Rough Passages: The Collected Stories

by K. M. Herkes

Izzie rolled her eyes. “Mom, please. We’re the Trouble Triplets. We’re supposed to look shocking.”

  Friday was No-Uniforms day, and there was a stupid choir assembly too, so they’d decided to pull out all the stops. That meant black and white horizontal striped shirts, vertically-striped tights, big black boots and little black skirts. Their hair was still in the matching tiny braids from last weekend’s sleepover. Izzie’s hair was coming loose, but the frazzled look worked with her perky nose.

  They were the same height since Kelli had grown an inch, and when they stood in a row they were as perfect as one of Papa’s color swatches for earth tones. Kelli was deep mahogany brown, Elena tawny-gold, and Izzie pale fawn. She liked to say she was peachy, and they let her because making her happy was always easier.

  “I think we look outrageous,” Elena said, because it was a great word.

  Izzie echoed it, grinning. “Outraaaaaaaaaageous.”

  Mrs. Givens said, “You look ridiculous. Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

  Kelli didn’t even mumble a hello. She slouched in the seat and slapped Izzie’s arm when she got poked. “Stop it. I’m mad. And I can’t go bowling tomorrow because I’m grounded, and I didn’t even do anything.”

  Mrs. Givens laughed as she pulled onto the street. “Yes, you’re a perfect little angel. All of you are. Kelli, I’ll call your mom later and get the real story. Ellie, how is your dad doing? Is he all right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. Oh. We're going out, tonight. Can Izzie come over?”

  After they made arrangements for babysitting, Mrs. Givens said, “And how’s your mom?”

  Elena bit her lip. “Fine. We had a video chat Wednesday.” She said my face is puffy, and that I buy too much junk food and meat. She doesn’t say I’m fat and stupid, but I know she thinks it. “She hates the desert.”

  “I hope she gets home for Marco’s birthday. It’s so hard on a toddler when a parent has to travel so much for work.”

  “That’s the government for you,” Kelli muttered. “And stupid companies are worse. The military-industrial-super-corporations won’t stop until they ruin the whole world with pollution and destroy us all, you’ll see.”

  Mrs. Givens glared into the rear view mirror. “Kelli MacArthur, if you ever dirty my ears with your father’s radical politics again, then you can find a new car pool. No wonder you’re grounded. You called him again, didn’t you?”

  Kelli’s lower lip trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your mom cut off contact to protect you. I don’t care if he was a big name with GlobalComm. He's disgraced and unemployed, and I don’t blame your mom for divorcing him, not one bit. He’ll be facing treason charges if he isn’t careful. Don’t let him drag you down. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.”

  Izzie mouthed an apology and made silly faces the rest of the way to school. Her cheeks were still bright red with embarrassment and Kelli was still sniffling when they arrived right at the bell. Elena barely had time to sneak in supportive hugs before they had to split up and run to their first classes.

  No one had a perfect life. Izzie’s mom always knew better than anyone about everything, and Kelli’s dad was a criminal. Elena supposed she was a horrible person for feeling better about herself because her best friends had problems too, but she did. And knowing someone understood even a little bit eased her fears. Together, they could face anything.

  11:45 AM, 18

  April, Sherman Middle School,

  Elgin, Illinois.

  Elena's next chance to talk with her friends came during the long recess period while the first lunch group was in the cafeteria. She dodged past the boys who always loitered by the door to the gym, and then she stopped in her tracks. A blond-haired young man in a gray DPS uniform was standing by the open door to the walk-around yard outside.

  He smiled and nodded, but Elena still felt like crying at the sight of him. Whenever she saw the uniforms, she saw Papa’s rollover again. He’d cried and screamed, and she couldn’t stop the memories.

  She ran behind the bleachers, crawled into the Trouble Triplet hidey hole they’d staked out there at the beginning of the school year, and she put her hands over her ears. When she closed her eyes and ignored everything, the screams went away too.

  Kelli snuck in a few minutes later and dropped her book bag to the floor with a theatrical flourish. “What a day. Did you see all the dippies in the halls? I hate testing week.”

