by Carol Riggs
Mostly, I just want him to be at the park.
“Please be there, please be there.” I puff the words into the damp morning air. When I turn the corner and see him on our usual bench, I nearly short-circuit with relief.
He glances up. He looks as if he’s been slugged in the stomach.
I halt beside the bench, gasping from my run. “I don’t— I thought—” I take a deep breath and start over. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to say good-bye before I went back home.”
Vonn stands. He touches my arm and lets his hand drop. His eyes have lost their spark, their impish glint. “Me too. I’m not sure where ‘home’ is anymore, though.”
It’s more difficult for him, living on his own. I almost feel guilty for having a family to go back to, even though going home won’t be easy. “What about your mom? Is she in the Blue Zone where you usually live?”
“She lives there, but I dunno if I’ll see her. Right now she’s too busy saying ‘I told you so’ and yelling about how reckless I am. Like she says Dad always was. I’ll let her unwind first. I can stay at Matt’s until I’m ready to go back to my old apartment.”
Words wedge in my throat. Not only is that sad to hear, I don’t know what will happen to our relationship now, since we live far apart. I struggle against a powerful wave that threatens to flatten me, an unjust and extra shove from the universe when I’m already groveling on my knees. I’m not ready to lose Vonn on top of everything else. Hopefully he’ll want to keep meeting with me, somehow. I try to regain control over my emotions so I can ask.
He scuffs his shoe on the pavement. “I keep thinking this is a bad dream, and I’m going to wake up soon. I feel totally upside-down. There I was, thinking I was Superguy to the rescue, helping people and improving national health, and now I’m stuck being boring old Matt Williams. My plans backfired, big time.”
I don’t know what to say to that. There may not be actual words that will help in this kind of situation. I give his shoulder an awkward pat. “Would you like my phone number in case you want to call, or my email to write to me?”
“You want to keep in touch, when we’ll never be our real selves again?”
I tilt my head, pressure building behind my eyes. I will not cry. I will not. “Of course I do! We got to know each other in these bodies, not our real ones. You’re not Matt inside. You’ll always be Superguy to me.”
Vonn slumps, almost wilts. “It means a lot to me that you think that. Thanks, Geekling.” He fingers a coil of my hair. “You know, I’m sorry you’ve never liked this hair. It’s cool, like a bunch of tiny springs.”
That’s beyond sweet, but I tell him my email address to avoid dwelling on the dismal thought that these tiny springs will be mine for the rest of my life. “I’ll send you my new number after I buy a non-Institute phone. Since my old one got blown up in the bombing.”
“My email is [email protected].”
A cracked laugh erupts from my throat. His address is clever and kind of silly, just like he is. I slip my hand into his. “I gotta go meet my dad. See you around, I hope.”
“Try to have a good Thanksgiving.” He gives me a loose hug with his free arm.
“You too.” We unlink our fingers and head off in opposite directions. I wonder how long it’ll be before we get together again.
I’m done with the Institute, done being a Reducer. I don’t know what my life will be like now, but I’m going to try as hard as I possibly can to take Vonn into the next part of it.
Chapter 21
I board the MT. It’s time to find out what Dad thinks of me as my new self. I glance at my green sweatpants and melt into a slouch. Oh, no. I didn’t think to bring other clothes, or even ask the Kowalczyks if I could borrow these sweats. I’m sure I don’t have anything at home that will fit.
The MT approaches the Alameda Street shelter. I lean to look, and my heart races to see Dad striding along the sidewalk, his brow creased as he searches for me in the squares of the windows. While it’s great to see him, I don’t think I’m ready for this. I take some huge breaths and prepare myself as best as I can. When the MT halts, I step out the doors.
I trudge up to him, my hands tense at my sides. “This is the new me, Dad. Different, right?”
Dad encircles me in a tentative hug. “It’s still you inside. I’m glad to have you back, kiddo.”
