Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Becky could see how hard Brisa was trying not to be hurt. It made her feel guilty, as well as sick and terrified. How could Becky yell at someone who was doing so much to help her?

  “Let’s go back to school,” Brisa said to the dusty floorboards.

  Becky started up, then sat back down. Three field workers were approaching the surgery. Two held the drooping third between them.

  The man on the right said, “He’s got bad heat cramps. Is the doctor busy?”

  Becky stared at the sick man in the middle. His face was twisted in pain, and his arms were clutched over his stomach. Just like the man who’d been carried into the field hospital during the battle, with blood oozing out from between his fingers. Becky should stick around in case Dr. Lee needed her, but she couldn’t face it.

  “He’s inside. I have to get to school.” She turned and fled. Brisa ran silently beside her.

  At the schoolyard, Becky was shocked to see that recess was still going on. It felt as if days had passed since Becky had laid her hand on Summer’s jacket. If Becky could sense memories by touching objects, then Ross’s sister had been that little girl who had stolen money from a church.

  Summer sat alone on the fence, munching an apple. She was only fourteen, and the hand Becky had seen had been tiny. How long had Summer been a thief?

  Becky didn’t like that train of thought. It might have just been that one time. And the little girl had felt frightened and guilty. Maybe someone had bullied her into doing it. People were suspicious of Summer anyway, the same way they’d once been suspicious of Ross. And Ross had saved them all.

  Becky decided not to mention the stealing. She knew too well what it felt like to be blamed no matter what she did.

  When she and Brisa went inside, Jennie set down a stack of slates and came up to her. “Are you all right? You’re still so pale.”

  “You can tell her, Beck. She can keep a secret.” Brisa nudged Becky.

  Becky bit her lip. Brisa meant well, but she’d just given away that there was a secret to keep. But when she looked up at Jennie’s calm dark eyes, she knew that Brisa was right.

  “I can tell you what happened,” Becky said. “But it’s important to me that you keep it to yourself.”

  Jennie held up her hand as if she was swearing a vow. “I promise.”

  Becky drew a breath. It was easier to explain now that she understood it herself. “When I touched Summer’s jacket, I saw a memory that I’m pretty sure is hers. She was a little girl in a church.” She gave Brisa a warning glance, then went on, “Then when I touched a plate at the surgery, I was Dr. Lee for a second. That is, I saw his hand as if it was mine. I can see the past when I touch things. And I can’t make it stop.”

  Jennie reached into her desk. “Here. Try these.”

  “Your Ranger gloves!” Brisa exclaimed.

  Jennie’s hands clenched briefly, then relaxed. “I don’t need them anymore.”

  Becky slid on the gloves. They were much too big—

  —they fit her like a second skin. She was on the ground, wrestling someone bigger than her. Heat radiated from his body. He twisted her arm painfully behind her back, but she didn’t mind. She was having fun. She laughed as she whipped her elbow toward Indra’s face . . .

  Becky swayed. Shut her eyes hard. Opened them. Breathed. She was still standing, with Brisa’s arm around her waist. “It happened again. But I didn’t faint.” She flexed her gloved hands. “And it stopped. I guess it only happens the first time I touch something with my palms.”

  “Good. Keep them. You can alter them to fit your hands.” Jennie peered at Becky’s face. “Did Dr. Lee give you anything to eat?”

  “Yeah, but I dropped it. We can share my lunch.” Brisa shot Becky an anxious look.

  Becky’s belly twisted with guilt again. She quickly answered the real question. “Thanks, Brisa. I don’t know what I’d . . .”

  Brisa kissed her. “Don’t apologize. Just be Becky, the girl I love.”

  When school got out, Brisa instantly invited Becky to her house. But Becky knew she had to go home.

  She could hear her mother’s voice from the street corner outside the house. “Henry, this was your chance to do something for this family. How long do you think Felicité Wolfe is going to keep dating someone her father threw out of the Rangers? So don’t give me that backchat about not doing chores. You’re cooking tonight. Get busy.”