  “I’m so glad I got mine done on Tuesday,” Izzie said as she arrived. Her braids were a complete mess now, and she brushed at the wavy blonde strands hanging in her face. “There’s a dozen Marines from the Monster Brigade outside the dean’s office. One of them has claws and striped fur like my cat. Did you two see them?”

  Elena shook her head and tried to not think about blood and claws and Papa screaming. She said, “You shouldn’t call them monsters, Izzie. It’s mean. They’re people like everyone else. Don’t you ever see any of them at the market or downtown?”

  “Ick, no. Not where we shop. My dad says he doesn’t care how many jobs the base brings in, they’re still eerie. That isn’t mean, it’s honest.”

  “No, it's mean,” Kelli said. “But I didn’t see them either. I went past the staff lounge and raided the vending machines. Treats for everyone.” She handed out chocolate bars from her backpack. Elena handed hers to Izzie, and Kellie said, “I wonder why they’re here. Mercury Battalion doesn’t do school visits.”

  Izzie said, “All the teachers tested Monday. Maybe one of them is about to roll hot. Remember the PSA from health class? What if it’s a pyro, or some other elemental? Oh, or a troll! One of the Marines is a troll. How exciting would it be to see one of them hit onset right here at school?”

  It would be the worst. The smell of the candy made Elena queasy. “You don’t ever want to see onset for something like that. It isn’t exciting. It’s gross when someone goes through the change all in one hot session. I was scared to death when Papa rolled, and he's only a carnie with barely any power at all.”

  “Oh, Elena.” Izzie’s eyes went wide. “I'm sorry. I forgot. I didn’t think.”

  “You’re good at that,” Kelli said. “Not thinking, I mean.” Her eyes widened, and she snapped her fingers. “Hey, I think I know why the Marines are here. It’s the last day of screenings. The Dips will be at all the exits checking IDs against the test lists, in case they missed anyone. The Marines are here to bully people into behaving, plus to chase down any runners. As if anyone would be that stupid.”

  Elena's face heated up. Her clever plan to sneak away at lunch never would have worked. Papa's lecture had saved her a lot of embarrassment.

  Izzie licked her fingers clean. “What a huge fuss over nothing. It’s only a blood test, and it’s for our own good. Why would anyone skip it?”

  The idea of facing the assessment without fear made Elena’s brain spin. The idea of dismissing its importance made her want to punch Izzie in the face. She clenched her fists instead. “Did you get your results yet?”

  “Oh, sure. Yesterday. I’m a null, of course. Everybody in my family is except for my cousin Emily. Oh, and her daughter. I wasn’t worried.”

  How are you my friend? Elena wanted to scream. “It isn’t genetic, Izzie. That was on the Health test we all aced. That’s why the screening tests are so important. Why do you act so dumb all the time? I know you’re smart. You know that nobody knows why people hit onset or don’t.”

  Kelli added, “Sometimes I want to kick you so hard, Izzie. Just because you don’t have to worry, you don’t care about anyone else? My homeroom tested yesterday, so I’m on pins and needles until Monday. It's why I called Dad. Mom said she would disown me if I'm positive, and she meant it. It isn't fair. Anyone can test positive. Anyone can roll.”

  The passing bell rang, and the crowd in the gym headed for the cafeteria. Izzie licked each one of her fingers again
like a contented little cat. “Yes, but everyone doesn’t roll, do they? Only one in ten ever rolls hard enough to tell. That’s less than half of the ones who test positive. See? I do remember things. I'm sure you'll be fine, Kelli. Your mom loves you, right? Come on, TTs. Let’s eat.”

  And with that, she bossed them on their way the way she always did.

  In the cafeteria, Izzie chewed through a huge sub sandwich full of meat and juicy sauce, and Kelli bought a hot lunch that smelled heavenly. Elena made her meal last as long as possible, but it wasn’t easy. She was picking at the last crumbs of her cookie when Izzie said, “I still don’t think the dips would bring along all the monsters unless something's about to go wrong. And I am smart, and I do know how to think, so there.”

  Kelli said, “Nah, it’s only a show of force: a reminder that the government can reach anyone. They want us scared. Terror tactics squash dissent and bully the population into compliance. That’s how oppressors stay in power.”

  Izzie glared at her. “Seriously, Kelli? I’m not my mom, but could you quit with the speeches for once? This isn’t politics.”

