by P. J. Hoover
Chloe smiles, and I lift my eyes to meet hers. “I saw it in a dream. Last night after we talked. And as soon as I woke up, I scribbled it down just like I remembered.” She holds the piece of paper up. “It’s perfect.”
Chloe had a dream with Greek letters. And I’d seen Greek letters yesterday when I’d opened the box. It seems a bizarre coincidence, but I push it aside.
“I’m not getting a tattoo,” I say. But the thought of Shayne comes back to me, and the life I want to lead flashes before my eyes. I play a vision in my mind of actually getting the tattoo. Of defying my mom. Of living my dreams.
Chloe draws an invisible band around her bicep. “Here. We’re getting them here.”
I roll my eyes. “I could never hide that.” With every day being over a hundred degrees, tank tops have become the school’s standard uniform.
Chloe looks like she’s just eaten the last piece of chocolate in a Valentine sampler, and I realize she’s been planning this for a long time. “I know.”
I blow out the breath I’ve been holding since I saw the piece of paper. I can’t get a tattoo. I won’t get a tattoo. “I wouldn’t even know where to go to get a tattoo.”
“But my brother does,” Chloe says, and I remember her brother who graduated last year has at least twelve tattoos, some in places I’ve only heard about and never seen.
“Chloe…”
“What?” she says. “You need to do something. Something for yourself. Not for your mom. Not for me. Do it for you. Make a decision for yourself.”
I let the heat of the world soak into me and think about my future. With the Global Heating Crisis, some people aren’t even convinced there will be much of a future. What would I do if I only had days to live? Where would I go that my mom would not be able to follow?
“When?”
Chloe smiles. She knows she’s won. “We’re skipping the rest of the day. I set up an appointment for us in a half hour.”
Chapter 4
The Parlor
I’ve only been to the Drag once before. My mom needed some special seeds for a plant she wanted to grow, and the only place in Austin which claimed to have them was some hippie shop located behind the college bookstore. We took a shuttle there, and she left me on a bench to watch the world while she ran inside. Which says something about how horrible the shop must have been. The Drag was a world I’d never seen. One I hadn’t even imagined. The kids walking around hardly seemed older than me, but none of them had their mothers with them. Looking around now, it’s kind of hard to believe my mom actually wants me to go to college here. Does she plan on coming to classes with me?
Chloe jumps the three steps down from the shuttle, and I follow. She grabs my hand, and we start weaving our way through the crowd, backpacks in tow. Within two steps, I’m immersed in a sea of tattoos and body piercings, shaved heads and bare chests—at least on the guys. And based on the fabric of tattoos surrounding me, It seems the Drag is the right place to come for permanent ink. The misters spray down on us, and a slick of gel forms on my skin. I imagine the tattoo there on my bicep—forever.
The steel struts are in place overhead though the glass is long gone. The university was the first dome to be built. I guess the city figured since the college was dumping tons of money into researching solutions for the Global Heating Crisis, they should be the first to get protection. But even at that, the domes are nothing but a temporary patch; it’s one of the few things my mom and I agree on. If temperatures keep rising, not even the special glass they grow will keep out the heat.
The clenched-up blob in my stomach increases in size with each step I take. I let go of Chloe’s hand and shove both my hands into my pockets, hoping to steady my nerves. I can’t believe I’m actually going to go through with getting a tattoo. Instead, I focus on the campus and try to imagine myself walking around here like one of them.
There’s a group of three girls sitting on some rocks off to one side. They’ve got a canopy over their heads, and a large sign is staked into the dirt in front of them.
Only YOU can stop Global Warming, the sign reads, and it’s covered with pictures of dying animals washed up on the beach and human corpses on city streets.
I guess I’ve stopped to watch because one of the girls stands up and walks over to me. She’s dressed in cut off jean shorts and a tank top, and she’s got tattooed snakes and scorpions curling up her legs and arms. Her black hair hangs down over her white shoulders like snakes, matching the tattoos on her legs. I think to look around for Chloe, but my vision is glued to the girl. Her eyes hide behind sunglasses, but when she gets in front of me, she flips them up and makes eye contact.
