Time Next

by Carolyn Cohagan

  “Now daughters, do you stand as a witness to these words?” Ram asks.

  The girls nod.

  Ram looks around the room. “Do you, the community that supports these fathers and daughters, stand as witnesses to these words?”

  The crowd applauds and a few people shout, “So be it.”

  “It is time for the exchange of gifts.”

  The fathers pull small velvet pouches from their pockets, while the girls try to contain their excitement. The men reveal delicate gold chains that sparkle in the light.

  Silas leans into me, whispering, “Necklaces with a heart locket.”

  Long after the other fathers have secured the jewelry around their daughters’ necks, Mr. Tanner is still trying to unhook the small clasp. Ram waits for him. Mr. Tanner mutters something under his breath which, judging from Deborah’s appalled face, is inappropriate for polite company.

  Mortified, Deborah takes the necklace from her father’s fingers, unhooks it, and places it around her own neck.

  Mr. Tanner exhales with relief.

  Ram says, “Now the young ladies will offer a gift in return.”

  Reaching into hidden pockets in their gowns, the girls pull out something too small to see. I look to Silas, who says, “A tiny key. It fits into the heart locket, and the father has the only copy. He’ll give it to the girl’s husband when she marries.”

  Thinking of the diamond collar I once wore around my wrist, I wonder if these lockets have an alarm. Or perhaps they’re like Rose’s necklace and contain a tracking device. Either way, I’m glad I’m not receiving one.

  Once the exchange of gifts is over, Ram announces, “We will begin this covenant between daughter and father with a dance, symbolizing how a daughter is always protected and safe in her father’s arms and need not worry about a thing. She can relax and enjoy herself, knowing that Daddy is there.”

  A dramatic song made up of many instruments begins, quite different than the sensitive melody played before. The fathers take the hands of their daughters, and the couples begin to twirl around the dance floor. They’re all doing the same dance and have obviously practiced. Gilad looks a bit petrified, his eyes large and staring straight ahead, as if he were still watching something on his Tact.

  Tabitha holds her head high, smiling, executing every step perfectly, but she’s scanning the room, searching for someone or something. I look around, wondering what might be attracting her attention. Does she want to know how many of the boys are admiring her shoulders in that stunning green dress?

  Gilad looks uncomfortable, but the worst dancer by far is Luke Tanner, who’s dragging Deborah around the dance floor like she’s a mop. I bet Deborah is now wishing she wore a less conspicuous color.

  When the song ends, the fathers drop the hands of their daughters, and the girls get into a line and file back out the flowered doorway. Other couples crowd the dance floor.

  “Hello, Mina,” a voice says.

  I discover Beth standing to my right. She looks sweet in a coral dress that puffs out at the sleeves, but I find myself wanting to run at the sight of her.

  “Don’t you look pretty,” she says, smiling.

  I try to smile back, but my mouth has gone so dry that my lips stick to my teeth.

  Silas says, “Hello, Beth. I didn’t know you knew Mina.”

  “Oh yes. I was the first one to find them––the Manhattan Five. Didn’t she tell you?”

  Silas sees my face, which must look pallid, and he touches my elbow. “No, she didn’t.”

  “Nice to see you,” says Beth. “So glad you decided to let in the light.” She grins agreeably and walks away.

  “Are you okay?” asks Silas.

  “Of course,” I say, watching Beth disappear into a crowd of children her age. But I’m not. I hate that girl more than words can say. I blame her for everything––for Juda’s disappearance, for Grace’s conversion, for Rose’s illness. If Beth hadn’t sounded the alarm, we would all still be together.

  I want to follow her and shake her until her teeth clack. I want to rip her apart from her friends like she ripped me away from mine.

  “You look like you just saw the Devil,” says Silas.

  I snap out of my daydream, disturbed at the violence I was feeling. “No, I was just, uh, having some bad memories from home.”

  He nods in understanding. “I think we should dance.” The music has slowed to something relaxed and lazy.