  “Isn’t it?” Elena said after thinking about it. “Isn’t that what a show of force is, like we talked about in Civics? A pyro or a troll could kill everyone in the school, sure, but that could happen any day. Their job is to protect us all the time. Why be here today unless it’s what Kelli’s saying, that knowing they could squash people is a threat to make us all behave? I’m not saying it’s right, just that it might be true.”

  Right and wrong weren’t always easy to pin down. Her mother worked for the government now, bringing water to drought-stricken areas all over the world, but if that was the right way to solve the problem, then she wouldn’t have to go away again and again. Nothing worked perfectly. In a perfect world, she would have two normal parents and a regular, ordinary life.

  Izzie groaned. “Stop, I’m begging you. Both of you make my head hurt. Let’s talk about the assembly. Do you think they'll try to make us all sing again this year?”

  That conversation occupied them until the bell rang for end of the second lunch shift. The PA system issued the reminder that due to the assembly, all students should return to their homerooms, not their regular afternoon classes, finishing with, “—except for eighth graders in Homerooms 6 and 12, who will report to Dean Fratelli's office.”

  Elena had to swallow a bunch of times to keep her lunch down. “Well, that's me.”

  Her friends both stared at her. Izzie blinked first. “Oh, Ellie, you goose. I completely forgot you hadn’t tested yet. Are you petrified? You are, aren’t you? I should’ve been lots nicer. Say you forgive me, or I will die. I’ll ask mom to let us have a sleepover Sunday, to keep you two from fretting yourselves to death. Please say you’ll come. Triplets together, right?”

  “You’re the goose,” Elena said. Tears welled up in her eyes, but a smile rose with them, and she felt warm all over. This is why we’re friends. “That will be tons of fun. I’ll beg Papa to say yes. I’m sure he will. TTs forever.”

  They hooked pinkie fingers together and shook on the promise.

  Dean Fratelli was directing traffic in the wide main corridor outside the administration center, lining up students along the lockers near the hall door to his office. Only two Marines were visible through the glass doors of the main office, not a dozen. One of them did have striped fur, and his eyes were big and pale like Papa's. The other man had on mirrored sunglasses, and he was bigger than anyone Elena had ever seen. They both wore funny hats, crisp khaki shirts, and big webbed belts with pistols in holsters. The secretaries behind the front counter were chatting fearlessly with them.

  Izzie ran off after delivering a big bouncing hug. Kelli gave the two Marines a long, frowning look, then offered Elena a souvenir penny embossed with a paw print logo from the zoo. “For luck,” she said. “I don’t believe in luck, but Mom gave it to me. Pass it on, when you’re done.”

  Elena squeezed it hard. The fear didn’t go away, but the gesture helped.

  The test wasn’t scary at all. Standing in the hall while all the other classes marched to the auditorium was the worst part. She went into the office when her name was called, and the Public Safety aide filled up a little tube with blood.

  “All done,” the aide said while she taped a cotton ball over Elena's skin and bent her arm up. “There you go.”

  The knot of fear in Elena's stomach loosened. She still didn't want to know the results, but it was out of her hands now. All she could do was wait and pray. The aide attached a label to the blood-filled vial.

  When Elena straightened her elbow, blood trickled down her forearm. The aide said, “Hm. That won’t do.” She removed the bandage and stroked a finger over the dark, swollen lump around the needle mark. Tingling warmth slithered down Elena’s arm, and the bruise disappeared. The aide smiled. “That’s better.”

  Elena wiggled her fingers. If I have to roll, I wouldn’t mind a power like that. Something small and helpful. That’s something I can pray for, tonight at church. She peeked at the name badge on the aide's white lab coat. “That is neat. Thank you, Ms. Watkins.”

  “You're welcome.” The aide's hair was white and fluffy, and her skin was the same color and wrinkled texture as a dried apple slice. It crinkled around her dark brown eyes when she smiled again. “I can't do that for everyone, but I'm allowed to make exceptions. I’ll note it for the school nurse. How are you feeling?”

  “Why?” Elena's stomach started to ache again. “Am I sick?”

