Brave New Girls: Tales of Girls and Gadgets

by Kate Moretti

  The video cut to the machine, and she blinked back, outside Fitz, standing confused in the middle of my basement. My basement.

  “Hey. That’s my basement, Trina! That’s breaking and entering.” My voice wobbled out, hesitant and unsure. Did I want everyone to know that Fitz was mine? Mr. Fitzgerald’s words echoed back to me: You can’t ever tell anyone. Everyone will come for you. Want a piece of you. It will ruin your life.

  “Besides,” Simon scoffed next to me, and his arm snaked protectively across my shoulders, “that could be a trick of video editing, you know. There’s nothing about this that proves you traveled in time.”

  “Well, that’s what the live demo is for. Who would like to volunteer?”

  Bravely, Simon raised his hand. “Take me. I’ll tell the truth.”

  Rowen opened Fitz’s door and smiled, all white teeth and red lipstick, while Simon folded his lanky frame inside. My heart pounded. I irrationally worried that this would be the one time it didn’t work—that Simon wouldn’t come back. The judges all glanced at each other, unsure whether to stop this circus or let it go. I mean, they had to believe it was all a show.

  Fitz whirled to life. Seconds later, the red light lit up, indicating that he’d blinked back. Rowen opened the door, holding it wide like a game show host. The students in the gym began to clap, slowly, confused about whether they were supposed to be impressed.

  Simon climbed out of the cylinder and stood there, bewildered. When he looked over at me, he opened his mouth then closed it again. His expression was unreadable.

  “It’s true,” he croaked out. “I opened my eyes, and I was witnessing a moment that previously happened today. I saw Meg steal a bunch of computers from Mrs. Shotwell’s classroom…”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. I hadn’t told him about the stolen computers, so he was telling the truth. He’d blinked back and then forward, almost instantaneously to us.

  My face reddened. “Y-yes, but I returned them,” I stammered out.

  Everyone turned and looked at me, then back to Trina and Rowen.

  Mrs. Trainor clucked her tongue. “So, Trina, you say you invented this time machine? And it works?”

  Without missing a beat, Trina nodded. “Yes, it works. It’s not perfect. I can’t exactly control where or when I end up. And it seems like I can’t stay in the past for longer than a half hour or so. But I’m confident that with future experiments—”

  “Okay, hold your horses.” I’d had enough. First of all, no one was going to take credit for Mr. Fitzgerald’s experiments, not even me. Second of all, Trina had never run a real experiment in her life. “Fitz was invented by Mr. Fitzgerald and was left to me when he died, a year and a half ago. I’ve been experimenting with it ever since, and I have notebooks filled with data at home to prove it.”

  “Oh, you mean these notebooks?” Trina smiled sweetly, holding up a handful of black-and-whites. I’d documented everything in real notebooks, not electronically, where it could be password protected. I’d inherited Mr. Fitzgerald’s love of handwritten lab notes, and now I was cursing myself for it. “Oh, I’ve filled quite a few of these in the past year or so. You know, running different… er… variables…”

  “Like what?” I challenged.

  “Um, different levels of… hydrogen fuel.”

  Drats! She got that from me.

  “You know, Meg, it’s really scientifically unethical to take credit for another scientist’s work.” Rowen inched up behind Trina and gave me sad eyes, her mouth bowed in a frown.

  “Yes, well if either of you were scientists, that might be true,” I mumbled. Suddenly, I had an idea. I reached into my backpack and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. My Biggest Secret. I smoothed it out and marched over to Mrs. Shotwell.

  “Mrs. Shotwell, did you have the class do an assignment yesterday called My Biggest Secret?”

  She looked startled. “No. That was my lesson plan, but when all the laptops went missing, I decided to just sub in some silent reading.” She peered at me. “How did you know that? I… didn’t even write that in my lesson plan spreadsheet. I just called it a writing assignment.”