  “I told you, I don’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll lead,” he says, taking my hand with his unbandaged one.

  As he leads me toward the dance floor, my nervousness causes me to trip in my too-big shoes. I see a few girls snicker. “This is a bad idea,” I tell Silas, pulling him back.

  “It’s a benny idea,” he says, resisting me. “You can’t be any worse than Luke Tanner.”

  Before I know it, he’s put his good arm on my back and pulled me in close. We rotate in a circle with his injured wrist sandwiched between us. My body is smashed against his in a way I find embarrassing. I’m positive everyone is staring at us, but as I look around, I see that other couples are embraced in a similar way, slowly turning. I guess Silas and I are dancing.

  I try to relax and enjoy the music, which I find soothing. I don’t want to focus on Silas’ body or the fact that he smells like fresh, warm laundry.

  “It’s easy, right?” he says.

  “Mmmhmm.” I can’t look at him. Our faces are too close.

  Near us, Susanna sways with a boy several inches shorter than her and doesn’t look pleased. Gilad dances with Bithia, and Marjory dances with Horton Groodly.

  Marjory is surprisingly graceful. Although she wears a floor length gown, it is white, like Ram’s suit. Perhaps enjoying color is too frivolous for Marjory and Ram?

  Ram stands off to the side of the dance floor, surveying it with a peaceful smile. Next to him is Jeremiah in a black suit, alert and unreadable as usual.

  “Was he serious about the bombs?” I ask Silas.

  “What? Who?” He misses a step.

  “Mr. Tanner. He said, ‘Bomb them.’ Did he mean it?”

  “Mr. Tanner is a bluster monkey.”

  I’m confused. “So the Unbound don’t have any bombs?”

  “We have them, I guess. But Mr. Tanner doesn’t get to say if we use them.”

  I don’t feel any better. Knowing any of these people want to drop a weapon on my home is terrifying.

  “He just likes to cause trouble. No one agrees with him,” he says, squeezing me. “You’re as tense as a nail meeting a hammer. Relax.”

  He’s right. Closing my eyes, I focus on the incredible music. Despite Mr. Tanner, the glaring girls, and Dekker, the event is pretty magnificent—the pavilion, the music, the decorations, the gowns. It’s all sort of magical. Maybe I’m not so annoyed that Silas made me come.

  I wonder what it would be like to attend the event with my own father. He would make a few bad jokes and listen to the sermon while stroking his beard. I could have danced with him, which is a strange idea, but it might have been nice.

  All at once, the song comes to an end, and I realize I was resting my head on Silas’ chest. I pull back, mortified.

  He releases my hands. “Thank you. I really enjoyed that.”

  “Me, too,” I say, sure I’m bright pink. “I need some air.”

  The music speeds up, and I depart the dance floor before Silas can ask me to dance again.

  Sixteen

  I leave the pavilion, happy to escape the crowd. My Bee hums into place above me. So much for privacy.

  To my right, small girls imitate the dance we saw Tabby and the others do. The evening is still and warm. I can feel the pulsing of the music coming up through the grass.

  I danced. I wish I could tell Nana.

  I wonder what she would think of Silas? Stop it, Mina. Who cares?

  I walk away from the building, hoping to clear my head.

  I discover Hor
ton Groodly standing at the edge of the lawn, staring into the distance. I’m surprised to see him swaying slightly to the music. He looks better than he did at his home. He’s clean-shaven, and he sports a nice gray suit, but he still looks grumpy as a bulldog. I don’t know if this is his mood or the nature of his face.

  Running into him seems fortuitous. I have questions I’m dying to ask him.

  I approach with a smile. “Mr. Groodly, I don’t mean to disturb you, but––” I lose my train of thought as I notice what he’s staring at.

  In the distance, lit up by spotlights, is a huge silver sphere. It’s four times taller than any lamppost, and it’s just floating there.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  Without looking away from it, he says, “The earth.”

  “Why is it here?”

  “Same people who made the pavilion made it. Nice, isn’t it?” His voice is as gravelly and brusque as ever.

