Gated

by Amy Christine Parker

  The others were excited too, but I knew that Pioneer had agreed to purchase the horses because of me. He’d whispered it in my ear Christmas morning just after I opened a book on how to sketch them. I knew about them before he made the announcement to the rest of the Community. It was the best present I’d ever received, probably will ever receive.

  Once they were unloaded and led to the barn, the other kids scattered to play in the snow, but I lingered by the horse stalls. Indy caught my attention right away. He was the smallest and his bottom lip constantly hung open just a little. He seemed aware of it and would suck it in toward his teeth, but inevitably it would flop back out again like some middle-aged guy’s oversized belly, all loose and lazy. It was comical, as if he was constantly gaping at something. I couldn’t look at him and not smile.

  I spent all of my free time for weeks beside Indy’s stall. I’d feed him carrots or apples. The other kids were over their initial excitement by then, especially once they’d spent a day or two mucking out the stalls, but I would have brought my pillow down and slept alongside Indy if I could have. He felt like family from the start.

  “Happy, Little Owl?” Pioneer asked after the first week.

  “Yes, thank you.” I smiled at him.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  I nodded.

  “No one will ever take care of you better than me, will they?”

  Pioneer watched as I painted Indy—literally painted him. I had spread out my paint pots along the side of the stall and made blue flowers on Indy’s flanks. I was just beginning a garland of ivy around his neck. Indy was happily munching on the sugar cubes I’d brought him, choosing to tolerate my decorations in return. He held his head high and peered over the stall at the other horses as if to let them know that he was special.

  Pioneer came inside the stall and picked up some purple paint. He ran a line of it down Indy’s nose. “I love you like you were my own daughter, Little Owl. I love you like you love this horse, you know that? All of you are my family. My children. There isn’t anything that I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to to keep us together. When something speaks to your heart like this here horse does to yours, I take great pleasure in giving it to you. And all I ask in return is that you put your trust in me. Can you do that?”

  I nodded and threw my arms around his waist. I wanted to tell him how much Indy meant to me, how much more he himself meant to me because he’d given me Indy, but I couldn’t think of the right words. I just knew that he’d managed to give me my whole world, everything that mattered. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing he could ask of me that I wouldn’t give him wholeheartedly.

  Children will stray. It’s in their nature to do so. But in my world, they can only travel as far as my leash will let them.

  —Pioneer

  We end up at Marie’s house after our swim. Both of our parents as well as most of the other adults are still out by the wood shop. It looks as if the work will continue long into the night. Heather and Julie show up not long after we’ve changed into some of Marie’s clothes and towel-dried our hair. They look a lot fresher than we do. They spent the day gardening and making meals, but I don’t feel jealous because tomorrow they are assigned to the workshop and we’re assigned to the gardens and kitchen. I’ve decided it’s much better to be on the other side of a rough day than anticipating it, and they must feel the same way, because they keep inspecting the blisters on our hands and groaning.

  I have to admit that in spite of my protests to the contrary, I was curious about what Marie wanted to show us this afternoon—that is, before we found out about all of the natural disasters and got assigned hard labor. I’m too exhausted to really care now, but she still seems excited and I don’t want to disappoint her, especially after my moment of inappropriate honesty out by the pool. We all plop down onto her bedroom floor in a sprawling semicircle. I start to doze off while I wait for everyone to get comfortable and for Marie to stop fidgeting with the door, but when she closes it and drags her desk chair over, tucking it under the knob, I’m wide awake again.

  There are no locks in Mandrodage Meadows, at least not in our houses. Pioneer says that secrets breed mistrust and so we aren’t allowed to keep our doors closed, much less barricade them. If her parents come home and find us up here like this, we’ll be in trouble all over again, which means whatever she wants to show us must be forbidden. I’m starting to worry about Marie. After our last punishment this feels like a death wish. How can she be so rebellious and never actually question anything? It doesn’t make sense.

