“Don’t lean too close to the windows,” Lydia cautions, as she shifts gears.
“Yes, Ms. Lydia. Of course, Ms. Lydia.” I pull back and align my body to the seat. From the corner of my eye, I can still see the billboards: Trevor and me kissing in the rain. Sarah and her wrinkle cream. The dozens of other Vestals I know selling things money can’t buy.
Then we pass a newsboard.
the vestal ethan found dead, hands severed!
A chill comes across me, and I feel my palms go sweaty. I turn to Lydia, not wanting to utter the words, but needing to know the truth. “Is Ethan dead?”
Lydia keeps her eyes on the road. “Yes. Barbelo’s been monitoring him for months.”
“Why?”
“Ethan corrupted himself. He sealed his fate as soon as he got those chips.”
That’s not true, and I know it. Ethan sealed his fate as soon as he got his golden cuff. I look down at my own wrist and wish I could tear the platinum right off.
Lydia flicks on the turn signal before changing lanes. “Once you enter the public world, you can never go back. Ethan opened himself up to chaos when he got those chips. Barebelo said it was my duty to cleanse him.”
Lydia killed Ethan? Something inside me breaks. My heart crushes my lungs, and my stomach feels sick. A dark thought occurs to me. “People might think it’s me,” I say, “because I was riding my motorcycle.”
“That, and the security guard footage.” Lydia smiles like it’s her own private joke.
“I have to go back, Ms. Lydia! I have to let people know it wasn’t me.”
“Already taken care of it. Open up the glove box.” Lydia glances at me sideways.
The glove box opens with a thud. Inside is a video camera smashed to bits, along with a security box.
“Nobody’s going to know you were there unless we allow them to,” Lydia says.
“Good.” I fight for the muscles in my face to relax. “I knew I could count on you.”
“But why’d you go over there in the first place?”
I don’t have to lie. I tell the truth straight out. “I was worried about you. Headmaster Russell said you were in danger. I thought maybe Ethan would know where you were.”
“Why Ethan?” Lydia asks me. “Did you know about the finger-chip?
Shoot! Is this another trick?
“Ethan showed me,” I answer. I just don’t say when. Instead I look at her, and I think about Cal. I remember the blood pouring from Cal’s temple where Lydia hit him with her cuff. I remember locking him behind us in the lead room. “I was worried about you,” I say to Lydia, letting the tears finally come. “I would have done anything to help you.”
“Oh, baby.” Lydia reaches out for my hand and squeezes it. “It’s going to be okay. We’re together now.”
“Are you still my Vestal-mom?”
Lydia doesn’t say anything. She only nods her head. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the tears streaming down her face were for real.
But I bet Lydia is the master of crying on cue.
Keep yourself safe. Leave a note. Don’t trust Headmaster Russell. Remember you are loved. I repeat Cal’s instructions to myself over and over again like a new mantra. Maybe he was really trying to protect me all along. Now I’ll never know.
I wish I could go back and have more courage. I wish I could go back and choose me. I wish I could have been Cal’s daughter for real. Not just his Vestal.
But all I have left of Cal is his chip-watch.
A lot of good it does me now. Lydia’s car is completely cloistered. Wherever she’s taking me will probably be cloistered too. Even if I could connect to the outside world, I wouldn’t know how. And who would I call?
Seth. I would call Seth. I can still feel his heart beat right next to mine if I remember hard enough.
“Finally, a gas station.” Lydia pulls the car up to a pump. “I’ll fill up before we head over the mountains. Stay here.”
Keep yourself safe. Leave a note. Don’t trust Headmaster Russell. Remember you are loved.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
There’s a sharp intake of breath. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I can’t hold it anymore.”
“Fine.” Lydia sighs. “Let me fill up the tank and then I’ll escort you.”
As soon as she leaves the car, I take out the chip-watch. If I can get out of this cloistered car, maybe I can use it to call for help. I struggle to figure the watch out, but I’m not sure it’s on. Then I hear Lydia coming back! I pocket the watch right before she opens her door.
