In an instant, I am crouching in front of her. She looks thinner than I remember. Her eyes don’t look into mine, and she trembles. Nothing on my tongue feels right or good enough, and so silently I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.
She doesn’t move, not initially, but then her body relaxes into mine, and I can hear her crying, and I don’t want to ever let her go.
When her tears slow, I draw back and consider her. She doesn’t look like Maggie; she looks like a shell of a person, and if I speak too loudly she’ll crack—she’ll break forever. “You did the right thing,” I say quietly. “You know that, right?”
She nods, but her eyes still refuse to meet mine.
“You didn’t deserve that shit. Nobody does,” I continue. “Things are going to be better for you now, okay? I promise. This is good, Maggie. This is really, really good.”
She blinks away tears and frowns. “Is it, though? I don’t want to end up alone. I know how pathetic that sounds, but I don’t. And now that we’re done with school… We’re not kids anymore, you know?”
I force a laugh. “Do you know what a catch you are? And just because school’s finished doesn’t mean you have to figure your entire life out right now. Where’s your head at?”
She frowns. “I don’t know. But he was just so charming, you know? With his Upper Mean job and allotments and that blue dress shirt…” She sighs.
“Maggie, you’re the most amazing person. You can do a million times better than that jerk. You deserve a million times better.”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious. I’m not just saying that.”
“Well. Thanks.”
“When did he do this to you?” My fingers graze the swollen ring of purple that doesn’t belong on her face.
She shakes her head before answering. “It was after lunch. He was angry—”
“Because of me. And Wren.”
She looks away, and her shoulder nudges into a small shrug. “He started apologizing over and over, just like always, promising he wouldn’t do it again. But this time was different. This time he went too far.” Her eyes meet mine. “He punched me in the face, Eve. He punched me.”
And then she is crying again, and both her hands cover her eyes, but they can’t keep the drops from falling. Nothing can. I feel helpless and useless, and all I want to do is hurt Kyle. Beat the shit out of him, just like Bruno said, but remembering Bruno’s words only makes me feel worse—so much worse—and my own eyes burn with tears.
When did life get so complicated? So intense? So real?
She sobs. “What if he doesn’t leave me alone?”
“It’s okay, Maggie,” I hear myself mutter. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come within a mile of you. I’ll make sure he leaves you alone. I promise.”
She shudders and then looks up at me with lime green orbs that glisten. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Eve. I really don’t.”
And there’s that old feeling again: guilt. Because once I go, I won’t be there for her any longer. I won’t be able to protect her from Kyle.
Unless I kill him. I could kill Kyle.
A parting gift before I go.
She wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “Let’s not talk about things with Kyle. I don’t want to even think about him—not right now. Let’s talk about you instead,” she says and forces a smile across her pretty face, a face that should always have a smile on it. “I mean, God, Eve. I can’t believe you have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah. Me neither.”
“Have you guys kissed?”
“Maggie—”
“What? It’s just a question! Come on, indulge me. I could use some girl talk right now, trust me.”
“Okay, yeah. I mean, yeah, of course we’ve kissed.”
She sits up a bit straighter. “Is he a good kisser? He is, isn’t he?”
I duck my head, but I can’t keep the smile from my mouth. “Yep.”
“Like on a scale from one to ten—”
“A hundred.”
She squeezes my arm and laughs. “Have you…?”
“No,” I say loudly. “No, definitely not.” She stares at me with her eyebrows raised, and I shrug. “It’s just that, well…I don’t know, really.”
“If you’re not ready, that’s totally—”
“It’s not that,” I say. “I just… I have no idea what I’m doing, and he clearly does, so…”
“Oh God, that is so not something you need to worry about. Believe me on this one—there is zero chance that boy will be disappointed by any, um, encounter between the two of you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“His last girlfriend was different from me, though. Her body. It’s, you know.”
“No?”
“It’s… There’s not as much muscle. It’s more…feminine.”
She laughs, and I stare at her. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t laugh. I just can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Come on, Eve. It’s you. Since when do you care about being feminine enough?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve never had to think about it before. You know, since I’ve never had a boyfriend or anything.” I stare at my hands. “And something Landry said. During…about how my body looks like a guy…”
“Stop.” Her eyes are earnest, and she holds my gaze. “Just stop. I’m not even going to indulge you right now by telling you how beautiful you are, or this or that. I’m not letting you sink that low. Who gives a shit about what Landry thinks? You’re Eve, and you’re strong, and you make no apologies for it. Got it?”
My gaze wanders over the many punching bags hanging throughout the tunnel, most of them stained and threadbare. I nod. “Got it.”
“He really cares about you, you know.”
I glance at her. “Why do you say that? Because of yesterday?”
“Well yeah, hello. I can assure you, if some guy attacked me, Kyle wouldn’t have lifted a finger, let alone beat him to within an inch of his life.” She is still. “He also wouldn’t hang out with my friends, something Wren seems more than happy to do.”
