Daughter of Nothing

by Eric Kent Edstrom

  What a way to put it. Have a go.

  It just showed that for all of Belle’s righteous superiority, she had a crude mind.

  Jacey went to Madam LaFontaine’s dance studio for the first dance class of the new year. Vin and Sarah were gone, but Livy and Celia had joined. The same boys from the previous year were there as well.

  They changed into their leotards and pointe shoes and began their stretching routine and barre work. Madam LaFontaine ordered Jacey and Belle to adjust the younger girls’ positions, since the dance mistress was only an image in the mirror and couldn’t handle them herself.

  After forty-five minutes, Madam LaFontaine had all the dancers sit on the floor. She wore a black leotard, and her hair was drawn back into a severe bun. “I am thrilled to announce that Dr. Carlhagen has chosen Swan Lake for our first performance this year. I will hold auditions a week from today.

  “I don’t believe we have costumes for Swan Lake,” Jacey said, not even bothering to raise her hand for permission to speak. “Will they be delivered during the next lockdown?”

  Madam LaFontaine stood motionless for three heartbeats, then continued her pacing as if Jacey hadn’t spoken. “I’ve developed a new program that will allow us to have more dramatic backdrops in the mirror, as well as virtual dancers to fill out the corps de ballet. For the rest of this period, we will watch them dance Swan Lake as it was performed by the Bolshoi in 1982.”

  An hour later, as Jacey was leaving the studio, Wanda sidled up next to her. “What was all that about the lockdown and costumes?”

  “They deliver food during lockdown. They have to deliver the costumes as well.”

  Wanda considered this for a few paces. “I guess I always thought they had a storage room they kept that stuff in.”

  “No. They bring everything in with the food, either from across the island or from somewhere else.”

  “Seems like a waste of resources,” Wanda said. “If the world is in such bad shape, who has the time to make dance costumes for us?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  They filed into the classroom. Jacey took her position at the front of the class and invoked Socrates.

  “How’s Vaughan doing?” she asked.

  The professor blinked at her. “Is your concentration better today, Jacey? Shall we begin with your recitation of Macbeth?”

  Jacey had no difficulty concentrating. It didn’t make sense, but anger gave her focus. The syllables she’d memorized poured out of her.

  She came to the end of what she’d memorized and opened her eyes. “How did I do?”

  “Perfect,” Socrates said. “In your free time, I want you to memorize the rest of the play.”

  “Why not do it now?”

  “I thought you might get more benefit if we incorporate a performance aspect to your training. I would like to feed you some lines for you to recite in front of Madam LaFontaine’s mirrors. There’s nothing more instructive than acting out Shakespeare and the other greats.”

  “Why shouldn’t I just act out the lines of Macbeth I already know?”

  “I have some specific content which will help you with your elocution.”

  “And why is that important?”

  “I learned about your little speech on the platform in the quad yesterday. I thought you would have been more effective if your delivery had been better.”

  Jacey didn’t see the point in performing lines of dialogue in a mirror. And she didn’t appreciate his critique of her performance on the platform. It hadn’t been a performance.

  “Are you ready?” Socrates asked. He held a huge leather-bound tome open.

  She nodded and he began.

  She mapped the sounds onto a line of changing pitch in her mind. Though she had no idea what the lines were about, her body reacted to the emotional content. She shifted and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension. The memorization had a dissonant quality to it, similar to the time Socrates had fed her lines in Chinese, a language she didn’t know.

  She doubted he’d waste time on that kind of exercise, though. Maybe he was feeding her a tongue twister. That would be useful for elocution.

  The session ended, and she blinked her eyes open as if coming out of an odd dream. Socrates stood before her wearing an overly innocent look on his face. He’d always had a good sense of humor, but he’d never played a trick on her. And yet, that’s the impression she got from him. Whatever it was, she hoped it didn’t end up too embarrassing. Maybe it was payback for her impertinent questions.

  Socrates stood a bit straighter and rubbed his hands eagerly. He started a long lecture about Russian history, which was somewhat interesting. She had always enjoyed speaking Russian.

