Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  She reached for a rope attached to a pulley, which was also new. A soft cylinder came down like a boat letting down a sail, and thumped gently to the floor. Mia unhooked and unrolled it, transforming it into a thin mattress already made with sheets and blankets. “Ta-da!”

  “Wow.” Ross was impressed. Mia could make anything.

  She pulled a pair of pillows from a box tucked behind her bin of hoses. “Instant comfort! And if anyone starts banging on the door, it only takes ten seconds to make it all go away. Want me to show you?”

  Ross laughed, remembering how Tommy had barged in and Mia had flung her bedding in the water. But even as he did, he felt a hollowness behind his ribs and at his knees that made him want to hug Mia to him.

  She smiled at him expectantly, and he held out his arms. Mia came to him at once, and they kissed. Heat built up in Ross’s body as his hands drifted over her back and down—

  —Someone rattled the door.

  Ross and Mia froze.

  “Ross?” Summer’s voice was muffled. “Ross, I know you’re in there!” The door rattled louder.

  This time it was Ross’s turn to panic. He looked around wildly, but Mia had already sprung into action. A quick movement of her small hands, and the yo rolled up. A yank on the pulley, and the bedding vanished up to the ceiling.

  “Mia!” Summer shouted. “Why are you barring the door?”

  Ross snatched up the pillows and threw them into their box.

  “Tommy Horst says you’re making bombs,” Summer yelled. “I want to learn how to make bombs!”

  Mia opened the door. Summer looked accusingly at her, then him, then past them. “Where’s the bombs?”

  “There are no bombs. We were just . . .” Mia shot Ross a desperate glance, obviously begging for him to rescue her. But he was so horrified at the thought of his little sister guessing what they’d been about to do, his mind went completely blank. He stared at the floor, willing her to not look up and see the hanging bed.

  But Summer had lost interest as soon as Mia disclaimed the bombs. “Luc’s generator blew out, and took the lights with it. Luc said he’d give me a plate of tacos if I fetched you.”

  That gave Ross an idea. “I think Mia has to do something else tonight. I can give you scrip for tacos, Summer.”

  But Mia’s look of wide-eyed panic only intensified. She blurted out, “Tell Luc I’ll be right there!”

  Obviously this wasn’t going to be the night for trying out the yo. Ross handed Mia her tool kit.

  Chapter Eighteen: Becky

  Becky slowly pulled on the sterile kelp gloves as Dr. Lee laid out the instruments for the surgery. A memory flashed briefly—a man’s hands setting the gloves on a surgical tray—and then she was back to the present moment. As far as she could tell, Dr. Lee hadn’t noticed a thing. She was getting more control over her power, but it was no consolation when it returned her to a place she didn’t want to be.

  On the table, Mrs. Hattendorf mumbled something about keeping the tea cozy warm, then trailed off into a snore. Dr. Lee picked up her limp wrist, checking her pulse. “She’s out. Ready?”

  Becky swallowed, her throat dry as sand. She told herself sternly that she had assisted at hundreds of surgeries, including far more complicated ones than removing an appendix. She’d even threaded a needle and stitched up wounds. But picking up a scalpel and cutting into a living, breathing person made her stomach go cold.

  “It’s normal to be nervous about your first surgery,” Dr. Lee said. “But being timid doesn’t do the patient any favors. Your first cut needs to be bold. All the way through the layers of muscle.”

  Mrs. Hattendorf’s stomach was painted with greenish antiseptic, but nothing could disguise the rise and fall of her breathing.

  Becky picked up the scalpel. Her hand shook. She stiffened her fingers.

  “One bold stroke,” Dr. Lee said firmly.

  The surgery would save Mrs. Hattendorf’s life. But it felt so . . . violent.

  “We don’t want to keep her out for too long,” Dr. Lee warned her. “It’s not healthy.”

  Becky swallowed down an unreasonable flare of anger. Dr. Lee couldn’t use his power to heal an inflamed appendix. If he sped up time for Mrs. Hattendorf, her appendix would burst and kill her. He had to wait until the infected organ was removed, and then make the incision heal quickly.