  “What’s it do?”

  He looks at me with disappointment. “It doesn’t do anything. It’s art.”

  “Oh,” I say. The conversation doesn’t seem to be going well so far.

  “How is Mrs. Alvero?” he asks.

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  We stand quietly observing the sphere. When I feel brave enough, I say, “Mr. Groodly, how long have you been here?”

  He coughs. “I assume you don’t mean at the Prom?”

  “No, sir,” I say.

  He takes so long to answer, I figure he’s not going to. But after a while, he shoves his hands into his pockets and says, “Forty years.”

  Wow. He probably can’t even remember Manhattan.

  “Why did you leave? How did you leave?”

  He glances at my Bee. “I’m not allowed to talk about those things.”

  “Can you at least tell me who else used to be a Propheteer?”

  Shaking his head, he says, “Ram will tell you when you’re ready.”

  “Okay,” I say, frustrated by his stubbornness. “One last question.” Surely he has some sympathy for a fellow refugee. “Can you please tell me where the Forgiveness Home is?”

  Surprised, he says, “Why on earth would you want to go there?”

  “I, uh—a Propheteer I arrived with might be there.”

  He shakes a finger at me. “Anyone who’s been sent to the Forgiveness Home is a troublemaker, and you’re better off without them. Don’t waste your time with deviants!”

  “He’s not a deviant!”

  He takes in my new dress and shoes. “Living here means making certain sacrifices, but there are compromises everywhere. We wish it were perfect here, but it’s not, because people aren’t perfect. Only God is. And the afterlife. The people who made that sphere over there spent too much time focusing on this life, on their beloved earth. And they didn’t survive. We did. Because we know that suffering in this life means being rewarded in the next. You need to stop doubting and be grateful. Do your best to fit in and move on with your life. You understand?”

  I’m fed up, with him, with Dekker, and Grace, and anyone else trying to tell me to move on. My polite smile disappears as my temper flairs. “Did you move on with your life when you arrived? Did you leave your family and friends rotting in some detainment center while you dressed up and went to parties? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but his sad face becomes even more sorrowful.

  Nyek. He did leave someone behind. “Who did you abandon, Mr. Groodly?”

  His face changes from sorrow to rage. “You’ve overstepped your bounds, and that is no way for a young lady to behave! I suggest you go back inside and learn something about grace and purity while there’s still time.” He storms away.

  That didn’t go as planned.

  I wander back toward the pavilion, scolding myself for losing my temper. I’ve aggravated yet another person who might have had the information I need. What a fiasco.

  Silas finds me as soon as I reenter the building. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say, attempting a smile. “Major benny.”

  He raises an eyebrow, not believing me.

  A figure in purple bounces toward us.

  “Grace!” I say, surprised to see her.

  “Mina! You were incredible dancing out there! Totally razzamatazz!”

  “Thank you.” I’m embarrassed to know we were being scrutinized. “I didn’t think you were able to come.” I remember how disappointed she was at refinement class.

  “My host-mom decided it would be a good influence on me to see the community come together like this, and she was right. This is just major phenomenal, isn’t it? Wow. The pledges and the dancing and the architecture. I could just die. I mean, this is a historical landmark.”

  Grace wears a lavender gown with sequins on the shoulders. The fit is slightly big, so I assume it’s borrowed from her host-family, like mine. Despite the ill fit, the color goes nicely with her brown hair, which is pulled back in a knot. Her face is so pretty when you can actually see it.

  She smiles widely at Silas, and I realize I’m being rude. “Grace, this is Silas. Silas, this is Grace.”

  “Nice to meet you, Grace,” he says, shaking her hand.

  She radiates pleasure. “Nice to meet you, Silas,” she says, clearly enjoying the custom of shaking hands. She raises an eyebrow at me to show her approval of him, and I frown. How can she be so disloyal to Juda?

  “You look gorgeous, Mina,” she says. “That scarlet is just benny!”

