Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Summer stared at him, then darted a glance at the customer beside her. He clutched protectively at his mug. With a final glare, Summer slung her pack behind her and stalked out.

  “Good riddance,” Henry said, laughing. “Though I have to say, school hasn’t been nearly as boring since she showed up. I hope she doesn’t get herself kicked out before I get to graduate.” His smile lessened, as if he was remembering the graduation party that was supposed to celebrate not only their graduation, but his appointment to the Rangers.

  Felicité took Henry’s hand. It was so unfair! Henry simply hadn’t had enough time to develop the discipline that Paco had been practicing his whole life under his mother’s direction.

  Felicité had had such a beautiful dream: graduation, her birthday, and then they’d both be adults. And while Felicité gained the trust of the town, Henry would impress Daddy with his fighting prowess. Henry would look so good in Ranger night blacks. In a few years, he could take Julio’s place as the head of the Rangers and Felicité could run for council. And years after that, when Daddy and Mother were ready to retire, they could be mayor and defense chief.

  Nothing could ruin such a perfect plan. She had to convince Daddy that he was wrong about Henry.

  “Finished?” Felicité leaned forward to whisper, “Let’s go back to my room.”

  Henry dropped his fork on his half-eaten apple crumble.

  * * *

  The moment they walked in, Felicité knew something was wrong. Grandmère was nowhere to be seen, and her parents sat silently on the satin couch.

  Felicité turned to Henry. “I hate to do this, but my headache is coming back. Can we see each other tomorrow?”

  Henry glanced past her at her family, and grinned as he backed away. “Feel better. We can celebrate the election results tomorrow.”

  Felicité shut the door behind him. Surely it was too early for any results? “Mother? Daddy?”

  “The last vote was cast two hours ago,” Mother said. “The results will be publicly announced once they inform the candidates. But you should know that I am still mayor, Grandmère is on the council—”

  “And I am a private citizen again,” said Daddy.

  Though Felicité had spent the day dreading that news, it still came as a shock. “That’s impossible! Somebody cheated. Who counted the ballots?”

  “Judge Vardam headed the committee,” Mother said. “There was no cheating.”

  “It was a landslide.” Daddy slapped his hands to his knees, then got up. “So it’s time to let it go. It’s not like I don’t have plenty to do. I’ve already spoken to Julio. Being captain of the Rangers didn’t suit him as much as he expected. Too much responsibility, too little action. He was happy to step aside. I’ll take this opportunity to overhaul our training.”

  Felicité had thought that if Daddy lost he’d be furious. But as he leaned down to kiss Mother, he seemed in a better mood than when he’d been waiting for the results.

  “Aren’t you mad that a fourteen-year-old vagrant turned the town against you?” Felicité asked.

  “Oh, if people hadn’t already had questions, they wouldn’t have listened,” Daddy said. “That girl may have been responsible for the landslide, but I don’t think she was responsible for the loss itself. Let Horst boil in my boots for a while, and see how he likes it. When I think that he’ll soon be listening to Harry Tranh’s interminable stories about how much better his grandfather was in his day, and Julia Ford’s uninformed opinions about weaponry, I want to send him a commiseration letter.”

  “And it’s only one term,” Mother added. “We shall see how peaceful things are. If not, the town will learn who can defend it.”

  Felicité looked from Mother to Daddy, and the truth hit her: they were certain it would not be peaceful at all.

  Chapter Fourteen: Becky

  Ever since the miserable day Henry wasn’t picked for the Rangers, Becky had stayed away from home as much as she dared.

  She divided her time between Brisa’s home, her apprenticeship, and school. At the surgery, she went early and stayed late, finding tasks to do that would kill time. As she dusted and re-organized the cabinets, she couldn’t help being glad that she was cleaning shelves rather than cleaning wounds.

  She was a failure as well as a coward.

  Dr. Lee kept watching her with concern and thoughtfulness, as if he was trying to make a diagnosis. Becky always felt sick with anticipation when she saw that look aimed at her instead of a patient.

  “Is everything all right, Becky?” Dr. Lee asked.

  She hated that question. He was so nice, but that only made it worse. She didn’t deserve his kindness. Her stupidity and cowardice was her own fault.