  It was up to her.

  She remembered what it felt like to slice through the slabs of meat Dr. Lee had made her practice on. Trying not to think about what she was doing, she let muscle memory take over and sliced into Mrs. Hattendorf’s belly.

  One bold stroke.

  Blood welled up shockingly fast, but Dr. Lee quickly clamped down on the bleeding vessels. “Excellent, Becky. Now find the appendix.”

  She had seen the insides of people’s bodies lots of times, but the mess of blood and pink tissue her scalpel had exposed looked alien and incomprehensible. Then she whispered the sequence of steps to herself, and her fingers moved obediently. Locate, isolate, clamp, cut, lift. Check, then stitch.

  She took her first deep breath when she finished her neat line of seaweed stitches. Blood welled up between them. Dr. Lee laid his hand over the incision, and the wound closed and became a pink line: one week healed.

  “Congratulations,” Dr. Lee said, dabbing a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Your very first surgery. Let’s finish up, and I’ll take you to Jack’s for a celebratory dinner. The special tonight is liver and onions. You like that, don’t you?”

  A memory leaped into Becky’s mind, almost as vivid as if it had come from something she’d touched: her mother slicing up a bloody, quivering slab of liver, then whipping around to smack Becky for standing around uselessly instead of helping.

  A hot surge in her stomach sent her bolting to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before everything came up. Then she huddled in the corner, cold, shaky and ashamed. What sort of surgeon’s apprentice was she?

  A lifetime of bold strokes stretched out before her, and her stomach surged again. She sank trembling to the floor, her entire body damp with cold sweat.

  When Dr. Lee had invited her to become his apprentice, she’d imagined that being a doctor would be like doing the things that had made him notice her in the first place: splinting a cat’s broken leg, and watching it run around easily a month later, or stuffing a pill down a sick dog’s throat and seeing it get back its interest in life.

  She stared down at her bloody gloves, remembering the shredded horror of Mr. Gonzalez’s stomach as he lay on a table in the town hall while the Gold Point and Las Anclas soldiers killed each other at the gates. She could almost see Dr. Lee gently taking his hand and telling him that he could not recover, and using his power would only speed the infection. Dr. Lee had offered him a choice: painkillers for his remaining days, or a quick death. Becky saw the whitening around Mrs. Gonzalez’ knuckles as she’d gripped her husband’s other hand, and heard the ringing in her own ears when he’d said, “Make it quick.”

  “Becky, fetch me the poppy elixir,” Dr. Lee had said.

  Becky had fetched it, as she had when it would only be used as a sleeping drug. But when she handed it to Dr. Lee, she felt in her own knotted stomach that she was helping to kill a man. She’d thought she was safe from that in the field hospital, separated from the fighters outside, but she was doing the opposite of healing. The opposite of saving lives.

  Becky hunched over the toilet and pressed her bloody gloves together, knowing that she never wanted to be the one to make it quick.

  She did not want to be the one making one bold stroke.

  A quiet tap at the bathroom door startled her. Becky jumped, then forced herself to her feet. She flung the gloves into the mulch bucket, then stood with her bare hands in the air, afraid to touch anything.

  “Becky?” Dr. Lee called. “Should I come back later?”

  “No.” Using the tips of her fingers, she reluctantly opened the door.


  Dr. Lee held out a glass of water. Grimacing against the lingering bitterness, Becky rinsed out her mouth, then gratefully drank down the rest.

  “Mrs. Hattendorf is in the infirmary,” Dr. Lee said. “She’ll be fine. You did an excellent job. She would have died without the surgery, you know. That appendix was about to burst. Shall I show you?”

  She grabbed his wrist. “No!”

  He looked startled, but as she snatched her hand back and began to dither an apology, he said, “Come into the kitchen. Let’s talk.”

  Becky knew he would be kind, but she still dreaded telling him. She felt like she was confessing some kind of crime. He’d be so disappointed in her.

  She had to get it over with. Before they even reached the kitchen, Becky blurted out, “I can’t be a doctor. I’m sorry. I wasted your time. Years of it! My mother is right. I’m a useless coward. But I can’t do it.”

