by Celi, S.
“You like it, don’t you? The Party?” I still spoke to him in a low voice, not wanting to take any risks. The moonlight illuminated his Homeland Guard medals, the outline of his strong jaw, and the hook of his nose. “Won’t you be a pilot? Join The Party full on this fall? You’ll be perfect.”
Fostino snorted. “No. No, not at all. I won’t be a pilot. They say it won’t happen. I’m not qualified.”
Did I hear sadness in his hoarse voice?
I shuddered in disbelief. “What the hell do you mean?” I said before I stopped the words from tumbling out of my mouth. “Of course you’re qualified! You win every medal they’ve ever handed out in school, and you always do things better than anyone else. You got the record in the 400m dash. Plus, you’re always smiling and happy.” With each sentence, I grew more angry and incredulous.
Oh God.
I knew more about him than I should.
Fostino put a finger to his lips to silence me. He whispered. “Be quiet. I mean it. They will hear you if you get too loud.”
I scooted closer to him so he would hear me. “What do you mean, you’re not qualified?”
“I’m not. I never will be.” He paused. “I’m not the right — I don’t know. They want perfection. Perfect to them is everything, and I mean everything.”
“But who’s perfect? What do they mean by that?”
“They don’t mean me. I’m not the right… type.” He hugged his knees and some of the leaves crackled underneath him. “I’m not what they want. Listen, it’s complicated. But it’s final.”
“Final?”
I thought about the propaganda and the government footage shown in class over the years. I remembered all the clips of The Party, the factories, and the better life we all led in the years since The Revolution. Most of the pilots in The Party were tall and brunette with creamy skin, shining like pearls. They all had smiles that went on for days.
Didn’t Fostino fit?
“How do you know for sure? They must make exceptions.”
Fostino sneered. “If they make exceptions, I’m not one of them. I’m not perfect.” He picked at some of the dry grass under our feet and shrugged. “They let me know last month. Mr. Kentwood told me the decision after drill. They say I’m better for the regular army in The Party. The commander told me maybe I should train to be sniper. They like my sharpshooting.” His tone made it sound like a closed subject.
“Okay,” I filled in because I had nothing relevant to say. He didn’t fit the ideal. I didn’t fit the perfection mold, either.
Fostino sighed and ran one hand through his thick hair. “Just the way it is.” Then he studied me. “Maybe one day I can explain it better to you.”
I could tell he had done this problem in his head a thousand times and that each time, the answer tasted even bitterer than the last. A few seconds passed as we watched the vacant, silent sky. Then I turned to him to ask another question.
“So, I’ve always wondered something else about you…” Seemed a good time to ask anything.
“What?” He scooted a little closer to me and then raised one thick eyebrow. His eyes roamed over my face.
“Since we’re taking about the ‘ideal’, well, um, how did you get your name? Fostino? No one has a first name like that around here.
“Old family name. Fostino was the last name of my great-grandparents on my mother’s side.” Fostino laughed. “I get that question a lot. You think it’s weird?” He picked up a couple of twigs in his hand and broke them one by one.
“No.” I rubbed my shoulders a bit as an evening chill set in around us. “I think it’s kind of cool, actually. I wish I knew more about my parents and my family.” I changed the subject. Something else bothered me more. “Fostino, I know they tell you a lot in those classes about The Party you take for the Homeland Guard—” I broke off, unsure.
“Yes,” he prodded, seeming aware I grew more nervous with each half second.
“It’s just…” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
What if he told people what I asked? What if he reported me? What if I asked the wrong questions?
“It’s just, what?”
I took a deep breath, and then the words tumbled out between us like marbles on a kitchen floor. “We have to go to The Count tomorrow, and then to Coleman Athletic,” I stammered. “And th—the—they didn’t tell us much about it.”
“And?”
“So what do you know? Do you know what will happen tomorrow?” My breath quickened and my stomach twisted. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about it, and I’m just worried. I have a bad feeling about it.” I bit my lip. “So, do you know what’s going to happen?”
Fostino looked at me for what felt like fifteen minutes. When he opened his mouth, his words came out hushed too. “Yes, Charlotte. I do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I gulped. Hard. “So… what’s going to happen?” I leaned in closer to him and put my weight on my left leg.
“We found out about it yesterday during drill. They told us not to say anything to anyone.” Fostino clenched his jaw and covered his mouth with his left hand.
“Really? That bad?” My voice trembled behind the question.
“It’s bad — worse than bad,” he said. “They’ll decide stuff during The Count tomorrow morning. They—they don’t want people working in the factory they think can’t get what we need done.” He buried his head in his hands before I heard a long sigh. Then he continued in the stillness of the night.
“Some people will die. And if you think tomorrow will be the end of it? Nope. I think it’s going to get worse and worse and worse and then—” He broke off and choked up more.
I gawked at him, unable to process what he said. My mouth went dry. My eyes tightened, then strained as my heart quickened. A cold sweat trickled down my neck. Last night’s dinner rose to the back of my throat.