  Becky stopped short. The shivering began at the back of her neck, and shuddered down into her belly. Stop it, she scolded herself. She couldn’t stand there all night.

  She forced her knees to unlock. One step, then another. She pulled the door open. It creaked.

  Her mother’s angry scowl shifted from Henry to Becky. “Where have you been? Why are you wearing those ridiculous gloves? Take them off and get busy. The laundry isn’t going to do itself.”

  Becky pulled the gloves off. She’d alter them later, in the privacy of her room.

  She picked up the laundry basket with her fingertips. She’d do the laundry, but she’d be very careful not to touch any of her mother’s clothing with her palms. Becky didn’t want any more of Mom in her head.

  Chapter Fifteen: Mia

  Tonight was Mia’s night with Ross.

  She had promised herself that she was going to stop being squeamish, squirmy, and stupid. She really liked Ross. She really liked kissing Ross. And she really, really liked it when he pressed close to her and his wonderful strong hands would caress her so gently. Not just her face and her hair and her arms and her back and her waist, but when he slipped his hand under her shirt . . .

  Her entire body burned so hot, she was certain that she’d turned bright red. Anyone who saw her would know exactly what she was imagining.

  “Stop that,” she said aloud. Then she cast a frantic gaze at her open window in case anyone had heard and instantly knew what she was talking about.

  But they wouldn’t know. She had to stop imagining the worst just because sex was something new, something that had nothing to do with math or science. She always knew where she was with machines. But with people?

  “There is no mathematical formula!” Mia announced, then realized that she’d spoken aloud. Again.

  She ran to her window and peered out. No crowd stood out there pointing and laughing. All she saw were a couple of birds twittering as they pecked for seeds.

  It was time to be a grownup. She knew what she wanted, and she was going to have it.

  “But first I need a—”

  Bed. She couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud.

  Fighting another hot tide, she scowled at the engines on her old, sagging camp bed. These were precious engines. One belonged to a tractor, and the other to a car. The parts she had so carefully brought out of the ruined city didn’t fit the partial car engine she’d inherited from Mr. Rodriguez. That had been disappointing, but reasonable. Of course there were different kinds of car engines, just as tractor and car engines differed.

  She simply needed more car parts.

  “You’re dithering,” she muttered.

  Bed. Engines. Should she move them off the bed? But it was so narrow. Could two people fit onto it, even if it were engine-free?

  Her quick calculation of the width of the bed compared to the combined width of Mia and Ross told her it would be a tight fit. The person on the inside would be squished against the wall and the person on the outside might fall off.

  The reasonable solution would be to make a bed on the floor. She was used to sleeping on the floor anyway. Why not make it nice? Ross would be coming over to the surgery for dinner as usual, and she could maybe figure out what to say between then and when they went to her cottage. If he didn’t want to do anything, they could go somewhere else, anywhere else, so he wouldn’t have to see the bed they wouldn’t be using.

  So she wouldn’t have to see the bed.

  Mia hauled out fresh sheets and blankets, putting the latter down first, for softness. She
laid a sheet over that, then the nice coverlet her aunt had made her, which had been folded in a box ever since so she wouldn’t spill oil on it. She spread it smoothly over the bed, picked up her pillow, then scowled again. Two people needed two pillows.

  She ran to the surgery, peeked in to make certain Summer was nowhere around, and was immensely relieved to see no one at all. Mia darted in, snatched the last pillow from the storage closet, hid it under the sweater she’d brought, and scurried back to the cottage. Then she stood with it, wondering which end to put the pillows at. It was so arbitrary once you thought about it . . .

  Mia forced herself not to get sucked into worrying about that. She had two pillows, and they’d go under the window. Which would be shut, with the curtain drawn.

  With the bed taken care of, she bathed at the surgery, then put on her cleanest shirt and overalls.

  The night started out well—Summer wasn’t there. Mia watched Ross warily enter the kitchen, then relax when he saw the empty chair.