  “Of course,” she replied, as brightly as she could. “See, I’ve steeped the kelp water, and ground fresh willow bark . . .”

  Gently, he asked, “Is anything wrong at home?”

  “It’s fine. I’m done with my work, Dr. Lee. Good night!” She hung up her apron, stuffed her feet into her shoes, and ran.

  She was lucky Mom was out. Becky slunk into her room without going near the kitchen. She left the light out, in case her mother came back and saw it. Becky hoped Mom was doing a fitting. Getting dress orders might put her in a better mood.

  She crawled into bed and curled up tight. It eased the ache when your stomach was empty. Rain began to patter against the window, then gradually increased to a downpour. The drumming soothed her to sleep.

  Becky woke early. She stayed in her room until all noise ceased in the hallway. Henry had already slammed out an hour ago. Becky slipped from her room, hoping her mother had gone to the dress shop.

  She walked into the kitchen. Silence. She reached for the bread box.

  “There you are. I thought you’d come sneaking out.”

  Becky recoiled. Her mother stood in the hall, her face and body tight with anger.

  “And look at that. Here you are, always thinking of yourself first. You get your filthy mitts off that bread box, and think about how much trouble you’ve caused this entire family.”

  Becky backed away.

  Her mother advanced, her face mottled red. “You knew you had to help Henry with his chores so he could get to Ranger training on time. Instead, you ran off with your monster girlfriend and left everything to Henry and me. Because of you, Henry is not on the Rangers. And he’s not earning scrip to keep this household afloat. And now you come sneaking in here to gobble down bread that you didn’t bake or pay for. Get out of here.”

  Her mother raised her hand to strike. Becky hunched her head into her shoulders and dodged around the table. A hard slap landed on her shoulder blade, as her mother screamed, “You stop right now! Come back here!”

  Becky jumped over a fallen chair and ran outside. She didn’t stop running until she reached the stable, where she stopped, a hand pressed to the stitch in her side. Her stomach heaved, and she gulped air. She couldn’t throw up. She literally couldn’t. She hadn’t eaten anything since she’d shared Brisa’s lunch the day before.

  The bell clanged out the time. She pushed away from the wall and headed toward the schoolhouse. Everywhere people busily weeded their gardens, their feet sinking into the new mud. Ordinarily Becky stopped to say hello to every cat and dog she met, for she knew everyone’s pets, but now everything made her eyes prickle. Happy voices, the smells of food drifting out doorways as people left for work or school, even birdsong. It all made her feel worse.

  She was the last one into the schoolhouse, but at least she wasn’t late. Nobody gave her a glance as she slipped into her place beside Brisa.

  “What happened?” Brisa whispered as Jennie passed out slates. “Was it horrible?”

  “Worse than horrible,” Becky breathed. “Mom is still mad at me about the Rangers.”

  “But it’s not your fault Henry messed up his own chances,” Brisa whispered indignantly.

  “Yes, it is,” Becky started to say, but her throat closed up.


  Brisa rummaged in her pockets and removed a plump brown bun wrapped in a cloth. She thrust it at Becky. “Fresh baked. I have two more in my lunch box. Eat up, Beck.”

  Becky pretended to nibble, but she felt much too sick to eat. Brisa was so good to her, so kind. Becky couldn’t even thank her, or her voice would crack and everyone would stare at her. She slid the bun into her desk and tried to sink into the history lesson, but all she could hear was her mother screaming, “It’s all your fault.”

  When Jennie dismissed the school for recess, Becky was still gulping air, trying to keep her throat from closing up. She knew that she’d start sobbing if she looked at Brisa’s face, and saw her loving concern.

  Becky jumped up. The world twisted weirdly. Off-balance, she grabbed onto the nearest chair for support.

  Her hand came down on the battered leather jacket draped over Summer’s chair.

  The classroom vanished. Becky was crawling over a cold stone floor in the back of an old, dusty building, the air hot and close. Fear and misery wrung through her at what she must do, but she had no choice. In the distance, voices rose and fell in a Latin chant. She crept toward the donations box, biting her lip from guilt. It was wrong to steal, and especially wrong to steal from a church.