  “And now,” he said with a smile, “I have the extreme pleasure of introducing you to the works of Alexander Pushkin.”

  When class time was over, Socrates called after her. “Oh. I almost forgot. Dr. Carlhagen expects you for dinner at the hacienda tonight.”

  Jacey nearly tripped over her own feet as she spun back to face her teacher, but Socrates had already disappeared.

  ° ° °

  LUNCH WAS A REPEAT OF BREAKFAST except that Belle radiated an even icier aura. Jacey wanted to ask Humphrey if he’d been invited to the hacienda, but he picked at his food for a few minutes before abruptly leaving the dining hall.

  That told her everything she needed to know. He had been invited, and he wasn’t happy about it.

  She wished they could both get out of it. Dr. Carlhagen had lied about their parents, and he had unfairly punished Vaughan while sparing her. She didn’t want to see his face, much less eat a meal with him.

  And yet, the dinner might give her a chance to find out about Vaughan.

  She spent her free hour after lunch in Girls’ Hall reading Pushkin and memorizing more of Macbeth until the bell tower chimed the hour. Time for her daily workout with Sensei. She changed into her workout clothes and headed to the dojo.

  Sensei had always focused Jacey on running and tai chi. While she enjoyed tai chi, she would have loved to learn kung fu or jiu-jitsu.

  Sensei said tai chi could be deadly, but he never let her practice it at speed. A few girls did get lessons in karate, but the boys learned every fighting style Sensei knew.

  If the outside world was so dangerous, Jacey figured fighting skills might come in handy. She had once asked Sensei why so many more girls took dance than boys, while the opposite was true of fighting. His response was that Dr. Carlhagen chose what skills the Scions were taught.

  She found Sensei counting off reps as Elias jumped onto a wooden box and then back to the floor. Jacey waited for the set to end before presenting herself.

  He barely glanced at her as he handed her a radio. “One lap on the loop. Thirty-three minutes or less.” He held up a stopwatch. “Go.”

  She clipped the radio to the waist of her shorts as she ran from the dojo.

  Sensei knew her too well, knew her penchant for stopping at Jacques Point and staring out to sea. If he hadn’t given her a time goal, she wouldn’t have returned until the period was over.

  Even with the time constraint, Jacey was glad to begin her run. Her limbs buzzed with an overabundance of frustration and anger. Maybe a hard workout would flush some of that out of her system, let her think more clearly.

  Belle stood at the head of the path, also wearing her workout clothes. Something dark was tucked in the waistband of her shorts. A work-glove, just like those worn by the Crabs who tended Dr. Carlhagen’s bougainvillea hedges. She also held something under one arm. It looked like glass.

  Jacey realized that Sensei had set this meeting up so they would have to run together. Probably an attempt to get them talking. Fortunately, Belle didn’t wait for Jacey to get there before she dashed down the path. That suited Jacey fine.

  Belle was much faster than Jacey, so there was no point in chasing her. Jacey fell into her stride, determined to beat Sensei’s time.

  The easterly wind
s blew hard, keeping her cool. That was good because the south path led inland and up the northern slopes, making the first leg particularly strenuous.

  Eyes down, keeping her breath in rhythm with her steps, she pushed her way up the hill, counting the switchbacks to keep track of her progress. At the top, she turned back and looked out over the campus and the sea. She allowed herself five recovery breaths before beginning the descent down the other side, which took her toward the south shore.

  The tiny form of Belle ran far below her and soon disappeared as she rounded the bend of another hill. Jacey pushed herself on the descent, hoping to get ahead of Sensei’s pace.

  At least she’d have an appetite for the dinner, she thought. No matter how much Dr. Carlhagen disgusted her, at least she’d be able to eat his food.

  The path rounded north at the eastern tip of the island. The wind freshened, bringing with it a hint of salty tang. She was nearing the halfway mark when she spotted Belle standing on Jacques Point.

  The girl waved for Jacey to stop, which was very strange. Belle had done so much to avoid Jacey; something had to be wrong if she was waving Jacey down. Maybe the girl had sprained an ankle or something.

  Jacey almost kept going. But if Belle was truly injured . . .