  I give Heather and Julie a look. I’m waiting to see if one of them will speak up and remind Marie of all of the trouble we could get in. I know that I definitely won’t be the one to do it. What if she tells the others about my wish then? I don’t think she would, but then again, I didn’t think she’d shut me down when I told her either. Finally, when no one else speaks up, we all scoot closer together and wait while Marie disappears into her closet. After a moment or two of rummaging around, she comes back out again with a stack of glossy paper and a six-pack of Coke dangling from one hand.

  “We aren’t supposed to have that,” Julie whispers. Her eyes are glued to the Coke cans like they’re going to attack her.

  When we moved to Mandrodage Meadows, our families committed to simple, healthy living. We’ve always produced most of our own food, avoiding practically everything that isn’t straight out of the ground. Pioneer’s convinced that most of the world’s diseases are caused by the foreign chemicals in manufactured foods. Soda tops his all-time-worst list. Still, I have always been curious about the things on that list—scared, but curious. I mean, why are people determined to drink something like this if they know that it’ll eventually kill them? I’m guessing it must taste really, really good.

  Marie hands each of us a soda can. Heather won’t take hers. “I don’t want to get sick,” she squeaks, like she’s convinced that the moment the stuff touches her lips she’ll develop a giant tumor or something.

  “Come on, you enormous wimps,” Marie groans, “take some. I don’t want to drink alone. Besides, if you don’t, I swear the next time I get assigned to cut your hair I’m buzzing it—especially you, Lyla.” I put a hand over my hair and pretend to cower.

  Julie and I glance at each other one last time as we try to decide if we should take a sip or not. Getting caught with junk food is a minor offense. Nowhere near as serious as sneaking out was. And this may be our only chance. And I’ve always wondered. Finally I shrug and we each grab a can. Heather folds her arms and looks away as the rest of us open our cans and take tiny sips. Marie mimes scissors and pretends to cut Heather’s hair, but she’s serious about not trying any. Marie’s threats aren’t working.

  The soda is warm and almost alive in my mouth, fizzing along my tongue and down my throat. It’s hard to describe what it tastes like, because it tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before. I just know that I like the way my mouth tingles, and I take a bigger sip the next time around. Julie tilts her can and drinks deeply before she pats at her chest a few times. Suddenly her face scrunches up like she’s smelled something bad and then she lets out an enormous burp, her eyes wide with shock. I have to hold a hand over my mouth to avoid spitting my mouthful of Coke on Marie and the floor, but all I manage to do is reroute it through my nose. My eyes water and I have to grab a tissue as Coke snot runs down my chin.

  “Well, that was really attractive, you two,” Heather grumbles, and we all lose it, laughing until we can’t catch our breath. It’s only after we’ve quieted down that I actually remember the stack of paper Marie placed between us. I slide the pile closer to me.

  It’s a stack of magazines. I’ve never actually touched one, but I’ve seen them in the town stores on supply runs. My mom always made me look away if she caught me staring, because Pioneer forbids us from reading newspapers or magazines. The more disconnected we are from the world, the easier it’ll be to say goodbye
to it. Looking at these is a much bigger, more serious offense than drinking soda. I look at Marie and try to figure out why she’s so willing to risk getting caught with them.

  “I got ’em last week when my family did the supply run,” Marie says, and there’s a hint of pride in her voice. “There was this lady with a whole box of them. She put them out by the dumpster behind the store and I just slipped a few into my backpack. It wasn’t like stealing or anything. She was throwing them away.”

  “What about the Coke?” Heather asks sourly. “Find that behind the dumpster too?”

  “No.” Marie glares at her. I’m pretty sure she regrets inviting her now. “I got it when my Dad had me pay for the gas for the truck. I might’ve lied, but I didn’t steal it.”

  I study Marie. She’s nervous for sure, I can tell by the way her hands shake a little. I wonder why she never told me about this until now. It seems strange that she would do it on her own. She’s daring, but not usually this daring.