  At least Mom can’t see me sinning.

  Her small brown hand reached into the donation box, moving slowly to keep the coins from clinking against each other. She pulled out her hand . . .

  Becky opened her eyes. She lay flat on her back. In the classroom. Cold air was blowing in from the door. Faces stared down at her: Jennie. Brisa. Sujata.

  “Becky?” Jennie lifted a heavy leather jacket off her, and laid it over a chair. “You fainted. Are you sick?”

  “I think she didn’t eat breakfast.” Brisa’s voice rang high and sharp. It echoed in Becky’s ears. “I don’t think she even got any dinner!”

  Jennie’s look of concern mixed with suspicion reminded Becky of Dr. Lee. “Becky, as soon as you can stand, I want you to go straight to the surgery.”

  Becky started to shake her head, but Brisa said, “I’ll take her.”

  “Thanks, Brisa.” Jennie swung to her feet and backed away. “All right, everyone, let’s give her some air.”

  Brisa took hold of Becky’s hands—her own pale, freckled hands—and helped her sit up. “Come on. Lean against me.”

  As they walked to the surgery, Becky leaning against Brisa’s warm side, she kept thinking, What’s happening to me? What was that?

  She’d treated people who had fainted from hunger or heat or exhaustion. But they always said that right before it happened their vision got blurry or the dark started closing in or they felt really sick, and the next thing they knew they were on the floor. She’d never heard anyone say, “I had an incredibly vivid dream and then I passed out.”

  At the surgery, Dr. Lee made her lie down on the examination table while he took her pulse.

  “She didn’t get any dinner last night!” Brisa burst out. “I could tell you—”

  “Brisa,” Becky said warningly. “I skipped dinner last night. And I overslept this morning and forgot to eat breakfast.”

  Brisa scowled. Becky knew her girlfriend wanted to blurt out everything to Dr. Lee, but Becky had made her promise not to. Becky could see her struggling to keep that promise, even though Brisa didn’t know one-tenth of what went on at Becky’s house.

  “I’m fine,” Becky said.

  Dr. Lee frowned. “Becky. You know how important it is to eat regularly. You’re still growing. I’ll get you some breakfast.”

  As soon as he went out, Becky sat up and grabbed Brisa’s hand. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I guess I didn’t get enough sleep last night, so I fell asleep on my feet. I even dreamed! The next thing I knew, I was on the floor.”

  Brisa looked puzzled. “What did you dream about?”

  “It was really vivid—the most real-feeling dream I’ve ever had. I crawled into a church I’ve never seen before, and stole from the collection box. And the weirdest thing was, I was thinking about my mom, only it wasn’t my mom at all! I was a little girl, but not me as a little girl. My skin was brown.”

  “Like Summer’s?” Brisa asked. She stuck a ribbon in her mouth and chewed on it, an old habit she only did when she was thinking hard. “You know . . .you pulled her jacket on top of you when you fell.”

  “I was hanging onto it before I started dreaming.”

  Brisa’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it was a dream?”

  “What else could it be? I’ve always had these ugly freckles, and I’ve never seen that church. And I’ve never stolen anything in my life!”

  Brisa patted Becky’s hands. “No, no, that wasn’t what I meant. I think . . .”

  Before she could finish, Dr. Lee came back in with a plate of steaming biscuits spread with butter and honey. “Go sit out on the porch in the fresh air, and eat every bite. Then, and only if you feel up to it, you can go back to school.”

  “Thank you.” Becky gritted her teeth at the sound of her tiny mouse-voice. Her hands shook as she reached for the plate. Brisa snatched it, chewing the ribbon impatiently.

  Brisa managed to stay quiet until they sat on the porch bench. Then she spat out the ribbon, held up the plate, and said in a portentous voice, “Beck. I want you to touch this plate.”

  “Well, of course.” Becky reached for a biscuit.

  “No!” Brisa exclaimed, yanking the plate away. “You might faint again! Let me get ready to catch you.” She slid her arm around Becky’s shoulders.

  Becky leaned up against her. She wondered vaguely what weird idea Brisa had gotten, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It felt so safe, so warm, so deliciously good to rest in her arms.