  I sighed. This was going to be hard to explain and hard to follow. “Yesterday, I wrote an essay about Fitz. About how I can time travel. But then, somehow, the whole school found it. I went back in time and erased the file and then stole the laptops to keep that from happening again.” Hmm, easier than I thought. I skipped right over the part where I dumped Trypan Blue all over Trina. To her, that never really happened. I handed the printout to Mrs. Shotwell. She took it, gingerly. “Here is that assignment.”

  She read it over—the whole story of Fitz, how I inherited him, my failed experiments to fully understand how he worked, my attempts to control my time travel, and my frustration and isolation.

  “I believe you, Meg,” she said finally. She turned to Trina. “Did you steal this… this incredible technology? Is this not yours? And you’re trying to pretend that it is?”

  “No!” Trina insisted. “This is mine. I discovered this. These are my experiments. I’m going to be famous.”

  “How did you find out?” I snatched the assignment out of Mrs. Shotwell’s hand and whipped around to face Trina. “No one saw this. No one knew it existed because I erased this. So how did you know about Fitz?”

  I advanced toward her, and she stepped back, nervously, until she was against the table.

  “I told her.” Simon stepped up, hanging his head.

  I turned around, stung. “You told her?” I hissed. “How could you?”

  “It was a mistake. I’ve known for a while that either you had the real deal in your basement, or you thought you did. I… I read your notebooks weeks ago. I was worried about you.” He reached out and grasped my hand. “I’ve been tutoring Trina in biology, and she started talking about you and how you seemed so sad and lost. She asked if you were okay.” Simon shot her a murderous look. “I honestly thought she was concerned. I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t know she hated you this much. And, I’ll be honest, I thought maybe you were delusional or something. I’m sorry, Meg.”

  The whole school stared at me. Simon looked like he could cry, and Rebekah looked dumbfounded. Trina and Rowen looked somehow caught and mocking me at the same time. Mrs. Shotwell looked confused, but that might have been because Mrs. Shotwell always looked a little confused, like maybe she always just wished she were off knitting somewhere.

  I couldn’t take it. I turned around and left.

  I didn’t come out of my room for three days. On the third day, Mom stood in my doorway with her hands on her hips, her eyebrows creased with worry and anger.

  “Okay, you’re all done moping now. Besides, there are people here to see you. Up. Get a shower and come downstairs. Also… dress up. Take off your sweatpants and put on a skirt or something.”

  A skirt? I haven’t been to school in three days, and she’s worried about a skirt? But I did it. I got up, showered, and put on a soft, flowing cotton skirt that I hadn’t worn in over a year. I added lip gloss because I was channeling Rebekah.

  Downstairs, Mrs. Trainor stood with two men I didn’t know. They wore jeans and polo shirts and looked tan and too healthy for April in Pennsylvania.

  “Hello,” I said cautiously.

  “Meg, these two men are from NASA. They want to talk to you about—”

  “Fitz.” Simon stood in the doorway, shyly. “They want to know about Fitz. They want to know if it’s true.”

  “How—how do they know?” I stammered.

  “Meg, it’s all over the news, honey. I don’t know how.”

  “Well, I don’t even know where Fitz is. Last I saw it, it was in the gym.”

  “I brought him home,” Simon murmured behind me. “He belongs here, wi
th you. His owner.”

  “Oh no. Mr. Fitzgerald said this would happen.” I set my mouth in a firm line. “That everyone would want a piece of me, to use me, and I’d lose everything. Fitz is mine. He stays with me.”

  The two men glanced back and forth uncertainly. “Megan, we don’t want to keep Fitz. We don’t want to abuse you. We want to learn from you. We’re prepared to offer you a healthy arrangement, but you have to work with us.”

  I eyed them, suspicious. “What kind of arrangement?”

  “Well, in exchange for all your notes on Fitz, all your data—and provided we can prove it works—we’re prepared to offer you a full scholarship to the institution of your choice. And an internship at NASA for the duration of your college career.”

  “And a position at NASA upon the completion of your degree,” the second man chimed in.