That would be if she had any eyes.
Her sockets are empty. Filled and puffed out and rimmed with lids, but there’s just nothing in them. Not even skin behind. Just a void. I shift backward, hoping to break her visual grip, but she’s got me. And then she reaches out and grabs my wrist, securing my bond to her. I swallow and try to calm the shaking building up inside me, but she blinks, and I see the emptiness of her eyes all over again.
“Give her the pitch, Tanni,” one of her friends calls over. I can’t look to see who because my eyes won’t move; they’re locked on this freakish empty-eye-socketed girl.
“Make her know she’s responsible,” the other girl calls.
Tanni tightens her grip on my wrist. “Only you can stop Global Warming, Piper.”
When she says my name, she lets it drawl out, nice and slow, like every single letter is coming out of her mouth one at a time.
I can’t tear my eyes from her face even though shivers run up my spine. “How do you know my name?”
She grins and closes her empty eyes. “Did you hear me, Piper?”
“I read your sign,” I manage to say. I think I sound braver than I feel. Because I feel like I should turn and run away—if only my body would comply. But I hold my ground. “How do you know my name?” I say again. I’ve never seen this girl before in my life. She’s certainly not the type of person my mom ever mingles with. And I don’t ever remember her coming into our shop.
And where the hell is Chloe?
Tanni opens her eyes again and lashes out, grabbing my other wrist, and she pulls me so close to her, her features blend together into one big blurry spot in the middle of her face. When she opens her mouth to talk, her hot breath pours into my own open mouth, tasting sweet. “Do you know your fate?”
My fate? Until I left school to get this tattoo, I thought my fate was to live under the compressive thumb of my mom forever. To hide from a father I’ve never met. To change cities every time he gets too close. But now I’m not so sure.
I pull back and shake my arms loose. Tanni lets go and takes a step back, and her friends start laughing. Every muscle in my body is tensed up like skin stretched over a drum, and when I feel another hand on my wrist, I whip around.
“Chloe!”
“What happened, Piper?” Chloe says. Sweat beads all over her face and neck. “I thought you were right behind me.”
I let my breath out, and my muscles try to relax. “I stopped to look.” I motion at the group of girls. Tanni is back on the rocks with her friends, sunglasses over her eyes. She’s not even looking my way. None of them are, in fact. It’s like they never talked to me. Almost like they never even noticed me. One of the girls takes a long sip from a water bottle, and I realize my throat feels like sawdust. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Except I can’t get the image of the empty eyes out of my mind or the taste of her sweet breath out of my mouth. And I wonder if I do know what my fate is.
“They’re just a bunch of freaks,” Chloe says. “The Drag’s full of them.”
Freak seems like the perfect word to sum up Tanni. Or maybe me, seeing as how I’m the one imagining things today.
Chloe starts walking again, and this time, I vow to stick with her, casting one final glance back at Tanni and her friends. They’re already talking to someone else, pointing to their
Global Warming sign. To them, I don’t even exist.
“The tattoo parlor is right around the corner,” Chloe says. And she leads me the rest of the way.
I’ve never seen one, but there’s an image in my mind of what a tattoo parlor should look like. It’s a dirty dark place run by a guy wearing nothing but leather and chains. And bonus points if the crack of his ass shows when he sits down. So when we walk into a waiting area, smelling of bleach, with stenciled dots of red and purple on the walls and a water cooler off to the side, my butterflies settle down enough to walk over and get a cup. It’s one of those tiny conical cups, so I stand there and refill it five times before I finally toss it in the nearby recycler.
“How’d you find out about this place?” I ask.
