First Girl

by Julie Aitcheson

  Mathew received his invitation to sit for the exam just a week after Gram’s memorial, to no one’s great surprise. He was a natural choice for a Witness team with his athletic grace and leadership ability. He no longer had to attend after-school tutorials, and his final weeks of in-class time would be devoted to preparation for the written portion of the exam. This meant Gabi now had an escort to and from school each day who even Bradley Fiske wouldn’t dare tangle with, and Mathew had a devoted tutor to help him study. No invitation came for Gabi, but it didn’t worry her. Yet. Youth Consecration Camp, where young fellows received their vocations as Messengers or Translators, was in a week. After she’d gotten her calling, she would be eligible for recruitment just in time to make the teams. She was improving at Training Period every day, which gave her some small reason to hope.

  Within a few days of training with Mathew, Gabi noticed that her breathing came easier, though the ache along the sides of her neck grew more intense. No amount of stretching or massage could relieve it, but the odd sensation was a small price to pay for coming back to life. After a couple of weeks, she could do a dozen reps of any exercise with the three-pound weights, astonishing even Mathew with her rapid progress. He graduated her to five-pound weights and began making the obstacles around the house more challenging. Her cheeks had a pinkish hue to them now, and the wasted flesh on her bones began to curve with muscle. Her head no longer dipped forward as if she were trying to hide out in the cave of her own chest.

  For Mathew, the most entertaining part of Gabi’s transformation was her increased appetite. Before, she had to force herself to finish even a third of the lesser portion on her plate. Gabi’s leftovers were what Gram had used to supplement Mathew’s diet and make compost, since the waste reclamation crew didn’t expect to see prepared food in the bins. Food waste, when it happened, was usually due to the condition of the rations when they arrived. Now Gabi was hungry all day long, and keeping both her and Mathew satisfied was becoming a challenge. When they ate with the council families at the temple cafeteria on Saturday afternoons, they loaded up their trays and shoved rolls stuffed with tinned meat into their pockets for later. Sometimes Mathew would give her one of his extra rolls, just for the pleasure of watching her devour it.

  Hunger was a novel experience for Gabi, and she caught herself looking at the people around her in a new way. According to doctrine, the sin of gluttony used to be widespread across North America and beyond. Gabi had always been so focused on her own frailty that she’d never noticed the lean, hungry look of her fellows. They were thin but not emaciated. The council saw that everyone received adequate rations to meet their nutritional requirements according to age, weight, weather, and activity level. Pregnant women were well cared for, as they had taken on the sacred task of restoring the flock after the Strain decimated the population. Councilmembers and veterans of the Witness teams got Good Shepherd Allotments on account of their service, which the daily bulletins proved was great indeed.

  “Tell me again about the welcome buffet,” Gabi huffed as she curled toward Mathew in a crunch. He was holding her feet and regaling her with tales of the glorious food on offer at Youth Consecration Camp. This was their last workout for a few days since Gabi would be at camp all weekend, and Mathew would be on lockdown in his room studying for the Witness exam. In years past, he had served as one of the youth counselors, but he’d chosen to skip it this year in favor of getting an edge on the competition. He was still weak in cross-cultural conflict resolution, conversion tactics, and orienteering, though Gabi had been heartlessly drilling him on all three for the past month. She didn’t relish the thought of being at camp without him, but hearing about the food definitely helped.

  “Have you ever seen meat on the bone, Gab? Well, let me tell you, it is the juiciest, most tender thing in the world, and there are platters of it, like, for miles. Hey! Did I say you could stop? Flip over, and give me a plank. Here, we’ll do it together.” Gabi groaned and rolled over, raising her torso up on bent forearms and levering the rest of her body up by pressing into the balls of her feet. Mathew assumed his position in one fluid motion so they were shoulder to shoulder. “Right, so where was I? Oh, yeah, the meat. Incredible. Then there are all kinds of baked dishes with cheese, real cheese, gooey all over the top instead of the fake rubbery stuff we usually get. I don’t know where this stuff comes from, but there are vegetables that crunch when you bite into them and fresh apples, not dried. Oh, man, I could go for a juicy apple right now.” Gabi was shaking all over, her arms about to give out. On cue Mathew said, “Give me sixty more seconds and I’ll tell you about dessert.”