Oh, no.
“How many people? How many? Who?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.” He lifted his head and shrugged. “Listen. This is serious. Whatever you do, pass The Count tomorrow. Make them think you’re fit for work, that you’ll sew more shirts than they’ll ever need, and you’re a true believer.” He put his hand on my arm — the first time he ever touched me. “Please.”
“But why would you tell me this, Fostino?” I spit out the words like bullets as I pulled away. I thought I wanted this information, but now just wished for ignorance. “You don’t even know me.”
He grabbed my arm and frowned. His face came within a half inch of mine. “Well, you asked. And because, well, it’s better now that I’ve told someone. I’m glad I got to tell you. I’ve been trying talk to you—”
Did I see confusion on his face?
“Wait. Didn’t you tell your parents?” I interrupted him in my quietest voice possible. My eyes narrowed. His parents owned Centre Towne Market, the central convenience store in Harrison Corners. “Don’t you have a sister? What about them?”
“I tried. I tried last night to tell them. And I think they listened. I don’t know. They act pretty upset these days and worry about Farrah. She is only eight. Oh God…” He broke off again and turned his head away from me. I heard resignation in his answer.
My mind flashed to his sister. I had seen her a few times, maybe five, always playing outside his parents’ store. Black hair tumbled down her back in thick waves and her wide grey eyes made her seem older. I never saw her smile.
“It’s okay,” I said to fill the silence. Of course, we both knew that things were not okay — not at all.
Fostino flexed his jaw. “She’s a good kid. Strong. I told her she has to present herself well. I know they will take some kids. I think they’ll take her. She can work. She’ll do it. She has to do it.”
�
��I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” As soon as I said it, my callousness shamed me.
When did I turn so cold?
“Come on. It’s getting late. They’ll search for me if I don’t head back soon.” Fostino stood up. He wiped his hands on his dark brown cargo pants before reaching a hand down to me.
I put my hand in his and hoisted myself up with his warm and sweaty one. My fingers gripped his as hard as they could. He had just told me the worst news I had heard since the beginning of The Revolution, but it didn’t matter. I wanted something normal.
Anything.
He led me back through the crops to the road before he said anything. “Hey, I need you to keep that information to yourself.” He kept his voice low and quiet, but I saw the seriousness in his eyes.
“But why did you tell me?” I couldn’t shake my confusion.
“Well, you…” His eyes searched my face as his hand found a place underneath the nape of my neck. “I’ll tell you later, some other time. Listen, you can’t tell anyone I told you this stuff.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Fostino still held one of my hands, and now he squeezed it. “Just make sure, whatever you do, that they select you. Do whatever you can so they know you’ll be a good worker. Don’t be an Undesirable.”
He leaned in to me and his warm breath brushed my face. He pulled me an inch closer and the motion intoxicated me. Even in the moonlight, Fostino’s deep brown eyes enthralled me. His expression changed. His eyes grew darker. His breath came out harder.
“I can’t explain it right now, not now.” He unlinked his hand from mine and slid it up my arm. He gave it a gentle massage as his lips parted.
“Okay. I will.” I stood so close to him now, centimeters away. I didn’t want to break away from his arms or turn away from his face.
Then it happened.
Before either of us said any more, he leaned down and his lips found mine in a sudden, forceful kiss. Our lips touched for a short moment; the unmistakable push of his plump lower lip grazed mine with the softest of movements. No time to return the kiss. He broke away, exhaled, and looked at the roads that led to our hometown. I gawked at him, too shocked to speak.
“Wait here about 15 minutes,” he ordered in a tone that sounded forced out of his throat. “Don’t follow the same path as me. Make sure you can’t see me when you start walking.” He sounded mathematical, linear, and unfazed from the kiss we had shared. Not me. No way. Every cell in my body amplified. I forced my legs to steady. “When you start walking, go straight to your house, but keep close to the field. If you see a Humvee coming, duck into the crops and hide.” His eyes held mine with intensity. I nodded in agreement again.
He squeezed my hand one more. “Goodnight, Charlotte.” He pulled away and stumbled down the dark path.
Within a few minutes, he disappeared. Before I cried, I made sure I no longer saw him. When the tears came, they didn’t stop until I made it to my front door.
CHAPTER FIVE
I didn’t need the alarm of my new watch the next morning. I hadn’t slept. I pulled myself out of bed a half hour before The Count and stumbled into my mother’s small bedroom across the hallway of the house. I shook her awake as I rubbed my eyes. The sun streamed in from the one window near her bed and hit us both in the face with the force of a boxer.
“Mom,” I said once she opened her eyes. “You need to get up. Get dressed. We must go down to Town Square. It’s Monday, the day of The Count. Come on.”
I kept my words simple and straightforward. She struggled against me when I tried to pull her up, and then pushed me away. “I’m up.”