  Nobody commented on Summer’s absence. Dad dished up the steamed fish Mia had asked for, Ross’s favorite noodles, tender snap beans, and for dessert, some of Jack’s apple crumble that Mia had fetched herself.

  When they left for the cottage, Mia reached for Ross’s hand, her heart pounding in her ears like the throb of a generator. It seemed impossible that he couldn’t hear it. But he simply closed his fingers into hers. Their hands swung between them, catching her attention. Now her hand felt too heavy. Her grip first felt too hard, then too soft. And how was she supposed to swing her hand, anyway?

  “Want to get a head start on the Nguyen generator overhaul?” Ross asked.

  Mia gulped.

  Be an adult. Make your own formula!

  “I thought we could . . . be together?” It came out in a squeak.

  Even in the dim light from the surgery windows she could see his bewildered expression. “Aren’t we?”

  “Together together,” she said. “You and me.”

  “Well, here we are.” He squeezed her hand as started into the junkyard.

  “What I mean is . . .” She remembered they were still technically in public, and whispered, “We could . . . you know.”

  “Oh. Oh!” His smile flared bright, then he slid his hands up her arms to cup her face. “Is that what you want?”

  With his warm hands on her cheeks and his dark eyes looking into hers, what she wanted was to stay like that forever.

  But she’d promised.

  Mia couldn’t speak, but she nodded hard. It felt like her glasses bounced on her nose. Had her glasses bounced? Did she look as weird as she felt?

  “Great!” Ross sounded enthusiastic . . . or did he? Was he only trying to sound enthusiastic? Did he really want to? Did he want to . . . with her?

  But when he opened the door and saw the bed on the floor, his expression reminded her of how he’d looked when she’d given him his gauntlet, his cudgel, and his crossbow: like he was seeing not only what she’d given him, but all the work she’d put into it and how she’d felt when she was making it. Like he was seeing her.

  “This is great, Mia,” he said at last. “But I’m not very good about sleeping indoors. With someone.”

  So he’s already been with Jennie.

  Of course he had. Jennie was his girlfriend, too. And Jennie was experienced. Mia had half-expected it all along. And now she knew. It felt weird. But everything about sex felt weird.

  Well, she was going to change that.

  Remembering what Ross had actually said, she hurriedly pointed out, “Well, we won’t be sleeping.” Then, before he could say anything else, she kicked off her shoes, prompting him to kick off his, and tugged him down to the floor-bed.

  They started kissing. That was something she could do right, and she loved the way Ross kissed her back. She caressed his shoulders, and arms, as his hands closed around her. Oh, yes. This felt good.

  Kisses and hands first, she thought hazily. This subset of my mathematical equation has been proved.

  A fizzy warm feeling started up from her toes and filled her body, making her heart and lungs work faster. She added that to the building formula as Ross’s breathing became as unsteady as hers.

  Step two, she thought. Remove clothing.

  She reached for the top button of Ross’s shirt. He responded by unhooking one of her overall straps.

  It’s working, she exulted, it’s working! What was I worried about? This is easy . . .

  Knock knock!

  Mia shot upright, her heart pounding in a completely different way.

  Ross murmured, “Were you expecting anyone?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  KNOCK KNOCK! The rap on her door became more insistent.

  “Mia? Are you in there? I can see a light on!” It was Tommy Horst.

  “Don’t come in!” Mia yelled wildly, adding, “Explosives!”

  She shot to her feet. Tommy would laugh at her if he saw what she was doing: stupid little misfit Mia, thinking she could have sex like a regular person!

  Ross scrambled up, looking confused. Mia waved him toward the bed, then away from it. The bed! She had to hide it.

  “I need to talk to you,” Tommy called. “Can I come in?”

  Frantic, Mia scooped up her carefully made bed and flung it behind her soldering setup. Too late, she remembered the half-empty canister of water she kept back there for dunking hot tools. Rusty, nasty-smelling water. Then she remembered to check herself. One overall strap was undone and flapping, and her shirt was pulled out. As her shaky fingers fumbled with hooks and buttons, she glanced at Ross. He sank down on to the work bench, shaking with silent laughter.

