She responded with “Chew before you swallow, please. All the answers are coming.”
The constant questions and molasses-fast responses slowed my stress eating. As I inhaled my makeshift sandwich, my imagination ran wild. Okay, so he was what, a holovision star? Movies? An athlete? Millionaire who likes his space?
Criminal?
Mom forked a bite of pancake into her mouth and fixed me a decent plate of food. I’d eat everything she’d intended for herself and not pretend I was full to avoid the stares. I’d sip some coffee, too, and obsess more over my father and what kind of person he was.
“It’s not a hunch. I know where my guy will be. Pack light, cool, and comfortable for three days or so.”
Before I headed upstairs, I issued a warning. “By the way, I haven’t forgiven you.”
She lowered her head. I think she wasn’t asking me to.
As I washed up, I mentally pictured him based on my face and body. My skin was about the shade of caramel. He’s not white. Maybe African-American or interracial. The natural thread-like wavy texture of my hair had to have come from somewhere African. I straightened it for manageability. Couldn’t be too tall. On my tiptoes, I was five-foot-five and close to eye level with Mom.
Her people were Central American. Apparently, women from there had pear shapes and fiery tempers. I had curves — hips, boobs, thighs. My anger was another thing. I’m a pressure cooker with no release valve. And what was with the pancakes? She’d always tell me to watch the carbs. Might as well fatten me up. A couple extra pounds in my problem spots wouldn’t make the coffin weigh any more. Or the urn. I hadn’t decided yet.
I layered a white cloth gauze pad between my old catheter incision and my bra, threw on a black long-sleeved shirt, and wiggled my way into a pair of tight ripped black jeans. I packed a small gray suitcase which would fit a couple days’ worth of clothes in it. Beyond that, Mom would have to buy me outfits unless we were going to a place where we could do laundry.
“Where out west?” I thought aloud. Vegas? Utah? Washington? She hadn’t said, and since airline companies had switched to advanced biometric scans for ticketing, I wouldn’t know until we left. The airport was half an hour’s drive away, and we needed an hour or so for screening, which didn’t leave me a lot of time to investigate. I’d do an internet search on the drive instead.
Mom met me in the foyer in her amber Zara Hristoff designer sunglasses that cost a fortune and she’d never let me touch. The purple rolling bag next to her foot would fit in an overhead compartment, which meant she’d packed about what I’d had. Contrary to what I’d hoped, wherever we were going, we wouldn’t be there for long.
But if she thought I’d meet the man I’d ached to see long as I could remember and leave him that quickly, she’d been mistaken. He’d ask to hold my cold, stiff hand while I took my final breath should I have my way, and I’d have allowed him to.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Being as I couldn’t see my expression, I had to ask. “Like what?”
“Never mind.”
“You okay?”
After unlocking the front door, she turned and said over her shoulder, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“He’s your first love, right? Seeing him again can’t be easy,” I said to her back. “He’s probably moved on.”
A reminder she hadn’t. When was the last time she had a date or a guy she was interested in? Had to be a year or more. And none of them stuck around long.
Mom opened the front door. “Set the alarm, and let’s go.”
I accessed the keypad and got out in time. We loaded our luggage into our transport’s trunk and took off for the city airport. Mom turned on her annoying thrash music, and I played mine in my audial comms since she’d given back my holo.
“Plane leaves in two hours, right?”
“Uh-huh,” she confirmed. “About that.”
I checked the airport departure times on the web although I did not know the airline. Website after website. Turned out, there were a hundred planes going west and to various parts of the coast from the airport and dozens around noon.
Frustrated, I slapped my holo against my thigh and directed my attention to the orange digital traffic signs. We’d passed the exit for the airport miles ago.
Where are we going?
I pointed to the next highway exit. “We need to turn around.”
“First, we make a quick stop. I’m getting makeup work for you.”
Without warning, sharp, stirring pains hit my belly. Oh God! The decision to eat real food was coming back on me. I was going to lose it. Maybe it was not a vomit kind of morning, I hoped. “Why?” I asked her. “You heard Dr. Keller. I’m…why work for grades that won’t matter?”