I close my eyes. Thank goodness Dad accepts that I’m me somehow, even though I’m trapped behind Jodine’s eyes and inside her body. After our hug, though, his gaze skitters away. No surprise. It’s hard enough for me to reconcile my appearance with my real self, even though I’ve seen myself look this way for the last two months.
We sit to wait for the Express to the Yellow Zone. People mill around us. It’s freezing cold, and the breeze smells bitter, like old rotten leaves. I wish I had a rewind button, to reverse my life back to the way it used to be. Back to the way I used to be.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks.
“Sorta. Not really. You?”
Dad folds his arms into a tight pretzel. “I’m not okay, either. It’s totally unacceptable that the Institute wasn’t able to prevent this somehow, or have some sort of backup plan.”
“I don’t think they expected the files in Denver to be destroyed at the same time. That was the backup plan.”
“Well, it wasn’t enough.”
I sigh. “I shouldn’t have done the program in the first place.”
“It’s not your fault. You were only trying to help this Loaner girl and pay our bills.” He presses his hands over his eyes and scrubs his face. “It’s your mom’s and my fault for letting you earn credits for our debt. Living in The Commons for a few years wouldn’t have killed us. It would’ve been better than losing your body like this.”
I bite my lip, trying to keep my tears inside. It would’ve been horrendous to live in The Commons. He doesn’t know that it is my fault. I ignored Granddad’s warnings. I begged Dad to let me keep my assignment after my first WHA attack. I agreed to Leo’s stupid plan to lie. I’ve ruined my own life.
We ride home, making bland small talk. When we get to our apartment, I stand helpless by the ID pad while Dad uses his handprint.
“We’ll add you to the access list later,” he says with a sympathetic glance.
Granddad is standing by the dining table when the door slides open, and he holds an unlit cigarette in one of his knobby hands. His bristly eyebrows bunch over his eyes like a pair of wary watchdogs. “Hello?”
“Granddad, it’s me, Morgan.”
Going blank, he stares, his cigarette dangling precariously from his fingertips. I wait for him to say something that will break the silence. He wheezes but doesn’t speak.
Dad enters, and the door shuts behind us. “It’s really her, Bob. This is Morgan’s new body, the body she was a Reducer for.”
Giving a rattled huff, Granddad backs away. “Doesn’t look like Morgan. Doesn’t sound like her, either.”
“It is me,” I say. “That’s how I know your favorite books are The Count of Monte Cristo and 1984. And that you like fresh peaches on your cereal.”
“The government can find out anything about a person if they poke into his business. Nope, I’m not buying it.”
“Granddad—”
“No! The real Morgan died in that explosion. Leave me alone, imposter.” He stamps to the front door, snaps out a voice order, and stalks through the opening.
The door whisks closed.
“Dad?” The word is faint. A wrenching ache forms in my heart, under my ribs. A scream builds up in my head. I can’t take this. I just can’t.
“I’m sorry, Morgan. You know Granddad. He’ll come around after a while.”
The tears welling under my eyelids threaten to spill over. That’s doubtful. I do know Granddad—he’s more stubborn than I am.
A thin voice comes from Mom and Dad’s bedroom. “Gregg? Is she home?”
Mom rushes out into the hall, not yet dress
ed, clutching her fuzzy blue robe around her. “Oh, Morgan, honey,” she says, looking Jodine’s body over from curly hair to tennis shoes. “This is you now?”
“Yes.” I feel a hundred years old. “I still have at least sixty pounds to lose.”
“I know you’ll finish the weight loss,” Mom says. “You always kept your own body so pretty and toned.” Her lower lip trembles. She spins and runs back down the hall.
I collapse onto the couch and bury my face in my hands.
This is too much to handle.
“Things will get better, I promise.” Dad pats my shoulder. “Give us a little time, kiddo.”
He retreats down the hall, and my tears come out full force. I can’t stop the flow. The wetness drips through the spaces between my fingers while Dad’s murmurings to Mom seep through the walls. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster, botched together with the soul and brainmap of one person, and the body of another. How much of me is Jodine, and how much of me is Morgan? I’m stranded with her body and her freaky residual memories. Will she eventually take over my habits and attitudes—or is my mind strong enough to hold onto the core part of me?