  “Nothing that a few supplements won't cure.” Ms. Watkins stopped smiling. “Listen, dear. Dispensing wisdom is one of the few perks that comes with being old. I'm sure you'll ignore it, but I can’t help trying. Are you listening?”

  Elena prepared herself for a lecture. “Sure, whatever.”

  “I believed in all kinds of superstitions when I was your age. My uncle died in rollover, you see, and I tested factor-plus with very high numbers. Of course I looked for a way to beat the odds.”

  “There isn't one,” Elena said. All the lessons said that.

  Ms. Watkins took Elena’s hand, turning it over and pressing it between her soft palms. “That’s true, but do you believe it? I know children still whisper the same stories, year after year. Earlier this week, a girl asked if I was infecting her with the test, and that idiotic conspiracy theory went underground in the fifties. You hear a rumor about a trick, and you think maybe. You think, it can't hurt. You're wrong. “

  Elena met the woman's eyes and lied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. You're anemic and underweight. Starving yourself won’t affect your blood factor. That fairy tale has been around forever. Stupid girls starve themselves to death.” Ms. Watkins patted Elena's hand. “There now. You seem like a smart girl, so that’s all the nagging I’ll do. If you have any other questions, chat with the outreach team from Mercury Battalion, or make an appointment to talk privately—with or without your parents. That’s why the soldiers are here: to listen, and to help.”

  So much for Kelli's theory. The Marines were doing community service. Elena pictured the pair in the office again. Her spirits rose. “I can ask them anything?”

  Ms. Watkins pursed her lips. “If you ask Sergeant Coby if he's a real troll, you'll get a lecture on history and mythology. I wouldn't recommend it.”

  “I would never.” Elena couldn't even imagine being that horrid. “But the other one is a C-N, isn't he? Probably a one or a two, since he's in Mercury.”

  “Corporal Tillman is a N2C, that’s right. You know your designations. Are you a monster buff?” Ms. Watkins sounded disappointed.

  “No, but my baby brother has a big book of charts that he likes me to read at bedtime. Knowing more helps him adjust, the therapist said. See, our papa hit onset a few months ago, and he's C9N. I wanted to ask the soldier how—he—um.” Elena's face heated. “Papa sheds. He only has a ruff on his neck and back, but it gets everywhere. Would
it be rude to ask the corporal how he gets the fur out of his shirts?”

  Ms. Watkins blinked several times, and then she smiled. “That question might make Tillman's whole day. Please do ask. Ask Sergeant Coby about scales, too. I hear they're equally hard on clothes.” She pointed at the main office door. “Now, scoot along.”

  1:15 PM, 18

  April, Sherman Middle School,

  Elgin, Illinois.

  Corporal Tillman answered Elena's questions in great detail. He didn't hide his fangs when he smiled, but Elena made herself smile back. The rest of the class filed past while they were talking. Huge Sergeant Coby fielded a few questions from other students, but most of them went by with eyes down and feet moving fast.

  Melissa Reardon was the last student out. She took one look at the Marines and bolted into the hall at a dead run. Her form was awful. Coach Gibbs would make her do extra laps for the flappy hands. Tillman paused in the act of handing Elena a card with his contact information on it to watch Melissa's exit. “Damn, Sarge. Just like you predicted. Are you always right?”

  “Watch your language, Corporal,” Sergeant Coby said. His voice was low and rumbly, and it made his words sound sad, like Papa's lisp. “And yes, I can spot the rabbits and the tigers a mile away.”

  He glanced at an electronic clipboard that looked tiny in his hands, and then he tapped the radio microphone on his uniform collar. “Lieutenant, the flock is sheared. Ms. Watkins is ready for escort. We're wrapping up Q and A.” After a pause, he nodded. “Aye, aye, sir. Backup on out-routes from the dog and pony show. I copy four short, and I have the photo list. Wait one. I'll confirm handoff.”

  Coby opened the door to the office and bent to peer inside. Elena watched the man's broad back while he spoke to the nurse. His muscles bulged, pressing his armored skin against the uniform shirt in ridges like a turtle’s shell. His appearance didn't bother Elena half as much as her father's did. Even Tillman had been more interesting than frightening once she got used to the pointy-toothed smile. She wondered why it was so different. Maybe it's because they were never my Papa.