After shutting my eyes, I clutched my stomach, and I only wished for death to come twice. The mild shake of the transport didn’t help with keeping the bile down. Deep slow breaths. Electric threads stretched from my wound into my chest and forced me into coughing spasms. At least, the revolt quieted above my waist. Though now, I wished I’d worn loose pants instead of skinny jeans. I’d been sicker and lived through it. But this was a heck of a way to die.
Mom’s strong hand wrapped around mine. “You are going to bury me,” she said. “Got it? It’s not the other way around. You pick a nice day, find a high cliff over an ocean, and spread my ashes.”
“Sure, Mom.” Whatever got her to stop talking about death. He’d claim me soon enough, and I doubted she’d die in the next month.
The amount of time it took to park gave our location away. Penn Middle School. I opened my eyes. Forget about the bitter taste in my mouth or the clamminess between my thighs and under my armpits. Looking half as bad as I felt meant I’d become a social media icon again and not in a good way.
Regardless, I pried my body out of the transport, right leg first. Could I move on my own? I didn’t have to — Mom pulled me forward with strength I didn’t know she possessed. My body weight coupled with her force almost pitched me forward onto the parking lot. I steadied myself, used Mom’s arm for leverage, and put one foot in front of the other. We reached the curb. Climbing it and the gray concrete steps might as well have been scaling the Alps.
“You can do it, Mariposa,” she said to me. “Five more steps.”
She spoke Spanish now because she wanted to inspire me. Math homework, science problems, anything I struggled with. Mariposa. “Butterfly.” Things might be easier if I could spread my wings, let the wind raise me up, and drift to the top of the stairs like a blue monarch. I’d be there. With the ability to fly, where couldn’t I go? What then could keep me from finding my father? In my mind,[XW20] it was settled. I’d have to grow some wings and fly away.
Mom steered me into the front office. While she gathered work that I’d ignore, I lingered next to the maroon leather chairs they intended to be comfortable. The old cushions with frayed edges were more rigid than soft. The administration used them as a pre-sentencing staging area for suspension students or potential new hires.
The front office secretary, a pleasant woman,[XW21] with an aqua blue button-down sweater, approached the intercom system to call for a student. “Excuse the interruption, can you please send Bryce Parrish to the office?”
That name…Bryce Parrish. Who was he? Did I know him? Natalee wouldn’t answer her holo, and I had no one else to text to pass the time, so I waited. Soon enough, I saw an athlete in a school jacket through the glass window. The spindly physique, tanned complexion, and bushy brown hair were familiar. It was “the” guy from my video. He’d lied about his age, too! He didn’t see me until he passed the counter and dropped his body into a seat on sentencing row.
I waved my hand. “Hey.”
Bryce glanced my way twice. Long enough for me to see a hint of recognition on his face. Yup. I’m her. The girl from the place between the schools or whatever the kids called me behind my back these days.
“What are you in for, Bryce Parrish
?”
He didn’t say a word or cop to anything he’d done. I wouldn’t have either. You never knew[XW22] who could be watching. But that was higher-level thinking for his knuckle-dragging people. He’d talk. I just hadn’t found his pull string or the button on his chest yet.
“It’s cool. Making small talk while I wait for makeup work. You remember me? I’m — ”
“Whatever you thought,” he said. “No. Stop talking to me.”
I hated being interrupted, especially by nonsense. “Look, Bry. Trying to be nice here. I’m Lucy. The girl — ”
“From the video. Video girl. Real sloppy kisser. Why didn’t we do it a month ago? I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t have had you then, right?”
Small-time insults, to be sure, but they silenced me. Granted, he was higher up on the social food chain than me. Who did he think he was? Middle school athletes weren’t exactly a commodity. Who was Bryce Parrish to make me feel this way? Truth was, I would’ve had sex with him. Not because he deserved my virginity. I had six weeks left to live and, short of handing out homemade tickets into my pants, my options not to die a maiden were limited.
