by Em Garner
“Fine. Then she’s leaving school.”
The moment I say it, I wish I could take it back, even though I know it’s the right choice. Just like getting my mom out of the kennel instead of leaving her there. Just like moving home instead of trying to get into another assisted-housing apartment. Just like breaking up with Tony even though he was my first boyfriend and I sometimes dreamed about marrying him.
“Velvet, the law says she has to go to school.”
“The law says a lot of things that don’t work anymore,” I say.
Mr. Benedict’s face is like stone. I wonder if it’s just the students or the teachers, too, whispering about my sister. Wondering if she’s got the sickness inside her, waiting to burst out. I wonder how many times she’s had to listen to someone digging at her, talking about her behind her back or worse, to her face, while nobody does anything to help her.
“I’m taking her out of school. I’m… I’m going to home-school her. You have books, right? There are requirements. I’ll make sure she meets them.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can. I’ll teach her.”
“Velvet,” Mr. Benedict says in a voice I think he means to sound kind, “you’re just a kid, yourself.”
“The law,” I say with a sneer, “says I’m an adult. Right?”
He sighs again. “I think you’re making a hasty decision.”
“I’m not leaving her here to be bullied. No way. She’s coming home with me. You can’t keep her in the classroom where she deserves to be. You can’t get a bus to take her back and forth to school.” I shake my head. “No, she’s coming home.”
“I’ll have to report it, you know.”
“You don’t have to. I told you, I’m homeschooling her.” I’m angry again, for different reasons, though they’ve all sort of blended together now. I lean forward across the desk again, looking him right in the eyes. “You won’t report it.”
“I have to.”
I lean in closer. “I know they’re still not sure about the long-term effects on people who only had a little bit of it, and I know there are lots and lots of people who’ve been tested for Contamination. And lots who haven’t. The thing is, right, nobody knows what might happen to those people who maybe just had one or two or ten bottles of contaminated ThinPro. Like, they’re all fine now, but what might happen tomorrow? Next week? Maybe there’s going to be another wave, right? Isn’t that what you’ve heard, too?”
“Yes. Exactly.” He looks uncomfortable, but I’m not finished with him.
“Did you ever have any?”
He swallows. “No. I never did.”
“C’mon, are you sure? Most people had a taste of it. It was so huge. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing it. Are you sure you never had even just the tiniest bit? Not that you should worry if you only had a sip or something, because they’re pretty sure the only way you become a Connie is if you drank massive amounts of the bad batches, and of course they’re still trying to figure out which were the bad ones.” I emphasize the pretty.
I like this, I won’t deny it. Something inside me is twisting and turning with glee, watching his face.
“No. I never had any.”
I think he’s lying about it, but I don’t really care. “I’ll need copies of all her books and the lesson plans, including tests. I’ll make sure she does the work, and I’ll drop it off with you once a week for the teacher to correct. She’s going to finish the year with her class, even if it’s at home.” He shakes his head. “That’s really not possible.” I think my laugh scares him. It scares me a little. “You know, Mr. Benedict, I can tell you for a fact, my little sister is not Contaminated. She never drank any of that protein water, not even a taste. She said it smelled so gross, she’d barf if she drank it.”
He’s staring at me with wide, wide eyes. I lean closer. I’m grinning.
“Opal never had even a drop. But me, Mr. Benedict. I think I had some.” I pause, my smile disappearing. “Once or twice.”
He gives me everything I asked for.
EIGHTEEN
I’M LATE FOR WORK.
I don’t have a place to take Opal, so she comes with me. I give her the scary face, tell her she needs to behave herself and stay quietly in the arts and crafts room. She can pretend to be a grandchild; they’re in there often enough. She just has to stay someplace until I can figure out what to do with her.
I punch in my employee code to prove I’m there. I put on my scrubs in the bathroom. I pause to splash my face with water, run a comb through my hair, swipe my lips with lip balm.
