hug me, but I slide away.

  He continues talking. “You don’t have to be a Vestal anymore. You can be your own person and think for yourself. I can release you from your pledge. I release you!”

  See what I mean?

  Cal thinks he can free me.

  Chapter Eight

  The only way I’ll be happy is if Cal locks me in my cloister from the outside, but he refuses. So I deadbolt the door on my end, but it’s not as good.

  Whenever a student at Tabula Rasa was in ethical danger, Headmaster Russell would lock the offender in a sequestered cell. That way, the rest of us were safe from whatever trouble the perpetrator was causing. But it was also helpful for the wrongdoer. There, within his cloistered confinement, he could meditate on our values.

  We are beacons of light. We are a sacred fire that won’t burn out. We remind the world there is a better way to live.

  When the internment was over, the released student emerged a model of perfect behavior, completely loyal to Tabula Rasa, and ready to rejoin the Brethren. But more than that, every returned individual radiated peaceful contentment. It was as if cloistering was a crucible that burned away every impurity.

  Headmaster Russell isn’t here to guard me, so I must be my own warden. I’ll cloister myself until my purity is secure. I won’t leave until Cal gives up this sick idea of releasing me from my contract.

  But he won’t.

  “Think for yourself,” Cal says through the door. “Do you want to be locked in here? You don’t need me to tell you what to do.”

  He’s such a bastard.

  “Seth will be here any minute. Don’t you want to see him?”

  The wicked part of me does want to see Seth. That’s another reason why I need to be locked in here. The only way I could ever hang out with a Virus again is if Cal tells me to. But he won’t.

  And then I have to deal with Seth too. “Blanca,” he says. “It’s me. Can I come in?” Seth’s gravelly voice pulls at my heartstrings.

  “Ask your father,” I answer.

  “He said to ask you.”

  I throw myself on my velvet coverlet and push away the memory of that safe feeling I had when Seth’s arms wrapped around me in the sunshine. I muffle my sobs with a pillow.

  “I can hear you.” Seth scratches at the door. “Please let me in so we can talk.”

  I can’t talk. I can’t come out. I can’t do anything until Cal sees how wrong he is and starts treating me right. If Cal releases me from my sacred Vestal calling, I’ll be worthless.

  Worthless!

  “Can I tell you what to do?” Seth asks. “Will that work?”

  “No!” I cry. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Well then, tell me how it works,” says Seth, his voice stifled by the metal door. “I’ve never understood your Vestal shit.”

  “It’s not shit!”

  “Fine. Tell me your Vestal ways.”

  But what’s the use? I’m not supposed to be talking to a Virus anyway.

  “Blanca, you have a hard road. I can see that,” Seth says through the door. “In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it. You have everything you need to achieve happiness.”

  There’s silence for a moment. Then I get off the bed. I walk over to the door and crouch next to it, holding my cuff up to the metal.

  “Can you hear me, Blanca?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to come out of there?”

  “Yes,” I say again.

  “Then come.”

  “I can’t,” I explain. “Not unless your dad tells me to.”

  “Fuck it!” Seth pummels the door. “Forget all that crazy Vestal shit and come out of there already!”

  “It’s not shit,” I say. “It’s what I am. It’s what I’ll always be.”

  I was sealed for life.

  Two weeks of cloistering. Two weeks of pacing my room, dusting the bookshelves, and pressing my face against the windowpanes, unable to see anything but the walled courtyard below. Two weeks of hoping Fatima, Beau, and Ethan didn’t know about my disgraced situation. Two weeks of reciting my favorite verse from the Vestal Code of Ethics over and over again.

  I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. I picture Fatima brushing her hair to the rhythm of Ms. Corina’s voice at night in our dorm. “One hundred strokes, children,” Charming Corina would tell us. Then her saccharine voice would call out, “I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules.” Brush. Brush. Brush.

  Beau told us that the boys did jumping jacks to the exact same mantra. “I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules.” Jump. Jump. Jump.

  It doesn’t matter what Cal says to me. I’ll always be loyal to my Brethren.

  Now Cal is worried that I’m not getting any exercise. Of course he has every right not to want me to be fat, so when he brings me meal trays, I stop opening the door.

  “Damn it, Blanca!” he yells after the second night of this routine. “Open the door!”

  Directions, at last! I fling the door open, hopeful and starving.

  Cal holds out a wooden tray piled high with roast turkey and mashed potatoes. “Are you going to eat this?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Are you telling me to eat this?”

  I look at him, and Cal is as angry as I’ve ever seen him. He is so angry that there are tears in his eyes.

  “What do you think?” he asks. “Do you think you should eat this?”

  I shut the door with a click.