The cracks in the office’s white linoleum weren’t wide enough to hide me. I’d have run out screaming if I had the stamina to make it to the entrance. Meanwhile, Bryce popped his gum, and the secretary glued herself to her computer screen. Neither of them could be bothered by the pool of sweat I was becoming before their eyes. My feet rooted themselves to the floor. I wanted to curse him and say how wrong Bryce was about me, but my trembling upper lip and stiff limbs wouldn’t cooperate.
Bryce blew a lime green gum bubble. Satisfied he made his point, he left me alone.
The secretary called out, “The principal will see you now, Bryce.”
On his way past me, he tripped on my outstretched foot. Everyone in the office had a laugh at his expense, including me. He cursed, and I imagine that would become part of his crimes.
As if on cue, Mom reentered with a handful of assignments. “You okay Luce?”
I’m sweaty. Hot. Sticky. Destroyed. “Yeah.”
Exiting down the stairs would be considerably easier than going up. My symptoms had largely gone away, and I started to feel like myself again. The tingling at my neck helped me ignore the dizziness. What did you know? Bryce was good for something after all. Adrenaline.
Mom edged me away from the entrance. “Education is important. Remember that. One more stop in here.”
By the direction her head bobbed, she wanted to visit my locker. “C’mon. That’s a city mile from here. I’ll get winded before the exit sign. Nat can bring over whatever is in there.”
“Catch your wind. You’ll need your transcripts.”
Mom wasn’t going to be deterred, and my books and transcripts weren’t what concerned me. The locks opened for three people — me, an administrator, and a parent. She was the only one on record, and one day, I knew her access would bite me in the butt. This morning, apparently, was the one for butt biting. She’d see the writing, and I’d have to explain.
“Wait,” I said to her. Mom always walked like a bill collector was chasing her with Ordnance. My pulse quickened as I tried to keep up. “Mom, wait!”
She didn’t stop until she’d found my locker. How did she know it was mine? The red “CG” scrawled inside of a diamond must’ve given it away. I read her eyes. The backstory was simple, cut and dried. A guy vandalized the outside of my locker, hacked my biometric lock, and scrawled all sorts of colorful and inventive phrases about me on the inside.
“CG? For ’Cancer Girl’?” She chuckled. “Aww, c’mon. That doesn’t even take effort.”
The transaction didn’t take long. I watched her get my scripts for classes I’d never attend. What was the point? Hope? Faith? Mom had plenty of both. I had neither. She handed me my work and started walking.
“It’s not always all about what you take, Luciana. Focus on what you leave behind.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Once we left school and sped up the highway, I had no idea where we were going. Mom sensed my confusion and broke in with “Not going to International. I chartered a jet — ”
“Wait, a jet?”
“From municipal. Last minute. We’ll get West much faster.”
A jet though? We were comfortable money-wise, sure, but we had jet-level charter money? Hmm. I’d have had to ask her to discover our location. Private jets had unpublished flight schedules. “I should’ve asked you for a bigger allowance than a hundred units a week.”
“Could’ve.” She sipped from her metal coffee cup. “Wouldn’t have gotten it.”
“Where are we going — exactly?”
She set the transport’s autopilot, removed her black leather gloves, squeezed a small bottle of her expensive white lotion into her palms, and rubbed it in. “A place not far from my hometown. Small farming town called Walsh.”
Another lie by omission. My mother was from the West Coast, and... “My father’s a farmer?”
She repositioned herself in her seat and slipped her gloves back on. “Not at all.” She laughed. “Visiting an old friend. He’ll take us to him.”
“An old friend who’s a farmer?”
Every kid without a father around wanted him to be somebody important: wealthy, smart, sophisticated. Able to do the impossible without breaking a sweat. Obviously, my dad was all of this rolled together. Not some bum who spent a night or two with my mom and split like I’d once thought. That’s why she’d never told me about him — she couldn’t. This bit of background didn’t do much to soothe the echoing emptiness inside me.