My chest swells at her words, and I shake out my arms to distract myself. “Just don’t tell Hunter, okay? He hates him.”
“Don’t you think Hunter will figure it out? I mean, you have to really want to believe there’s nothing going on between you two to believe that.”
“Even so.” I pause. “It isn’t just Hunter I’m worried about. Don’t tell anybody.”
“Why?”
I give her a look. “Why do you think we kept it secret in the first place?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
“Because he’s a Preme.”
“So?”
“So? So, it matters. You know it does.”
“To who? You or him?”
“To me,” I say softly. “All my life I’ve hated them. All of them. And now…”
“And now you’ve found that you don’t hate one. A few, actually, since his friends don’t seem so bad.”
I feel myself nodding along with her. Maybe it never really made sense to hate an entire society; maybe it never made sense that all of them up there were evil in the first place. The actions of the few should never speak for the many—this is something I already know. Besides, what’s in a birthplace?
But then a new thought strikes me. “Think about what my parents would say. And other Lower Means, for that matter—like…like Sully.”
“Yeah, okay, some might not be that hyped about it, sure. Maybe you don’t spring it on your parents anytime soon, but come on. Sully?” She laughs. “I didn’t realize the two of you ran in the same circles.”
“You know how it is, though,” I press. “Premes and Lower Means don’t mix. Ever. Nobody will be okay with it.”
“So
maybe you don’t broadcast it. Maybe you don’t think too far into the future, either. Just enjoy what’s happening. And don’t shut out your friends, or his, because all we’re going to be thinking is how lucky Wren is to be dating someone as kickass as you.”
I roll my eyes and jump to my feet. “I always knew you were full of crap. Now, I need to work on my punches.”
“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook that easily,” she calls. “I’ll just wait here until you’re done, and then we can have a nice, long chat about Eve and Wren.”
I shake my head, but it does nothing to dislodge my smile.
…
When I show up to work the Noms’ food line, I find someone is already there. The guard has been by to unlock the door, the lights have been turned on, and the food has mostly been portioned.
“Mom.”
She looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow. Her features are delicate, not like mine. “Hi, Eve,” she says, and her voice sounds like I remember from when I was small. “They told me you quit.”
I stare at the back of her head as a million thoughts fly through my own. “I didn’t quit. I just…took a break. I’ve had a lot going on.” It is mostly true, this lie. There is no need to tell her about the guard.
“I see.”
“What are you doing here?” My voice sounds impossibly weak. “Did you know I was coming today?”
She shakes her head, and something inside me deflates like a punctured balloon.
“I was hoping I would see you, though. You don’t come by very often to see your father and me.”
“I’m not invited.”
“That isn’t fair, Eve.”
I stay silent. Then my boots shuffle forward and I am beside her, helping to prepare the last of the offerings.
“I heard about the boy on your team. About his death.” Her eyes lick my wounds. Thankfully, they are mostly healed by now. She probably thinks they are from the Bowl, and I don’t bother to correct her.
“Blue Circuit. I fight for Blue Circuit. And his name is Bruno. Was Bruno.”
“A terrible way to go.”
I don’t need her telling me that. It is all I can do to keep him from invading my thoughts throughout the day, particularly that last conversation of ours. Then there’s the image that Emerald painted of his death. It follows me. It colors my dreams at night. “Does Dad know?”
“He’s the one who told me.”
“Oh.” The fact that he hasn’t been by stings more now.
“Are you still planning on fighting professionally?”
My hands fold together a parcel of lentils. I am slow, rusty. “I don’t know. I haven’t decided. Does Dad still want me to?”
“Decide for yourself, Eve. Your life is too important to waste on other people’s wants.”
I stare at her with my lips undone, but she leans forward and slides open the partition that separates us from the hungry Denominators without another word. I realize as I watch her that I barely know this woman. The thought makes a sharp pain rip through my chest.
She is hardly ever like this—hardly ever normal. Usually she is engrossed in her embroidery or her thoughts, and the rest of us slide by unnoticed. I know from experience I won’t have her attention for long, even though I want nothing more.
Decide for yourself, she said. Decide for myself.
I wait for the rush of hungry Noms to be over before I speak again. “What if my decision is selfish?”
“You do not exist in a vacuum, Eve, just as I taught you when you were young. You must always take into account the impact your actions will have on those around you. You owe it to your loved ones and to society at large.”
I nod. I knew she would say something like that.
“However. Sometimes you should behave selfishly.”
My head lifts to look at her, and I see unbearable sadness streaking through her eyes. I hear her screams from all those years ago, feel them hot against my cheek. “What do you mean?” I ask quietly as I drop my gaze to the floor. I can’t bear to look at her. Maybe it is better when she is busy with her embroidery. Certainly it is easier to think of leaving forever when she is closed off to me and to the rest of the world.
“I mean that life is ruthless and merciless and unkind. Sometimes we owe it to ourselves to be greedy.”
I wonder what she has done that is selfish, what greed she has bestowed upon herself after the unkind world of ours took her child. No. Not the unkind world—that is too vague. Too generous. Commander Katz—the leader of Eleven. Ted Bergess—the Head of Population Control. The guards. They took her child.