  “Sure you can,” he said mildly. “You just did. And well, I might add. At least as well as I did on my first surgery. In fact, I think you did better. Becky, we all have moments like this.”

  He paused as they sat down, then leaned forward. “When my wife died, though I had done everything possible to save her, for a time I thought I was finished as a doctor. I no longer trusted myself. If I hadn’t been the only doctor in town, I might have . . .” He looked out the window into the garden, and let out his breath. “But my own mother had been there, too, as her midwife. She said she’d done everything she could, and so had I. Sometimes people die, no matter what you do.”

  Becky shook her head. “That’s not it. I know I can do it, but I don’t want to anymore. It’s not what I thought it would be. Mr. Gonzalez . . .”

  “I see. It’s one thing to know what you might have to do, and another thing to actually do it. But I’d like you to take a few days and think this over. A first surgery can be a fairly traumatic experience.” Dr. Lee smiled slightly. “Not only for Mrs. Hattendorf.”

  “It’s not just that.” She poured out the entire story of her Change. “I can never touch the surgery table again. I’d have to wear gloves all the time.” Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. “I have to anyway. I can’t stand touching anything in my house. I know I’m a disappointment—”

  Dr. Lee held up his hand. “Stop right there. You are not a coward. It took courage to talk to me. It took courage to perform that surgery, and it took courage back in the field hospital. You don’t have to force yourself to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “But what will you do? You wasted all that time with me!” Becky said, wiping her eyes.

  “I learned to be a better teacher. And you still have your skills. They might come in handy.” Wryly, he added, “Also, I’m not exactly doddering. I feel confident that I have many good years left. There’s time aplenty to find an apprentice who will enjoy being a doctor. Still, please think it over. If you still feel the same in a few days, we’ll decide what to do next.”

  Becky sniffled and nodded.

  He cleared his throat. “I hate to bring this up, but I know how your mother feels about Changed people. Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. If worst comes to worst, you’re welcome to stay here.”

  Relief made her giddy. She left, her feet carrying her home without her being aware of her journey. But when she got there, she realized that she still had no idea what to do.

  I don’t have to decide this minute.

  Becky elbowed the door open, then stopped with one foot inside and one on the porch. She could hear Grandma Ida all the way from the kitchen.

  “ . . . and if you’d listened to me, your husband would still be here,” Grandma Ida snapped. “You are such a fool, Martha! And the proof is that boy of yours, who can’t stick to anything. He was dating Preston’s daughter and he still didn’t get into the Rangers! And that mouse of a daughter of yours—”

  “My daughter,” Mom retorted, “is the future Dr. Callahan. Dante Lee could have picked any brat in the schoolhouse, but he chose her.”

  “That makes me wonder what’s wrong with those other children,” Grandma Ida said. “Future doctor, huh. You’d never think ‘doctor’ to look at her!”

  “Stop it, Mother!”

  “‘Stop it, Mother,’” Grandma Ida mimicked. “That’s all I’ve heard out of you my entire life. Everything is always someone else’s fault. Who are you going to blame for the failure of your business?”

  “My business is not failing,” Mom shouted.

  “So it’s an accident that everyone’s going to that fool Frank Kim for tailoring?”

  Becky started to back out, but the warped floorboard under her foot creaked.

  “Who’s there?” Mom called.

  “It’s me.” Becky reluctantly entered the kitchen, where two red, angry faces turned to her. She couldn’t tell them—she just couldn’t. “I finished my first surgery. Dr. Lee sent me home.”

  “Your first surgery! Congratulations.” Mom’s voice was thin and triumphant. “Let’s get you something to eat. Was it Vera Hattendorf’s appendix? How is she?”

  “She’s fine.”

  Grandma Ida got up. “Remember what I said, Martha. You have to be stricter with that boy of yours, or he’ll never amount to anything. But you won’t. You never do.”

  The door banged behind her.

  “I don’t need . . .” Becky trailed off at the sight of her mother leaning against the sink, wiping her eyes.

  Sorrow nearly suffocated Becky. Mom was crying! She couldn’t remember seeing Mom cry, even after it was obvious that Dad would never come back from his “trading trip.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Becky said, coming up to join her mother.