  I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t even known if college was a consideration for me, given Mom’s income. Half the time, chicken for dinner wasn’t even a consideration for me. I was relying on scholarship money and a wing and a prayer. This took care of everything. “What do you want from me again?”

  “You have to come with us, to Houston, and finish out your sophomore year remotely. We’ll work together to determine exactly how Fitz works. Your name will be on the published paper.” He glanced at his partner. “Second author.”

  “Primary,” I said automatically.

  “We’ll see.” They looked at each other. “Are you in?”

  “Um, hell yes! I’m in.”

  Behind me, Simon whooped.

  As I packed, Simon perched on the edge of my bed. “Don’t worry, Meg. We’ll talk every day.”

  I’d forgiven him for talking to Trina. He just wanted a friend, someone to talk to. I’d been too wrapped up in my own thing.

  “Why didn’t you just talk to Rebekah?” I asked.

  “She’s too busy making eyes at William Rex,” he scoffed.

  “William Rex?!” You could have knocked me over.

  “Yeah, where have you been? She’s all about him. But she thinks no one knows.” He laughed, and his eyes crinkled.

  I covered my mouth. I certainly hadn’t known.

  As I folded in the last shirt and clasped the suitcase closed, I looked over at my best friend. He traced patterns on the bedspread with his finger.

  “We’ll miss you,” he said softly.

  “I’ll miss you, too.” I was only going until the fall, and Fitz was already in Texas, waiting for me.

  Rebekah was coming over any minute to say goodbye, but before she showed up, there was something I wanted to do.

  I put my suitcase down, and walked over to where Simon sat on the bed. I took a deep breath, put my hands on his cheeks, and studied his face: his swampy green eyes, freckled nose, and studious lower lip that puckered out when he was nervous.

  Then I closed my eyes.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Kate Moretti is the New York Times bestselling author of Thought I Knew You (Red Adept Publishing, 2012) and Binds That Tie (Red Adept Publishing, 2014). She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kids, and a dog. She enjoys traveling and cooking, although with two kids, a day job, and writing, she doesn’t get to do those things as much as she’d like. She’s worked in the pharmaceutical industry for eighteen years as a scientist, and has been an avid fiction reader her whole life.

  Her lifelong dream is to buy an old house with a secret passageway.

  THOUGHTS ON BRAVE NEW GIRLS

  “If my girls pursue careers in math or science, I want it to be in a world that isn’t impressed with their choices simply because they’re female. When I say I’m a scientist, people think it’s brainy. Like I’m some kind of unicorn. When a man says it, it’s practically mundane. I want that: for it to be mundane.”

  Illustration for “Blink” by Hazel Butler

  COURAGE IS...

  by Evangeline Jennings

  “Are you sure you can spare the time?”

  “Are you serious?”

  Gracie was distracted. The neighborhood kids were playing in the courtyard, and yet again, they hadn’t invited her. Gracie was beginning to hate her neighborhood. Even so, a slow grin spread across her face as she realized what she’d said and who she’d said it to. She turned away from her window to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Rostom. I was parsecs away.”

  “That’s okay, Gracie. I quite understand.” His accent was different again that afternoon. Rostom was easily bored and always experimenting. The previous day, he’d been a statuesque woman with flaming red hair. You never knew which Rostom you were going to get, and it was best not to think about it. He brushed his newly floppy hair out of his eyes. “Now can we please talk about your birthday?”

  “I don’t see the point.” Gracie shrugged. “I’m too old for birthdays.”

  Rostom’s lips pursed. “Excuse me. You’ll only be fifteen.”

  “All my friends are sixteen.” And they’re not my friends anymore.

  “Is this about Darcy again?” Rostom asked.

  “No,” Gracie snapped, meaning yes. “It’s just…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. Didn’t know exactly how she felt.

  “Well, think about it, please,” Rostom said. “We’ve only got three days to arrange everything.”