Who am I now? It’s terribly confusing. I have to do something about this, except I have no idea what.
I cry until my eyes ache and my stomach hurts.
There seems to be no end to my tears.
My phone sounds out an alert, and I stare at it. I don’t want to answer. I’d rather curl up in a corner, far away from everyone. But it’s probably Blair or Krista. I smear my face semi-dry, draw in a wobbly breath, and speak a text greeting.
Krista answers.
Are you home, Morg?
Yeah. Just.
Blair and I can meet you this afternoon, if you want. How about at the mall?
Too public. I need to take this slowly.
I’d rather do the Peppermint Café.
Wherever you want. At 1500?
That works.
As we sign off, a tissue appears in front of my eyes, held there by Dad, who’s back in the living room. I take it and blow my nose.
After a morning of watching mind-numbing TV with Dad and an early afternoon spent closeted in my room, I walk down the sidewalk to the café.
A knot twists in my stomach. Here goes my unveiling to my two best friends. I wish I were wearing something other than these green sweats.
Will Blair and Krista be able to see my real self behind this body?
I reach the Peppermint Café. Through the plate-glass windows, I see Blair and Krista perched at a table, their eyes lemur-round as they watch me walk to the door and open it.
Krista leaps up, her petite figure hugged by a sweater dress and striped tights. Her mouth is an orange O. “Morg, is that you?”
“How’d you guess?” My tone is woeful. A thin man and woman sashay past me on their way to the counter. I feel like a watermelon in a crowd of carrot sticks.
“You sound different.” Blair peers over Krista’s shoulder. “Such a rich, sweet voice.”
“Freaky,” Krista says. “I feel really bad for you. I can’t imagine being marooned in someone else’s body like that.”
Blair elbows Krista in the ribs. Blinking and trying not to think about what Krista just said, I follow them to their table, where a fruit drink already waits for me.
“I’m going to shed about sixty more pounds, obviously.” My words come out choppy and rushed. I feel like I need to explain, to fill the awkward space. “And I forgot to ask my Loaner’s family if I could borrow some clothes, so this is the only thing I have to wear.”
“That’s terrible.” Blair pushes her hair back. A bright violet is now streaked through her usual honey color. “I bet Mom has some shirts or dresses you can use. She wears loose stuff, and they might fit. You want me to ask?”
I make a face. Wearing her mother’s clothing isn’t a cheery option, but at this point it’s better than nothing. “Thanks.”
Krista stretches out a careful hand and nudges one of my curls. “What fun hair. Great turbo action. You tried straightening it?”
“Hadn’t thought of that. I did cut it. It used to be down to my waist.”
“I like how you have it,” Blair says. “A little of that kind of hair goes a long way.”
“I know what we can do.” Krista leans in. “After you’ve lost thirty or forty more pounds, we’ll give you a makeover and experiment with your hair. It’ll be great beauty school practice for me. We can also make Blair’s mom’s clothes more stylish. I’m good at alterations. You said I was last summer when I shortened that one dress for you.”
“That should help,” Blair says with an eager nod.
I try to smile, appreciating their support more than their ideas. They’re trying to help, but I feel like I’m some sort of project. Like I need fixing before they can be totally comfortable around me. I guess I can understand that.
I just don’t like it much.
“Krista, what’s up with you and Randy?” I say in a blatant attempt to shift the spotlight. “You said he was acting hedgy.”
“Mostly when I called him on Saturday.”
“I think he has another girl,” Blair says.
“You don’t know that.” Krista tosses Blair a peeved look “He just sounded distracted. Besides, Brad’s not exactly hanging out with you twenty-four-seven anymore, either.”
I shake my head. “Gotta keep an eye on those guys.”
My words are flat, but Blair nods as if nothing’s wrong. We talk about classes and the latest vids and music, topics that wash over me and leave a bitter aftertaste. It’s hard to think about fun, trivial things when the rest of my life is so twistedly wrong. Nothing feels right. I’m not myself. I’m only Morgan on the inside, which is harder for all of us to see.