I’m laughing before I realize it. Silently, but shaking with it. My hands grip the sides of the sink, slipping a little because they’re wet. Every time I think of Mr. Benedict’s face, I laugh harder. I bite my tongue and the inside of my cheek to keep from being loud, but the giggles won’t stop coming. It feels so good to laugh, I don’t really want to stop. I’ve been holding on so tight, so long, I’m always sure I can’t keep my grip even one second longer… but now… suddenly now I think I’ll just keep hanging on. Another minute, another hour, another day. Yeah, life sucks but I’ve been handling it this long, I can keep going. Not just because I have to, because there’s no choice, but because I can actually handle everything.
I feel older, all at once, and search my face in the mirror, but see no sign I’ve magically grown up. I have shadows under my eyes but no wrinkles in the corners. I still have a zit here and there, more noticeable without makeup to cover them. But it’s still my face, the one I’ve gotten out of the habit of seeing. I see a hint of my mom, a shape of my dad, but it’s all me. Right there. Velvet in the mirror.
I can’t hang around admiring myself, not that there’s much to admire, so I dry off my face, and head out to the nurse’s station to get my list of assignments. Before I can get it, Ms. Campbell comes out of her office in the back. She stops for a second when she sees me, then her face creases with determination. She gestures.
“Velvet. My office.”
Another spurt of giggles tries to surge up and out of my mouth, but I manage to hold it back. Being called into an office twice in one day? No problem, I think, ignoring the sympathetic looks from the nurses as I follow her.
Ms. Campbell doesn’t hesitate, but gets right to it. “You got a phone call here today. From Jean at the Conkennel. Apparently your mother’s there.”
“She is? Oh…” Relief washes over me so fiercely, I have to sit or else I might faint.
“You were late to work,” she says in a voice thick with disapproval.
“I’m sorry. There was a problem at my sister’s school. But now my mom…”
“Velvet, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”
For a second I don’t get it. “Pick her up?”
Ms. Campbell shakes her head. “Permanently.”
“But…” I shake my own head, not sure what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I need someone who can show up to work when she’s required. Without other—distractions.”
She means Opal, or my mom, or both. She means she wants the job to go to someone who’s not a Conorphan, maybe. Whatever she means, I suddenly don’t care.
I stand. “Okay. Thanks.”
As I’m turning to leave, her voice stops me. She sounds surprised. I don’t know why she would be. “Velvet, wait.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Campbell, but I really have to go pick up my mom now. You fired me, right?” It doesn’t feel bad, saying it out loud. Fired. I should feel scared, but I really feel more relief.
“Yes, but… I thought…”
I wait, but she doesn’t seem to be able to say what she thinks. “That I’d be more upset?”
“Well. Yes.”
“Did you want to make me upset?” I’m not trying to be a brat, just asking.
Ms. Campbell looks startled. “No. Of course not. It’s that… you understand, don’t you? I need someone reliable. Someone mature, resp
onsible. Someone who can handle the requirements of a full-time position here. You were fine in your part-time capacity, but I’m not sure you’re ready for more responsibility.”
Once more the giggles hit me. I think about the past year and everything I’ve done, juggling school, a job, my sister, paying bills, buying groceries, cooking meals.
“Yeah, you’re right. This job is too much for me,” I tell her.
She looks surprised again. “So, what will you do?”
“Do you really care?” Again, I’m not trying to be a pain, I’m only asking.
“Of course I do.” She almost convinces me.
I laugh. “There’s a lot going on in the world right now and it’s a lot easier not to care than it used to be. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be fine.”
A flurry of expressions pass over her face, some internal struggle I really couldn’t care less about. I just want to get Opal, get back on the bike, get to the kennel. I’ll worry about the rest of it from there. That’s all I can do, really.
I find Opal in the arts and crafts room, making stars out of strips of paper with Mrs. Goldberg. They’re both bent over the table, carefully folding and tucking the paper. Beside them is a pile of stars already finished.