“Put on my scarf.” She tosses me something red and wooly.
“But—”
“Just do it. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.” Lydia opens my door, and I scramble out, the red scarf bound around my neck like a noose. Together we walk to the back of the station where the restrooms are. She unlocks the door with a key dangling from a wooden chain. “You’ve got two minutes, darling. I’ll be right here.”
As soon as the door clicks behind me, I flush the toilet. Then when the water’s still running, I tap the watch and pull up the screen. “Message Seth,” I say softly. But nothing comes up. “Call Seth,” I say, trying again, desperate to see that inked black snake.
“Dad?” Seth’s voice sounds from my wrist.
“No, it’s me, Blanca.” I whisper.
“Blanca? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“You’ve got to get Cal,” I say quickly. “Lydia hurt him. He’s in his rooms.”
“I’m on my way! Where are you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “She’s taken me, Seth. We’re going to Nevada. I think she might have—”
But I don’t get to say anything else. Lydia’s behind me with the cold tip of the gun in my back.
“Drop it, Blanca.”
I don’t want to, so I don’t. She pushes the gun barrel deeper into my skin, and I reconsider. I undo the strap and hand the chip-watch over.
“Blanca? Blanca?” Seth calls to me frantically over the connection.
Lydia drops the watch into the toilet, silencing it forever.
“That was special,” I somehow whisper. “Cal gave it to me.”
“Really?” Lydia puts her gun away. “You can keep your little trinket if you want. It won’t work now.” She rolls her eyes when I reach into the toilet to fish out the chip-watch. “Why were you calling him anyway?” Lydia asks as we walk to the car. “You can’t ever trust a Virus. You know better than that.”
I do know better than that. Now I know the truth.
Keep myself safe.
Leave a note.
Don’t trust Headmaster Russell.
Remember that I am loved.
So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m giving myself those directions now and forevermore.
Chapter Seventeen
Long, winding roads leading nowhere. Broken-down cars, ramshackle cabins, and the occasional shuttered store—we’ve driven all night through the abandoned unknown. I’m not asking any questions either. It’s like I’m back at Tabula Rasa during Discipline Hour, ready to parrot whatever is required.
Only on the inside, I’ve changed. Hopefully Lydia doesn’t know that.
“We’re almost there, Blanca.” Lydia pulls down the visor. The sun is coming up, shooting us right in the eyes with bright, golden light. “We’re almost at Plemora.”
“Yes, Ms. Lydia. We’re almost there.”
“You’re going to love it. Plemora’s so quiet and peaceful.”
“Yes, Ms. Lydia. I’m going to love it.”
“Barbelo’s curious about you. He was my purchaser, you know, if you haven’t already guessed that.”
“No, Ms. Lydia. I didn’t guess.” Barbelo was Lydia’s purchaser? Eight hours ago I thought he could solve everything. Now I’m not so sure.
“I don’t know what he’ll want yo
u to call him. We’ll have to wait and see.” Lydia pulls the car to the side of the road, where there’s nothing but dirt stretching to the horizon. “Got to change into my whites,” she says, and she pops the trunk. She takes the keys with her when she climbs out of the car.
When she comes back a few minutes later, I realize there’s something sick inside me.
Seeing Lydia back in her Vestal whites makes me feel better. It calms me down.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Are you ready to go home?” she asks.
And I do want to go home, but not to Nevada. “Yes, Ms. Lydia. Of course, Ms. Lydia. This is my dream come true,” I answer as Lydia drives us farther down the road. She smiles at me like this is the best vacation ever. Finally, the car stops.
“Excellent, darling. We’re here.” Lydia gets out of the car, but I stay put.
We’re parked in front of an enormous metal gate at least ten feet tall. It’s padlocked multiple times. Lydia takes out keys and deftly unlocks each chain. She pushes the gate inward so that our car can pass.