  “Blanca!” Cal pounds on the metal door. “Open the door and eat this food!”

  I open it up again and sit down on the ground, right there by the tray. I cram the food in my mouth as fast as I can. The sudden rush of nourishment makes me queasy.

  “Blanca. Sweetheart. Please.” Cal sits down next to me on the floor. “Please don’t do this anymore. You can’t stay in there forever.”

  “Then tell me to leave.” I wipe my face with a napkin.

  “You need exercise. You need fresh air. You’ll feel better if you go outside.”

  “Tell me to,” I say. “Tell me to, and I will.”

  “No.” Cal sighs. “I’m done with that.
”

  “You’re done with me then, because I can’t live on my own.”

  Cal shakes his head. “You don’t have to live on your own. Is that what you think?”

  I push away my plate.

  “You can live here as long as you want. For the rest of your life! You can be my daughter, Blanca, my real daughter. I’m sorry I didn’t say that a long time ago. It’s what Sophia would have wanted, and it’s what I want too. You can make friends. You can go outside. You can do anything you want.”

  “Tell me to,” I say. “Tell me to be your daughter.”

  “No. You have to choose for yourself.”

  “You know I can’t do that!”

  “Do you want to?” Cal wrinkles his forehead.

  “Yes.” I wipe my cheek on the edges of my sweater.

  “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Tell me how to help you.” Tears run down Cal’s nose.

  “I have told you!” I yell. “But you won’t listen.”

  “I’m trying,” he says. “I’m trying to help you.”

  But he won’t.

  The next day, I wake up to the sound of hammering outside my bedroom window. Workers install a ladder into the courtyard.

  So now every day I climb down the ladder and get some fresh air. I run around and around the courtyard in circles so I don’t get fat. Because I know that someday Cal is going to want a Vestal again, and I’ve got to be ready.

  I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. Run. Run. Run. I am a beacon of light in a world that has forgotten what is important. Run. Run. Run.

  I am a Vestal.

  No matter what Cal says.

  I don’t recognize myself anymore. Even though I’m wearing my standard-issue whites, I don’t look like me. I don’t know what’s wrong or why this isn’t working, but I know it’s my fault.

  It’s been almost a month now, cloistered in my room. I’ve read all the books on my wall, and I’ve written about a thousand letters on my white desk, most of them to Fatima. But I never send any of them.

  If other Vestals knew that Mr. McNeal released me, I’d be shunned. Headmaster Russell would probably take my cuff away. Once a Vestal is decuffed, they might as well be dead.

  Four weeks of cloistering. At least, I think it’s the fourth week. I should have created a calendar and crossed out the days because it’s easy to lose track. I should have done that.

  I should have done a lot of things.

  I should have done a better job proving to Mr. McNeal what a perfect Vestal I am. I should have made him realize that he needs me in his life exactly as I am. One of the Brethren. Sealed for life. A blank slate for the genesis of anything.

  I should have done better. I should have lived up to my platinum cuff. I should have embodied what it means to be top pick.

  I should recite the Vestal Code of Ethics one hundred more times. That’s more important than sleep.

  Much more important.

  Sleep isn’t as important as being a Vestal.

  I should know that.

  Sometimes I climb down the ladder into my courtyard and look up at the sky. It’s so blue and clear. I see clouds drift by and think about how clouds are like perfect Vestals. They’re white and fluffy and higher than everyone else. You’re a little cloud floating in the sky above the whole world. And you’re placid. Perfectly placid. That’s what I’m supposed to be. But now I’m down here in the dirt.

  The Virus comes to the first-floor window and stares at me every day. I can see his fingers twitch when he sees me. He’s itching to blog about me. I know it.

  But I’ve never seen the Virus hold his palm up, so I guess he’s honoring his promise. I don’t think he’s taken my picture. Yet.

  I don’t know how I got so confused by that Virus. He’s not good-looking at all! He’s tech-infested and covered in tattoos. I can’t believe I let him touch me.

  You can’t ever trust a Virus. That’s what Barbelo Nemo wrote, and he’s always right.

  When I run around in circles, I think about the Vestal Ms. Lydia arranged for me to date. The one who sells soap. I wonder who it was. I’ve tried to remember all the Vestals I know, but my brain isn’t working right. The only thing I know for sure is that he and I would have been perfect together. We could have sold lots and lots of soap. I bet the whole world would have thought we were the perfect couple.

  We would have been a beacon of light in a dark world. Everyone would have seen us and known that the people in front of you are what matters, not what’s happening on your palm.

  But I’ll never get the chance to do that now.

  Today I spend so much time in the courtyard looking at clouds that sleep finally overcomes me. The freezing rain wakes me up, and when I look in the first-story window, Mr. McNeal and the Virus are watching me.