Chloe fills her own cup now that I’ve moved aside. I think the A/C unit’s stopped working because even though the place is shiny and bright and filled with vibrant colors and the ceiling fans are on full blast, it’s roasting hot. A drop of sweat trickles down my face, and I lick it when it hits my lip. It’s bitter from the misting gel we got sprayed with earlier.
“My brother’s dating the owner. It’s how we got ahead of the waiting list.” Chloe fills her cup three times before recycling it. And then we both sit. On cue the butterflies start up again.
My fate. Tanni, the eyeless girl, asked if I knew what it was. Whatever my fate was, with every second that ticks by now, it careens further and further off course. My mom pops into my head. No surprise since I’m sure the school’s called her by now. With taking a shuttle down here, we’ve been gone almost an hour already, which makes us officially late for our tattoo appointment and definitely missing from school. But the tattoo artist hasn’t come out yet, so there’s nothing to do but wait.
“I’ve heard it doesn’t hurt that much.”
I shift my thoughts at Chloe’s words. “I hadn’t really thought about the pain.” And it’s true, even though we’ve talked about it in the past. Of all the things going through my mind today, pain hasn’t come into the equation. Until now. “But thanks for mentioning it.”
“The arm isn’t supposed to be that sensitive. At least not the outer part.”
If she’s trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.
“Where is the owner?” I stand up and look around, walking over to a board covered with designs. Our Greek letters are nowhere to be found; it’s mostly dragons and snakes like Tanni had on her legs. “You know, maybe we should forget it. If we get back to school fast enough, I could say I’ve been in the bathroom sick or something.” The butterflies are back, and my arms shake. I won’t even have to fake the sick part. My stomach is clenched so tight, I’m sure I could throw up on cue if needed.
I hear Chloe stand and walk up behind me. She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “Don’t worry about it. You need to do this.”
“Having second thoughts?” someone says.
We both turn at the sound of the voice, and Chloe lets me go. I put my hands in my pockets and try to take deep breaths but find it’s harder than I thought. When I get home with a tattoo, my mom is going to kill me. I won’t have to wait for Global Warming to do it. That will be my fate.
“Nope,” Chloe says, pulling the piece of paper with the Greek letters out of her pocket. “We’re ready.”
The Asian girl who’s walked into the room smiles. Her head is shaved, and Polynesian tattoos cover it. Tikis of all sizes and shapes. I can see the top of it because she’s probably under five feet tall. But the strangest thing is that for just a second she seems to be covered in patchy mold. It’s mostly got an orange hue, but spots of dark fill in gaps here and there. I watch it shift and grow on her skin because it’s among the oddest things I’ve ever seen.
When I blink, it’s gone.
She doesn’t make eye contact with either of us. “Good. Tattoos are easy,” she says. “They heal fast these days. Used to be they caused all sorts of scabbing and infection. But now we seal each puncture once the ink’s inserted.”
I nod and decide the orange mold was just the lights flickering. It had to be.
Chloe’s brother once told us that tattoos had been used to mark slaves, and that they were used now to barcode criminals. I wonder if my dad got tattooed when he was in prison.
“So who’s first?” the girl asks, turning and walking into the next room. The red tiki on the back of her skull watches me as she goes, daring me to follow.
I look to Chloe, who smiles. “Piper is.”
Chapter 5
Botanical Haven
I am right. My mom wants to kill me. As soon as I walk into the Botanical Haven, I know she knows. The Botanical Haven is enormous, with glass walls and ceilings that reach so high entire trees grow straight into the air, and the entire lower level is filled with growing things: flowers, fruits, and herbs just to name a few. But my mom’s anger finds me, even amid all the vast space, and focuses. A dampness settles into the air around me, and the Easter lily next to me seems to wither as if even the plants can sense her anger. She’s still in the back near the rows of sinks we use to water the plants, and I have a last minute urge to try to cover my newly tattooed left arm before she gets to me. But I know she’ll still find out, so I don’t bother.
I start for the stairs to the apartment we live in above the shop. One step. I feel her getting closer. Another. She’s about to turn the corner. The tile floor echoes with her footsteps. Deep breath. I take another step. I’m almost to the cash register.