  “I will,” Gracie promised. “Honestly. But now…”

  “Yes, I know. You want to be alone. That’s okay. I’ll leave you to think, but please, let me know if you make a decision or need my help with anything.”

  “Thank you, Rostom. I will.”

  Rostom faded slowly into nothingness as he disengaged his avatar module. As soon as he was gone, the inbound light flashed green. Gracie waved a hand, dismissing the third request that day from the neighborhood medical center. “No calls, Rostom, please,” she said. “And no oversight.”

  Her implant had reported a minor viral infection, but she felt perfectly well. She didn’t care to hear what the medical center thought. The green light blinked out. The gray panels on the walls went black. Gracie was alone. Probably.

  Down below Gracie’s window, Darcy and the others were playing basketball. The ship had moderated local gravity, so the girls were leaping everywhere, coming close to flight as they hurled themselves into their game. As Gracie watched, Jesslyn dunked from almost ten meters.

  It’s not fair, Gracie thought, but she didn’t say it aloud because she was almost fifteen and she didn’t care. She was watching Darcy set up for an outrageous jump shot when an unexpected flash of light briefly dazzled her.

  Where in the stars did that come from?

  There it is again. What can it be?

  The Civilization Class Vessel Rostom Sipan Bagdasarian was currently traversing a giant Double-Oh cloud of icy planetesimals. Maybe it was starlight focused through the cumulative lens of the cloud and falling in narrow shafts through the vessel’s hulls?

  Or maybe not. This time, Gracie snatched a glimpse in the corner of her eye. The flashes of brilliant light were coming from the far side of the neighborhood courtyard. Now she knew where to look, they were easy to find, and she soon tracked them back to their source. Someone on a balcony, high in the opposite building, was using an old-fashioned mirror to reflect a light that came from somewhere else. Probably from one of the remora-yachts. Why, Gracie wondered, on the memory of Earth, would anyone do that? Was he signaling?

  Engaging her implant, she mapped the source of the light. A simple query to the neighborhood register told her that apartment had been vacant for several months. Gracie was bewildered. Theft was unheard of on the Bagdasarian, and if anybody wanted an empty apartment, all they had to do was ask for it. And why would anyone use a mirror to signal when everyone had access to the Verse—the dataverse? When she looked up at the balcony
again, the figure had gone.

  A break-in. Mysterious signaling. Twentieth-century intrigues in the sixth millennium. Gracie smiled and thought of a legendary detective. “Gracie,” she told herself, “the game is afoot.”

  The Bagdasarian was home to several billion citizens and an unknown number of children. Whenever she stopped to think about it, Gracie was terrified by size of her interstellar home, but at least she always had someone to turn to. She had uncovered a mystery—the curious incident of the handheld mirror in the early afternoon—and she knew exactly where to go for help.

  Gracie took to her bunk, where she switched off the lights with a flick of her wrist that also turned her window opaque. The hand gesture was meaningless. The thought that accompanied it gave the ship her command, but Gracie found it easier and more dramatic that way.

  She closed her eyes and drew a long, deep breath. When she opened them again, she focused on the spot where she knew her ceiling was. On her sixteenth birthday—three days and a whole year away—Gracie would become a citizen. That same day, Rostom would upgrade her implant to confirm her citizenship and make her a full member of the vessel-wide consciousness. But Gracie wasn’t even fifteen yet. She had to do things the hard way—maybe the better way. The Hive Mind, she thought, makes you lazy. Lazy and too good for your friends.

  Without any effort, Gracie located one of the hidden ports she had built into the firewall she used to protect her thoughts. Most kids didn’t think the way she did. They trusted Rostom with their lives, so why not their minds? Gracie saw no reason to distrust the ship, but she was determined to always think for herself. Let Darcy and her stupid friends give up all control. Gracie was made of sterner stuff. A part of her dreaded the day when she would join the Hive Mind. Pushing aside her doubts, she visualized the access codes to open up the port, then she slipped a thought into the endless torrents of data that raged about the Rostom Sipan Bagdasarian.