  She left the path, picking her way through the jagged rock and Turk’s Head cacti. “What’s wrong?”

  Belle faced her, hands on her hips. The glove tucked in her waistband caught Jacey’s attention. And where was the glass object she’d been carrying?

  Belle pointed at Jacey. “You’re what’s wrong.”

  Jacey sagged. “Did you really wave me over just to insult me?”

  Belle looked past Jacey.

  Jacey turned to find two boys from Vaughan’s Nine standing behind her. Horace, a tall, rail-thin boy who rarely spoke, and Kirk, his exact opposite, short, squat, and thickly muscled. They had to have been hiding behind the thornskipple patches.

  They took position to block her way back to the main path.

  “What’s going on?” Jacey demanded. The menace in Kirk’s eyes sent a chill over her skin.

  Belle clasped her hands before her and strolled forward. “You asked Sensei the other day when you were going to be punished. And I know you were denied your virginity examination. At least I don’t think Wanda lied about that. I’d like to help you with at least one of these problems.”

  Jacey’s blood froze, and she backed away. The boys took hold of her arms.

  “I figure we have a few options,” Belle said, stepping closer. She smiled, showing an even row of perfectly white teeth. Jacey had never seen Belle smile before, and it sent another shiver over her skin.

  Belle counted the options off on her fingers. “Kirk could deliver the punishment. Blow for blow, the exact punishment Vaughan received.” She tapped Jacey’s ribs and the side of her head to show the spots the kicks would land.

  “But no. That would break your ribs and skull. You might even end up in a coma.” She caressed Jacey’s forehead, face full of mock concern.

  Belle’s fingers slid from Jacey’s temple down to the waistband of her running shorts. She pulled it down an inch on one side. “The virginity test . . . I’m afraid that’s not my area of expertise, though I’m sure Kirk here might be willing to try.”

  Jacey acted without thought. She may never have learned kung fu or muay thai, but she had studied ballet for years. She kicked, wildly. Belle threw up her arms, which absorbed most of Jacey’s attack. But the strike drove her back.

  The boys still held Jacey in their steely grips. Horace swept her feet from under her, slamming her flat on her back. Jagged rocks bit into her flesh, forcing a cry from her lips.

  Kirk swung a leg over her and, in a second, wrapped her in a jiu-jitsu submission hold. Jacey struggled to breathe. The blue sky overhead started to blacken.

  “Don’t knock her out,” Belle said in a singsong voice that reminded Jacey of Mother Tyeesha. An evil version of Mother Tyeesha. “Without pain there is no punishment. Isn’t that right, Jacey?”

  Belle held a jar. She brought it close so Jacey could see what was inside.

  A shaddle spider. The tan arachnid was two inches long from the back legs to the probing front ones. Yellow markings, like slashes, crisscrossed its back.

  “I rescued this little creature from a thornskipple bush,” Belle said, setting the jar down. She pulled the glove from her waistband and slid it onto her right hand.

  Jacey’s eyes turned back to the jar. She wriggled and tried to free herself from Kirk’s hold, but he leaned forward, pressing his arm into her neck, cutting blood flow to her brain.

  “You’re afraid of the spider?” Belle said, allowing a giggle to escape. “Surely you don’t think I’d put a spider on you. Not to start with, anyway.”

  Belle towered over her. A wiry thornskipple branch jutted from the girl’s fist, like some fairy tale crone’s shillelagh. “Your punishment has to look like an injury any runner might suffer. I’m afraid you stumbled into a thornskipple patch.”

  Belle lashed out with the switch, striking Jacey’s bare legs. The thorns needled in.

  Jacey bucked and screamed. Kirk held her down.

  Tiny reverse-angled barbs covered every thorn, holding them in deep. Belle yanked back. The thorns tore free, rending Jacey’s skin.

  “This is half of what you deserve for what you did to Vaughan.”

  Belle whipped the branch across Jacey’s other thigh. This time she tugged it loose slowly. Thorn by thorn.

  Screams tore from Jacey’s throat. She struggled to escape Kirk’s hold, calling on every ounce of her strength. But her efforts had no more effect than a fish wriggling in a shark’s jaws.