  “Thank you,” I say. “You look very beautiful, too.”

  She twirls in her lilac dress. “I feel like Emma Woodhouse!”

  I tell Silas, “Grace reads a lot.”

  “I know Emma. Jane Austen,” he says.

  I think Grace is going to faint from happiness. “Have you read all of her books?” she asks. “We had a limited collection, unfortunately.” Her tone suggests the Laurel Society was providing limited amounts of food. “I’m dying to read Sense and Sensibility and––” She points behind me. “The girls are back!”

  I turn to see all the pledged girls coming through the arched doorway.

  Not all of the girls are smiling. In fact, several of them are on the verge of tears. Deborah Tanner has a tight smile, but you can see that her eyes are puffy and red. What happened through that door? “Why do they look so upset?” I ask Grace.

  “Oh, didn’t your host-mom explain?” Grace says. She looks at Silas and goes crimson. Sensing her discomfort, he walks to the buffet table and focuses on some fruit. Grace whispers, “Backstage, each of them has a little pellet injected underneath their skin, near their, uh, uh . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Near the lady region.”

  “Why?” I ask, feeling sick.

  She says, “The necklaces are only symbolic, and over the years, the Elders decided they didn’t do enough. So they started injecting the girls with ‘lady bugs,’ these little pellets.”

  “What do they do?”

  “They track your pulse and hormone levels, and basically report if you are interacting with a boy in, uh, exciting ways.”

  “They all got one?” I look at the girls, who ten minutes ago seemed so proud and happy. Now, they look depressed and dazed.

  “Yep. Every one,” says Grace.

  “What about the boys? Do they get one too?”

  “No. I guess if the girls have one, they think . . . that will catch all the boys?”

  I roll my eyes. The punishment is always for the girls. I should know that by now.

  The magic of the evening has disappeared like a puff of talcum powder. “Why do you like these people so much? Don’t you think these ‘lady bugs’ are weird?” They sound like something my mother and aunties would love.

  “I was pretty astounded when my host-mom told me, but then I decided, maybe it’s smart. I mean, maybe it makes things easier for everyone, the boys and the girl
s, to know that they’re there. I can, uh, imagine that it can be hard to resist temptation, right?” She nudges me, like we have a secret together.

  I frown. “I don’t want a pellet in my body that lets people watch me.”

  “No one is watching you. It’s not like a Bee. It just reports your body’s physical reactions to things.”

  I make a sound of disgust. “Same thing.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I loved the father-daughter dance, didn’t you? There was so much love in the room; it was palpable.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, feeling further away from Grace than ever. “What happens if a girl triggers the lady bug?”

  “She joins the Fallen,” she says, her voice solemn.

  “The trash women?” I say, astonished.

  “Yes,” she says. “And the Fallen can never get married.”

  Wow. At home I felt like getting married was a punishment, and here not getting married is. What a strange world it is.

  “My host-mom is signaling me,” Grace says, pointing at a waving woman across the dance floor. “I think we’re leaving soon.”

  The woman has thin, fluffy hair and a nonexistent chin. Her enthusiasm as she smiles at Grace suggests she’s a nice person, which is a relief.

  Grace gives me a big hug.

  “Don’t go!” I plead.

  “It was razzamatazz to see you. Major benny! I’ll see you at class on Wednesday.”

  She hurries to her host-mom. I miss Grace—the version who lived in the basement of Macy’s and surrounded herself with stuffed animals and Time Zero memorabilia. I trusted her with my life. I wonder if she’s gone for good. This new version disturbs me. But what do I know? Maybe it’s like Dekker said, and I just need to lighten up.

  Silas is no longer at the buffet table. After a bit of searching, I spot him dancing with Susanna. I’m surprised by how comfortable they look with one another. He laughs at something she says.

  I should be delighted to see them together, but an unfamiliar feeling creeps through me. Could it be jealousy? That’s ridiculous. Silas blackmailed me to come here. I think he’s sneaky and unreliable, remember? Why would I want to dance again with someone like that?