“Piper.”
Her voice sounds calm. Too calm. Like it’s water that she’s placed inside a copper pot, but it hasn’t yet boiled.
“Hi, Mom.”
She comes around the corner and smiles when she sees me. But it’s not her normal smile which makes me feel safe and secure, although a bit smothered. This smile is thin. Calculated. School only let out a half hour ago, but she definitely knows I’ve skipped.
“How was school today?”
I shrug, keeping my left arm away from her. I can’t help myself. I sling my backpack so the strap hangs over the tattoo and lick my lips. My freshly inked skin protests against the strap, but I hold my position. “Fine. Aren’t you supposed to be at your meeting?”
She looks to one side, and another plant seems to wilt under her gaze. I swear when she’s mad my mom can kill plants with a glance. Apparently, it offsets my eternal green thumb.
My mom catches my eyes with hers and holds them. I can’t tear them away, and I think of Tanni from the Drag, taking me captive with her empty eyes. I force myself to maintain my mom’s gaze.
“Did it hurt?”
Her voice is still calm, but the anger is inside, seething just below the surface. She walks closer to me, brushing past a fern, and brown leaves fall to the ground.
“You’re going to kill all the plants.”
Another leaf falls from the fern, and purple flowers on a nearby iris crumple.
“I asked you a question. Did it hurt?”
I nod and tears spring into my eyes, but I fight to keep them back. “Yeah. It hurt. It hurt like hell.” But it also felt blissful. Like every stick of the needle was setting me free. Giving me hope for a new life.
“I’m glad,” she says.
I look around. Dead leaves litter the floor. “It’s a mess in here,” I say.
My mom undoes the clip holding her long black hair. It falls around her shoulders, and she smoothes it down. “You can clean it up. I’m already late for the council meeting.”
I don’t bother arguing, and I don’t reply. I’ve gotten through the worst of it, and once I hear the front door shut, I look down at my arm and smile. The black ink smiles back at me. I actually did it. My very own tattoo. Complete rebellion. I sweep some of the leaves out of my way and move behind the register, dropping my backpack. I think about Shayne and how he’d singled me out in class. Not some other girl. Me. Talking to him was total rebellion, too. I want that rebellious life.
I brush my tatt
oo with my hand. The skin’s raised underneath the black ink. The tattoo artist, Morgan, told us the skin would stay that way for months. Maybe even forever. She also mentioned the pain would persist at least a week, but mine’s diminishing with each minute that passes. I move my hand over it and close my eyes. It’s like having Braille stamped into my skin. I decide I like the bumps, and I hope they never go away. Even in the dark, I’ll be able to see my tattoo. My first sign of freedom. And a permanent reminder of my friendship with Chloe.
I turn on the news so I can listen to it while I clean. The team of global weather experts is predicting another heat bubble. They flash to an image of the city council chambers where a press conference is just starting. Councilman Rendon is up front, and in the background are the other members of the council including my mom. They must’ve waited for my mom to get there. She sits just to the left of Rendon, and even though it’s impossible, I feel like her eyes find mine across the broadcast.
Councilman Rendon calls for the first question.
“Is it true that the domes are now inoperable?” a reporter asks.
Rendon looks equal parts charm and concern. My mom’s told me he plans to run for the state Senate next term. “The glass within our dome structures needs eighteen days to regenerate between activations,” he says.
“That means the domes can’t be used for the next eighteen days, correct?” someone calls out.
“Yes, that is a correct statement,” Rendon says. “Next question.”
I grab a bottle of soy juice off the shelf and sit down to watch the broadcast. As long as I can see my mom on the tube, it means she won’t be home.
“We’ve heard rumors the disperser missiles are negatively impacting the environment. Is this true?”
This is the same rumor that came up in Social Sciences today. The one about the chemicals inside the missiles tearing layers from the atmosphere.