  Marie takes another giant sip of her Coke and opens one of the magazines in her lap so that we can see the pages. The people in them are dressed in elaborate outfits, each one more beautiful than the next. None of us opens our own magazines. Marie glances up at us, at me specifically. “These are movie stars.” She points at one page in particular. “See, it’s the guy from that one movie we watched last winter … I forget the name, but you know what I mean, right?”

  I study the guy. He does look familiar. “Yeah, I think … wasn’t it called 2012?”

  Marie grins. “Yes!” She looks back down at the pages, flips them slowly as if considering something. She opens her mouth and then closes it again, then opens it.

  “What?” I ask.

  She keeps her eyes on the magazine. “Drew wanted to be a movie star.”

  It’s the first time I’ve heard her mention her brother in a long time. We all get very still. I wait to see if she’ll say more.

  “I like to think that maybe when he left he went there, you know? To Hollywood. I mean, wouldn’t it be cool if he did and he made it and we just happened to see him in one of these?”

  At some point she just stopped talking about Drew altogether, not long after she stopped telling us he was on that special supply run. I’d just assumed that she had accepted things for what they were, but now I see that she just came up with a new, more elaborate lie.

  Marie laughs a little. “I know it’s a little silly, but it could happen, right? I mean, why not? He’s just as good-looking as these guys. He could be in here.…” Her voice trails off and she bites her lip. Telling us all of this has cost her; she’s afraid that we’ll shatter her hope. Even if what she’s said is impossible, I can’t bring myself to tell her so.

  “I think there’s a chance,” I say slowly, and she beams at me. I understand her taking this risk now. If there’s even the slightest chance that she might see him again and find out that he’s okay, it was worth it. I pick up my magazine and start flipping through it. The other two just keep sitting there, eyes wide, too afraid to follow our lead.

  It isn’t long before Marie rolls her eyes and lets out another groan. “C’mon, you guys, when are you ever gonna get the chance to look at these again? It’s the end of the world, for crap’s sake! Live a little.”

  Heather sucks in a breath and Julie and I let our mouths hang open. Marie has a weird sense of humor sometimes and just now I’m pretty sure that she’s gone too far. Even Julie looks a little uncomfortable for a minute.

  Marie sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, you guys, but seriously, this is like the only time we have to do something a little risky together. And believe me, it’s not as risky as some other things.” She gives me a meaningful look and half smiles. She’s already turned the other day into more of an adventure in her mind than a very costly mistake.

  “Yeah, well, I hope not. Look what that got you guys.” Heather points at my neck. “Getting punished is not my idea of a good time.”

  Marie gives Heather an exasperated look. “In two weeks we’ll be underground. We won’t even be able to sneeze without the Community knowing about it. Everyone’s busy out there. We are not gonna get caught … and anyway, you should check out the guys in here. They are H-O-T.” Marie half sings this last part and I grin at her as she fans herself with one hand.

  Heather and Julie lean forward to get a better look. And when Marie raises her eyebrows at Heather and wiggles them, we all laugh. The other girls hold the magazines in their hands like they’re rare works of art.

  I look down at my own magazine and trace a finger around the face of the woman on the front cover. Her skin is so smooth. I’m positive that if I could really touch it, it would feel like baby skin, all soft and perfect. Even her teeth are pretty, straight and white. I put my fingers to my own mouth and touch the little gap between the middle two teeth. I will never look perfect like she does.

  We pore over every single page of each and every magazine, memorizing hairstyles and how to apply color to our cheeks. Marie seems to think we can use river clay or crushed strawberries to make our own cheeks glow the same way, but I can’t really believe that it’ll work. By the time we hear the workshop saws cut off outside, our heads are filled with gossip about people we don’t know and beauty tips we’ll never actually need. Still, it’s fun to pretend that we might, even if it’s just for tonight.