There is no chance to ask, because Monica and her son, Avery, are at the window. Besides, I don’t think she would give me an answer.
“Hi, Eve. I’ve missed you,” Monica says shyly. “So has this little guy.”
I give myself a shake. “I’ve missed you guys, too,” I reply to my friend, and I mean it. “Especially you,” I add to Avery with a wink. He covers his eyes, and I laugh. “Looks like someone’s feeling better.”
Monica nods. “He had a rough go there for a bit. Fevered all day and all night. But now he’s better, so life is good. Right, you?” She smiles deeply at him, and I notice her dimples for the first time, and they remind me of Emerald. Her hand strokes his hair as my mother gathers two parcels and two buns.
“Until next time, Avery,” I say with a salute.
“Until next time, Miss Eve,” he says back in his tiny voice. I laugh again.
My mother’s back is straight as we watch them go, the two of them walking hand in hand. I wonder if it hurts, seeing a mother with her little boy. I wonder if it makes her think of Jack. If it makes her yearn…
I don’t think she intended to break the rules all those years ago. I don’t think she intended to become pregnant a second time, not with so much on the line. But once it became evident that her swollen belly could mean only one thing, her rule breaking began.
Instead of reporting the pregnancy, instead of aborting the fetus, she hid herself from view. And when the time came, she summoned a black-market specialist, one who delivered Jack in exchange for plastic goods smuggled by my father from the factory where he worked.
The relief she must have felt once he was born. Safe and whole. Firmly within her arms. Probably, she thought the odds were in her favor, when in fact the chips were stacked against her all along.
I think of the song—the one that used to lull me to sleep each night and now does again. I have an opportunity to ask her about it, but just as I open my mouth, my eyes snag on her pushed-up sleeves, on the ink that is so rarely visible. My father’s name is stamped there, and my own listed next, alongside my birthdate. And then there it is. That most unwanted addition to her life story: second child Jack Hamilton born in contravention of Rules 43.5(a)-45.8 hidden from authorities in contravention of Rules 48.1(a)-49.7(d) removed from compound pursuant to Rule III—
It is barely legible. Scar tissue distorts each letter, and I think of her in the days after those words were inscribed, clawing at the skin until it bled, desperate to rid herself of those memories—scratching, scratching, scratching—so relentless that my father had to restrain her, had to tie her hands behind her back, bits of skin and strands of tissue everywhere—
“Howdy, Eve. Hi, Mrs. Eve.” I blink and see Jules waving hello to my mother.
“Elaine. It’s…Elaine.”
“You used to do this job forever ago, didn’t you?”
She nods. “In another lifetime.”
Jules’s eyes meet mine, and I notice that she wears a white sweatshirt with black cuffs around the elbows that used to be my own. Noms hardly receive any allotments. “Things going okay, lady?”
I shrug. “Can’t complain.”
“Looks like a few complaints are warranted.” Her gaze dips down
my face.
“Just the Bowl; you know how it is.”
Still, her eyes are narrowed. Maybe she doesn’t believe me. “We should hang soon,” she says.
“You know the party’s this weekend, right?”
“I did not, but my weekend is wide open, and be there I shall. You bringing that cute sidekick?”
“Huh? Oh. He’s just a friend. And he might be there, yeah…” I give her a sideways look. I don’t want to talk about Wren in front of my mother. Partly because he is a boy; mostly because he is a Preme.
Jules nods, and I think she understands. “Alrighty then. Well, thanks for the food, Elaine.” She looks at me and winks. “See you Saturday, Eve.”
After I say goodbye, I clear my throat. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
“You can ask me as many things as you like. You know that.”
I sigh. Sometimes I don’t think she realizes she is usually unreachable. My voice is quiet. “How exactly does forgiveness work?”
Immediately, I frown. I had planned on asking her something different. Not about the song—to bring up the past wouldn’t be fair, I know that now. Instead I was going to ask her whether it was wrong to take another life if that life was evil. Maybe I didn’t because I already know the answer. Or maybe I just don’t care about right or wrong.
She slides the partition closed before responding. It’s silent in the small room, more so than last time, when I was here with Wren. My heart was hammering loudly then; now it is still. Dead. She faces me and places her hands on my shoulders.
My shoulders, like the rest of me, are thick with muscle. My mother’s hands and arms are frail, skin and bone. But they rest so heavily on me, I feel like I could fall to my knees. I have to resist the urge to squirm, to shrug myself free.
“That is a strange question to ask, Eve. Whatever greedy choice you are considering that requires forgiveness…” She looks at her feet and shakes her head. “I’m afraid I am not the right person to ask when it comes to forgiveness.”
I stare into her eyes and see something deep, deep within that burns with putrid, yellow hatred. She hasn’t forgiven those who took Jack, not by a fraction, not by a millimeter. And I’m willing to bet the fog she so often hides behind is her one greedy act.
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 23