  “Go.” It was all Gabi could choke out. She’d be lucky if she would ever be able to get up off the floor again.

  “Ice cream, Gabs, just like they have at the temple cafeteria on holy days. Cakes, pies, cookies, and pans of this chocolate stuff that’s like cake but better. Denser. Hey, do you think you could stash some in a napkin and bring it back? Just tell ’em it’s for your big bro, and they won’t stop you. They love me there.”

  Gabi’s arms turned to mush, and her quadriceps spasmed as she thumped to the floor. Mathew was still in his perfect plank, not even sweating.

  “Good thing somebody loves you,” she gasped. “If you wanted me to steal you goodies, you should have thought of that before you broke my arms.”

  Mathew rolled onto his side and laughed. “No pain, no gain. But seriously, you’re really coming along, Gabs. Those stronger meds must have helped you turn a corner.”

  “Yeah, right,” Gabi snorted, then bit her lip, praying Mathew hadn’t heard her. No such luck. Mathew raised up on his elbow and prodded her in the ribs.

  “Hey, what did you mean by that?”

  She rolled over and looked up into his face. They’d been spending so much time together, training and prepping Mathew for the written exam. He had no idea that Gabi was soaking in all the material for when she would take the test herself. Though he was still fueled by his passion to serve the fellowship, Mathew had been less pushy and pious with her than he was right after Gram died. Maybe Gabi could trust him with just this one thing?

  “If I tell you something, you have to promise me you won’t tell Dad. I mean it.” Admitting she had a secret from Sam was a risk. Mathew worshipped his father, a reverence unscathed by the usual teenage rebellions.

  He frowned as he sat up to face her on the carpet. “Why would you keep something from Dad?”

  “Because he wouldn’t understand. Remember how you felt when he told you that you couldn’t sit for the Witness exam two years ago? That you had to wait?” Gabi felt bad bringing it up. Gram had barely managed to keep peace in the house while that debate was raging, and Mathew had been surly and short with everyone for months after Sam issued his ultimatum. “Yeah, I remember.” Mathew stared at the rug, then raised his eyes to hers. “You can tell me, Gab. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

  Gabi reached out to pull his natal Bible off the coffee table. “Swear on this.”

  “Come on, Gab.”

  “Swear.”

  With a show of extreme reluctance, he placed his hand over the gold lettering. “I swear,” he grumbled.

  “I’m not taking my pills anymore.”

  Mathew bolted to his feet. “Are you crazy? You could die! Where are they? You have to take them right now! Or, no, we’ll get you to the Care Center for an IV. That’s faster.”

  “I’m fine!” Gabi yelled, tugging at Mathew’s hand where it flapped at his side. “Sit down, will you. My neck hurts, and you’re making it worse.”

  “Of course your neck hurts. You should be dead! I could have killed you with all this exercise! You’re not taking your pills, and you’ve been letting me—we’ve been doing all this—I’m taking you to the Care Center.” Mathew hauled Gabi to her feet and dragged her toward the door. The sweat slicking her wrist allowed her to slip out of his grasp. Gabi ran over to the fireplace and picked up a decorative brass poker, ja
bbing it in the air when he tried to approach her. “What the heck are you doing?” Mathew shouted. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Listen to me, Mathew. Please just listen! I’m not letting you take me to the Care Center. I don’t need to go. Just look at me for one minute. I’m not dying. Not even close.”

  Mathew opened his mouth to object, but shut it slowly as he took in the sight of his formerly fragile sister. Gabi knew she was soaked with sweat and looking horrid by most standards, but anyone could see she had changed. Though she was still thin, her clothes no longer looked like they were hanging off a wire hanger, her unruly hair had taken on a slight sheen, and the bloom in her cheeks was not related to any mysterious fever.