  But that’s okay, because Mr. McNeal owns my privacy. He can watch whatever he wants. I just wish he wouldn’t let his Virus watch too.

  They’re right there the two of them, and Mr. McNeal holds something up to the window. That’s funny because he’s never done anything like that before.

  I walk to the glass and see that it’s a sign.

  It says go back inside.

  So I do.

  Water splashes down the ladder, but I hold on tight. I climb up to my room and drip water all over the carpet. I’m shivering, but that’s okay. The lights blind me. I must have forgotten to turn them off. Was that this morning? Yesterday? I can’t remember.

  I hear pounding coming from the door, and it’s Mr. McNeal and his Virus.

  “Blanca,” they shout. “Open the door.”

  I slide open the deadbolt, and they both rush in at once.

  “She’s freezing,” says the Virus. “Get her something dry.”

  Mr. McNeal runs into the room with mirrors and comes out with a fluffy robe. He covers me up, and I finally stop shaking.

  “You’ve got to do something, Dad,” says the Virus. “Do what we talked about. See if it works.”

  Mr. McNeal sits me down on my bed.

  “Blanca,” he says. “Will you still be my Vestal?”

  “Yes.” Relief floods over me. “Of course I’ll be your Vestal. I’ll do whatever you tell me to for the next twenty-five years.” My plan worked!

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll tell you what to do again, but you have to promise me one thing.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Don’t ever put yourself in danger again. You need to stay safe.”

  “Yes, Mr. McNeal. Of course, Mr. McNeal.”

  Then they’re both hugging me. I think somebody’s crying, but I don’t know who.

  I should be whipped. I should be beaten. I should be kneeling in front of the Pool of Purity getting the thrashing of my life. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to atone for my waywardness. If I were at Tabula Rasa, Headmaster Russell would keep me at Discipline Hour forever.

  I slipped up today and said “Mr. McNeal” even though my purchaser told me explicitly to call him “Cal.”

  “Yes, Cal. Of course, Cal,” I said immediately. But then he wrinkled his forehead and looked at me with pity.

  So I went back to the hallway next to my cloister and sat by the door. I’m not supposed to go into my rooms anymore until after dinner. That’s what Cal says. That’s why I’m sitting here, overhearing him talking to the Virus, in the room below.

  “I don’t know what to do, Seth. She’s not getting any better.”

  “Was she this bad when you first got her?”

  “No,” Cal says. “She seemed almost normal.”

  The Virus snorts. “How can a Vestal be normal?”

  “I don’t know anymore. But what I’m saying is when Blanca first arrived, she didn’t appear to be abnormal. She was eager to hear my plan for her, to help me get you back, but that was it. Nothing else about her struck me as odd.”

  “Dad, there’s nothing about Blanca t
hat isn’t odd.”

  “But she didn’t seem that way at first! She used to be able to make her own decisions.”

  Is that what he thinks? Good. Ms. Lydia is a genius. Before she put me in the car on the way to McNeal Manor, she gave me the best directions ever.

  “Talk,” she told me. “Laugh at his jokes, converse, make polite conversation and occasionally supply your own ideas. That’s probably what your purchaser wants to hear, so that’s what you are to do.”

  “Yes, Ms. Lydia. Of course, Ms. Lydia.”

  “Good. And if you ever get in a position where you don’t know what to do, ask him. Clarifying questions are your friends. They always help, and they never look suspicious.”

  “Yes, Ms. Lydia. Of course, Ms. Lydia.”

  Ms. Lydia smiled at me. “You’ll do great, Blanca. Remember, follow my instructions until your purchaser gives you enough of his own.” Then she blessed me and sent me away.

  If only she were here to tell me what to do now. Cal barely tells me anything.

  “So what should I do, Seth?” Cal’s still talking to the Virus, and they don’t know I can hear. “I don’t want her to trap herself in there again. Should I take away the lock on her door? Or perhaps remove the door completely?”

  “No,” says the Virus, for some reason defending me. “Don’t take away the door. That would mean taking away the last ounce of privacy she has left. You’ve already done a pretty good job of that as it is.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Cal sounds beaten.

  “I know, Dad.”

  “Now I just want to help her.”

  “Me too,” says the Virus. “So how do we do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Cal clears his throat. “That woman Lydia keeps calling me about letting Blanca go to that Vestal banquet she mentioned last month.”

  “Are you kidding? We should keep Blanca as far away from those people as possible.”

  “That was my first thought too,” says Cal. “But then I wondered if maybe it would reinvigorate her.”

  “Reprogram, is more like it.”

  He’s such an idiot. I’ve never seen a computer in my life. How could I reprogram one?