  How could he laugh? This was the least funny experience of Mia’s life.

  Giving her overalls a last yank, she opened the door.

  Tommy pushed his way in. “What explosives? Where are they?”

  Ross’s shirt was pulled out and partly unbuttoned, and he’d picked up a wrench even though there was nothing on the work table that you could use a wrench on. Mia was afraid if Tommy looked at Ross, he’d know what they’d been doing.

  Mia edged in front of Ross, trying to block Tommy’s view. “What do you want?”

  “Dad sent me. Now that he’s defense chief, he needs to talk to you,” Tommy went on in an important voice. “About new weapon designs. Like the six-shooter crossbows Mr. Preston’s been mounting on the sentry walk. But better!”

  “That’s not actually my design. It was from Ross’s book—” Mia came to an awkward halt. She didn’t want to make Tommy think of Ross.

  “Well, you’re the one who made it. Anyway, he sent me to invite you over to the forge to talk to him. Hey, are the explosives new?” Tommy added hopefully. “C’mon, you can show me.”

  “Okay, I’m coming,” Mia said glumly. She’d obviously ruined her chance with Ross, so she might as well go.

  Ross gave her a look that she couldn’t interpret. Was he disappointed? Relieved? Something else entirely? Then he shrugged and gestured with his useless wrench. “Sure, Mia. I’ll finish up here.”

  As she followed Tommy out into the darkness, she thought, Maybe I should stick to machines. They’re much easier than people.

  * * *

  Mia was still brooding over her sex failure as she trudged to Luc’s the next morning to work on the crotchety old water pump behind his place that seemed to break down every couple of months.

  Jennie would have known exactly what to do if someone banged on her door when she was trying to have sex. Jennie would never panic and hurl her best bedding into rusty soldering water. Why couldn’t Mia be more like her?

  Jennie had said some people never wanted to have sex at all. Dad had told her the same thing, and added that there was nothing wrong with that. Mia wished she didn’t want to. That would make everything so much simpler. Before she’d met Ross, she’d thought maybe she was that kind of person, but that hadn’t felt right either.

  When it came t
o sex—and love and relationships and people—it always seemed she was doing it wrong. It was like sparring. Everyone said to relax and stop thinking, but how could she relax when she couldn’t stop thinking?

  Ross was the only person she’d ever met who found people and feelings as hard and confusing as she did. But last night had proved how much he’d learned and changed, while Mia had stayed exactly the same.

  For the millionth time, Mr. Preston’s words echoed in her mind: You don’t understand anything unless it’s made out of metal. You may officially be an adult, but you’ve never grown up and as far as I can tell, you never will.

  She was so depressed by the time she reached Luc’s, she didn’t even expect to enjoy tackling that mean old pump. But once she started, she got lost in her work. She’d sneezed three times before she registered that the tickle in her nose and singed smell wasn’t coming from Luc’s kitchen. She raised her head, idly wondering whose breakfast was ruined . . .

  . . . but the smell carried on the breeze was that of a burning building, not the burning wood of cooking or heating fires.

  Instantly alert, Mia dropped her tools and looked around. Ribbons of white smoke rose lazily from the old harvest barn where they’d thrown the secret party for Kerry. As Mia opened her mouth to shout, a boy yelled, “Fire! Fire!”

  A shovel leaned against the wall. She grabbed it and ran.

  Peter Chang stumbled out of the barn, coughing. He smelled like smoke, soot, and stale beer. Mia slapped out a smoldering patch on his jacket, then checked for injuries and signs of smoke inhalation. He seemed unhurt.

  In the minute it had taken her to do that, the thin streamers of smoke had become billows, and she could hear the greedy crackle of the spreading fire. Through the open door of the barn, she could see nothing but a solid curtain of white smoke.

  Peter started to run back inside. Mia grabbed him by the back of the jacket. “Don’t go back in there!”

  Peter tried to free himself. “Hans is in the loft!”

  A thin voice was barely audible over the fire’s roar. “Help! Help!”