  “Flip her,” Belle commanded.

  Kirk’s weight lifted from Jacey’s chest, but before she could heave in a single breath, the boy spun her and pushed her face down into the rocks. His weight returned, driving the jagged points into her breasts and abdomen.

  “Belle!” Jacey cried, or tried to. She had hardly enough air in her lungs to produce a whisper.

  A hiss of air was Jacey’s only warning as the branch whipped down. It lashed a line of agony from the back of her left knee up her hamstring.

  Kirk’s weight made it impossible to draw a breath. Belle rent the thorns free and struck her other leg.

  “Get off her and lift her shirt,” Belle said. Jacey heard the unmistakable sound of Belle unscrewing the lid of the jar.

  Kirk rolled from her back and breath returned. And with it, sobs. Agony, fear, and rage combined to choke Jacey. Rough hands grasped the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up to expose her back to the ocean breeze.

  Jacey’s arms pushed against the ground as she struggled to stand, but one of the boys took hold of her wrists and pulled them out from under her.

  “Come out, dear,” Belle said, voice strangely gentle.

  “Are you sure about this?” Kirk asked. “I never signed up to kill anyone.”

  “Shaddle spider bites don’t kill.”

  Jacey couldn’t control the convulsing sobs enough to brace herself for the coming pain. She twisted her head just far enough to see Belle approaching, her gloved hand outstretched. Pinched between thumb and forefinger was the long front leg of the spider. The rest of the legs were curled in tight against its body.

  “Hold her shirt up. I want to trap it inside.”

  Jacey’s shirt came up farther. She tried to scream.

  “Do you hear that?” Horace rasped. “Someone’s coming down the path.”

  The hands released her wrists, but Jacey couldn’t move.

  “Help her up. Quickly,” Belle said, voice businesslike.

  Kirk lifted Jacey to her feet, but the world tilted. He put an arm around her to keep her upright.

  Her legs burned, and no matter how deeply she breathed, the ache for more air did not lessen.

  “Elias, come quick!” Belle called.

  Through a wash of tears, Jacey made out Elias appr
oaching from the path. He frowned at Kirk and Horace. “Both of you, back to campus.”

  “We don’t listen to you, Elias,” Horace said.

  “I have a radio, and I’m going to call Sensei and tell him you two were lounging out here when you were supposed to be running. Get moving!”

  Kirk let go of Jacey, and she fell to her knees. Every inch of her body screamed with fire. The boys’ footsteps receded, accompanied by sullen mumbles.

  Belle had backed away, her face completely passive. She no longer held the spider. Jacey glanced at the jar, but it lay on its side. Empty.

  Elias offered a hand to Jacey, but she leapt up and pulled her shirt over her head. She threw it on the ground and stomped, letting out high-pitched curses with every blow.

  “What—?” Elias stared wide-eyed at Jacey as she jumped up and down on her shirt, wearing nothing but her shorts and sports bra. “Um.”

  “She fell into a thornskipple bush,” Belle said.

  Jacey gave the shirt one final stomp. “Belle put a spider in my shirt.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s dead now,” Elias said. He bent to pick up her shirt, unsuccessfully trying to avert his eyes from Jacey’s exposed body. Certainly more girl skin than he’d ever seen before.

  “I did no such thing,” Belle said. “She fell into a thornskipple bush and now she’s trying to blame me for her own clumsiness.”

  Elias shook out Jacey’s shirt. The spider fell out in pieces, though a dark wet stain in the fabric marked where its body had popped.

  Jacey shivered and grabbed the shirt. Pulling it on, she said. “Belle and the other two held me down and whipped me with that branch there.”

  Elias prodded it with his toe and looked around. There were no thornskipple bushes within three meters.

  Jacey wanted to run at Belle and throw her from Jacques Point into the pounding waves below. But her skin sang with pain, her limbs trembled, and she still hadn’t caught her breath. Kirk’s jiu- jitsu submission had left Jacey with a kink in her neck. Given her other injuries, the run back to campus wasn’t going to be pleasant.