We’re definitely going to have to flounder around for a while until we settle into a new rhythm in our friendship.
I’m different now. There’s no getting around that bald, stark fact.
Chapter 22
I drum my fingers on my bedroom desk. Talk about post-Thanksgiving letdown. I’ve spent almost four days feeling like I’m walking around at a freaking funeral—in which I’m the dead person.
I don’t know which is harder, dealing with Granddad’s hurtful avoidance, tiptoeing around Mom’s fragile psyche, or putting up with Dad’s optimistic, trying-too-hard efforts at normalcy. Every little thing makes me want to burst into tears, and I hate that. I’m not usually this emotional and unsteady.
Monday’s a school day. I don’t want to go to classes. I can’t. I won’t be able to concentrate, looking like this, being like this. Maybe I can talk Mom and Dad into letting me hold off for a while longer. Like until April, after I reach my target weight.
Yes, I’m being a coward—and shallow. My appearance shouldn’t affect who I am this much. But it is affecting me. On top of everything else, I miss Nettie’s cooking in an extreme way. Yesterday I ate a truckload of poor-quality turkey and mashed potatoes with gravy, and haven’t done much exercising. My body is as bloated and heavy as my mood. I need a gym, a place to do some weight training, burn some serious calories, and get my mind off this sucky situation. I can either go to the neighborhood gym or use the gym at the Clinic like Leo suggested. The local gym will cost me credits, but I’m not sure I want to go near the Institute—or what’s left of the administration building.
The scene of my death.
Although it might be better if I stayed at the Clinic. Granddad leaves for the retirement home tomorrow, and if I’m gone, it’ll cut down expenses and leave more for Mom and Dad to pay on the bills. I don’t know how much my condolence settlement will be yet. We may still end up in The Commons.
My Institute phone rings. It’s Leo. Not my favorite person these days.
Hey.
I let the word fall out onto the screen by itself and hang there.
I trust you’re doing all right, Morgan.
He pauses for a few seconds, which is unusual for him.
Why is he being hesitant?
I was wondering if you were going to check in to the Clinic anytime soon.
I was just thinking I needed a place to work out. Why do you care? Am I burdening National Health Care or something?
I’m being grouchy, but I can’t help it.
Another few seconds’ delay.
Something has come up. A highly unusual situation, and it’s throwing me into a bind. If you cooperate, we can work through it. The first thing I’d like you to do is head to the Clinic sometime today so you can attend a meeting with the Kowalczyks tomorrow morning. I’ve set it up for 0800 in Meeting Room 3.
My heart skids into hyperspeed.
Am I in trouble or something?
No. Don’t be anxious about it. I could fill you in on the details, except the Kowalczyks want to be the ones to have this conversation with you.
WHAT conversation?
The one at 0800 tomorrow.
Thanks, Leo, that’s very helpful.
It’s too bad he can’t hear the sarcasm I’m not bothering to mop up from my voice.
Please, don’t be difficult. When you go to the meeting, a representative from the Institute will be supervising.
You won’t be there?
Another familiar thing, kicked right out from under me.
No, I’ve been appointed the new replacement director of the Seattle branch. I’ve been here since Tuesday. You’ll be fine. Message me after the meeting, please.
I mutter a parting text and cut the connection. I’m puzzled about what the Kowalczyks want. It can’t just be them wanting to say good-bye properly. Unless it is something like that, and Leo’s so caught up on protocol that he’s stressing over it.
I have to admit, it’ll be nice to see Dr. and Mrs. K. one more time.
For a brief crazy moment, my heart flies high. Maybe the Kowalczyks want to invite me to stay with them for a while. After all, I have more in common with Dr. K. than Jodine ever had. It would be a way for them to keep Jodine around—at least the physical part of her. I can discuss physics with Dr. K. and learn to paint with Mrs. K. I can cook in the kitchen with Nettie, play HoloSports, and do karaoke. That’d be amazing.