  Brisa dumped the biscuits into her lap. “Now touch the plate.”

  Confused, Becky touched it with a fingertip.

  “Hmm,” Brisa said after a moment. “Try laying your whole palm on it.”

  Becky had no idea what had gotten into her girlfriend, but she obediently pressed her hand into the plate.

  She was in the Lees’ kitchen, putting a biscuit down on the plate. She had a man’s hand! Mewing cats wove in and out around her ankles. She picked up the plate and took a step toward the door . . .

  The world reeled sharply. Becky was back on the surgery porch, her head resting on Brisa’s shoulder. She sucked in a breath.

  Brisa clutched at her. “Becky! Becky!”

  “I’m . . .” Becky trailed off. “I feel so strange.”

  “Did you dream again?” Brisa demanded eagerly.

  “Yes! I had a man’s hand this time. I put the biscuit . . . that was Dr. Lee’s hand! Brisa, for a moment, I was Dr. Lee!”

  Brisa had her lips pressed firmly together. She took hold of Becky’s hands. “Shut your eyes. What do you see?”

  Becky obeyed. All she saw was the reddish light filtering through her eyelids. “Nothing.”

  “And I was thinking of something so lovely.” Brisa gave a wistful sigh. “I was remembering our first kiss. I thought you’d like to see yourself the way you look to me.”

  “Am I seeing other people’s memories?” It was the only thing that made sense, but it was hard to believe.

  Brisa grinned. “Congratulations, Beck. You’ve Changed.”

  “I can’t have,” Becky protested. “I’m much too old. Girls Change when they’re twelve or thirteen.”

  “Girls Change when they start getting their periods,” Brisa corrected her.

  Becky wanted to argue, but Brisa was right. Becky’s hormones had been just as slow as the rest of her: she’d only gotten her period that year.

  Brisa went on, “And this is your Change. You’re seeing memories from stuff other people have touched.” She tapped the plate. “Happy Change day!” She leaned in to kiss Becky.

  For the first time, Becky pulled away instead of kissing Brisa back. What would her mother say? It was hard to imagine life at her house getting any wo
rse, but this would do it. Dread knotted up her insides. Her mother would rather have Becky steal money from church than be Changed.

  Brisa’s smile faded. “Becky? Maybe you better eat these biscuits. You just went really pale.”

  Becky shook her head. “I can’t go home. Not like this.”

  “Sure you can. Just don’t tell your mom.” Brisa waved a biscuit at her. “Come on. Just one bite.”

  Becky’s stomach was churning too much for her to even look at food. She laid her hands flat on the bench, gulping for air—and once again images flooded in: she was in the carpenter’s shop, sawing wood as someone nearby sang a folk song. The smell of wood chips was sharp in the air. Thunder rumbled outside.

  Becky jerked her hands up. “I can’t go around like this! I . . . I need gloves, or something.”

  “We can get gloves,” Brisa said softly, rubbing Becky’s shoulders. “Beck, you can handle this. I’ll help you.”

  “I know that.” Becky’s voice wobbled. “But . . .”

  “I know your family is prejudiced, but being Changed is cool. I love being Changed. Not to brag, but I used my Change to help Jennie blow up Voske’s ammo dump. We saved the town! And my family loves you. Mom and Dad will want to throw you a Change party.”

  “I can’t have a party!” Becky exclaimed. “I can’t tell anybody! Mom will hate me worse than ever!”

  “So come live with me,” Brisa said, rocking her. “Then it won’t matter what she thinks.”

  “I can’t.” Becky pulled away just far enough to look into Brisa’s face. “This is my family. I can’t just walk away from them. And you don’t have any room. I can’t do that to your family.”

  Brisa huffed, blowing her pigtail ribbons so they fluttered and danced. “Nobody will care. They always say one more person won’t make a difference. Come on, Beck, stop saying ‘I can’t.’”

  Becky pulled away more. “I can’t. I just can’t!”

  “Okay, fine.” Brisa let go of Becky and stood up. The biscuits tumbled out of her lap, and she dove after them. But instead of scooping them up, she carefully picked them up, one by one.