  “You said it yourself,” Gabi continued. “You’re amazed at how fast I’ve improved. Have you ever seen me like this? Didn’t you wonder why I was suddenly capable of doing all this stuff? I haven’t taken one pill since I got off the IV at the Care Center. Not one.”

  Mathew backed up to the couch until he felt it against his legs and sank onto the cushions. Gabi lowered the poker but didn’t put it back in its stand.

  “I don’t get it. How is that possible?”

  “I don’t really know.” Gabi edged toward the opposite end of the couch, still ready to fend her brother off if he tried to throw her over his shoulder and make a break for the door. “The day Gram died, she said something to me about not taking my pills, that maybe I should try skipping one and see what happened. Then things got so crazy that I actually did forget to take them. I started feeling better almost immediately. Everything got better, except for how sensitive I am about smells and stuff. That gets more intense, and there’s this cramp or something along the sides of my neck, but it’s nothing compared to how good I feel now. I can breathe, Mathew, even when I climb stairs or get upset!”

  Mathew had his head in his hands, as though it might crack open if not contained. “But Dad always said it was the medicine keeping you alive. That if you didn’t take it, your organs would fail, and you would die! How could he be wrong about something like that?”

  If Mathew knew the whole truth about their father, it would annihilate him. Even the small thing of the pills, which paled in comparison to the other secrets Sam kept, was almost too much for him to take. Gabi surrendered the poker and scooted closer to him on the couch.

  “He didn’t know, Mathew. He was just repeating what the doctors told him. Dad doesn’t know about medical stuff. None of us did, except Gram, and it took her sixteen years to figure out what was going on. The doctors got it wrong, that’s all.”

  “Then why not tell Dad? Don’t you think he’d be relieved that you don’t need the drugs? I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything about how much better you look already.”

  Gabi grasped for an answer to this question, for Mathew and for herself. Why didn’t she tell her father about the medication? Because he probably wasn’t even her father. Because he knew that and had never told her. Because on a Monday night just weeks ago, he walked through the doors of D Wing with Messenger Nystrom, and it wasn’t to visit the supply closet.

  “You know how protective he is, Mathew. He’s worse than you, and look how you just flipped out when I told you I’d stopped taking the pills. You almost abducted me!”

  “Dad’s more levelheaded than I am, Gab,” Mathew reasoned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose it, have you?”

  It was true. The only time Sam Lowell raised his voice was when he was giving translation, and that was just to be heard in the cavernous temple. Gabi was out of arguments. Mathew punched her shoulder and tugged at the frizzy poof of her ponytail.

  “It won’t be so bad. I’ll be right here when you tell him. It’s better if he knows. He can hardly argue with the evidence. I mean, look at you. You’re a beast!” Gabi rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. “C’mon, Gab. Not having to worry about your health all the time will take some of the load off him.”

  Gabi knew it was a bad idea, though beyond her distrust of Sam she couldn’t say why. So she didn’t trust him. What did that have to do with her feeling better off the pills? How could he be anything but glad to hear it?

  “Fine,” Gabi conceded, “but I want to tell him myself, and I want to wait until after Consecration Camp.” Gabi didn’t want to take any chances that Sam would make her stay home from camp as punishment for lying. The event was designed to help young fellows receive their callings as Messengers or Translators, but Gabi knew Sam didn’t put much stock in its ability to speed up the process of getting called. He would prefer that she spend more time in the temple with him and Mathew opening herself to hear God’s Will the good old-fashioned way.

  Ordinarily she would have welcomed the opportunity to miss out on Consecration Camp, which she had been dreading her whole life. Everything was done in groups, including eating, praying, singing, and even sleeping. Gabi would be a walking bull’s eye. All her tormentors would be there. Only she wouldn’t be able to escape them at the end of the day. The trade-off was that being at camp would put her in a position to be seen by Witness recruiters, who attended anonymously, posing as youth counselors or support staff. Despite her improved fitness, Gabi still hadn’t accomplished anything remarkable during Training Period beyond not being murdered by Bradley. If she didn’t make it to Consecration Camp, she might as well be invisible to the recruiters.

  “Why wait?” Mathew asked.