“Opal, we have to go. They found Mom.”
She looks up, bright eyed. “Hooray! I told you!”
Mrs. Goldberg looks up, too, her eyes not as bright. “Oh, honey, that’s good news. Your sister here was telling me all about it.”
I’ve always liked Mrs. Goldberg, who has to use a walker but can get around by herself pretty well. She never makes a mess on purpose and sometimes she’s even given me tips we’re not supposed to get. I used to feel bad, until she whispered to me that she doesn’t have any grandchildren to spoil.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs. G., but I won’t be coming back. I got fired.”
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Goldberg shakes her head and thumps a soft fist on the table. “That’s not right!”
I shrug. It’s not a struggle to put on a brave face. I think I’m numb. “It’ll be okay.”
She nods. “You come back and see me, Velvet. They can’t stop you from visiting, can they?”
“Nope. C’mon, Opal. Let’s go.”
“You can keep these,” Opal says and gives Mrs. Goldberg a hug. “They’re pretty.”
I give Mrs. Goldberg a hug, too. She smells like peppermints. She pats my back and tugs my hand, with a smile, before I pull away.
“You take care,” she says.
If nothing else, it’s because of her I don’t want to leave this job. But I don’t have a choice. In the parking lot, Opal doesn’t get in the carrier right away.
“Velvet?”
“Yeah.” I look over my shoulder, my foot already on the pedal.
“I’m sorry you got fired. Is it because of me?”
“No. Not really. It’s just everything. Get in, c’mon.”
She still hangs back. “Is it because of Mama? Like at school?”
“Yeah. Maybe. It doesn’t matter, Opal, really. I don’t want you to worry about it. I can get another job. What’s important right now is getting Mom home.”
At last, she gets in the carrier, and we’re off to the kennel. Opal’s never been there. I think about telling her to wait outside, but it’s really cold. She doesn’t have to come into the part where the cages are. She can stay in the waiting room.
Jean’s not there behind the desk when I come in. It’s a boy with messy dark hair, instead. It must be Dillon, Jean’s son. The one whose number she gave me and I’ve never called. The room is suddenly too hot after being outside, and I want to unzip my coat, but I’m still wearing the scrubs, which are totally not cool.
As if he’d care. As if I should. The days of name-brand hoodies and designer jeans are long over for me. I keep my coat zipped. He looks up when we come in.
“Hey.” He smiles, looking curious.
“Is Jean here?” I motion for Opal to sit down on one of the broken plastic chairs. “She called me.”
“Hold on a sec. Mom!” The boy leans back in his chair to call into the back room. He looks at me. “She’ll be right out.”
“Hello!” Jean comes through the doorway with a bright, wide, and genuine smile. It’s been so long since I’ve seen one, I almost forgot what it looks like to see someone who is actually happy when I am standing in front of her. “Dillon, look. It’s Velvet.”
Wow, that wasn’t subtle or anything. Dillon stares at me, and I stare at him. I think we both look away at the same time. I’m blushing, I don’t want to be blushing, it’s too hot, and I still won’t unzip my coat.
“Your mom was picked up by one of the patrols,” Jean begins, and cuts me off when I start to reply. “She’s fine. She was cold and hungry when they brought her here, that’s all. Because she had the collar on, they were able to identify her right away, but your phone’s been disconnected?”
She ends it on a question mark.
“Um… yeah, well… we were kicked out of the apartment. So we moved back home. I don’t have a phone. Yet.”
“Oh, that’s terrible! They kicked you out? Weren’t you in assisted housing? Don’t they have—”
“It was because of your mom, right?” Dillon says quietly.
“Yeah.”
Jean makes a sad sound. “Oh, hon, I’m so, so sorry. That should never happen. I mean, we’re doing our best to get new legislation, protection against discrimination, but…”
“It’s okay,” I say. It’s not her fault. “We moved back to our old house. It’ll be fine. Really.”