  Back in my own room, under the covers and drifting, I think about Marie, my wish, and the magazines—about how she’s kept them and her hopes about her brother a secret. I hadn’t realized that she might have just as many secrets as I do. It makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I hate that she felt she had to hold anything back … but it isn’t as if I’ve been able to confide in her either. Tonight’s proof of that. It’s strange to think that even though we have known each other forever, there are still things we haven’t discovered about each other, things we don’t want the other one to know. And if that’s true of us, what don’t I know about Will, Brian, and everyone else I’ve grown so close to these past ten years? Do they all have something that they’re trying to hide? Even Pioneer?

  Do I trust my people? Without a doubt. I still watch over them, though. Temptation’s always lurking like a wolf, and I refuse to give it an opportunity to pick off the weak among us.

  —Pioneer

  We manage to finish our furniture order by the end of the week. It took five days of almost round-the-clock work, but today all fifteen pieces of furniture line the walls of the wood shop, freshly stained and waxed, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. My hands and nails are chestnut brown from all of the hours spent staining, and my back and shoulders feel permanently hiked up to my ears and sore, but thankfully, it’s over now.

  The Community has gathered in the wood shop to celebrate. Several of the moms have brought in orange juice and still-warm muffins. We pass them around and wait for Pioneer to show up, to give the furniture order one final inspection before we load our biggest trailer for tomorrow’s supply run. My dad is standing by Will and his dad. They’re talking and laughing about something with their heads close together. My dad has one hand on Will’s shoulder.

  Will lifts his eyes to mine and winks before giving his attention back to our dads. All three of them have basically lived in the wood shop the past week, and now they’re pale, dirty, and exhausted. They look proud of themselves and their work, though. I can see it in how they keep glancing over at the furniture. I feel the same rush of pride fill my own chest because I know that they’ve had the most to do with us reaching our goal. My dad and my Intended.

  I can see more than one of my friends—Heather and Julie in particular—looking at Will with a sort of hunger in their eyes. They wish he’d been meant for them. I’m lucky that Pioneer chose him for me, that I didn’t end up with someone like Mark, Julie’s Intended, who is slow to finish any task he’s started. I may not love Will the way I’m supposed to yet, but I know that I won’t find anyone better in the Community to commit to.

/>   Maybe if I could start looking at Will differently—hold on to the way I feel about what he’s done with the furniture—I could stop thinking about Cody and imagining different scenarios where we might run into each other when I’m in town. The truth is, even if we’re able to find each other again, we’ll only have a few minutes to talk at best. Minutes I won’t be able to spend alone with him, because my parents will be there too. He’s just a stranger, anyway. A stranger that causes seismic activity in my stomach every time I think about him, but still.

  I refocus on Will and try to shake Cody out of my head, erase the fullness of his lips and the soft crinkle of his eyes from my memory. My future is here with Will. He’s smart and dedicated and kind … comfortable—like a warm bath. Seismic stomach activity is probably highly overrated. Who can live with that kind of upset all the time? Maybe comfortable is enough to build on. Will’s my best friend. Who better to marry than someone who already knows most of your faults and loves you anyway?

  Will looks over at me with this half-amused look. My dad probably cracked one of his embarrassingly corny jokes just now. I flash him my biggest smile and his face lights up. It makes me feel that much happier that I’ve come to my senses—that our relationship is exactly as it’s meant to be. Tomorrow when we go to town, I won’t look for Cody. I’ll help get the last of our supplies like I’m supposed to and then leave him and the rest of the world behind me.

  Pioneer arrives a few moments later. He’s dressed in a pair of shorts, which is very unusual for him. He’s usually pretty modest and prefers jeans. His legs are thin and pale, further proof that they hardly ever see the light of day. I have to stifle a giggle, because somehow the shorts make him seem strange, new and out of place. I can’t stop staring at the thick layer of hair on each leg. It makes him look like a severely starved bear. Marie shoots me a look from across the room, and we both have to cover our mouths to keep from laughing.