  “Don’t you think Dad would be more receptive to hearing that I’ve been keeping this from him if I told him after I’ve been consecrated?”

  “But how do you know you’re going to get your calling this weekend?” Mathew countered weakly.

  Gabi laughed because she knew she’d won. Mathew was desperate if he was resorting to cautionary tales. Rumors of those few unlucky teens who walked away from camp never having felt the hand of God steer them onto their paths surfaced every year. These youths required extensive therapy and a period of spiritual retreat after suffering such massive disappointment. Though it was preferable to be consecrated to one’s path at camp among one’s peers, the quiet ceremony held once therapy was complete was better than nothing. It was not possible to be an adult member of the Unitas Fellowship without becoming a Translator or a Messenger. It would be a contradiction to the central belief that every person was worthy to serve. Doctrine dictated that those who failed to be called must be excommunicated for the sake of the fellowship, but this never happened. Everyone got called eventually.

  Gabi rose from the couch with a hiss, her cooled muscles having stiffened during her debate with Mathew. She couldn’t wait to lock herself in the bathroom with a heated bucket of bathing water for a good scouring. This meant beating Mathew to the bathroom, but she turned and extended a hand to help him off the couch in a peacemaking gesture. “You know I’m right,” she said as Mathew allowed her to pretend she was pulling him up while he did most of the work. “It makes more sense to wait until after I’m consecrated to talk to Dad. He’ll be so happy I’m finally on my path that he probably won’t even care about the pills.”

  “Okay, you win,” Mathew conceded, holding up his hands. “As long as you do it the minute you get back. Otherwise, I do it myself. Honor thy father, remember?”

  “Right.” Gabi nodded. “And honor thy sister by washing thyself, because thee is really stinking up the place.” Before Mathew could intercept her, Gabi faked left, dodged past him to the right, and sprinted down the hall to the bathroom.

  Chapter NINE

  CONSECRATION CAMP was crawling with chattering teens, and the decrepit outbuildings smelled like animal urine and mold. The choice of a rustic location on the outskirts of Cedar, a branch of the fellowship that had managed to preserve a small tract of mixed hard and softwood forest, was intentional. What better way to encourage a large group of unruly teens to stay within shouting distance of a staff member than to put them in the middle of unfamiliar terrain?

  The sprawling lodge was barely big enough to acco
mmodate the hundred or so adolescents reducing the pile of food to crumbs on the buffet table. Sixteen-year-olds bused in from every corner of the fellowship elbowed each other for access to delicacies like fried chicken, chocolate pudding, and nachos. Gabi’s frame was still waifish enough to enable her to dart in and out of the horde with ease, snatching whatever she could onto her plate without too many dirty looks cast in her direction. She piled on as much as she could hold, then found a spot on the floor by the luxurious gas-fueled fireplace to enjoy her spoils.

  Gabi ate the pudding first. It was cool and creamy and had a richness to it that forever changed her definition of chocolate. The cheese on the nachos and mini pizza didn’t sit in stiff globs but oozed onto her plate and hung in gooey strands when she lifted it to her mouth. When she took her first bite of fried chicken, the crispy golden batter gave way with a savory crunch, and the flesh was so tender she could have sucked it off the bone. The chicken was the best thing Gabi had ever tasted, but eating meat off an actual bone rather than slicing into a tinned square brought Marcus’s blood-smeared lips to mind, so she set it aside after only a couple of bites.

  The new counselors tried to impose order, but it was a losing battle. There was just no point until the food was gone, which was accomplished in the space of about twenty minutes. Only when the mob broke and teens scattered around the planked floor, attacking their plates like wild dogs, did the counselors start tweeting on their whistles.

  “Okay, everybody, let’s start settling down! My, you’re a hungry bunch this year!” The head counselor had a voice that matched her whistle, better suited to a preschool than Consecration Camp. She looked to be about twenty years old with perfect, poreless skin and a curvaceous body shown off to advantage in a clingy T-shirt, light cardigan, and jeans. Beside her stood another counselor of about the same age, a muscled boy who looked as though he were about to start leading the group through a set of one-armed push-ups.