  “It’s all right. You didn’t do anything. I just wish your brother . . .”

  Becky spoke hastily, before Mom could get angry. “Shall I help you fix dinner? Or I could do it. You don’t have to.”

  “No, it’s too early. This bread won’t be ready for another hour. But you can clear the table. I’ll pop these muffins in with the bread. Then you can eat one warm with butter.”

  “Okay.” Becky hesitated over Grandma Ida’s half-empty coffee cup. She didn’t want any of her grandmother’s memories in her head. Becky took Jennie’s gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.

  Mom glanced up from the pan of corn muffins. “Are those Henry’s fighting gloves?”

  “They’re Jennie’s,” Becky said.

  Mom put the muffins in the oven, then straightened up. “Why do you have them? And why are you wearing them? The dishes aren’t hot.”

  “I know.” Becky tried to think of some explanation, but nothing came to mind. A headache she hadn’t noticed before stabbed red-hot pain behind her eye. “I just . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Can’t what?” Mom laid a hand on Becky’s forehead. “Are you sick? You’re all clammy! You need to go straight to bed. What was Dante thinking, making you work when you’re feverish?”

  It was the first time in months that Mom had felt like . . . a mom. Maybe Becky had been frightened of nothing. Maybe Mom was just as scared as Becky. She’d been crying over the sink because her own mother had yelled at her.

  “I’m not sick, Mom.” And then the words came out. “I’m Changed. I have to—”

  “What?” Mom yanked her hand away as if she’d been burned. “Changed!” She spat the word out as if it were poison.

  Lights exploded across Becky’s vision. She found herself lying on the kitchen floor, her cheek throbbing. Her mother stood over her, scrubbing her hand on a dish towel as if to rub the skin off.

  “How dare you! How dare you!” Mom’s breath whistled in her throat.

  “Mom—”

  “Get out!” Mom’s face distorted into something unrecognizable. A purple vein ticked in her forehead. “Pack your stuff and get out of my house, you mutant!”

  Becky scrambled up and ran to her room. But once she was there, she froze in the middle of the floor, looking from her bed to her trunk to the
clothes pegs on the wall as if she’d never seen them before.

  The floor creaked behind her. Becky spun around, flinging up her forearm to protect her face.

  But it wasn’t Mom. It was Henry. For once, he wasn’t grinning. Quietly, he asked, “Were you serious? What can you do?”

  Her face throbbed in time to her thudding heart. Daring him to be nasty, she said, “I touch things. And I see a flash of whoever held them last.”

  She waited for him to call her a mutant or a monster, but he just stood there staring at her. She’d never thought about it before, but he looked so much like Dad.

  “Say something,” Becky choked out.

  But he didn’t. He was so loud everywhere else, but at home he shut down. No matter how much Mom scolded her about her monster girlfriend, Henry neither joined in nor defended her. He just sat there silently, then escaped to Felicité Wolfe, his perfect Norm girlfriend.

  Mom shrieked from the kitchen, “Henry? Is that you? Get away from her! I don’t want you catching it!”

  Henry glanced back, then said even more softly, “Want me to help you pack?”

  Becky shut her eyes. “You better go. Don’t make it worse.” The words for yourself died in her throat. A sob shook her.

  Henry’s steps retreated. Becky opened her eyes and sprang to close the door. But that wouldn’t keep Mom out. She turned in a circle, unable to think of what to do next, until she heard angry footsteps in the hall. Mom!

  Becky leaned against the door, sick with apprehension. Mom rattled the knob, then screamed, “This is your own fault, Rebecca Callahan. You chose this. You wanted to be like that monster girlfriend of yours. Well, go live with her!”

  The footsteps stomped to the back bedroom.

  Becky yanked her door open and ran into the street, startled to find it was still the middle of the day. It felt like years had passed. Everything was different. Brisa would welcome her, hold her, kiss her tears away. But she couldn’t stay with Brisa. The Preciados already had four people in each bedroom. Becky felt like a burden when she ate over. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she moved in with them.