In the morning light, I saw how much the vodka took from her. Wrinkles made track marks on her face and an old camisole did nothing to hide the sunspots and leathery skin left over from years in the sun. No one would have taken her for 46. She reminded me of a shriveled prune, and seemed at least 60. She pulled on a blue sack shift identical to mine before she asked me the question she always did once she got up.
“Where’s my vodka?”
My body went rigid and my hair stood on end. My hands turned cold, and I balled a fist to stop my right hand from hitting the wall next to me.
How could she be so selfish? How could she be so callous? How could she not realize the whole world had changed?
I picked up the glass next to her nightstand table. I smelled the remainder of last night’s alcohol binge and saw it swirl in the bottom of the glass. My right hand launched it against the wooden wall above the bed’s headboard. The beveled glass split into a million pieces that all fell in the space between the bed and the wall. We both heard the pieces scatter on the wood floor.
“There, right there, is your vodka.”
My mother gaped at me. I turned on my heel and stormed out of her bedroom.
“Fifteen minutes until The Count,” I reminded her over my shoulder. I tapped the new watch on my wrist. “You coming?”
She pulled on her loafers and followed me without a word.
*
We were not late to the square, but we were not early.
When we got there, the faceless soldiers had already arrived too, this time with four sexless women in white nursing uniforms who sat at a long table in front of the steps to Harrison Corners City Hall. As I walked up with the rest of my neighbors, I saw a huge bin full of electronics on my left. A few people walked over to it and tossed electronics in as they took their places in line. I had nothing to add.
Two soldiers held megaphones on either side of the table and they used them in unison. “Women to the left!” they yelled. “Men to the right!”
Four other soldiers on the left hand side directed us to a single file line. We marched forward one at a time, inching our way to the women in the white nursing uniforms, triangle caps, red lips and faces painted in white makeup. Two women worked each line. One asked questions while the other pointed left or right, ordering the formation of what appeared to be four groups.
“No talking!” the soldiers with the megaphones exclaimed every three minutes or so. “Silence in line!”
I scanned the crowd and searched for Fostino. While I searched for him, I caught the eyes of men and women I had known my whole life, people I grew up with and admired. They looked scared, and so did my hung-over mother. I found Fostino ten people behind me. He stood in a clump with the other members of the Homeland Guard; still dressed in the same uniform I’d seen him in hours before in the cornfield. They would not go through The Count. When I twisted my head toward him, I saw his eyes already on me. No smiles now, no smirks, just obvious concern all over his face.
How long had he watched me?
I took a mental photograph of his lips, his green eyes, and his skin that reminded me of melted brown sugar. His jaw seemed tight and strained. One of his hands balled into a fist. Meanwhile, I could only think about last night.
And that kiss.
My cheeks blushed a little at the memory, unsettled and confused by the memory of it. It had been by no means my first one — that happened the summer I turned 13; a boy who later told everyone I had lizard lips. I kissed two others since then, but this was the first kiss I ever had from someone who both attracted and repelled me. Up until last night, he stood for the unattainable in my life; he had been a mystery boy I never had the guts to speak to at school. Now, we shared a stolen moment in time that I hoped would not be the last.
Then as my thoughts swirled, I remembered Fostino’s words.
Just do whatever you can to make sure they select you.
I inhaled; my eyes still held his gaze. Then, he nodded and pulled his eyes to the women at the table. My head followed him and spun around to the front.
My turn.
CHAPTER SIX
“What is your name?” the woma
n behind the white makeup asked. She had the same clipped, sharp, mechanic voice as most everyone in The Party, and didn’t look up from the enormous stack of paperwork in front of her. Someone piled it almost as high as the woman’s chin. The manila file folders resembled stacked playing cards out of a Lewis Carroll novel.
“Well, it’s...,” I fumbled with the hem of my blue dress. “Charlotte Walker.”
“Right hand out,” she demanded. I followed her orders and she pricked my index finger with a small metal box attached to a hypodermic needle. Then she pulled a small blood vial from the back of that box.
“What the--, “I stammered. “Why did you need that?” I looked down at the small drop of blood oozing out of my index finger. She glared at me and didn’t answer. The hardness in her eyes silenced my protest.
“Charlotte Walker,” she repeated to the woman next to her as she handed her the sample. “Age?” She directed her words at me, but not her face. To my right, the same happened in the line with the men. Fostino still watched me, squinting, with his full lips pulled together on his beautiful face.
“Eighteen.”
“Birthday?”
“September 19th.”
“September 19th?” The woman regarded me again. Then she repeated herself in a robotic voice. “September 19th?” She frowned after she said the date again.
“Yes,” I swallowed hard. I flushed as I felt sweat tickle onto my forehead. I prayed it didn’t drip onto her mountain of paperwork.
Why did that date matter?
She wrote it down and gave her head a small shake before she picked up the line of question. She still wore no expression. “Skills? What will you provide for The War Effort?”
I pursed my lips and froze. I tried to force the words out of my mouth, but they wouldn’t come.
“Well?”