“Well. Good, then. But, Velvet, you know you have to make sure she’s restrained when you leave her. I don’t have to tell you what might’ve happened.” She throws a look at Opal, who’s busy coloring some picture she found in a kids magazine.
“I know.”
Jean nods. “The collar saved her.”
Funny how that works. The collar that could kill her was what kept her from being hurt this time. And it allowed the patrols to get her someplace safe and for Jean to contact me.
“Can we take her home now? I don’t have to fill out any other papers or anything, do I? I mean… do I have to pay a fine?”
“It’s been taken care of,” Jean says. “Dillon, please go bring Malinda out for Velvet and her sister.”
“Wait, will she be okay?” I don’t want her to be upset.
“Oh, hon, Dillon knows your mom. She’ll be just fine. He’ll bring her right out.”
I nod. When I look at him again, he’s smiling again. He’s got a really nice smile.
“I’ll be right back.” He smiles right at me, no question about it, he’s not just being nice. He’s looking at me on purpose.
I’m filled with embarrassed heat. When he disappears through the door, I take the chance to unzip my coat and fan my face. Jean’s watching me with a small grin.
“He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”
“Um… Jean…”
She waves a hand. “Oh, I know, I know. You don’t want to tell a boy’s mom that you think he’s cute. But he is. And, Velvet.” She drops her voice. “He doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
It feels so nice to have a boy’s mother actually think I’m worth dating that I laugh and don’t feel too embarrassed anymore. “Okay, Jean.”
She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying.”
“Velvet doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Opal pipes up, without looking away from her picture. “She broke up with Tony because he was a jerk.”
“Opal!” I smack my forehead with my palm. “Shut up!”
Jean laughs. Before she can say anything else, the front doors bang open hard enough to smack the walls. Two cops in helmets, visors down, storm into the room with a writhing, struggling, screaming figure pinned between them. They’re between me and Opal, and I jump back while she cringes in her seat.
The Connies they round up these days are all malnourished, dressed in rags. They’ve been living i
n the woods or sewers or houses that nobody thoroughly checked. Sometimes, the cops find them in basements or attics where people have… kept them. This guy’s in a business suit, tie pulled half off, hair wild. He’s got dirt all over his pants, like he was rolling in mud. He’s snapping his jaws and kicking out. He’s missing a shoe.
“What are you doing? You can’t come in here that way!” Jean shouts. “New arrivals come in the back. Are you crazy?”
“I’m not crazy,” says the cop on the left. The visor muffles his voice, but it’s clear he’s struggling to keep his voice steady as the man at his side squirms and fights. “This guy, on the other hand…”
The man is screaming, low and hoarse. Over and over. Sort of like a dog barking, only much worse. He’s looking at all of us but not seeing anything. Foam curdles in the corners of his lips.
“Oh, God,” Jean cries, flapping her hands. “Take him in the back. What are you doing? Don’t you see there are children in here?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” says the cop on the right. He sounds more reasonable than his partner. At least until he turns to the man between them and without a word, without warning, jams his elbow into the guy’s gut. The guy doubles over, and the cop hits him on the back of the head.
We’re staring, horrified, as the man drops to the tile floor. His screaming stops, probably because he has no breath left for it. His hands are bound behind him with some sort of plastic cuffs, and he writhes and wriggles on the tiles like he’s swimming underwater.
Jean’s face has gone white and she has both hands over her mouth. “You can’t…”
The cop’s voice is louder than her whisper. “You have someone here who can take this thing?”
“It’s not a thing. It’s a person.” I say it before I can stop myself. I don’t want to stop myself. I can’t stop looking at him.
The cops both look at me. They look like space troopers. It’s scary not seeing their faces, even if something tells me it might be scarier to see what’s in their eyes. Or not there.
“This isn’t your business,” says the one on the left.