The autopilot parked us in the economy lot. We unloaded our bags and followed the displays pointing to a series of metal and concrete hangars. The walking got to me. “Charter a jet, but you can’t cough up enough units for first-class parking?” I asked her. “You have handicap priority, so I don’t have to walk.”
Sounding a bit winded herself, she said, “Cougar won’t get scratched there, and it’s exercise…for the both of us.”
I wasn’t sure if “us” meant “you.” I’d be dead soon. Exercise wouldn’t change that fact.
The beige metal overhang painted with a black number five did nothing to shield us from the frigid temperature. Mom had her leather trench coat and insulated gloves on. I wished I had worn a thicker coat and gloves. My hand joints ached like they had been tapped with sharp, tiny hammers.
With my bag in hand, I followed Mom along the back side of a shiny white-, blue-, and gold-painted [XW23]jet. The strong, fresh fuel scent stung the inside of my nose. I can be like a superstar for a day, I thought, or for a few hours until I met my dad.
A guy in pressed, navy blue slacks and a matching wool vest exited the jet and approached us. Carrying a black leather briefcase with gold locks, he saw Mom, and his face brightened. Great. Did he recognize my mother or want to sleep with her? This should be fun.
“Good morning,[XW24] Miss Sandoval.” His eyes took her in from head to toe. “Ready for warmer weather? Clear skies today for our flight together.”
He’s not the first guy to hit on her in front of me. Mom was beautiful in a way I would never be with her slender waist and her shoulder-length, straight brown hair that didn’t frizz or flip at the top and refuse to lie[XW25] down like mine did. Her appearance was always super glued together. Men loved her. Though she claimed she hated the attention, secretly, I think she loved it.
Mom pointed to her sunglass lenses with her index fingers. “Focus up, guy[XW26]. My body didn’t pay for the flight.”
“Of course.” He pointed at her and mentioned the name of a city I’d never heard of. “It’s just…I was thinking…where you’re headed…I grew up out there. You went to North High, right? Frank Moses, class of ’19. Do you remember me?”
I laughed to myself. A black guy named Frank with a gap-toothed smile that bright? He must’ve gotten bullied. A lot. In fact, I would’ve bullied him myself.
She tucked h
er brown snakeskin handbag underneath her arm and checked the time on her digital timepiece. Frank annoyed her. Me, too. “I got my GED. I didn’t graduate high school.”
“Because she was pregnant with me,” I chimed in.
“But you didn’t go to high school at some point. North High?”
Maybe I didn’t notice it as much before, but she had a way of answering questions without answering them, and he’d totally called her on it. But I was getting annoyed with his flirty conversation. “Can you just go ahead and scan us, dude?” I asked him. “We gotta go.”
His fingers trailed a design on the glass of his computer. “I’ve found that conversation breaks up the uncomfortable silences while technology does what it does. Good enough.” He snapped his fingers like it kick-started the memory in his brain. “Don’t worry — Moses’ll take you to the Promised Land.”
He bugged me and not because of the corny catchphrase.
“Your name is Luciana, but you like to be called Lucy? Cute.”
Nicknames, as far as I knew, weren’t on our virtual files or credentials. Color me creeped out. And I thought he’d curb the questioning and small talk. “Yeah, so…”
“You know how everybody in the world must have a twin? Then, your mom’s lookalike went to a place called North High with me. That girl was chunky, black hair longer than yours, hung out with a weird crowd. Her name was — ”
Mom snatched the tablet from his hand. She’d had enough and was a tick away from cursing him out in Spanish. Her thumbprint against the reading plate turned the entire screen red. She handed the thing back so fast I was surprised Frank didn’t fumble it more than he did.
“There seems to be an error with your computer,” she told him. “Says ‘no record’.”
“Right. It couldn’t possibly be you. My apologies. Let me reset.”
He swiped down a screen, keyed a code, and presented it with a full handprint outline. “Try this. Sometime the system kicks out fingerprints. The full print reads better.”
The Nuclear Winter Page 4