That’s how I enter the compound, peacefully, in the passenger seat.
All the while knowing it’s the most dangerous cloister of all.
The first things I notice are the chickens, defecating everywhere on the porch. The sunlight is white-hot now, and it reflects off the adobe walls. I hold up my hands to filter my eyes, which means I don’t get a good look at the front door. All I can see is that it’s rounded at the top, like a Roman arch.
But inside the villa, it’s cool and dark. My eyes dilate, adjusting to the light. There are plants everywhere, turning the interior into a lush greenhouse. Vines creep upward to the ceiling where skylights filter the heat.
“Come, Blanca. He’s waiting.” Lydia speaks softly, almost reverently. I fight the urge to kick off my shoes.
We cross the Spanish tiles through another doorway into an atrium. Here the garden is wilder than ever, at least at first glance. A veritable jungle is before me, bathed in the light of a single oculus at the center of the glass dome. The air is thick with humidity. I breathe in, and my lungs fill with moisture.
As Lydia leads me through the vegetation, I realize it’s not wild after all. Everything is proportioned, controlled, and cultivated. The jungle builds up in terraces. Planters and lattices pull everything together. Fruit trees are clipped into espaliers. Tomatoes are grafted upward. This garden is both verdant and measured.
At the far corner, I see the gardener pruning a fig tree. He wears a white linen tunic and drawstring pants. A straw hat covers his long white hair. The gardener hears our footsteps and turns around. It is then that I see his beard and glasses.
At long last I meet Barbelo Nemo.
“And so,” he says, putting down his pruning shears. “It’s my little Vestal. Welcome to Plemora.” He reaches out his hand and grasps my shoulder. “Blanca, you have had a hard road. In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it. You’re here at Plemora now, and you have everything you need to achieve happiness.”
I try to feel nothing. But it’s hard, especially when he blesses me. Icicles prick down my spine. “Thank you very much.” I’m overcome with the strange feeling of having met him before.
And it’s more than that. It’s more than just a feeling. Because when I look underneath his glasses, I see that Barbelo Nemo has green eyes flecked with gold.
Just like mine.
I’ve never been here before, but I know what to do. I know what’s expected of me. Headmaster Russell trained me well. Old habits come back to me easily, like pulling on an old pair of shoes. They’re comfortable and damaged at the same time. Maybe they’re even dangerous.
“Did you know I could cook?” That’s what Barbelo’s asking me, here at the dinner table.
“No, sir. I did not, sir. This is excellent, sir.” I take another bite of tilapia, poached in water and seasoned with lemon juice.
“Not only that, but everything on this table was raised right here at Plemora. We’re completely self-sustaining.” Barbelo digs into his tossed salad with gusto.
“The fish too,” offers Lydia. “Barbelo breeds them right here in the garden.”
“A three-hundred-gallon tank,” he says, “with its own geodesic dome. Tilapia live on algae.”
I finish chewing and wipe my lips with the linen napkin. “Yes, sir. That’s amazing, sir.” Fish and vegetables. Cal would have words about food like this.
But I shouldn’t be thinking about Cal or Seth. I need to stay present. I need to focus, so I can stay safe, like they would want me to.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time.” Barbelo taps his fork against his plate to dislodge a bone. “You might say I’ve followed your career.”
I shouldn’t feel chills, but I do.
“You have a very clean soul, Blanca. I’ve always admired that about you.”
“Thank you sir,” I say automatically. And I’m trying to concentrate. I’m trying to figure it out.
“You’re so rule-abiding,” Barbelo says. “You’ve always been so obedient until now.”
Something’s coming. I know it.
Barbelo takes a long sip of water. He puts down the glass exactly one inch away from his plate. “The trouble is, you’ve been running wild. I think you should remain cloistered until you can clear your head.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” I try to stop my insides from decomposing into mush.
“Blanca has an excellent character,” Lydia tells Barbelo. For some reason she’s arguing on my behalf. “Blanca always does what she’s told.”
“Not always.” Barbelo’s voice is cold. He takes off his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief.
I wonder which time he’s talking about: my online transgression with Ethan or trying to call Seth on the chip-watch?
“Ethan was a corrupting influence that has been dealt with.” Lydia swallows hard. “I still think Blanca’s trustworthy.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think, my dear, now does it?” Barbelo reaches for a toothpick.
“No, Barbelo. Of course not, Barbelo.” Lydia folds her napkin into a tidy triangle.
“That’s a good girl.” Barbelo reaches over to squeeze Lydia’s hand, and she beams with pleasure. “A week of cloistering will do Blanca some good.”
“Yes, Barbelo. Of course, Barbelo.” Lydia doesn’t look at me.
“Besides, Lydia,” Barbelo says, pushing himself away from the table, “you’ve been gone a long time. I have needs that you need to take care of.”
The last time I was cloistered for this long, I went crazy. I can’t let that happen again.
At least at McNeal Manor I had more space. Here at the villa, I’m alone in a tiny cell. There’s a cot, a nightstand, and a tiny bathroom. High up above me is a skylight full of the never-ending sunlight.
I think Lydia might be trying to help me. She brought me a yoga mat my first day and a hairbrush the next. But Barbelo must have found out, because since then, there’s been nothing. She no longer brings me my tray of food. Barbelo unlocks the door in the middle of the night and slides the tray in on the floor.
I can’t let myself go crazy. Not like last time. So I’ve been trying to think. I’ve been trying to dig deep within myself to come up with answers. I need to figure out the genesis of how I got here. That’s the only way I’ll escape.
Lydia told Barbelo that I have the perfect character. But that’s not true. My character isn’t perfect. It’s nonexistent.
If you take off my platinum cuff, then there’s nothing left of me. In that long-ago conversation with Seth, I couldn’t tell him what I liked to do for fun.
The truth is, I have no idea.
So I revert back to the old ways. An hour of Kenpō. An hour of yoga. Running around my little cell like I’m a trapped animal. Only there isn’t any room to run, so I jog in place instead.
But
the harder I run, the more I know. Even with the old routines, I’m still different. And maybe the part of me that’s always been is still here—the part of me that fights to survive.
Lock me in a box, and I’ll fight to get out.
Because that’s who I am at my very core. That’s my character. I’ve finally figured it out.
I’m a survivor.
No matter what shitty hand life deals me, I keep going.
I’ve got good instincts, like Cal told me. And my instincts are telling me loud and clear that I can do this.
I can think for myself.
There’s another thing about me that’s important. It’s really important to know this. I’m smart. I’m a fast learner. Even Cal said so. He said he’d never seen anybody with such a scientific mind.
It’s been six days in this cloister, and I’m keeping track. I don’t have anything to write with, but I’m marking the time with my hairbrush. I know it sounds funny, but each day I bend down one more wire bristle. I am loyal. I am discrete. That’s how I keep track of the days.
Barbelo said I’d only be here one week. But you can never trust a Vestal. You can’t.
He shouldn’t trust me either. Because today I had an epiphany. I was lying on my bed looking up into the skylight. The sunshine made me feel safe and warm and happy, like the great hall at McNeal Manor. And I remembered Cal saying, “It’s a great day for making solar power.” It’s a great day.
I’ve got a scientific mind. Cal said so. Solar circuits are like little cloisters. Close off the doors and the electrons won’t run free. Close me off in my cloister, and I’ll fight to get out.
So I take out Cal’s chip-watch, and I turn it over and look at the sun. Lydia thinks it busted when it fell in the water. She’s right, but she’s also wrong. Just the power is wrong. Just the battery.
It’s a great day to make solar power. It’s a great day to rip little bristles out of hairbrushes. It’s a great day to take things apart and see how they work. See if I can fix them. It’s a great day to bring broken things to life. It’s a great day.
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