Body Parts

by Jessica Kapp

  “She has.”

  “Then let’s get to work.”

  I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans as we follow him down the hall and through a set of swinging doors. A handful of people wearing blue hospital caps and surgical masks are waiting inside. The weight of their stares feels as heavy as the air in my lungs, and I struggle to pull in my next breath. The man closest to the hospital bed taps it, clinking his nails on the metal side rail, a chime that says: this is for you.

  I shuffle forward, studying the machine above the bed. It looks like a large eye with handles for ears. A robotic arm, with a needle that reminds me of a sharper version of Ms. Preen’s finger, is attached to the metal tube that keeps the eye in place. A bead of sweat trickles down my back.

  No matter how many times I’ve heard about what happens at health screenings, I feel unprepared. I fight the urge to look back at the door we came through because I’m afraid I might bolt.

  As I reach the bed, a man says, “You’ll need to strip down to your undergarments.” I’m too nervous to look up to see who’s talking, and my hands tremble as I fumble with the button on my jeans.

  My pants drop to the floor and I pull off my sweatshirt, holding it over my bra until he hands me a stiff paper shirt. I keep my gaze level with the nametag hanging from a lanyard clipped to his shirt. The photo ID stares at me and I turn away from its eyes so I can change. I sit on the bed and a gloved hand brushes my hair over my shoulder. Someone wipes a moist cloth over the back of my neck. It’s cold and I flinch. My nerves are on high alert, like I’m waiting for the horn to blast before the fifty-yard dash.

  The skin sample is supposed to rule out any allergies. In the back of my mind, I’ve always wondered what would happen if the test showed an allergy to pets and the foster family had three dogs. Would the family revoke their paperwork?

  “Now hold still,” a man says.

  A second later a blade pierces my skin and I bend forward, shrieking in pain. Two men immediately grab my arms and jerk me upright. I bite my lip as he cuts again. Blood rushes to the spot as he makes two more slices to complete the square. There’s a pinch and a tug as the piece of skin is removed.

  “Done,” he says, blowing out a breath, as if he’s the one who’s been sliced.

  My neck feels like it’s on fire—like I’ve been branded.

  The cutter reaches for gauze and presses it so hard into my neck it feels like his thumb is sinking into the wound. Tears streak my face as I pull in a shaky breath.

  “Now the hard part,” he says. His voice is so cold it makes me shiver.

  Dr. Morgan chimes in next. “Lean back and keep your body still or we’ll have to start over.” I glance at the doctor as fresh tears start their descent. I want him to look up from his computer—to give a damn. A tiny part of me wishes he’d stop the tests. Or, at least give me something to dull the pain.

  But he doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

  I hear the sound of a keyboard. Then the needle starts to move.

  “We’ll begin with the body scan,” the doctor says.

  The needle looks like it will pierce right through me. I grip the sides of the bed to keep from screaming out. I close my eyes and try to picture the family from the magazine, the one with the sandwiches, but the hum of the machine makes it impossible.

  “Shouldn’t you put me to sleep or something?” My lungs can’t pull in air fast enough.

  Dr. Morgan ignores my question. “First, we’ll scan your body. Then, you’ll feel the needle.”

  There’s no inflection in his voice. Not a lick of empathy. This is procedure is obviously routine to him.

  The eye above me, which must be the scanner, makes a whirring sound to warm up. The arm with the needle lifts until it’s parallel with the bed. I exhale.

  The scanner glows yellow with periodic flashes of red. It starts at my head and begins its way down my body. It feels warm, as if I’m inside a toaster. When it gets to my toes, the machine lifts back up and centers over my waist. The needle rotates to its position to impale me.

  “Remember, stay perfectly still,” says the man who cut my neck.

  Keeping my head straight, I find his face; his light blue eyes are squinting, as if he’s smiling behind his mask. I catch a glimpse of the name on his badge: Curtis R. He’s standing close to my knee and I want to jerk my leg to kick some sense into him. Does he think this is funny? Maybe he’d like to swap places with me.

  He catches me staring and steps out of view. “Don’t move.”

  Easy for him to say. I wish they’d secured my arms and legs to the table because every inch it gets closer, the more certain I am that I’m going to roll out of the way.

  My eyes close and I picture my new mom smiling at me. Hopefully, she is someone who understands that freckles multiply with each wink from the sun. My eyes fly open when the needle sinks into my skin. I bite back a whimper and clench my fists, reminding myself that when I’m done, when it’s all over, it’ll be worth it. I’ll have a family.

  Chapter 2

  An hour later, I’m being wheeled into an elevator. My stomach flips a little as we drop. I feel like the needle sapped my energy and took any hope and excitement with it. I’m not sure why the doctor needed so much blood, but at least it’s over. I fight my way through the fog that has taken over my mind, trying to focus on something positive like what my new house will look like and whether or not I’ll get my own room.

  The elevator opens to a covered parking lot. The stench of oil and asphalt hits me immediately, and I take several slow breaths through my mouth to avoid losing whatever’s in my stomach.

  I use the little strength I have left to feel the bandage on my neck. The wound pulses in anger, and Ms. Preen bats my hand away. She walks next to the nurse who pushes the wheelchair out to the gray sedan.

  “Thank you for your assistance. This is a big day for all of us,” Ms. Preen says to the nurse when we reach our car. It’s impossible to miss because it’s the only one in the lot. I wish there were other cars, or even a person or two to look at. I’m about to become part of this community, yet I feel more disconnected than ever—like I’m in limbo. I don’t belong at the Center anymore, but I can hardly say I belong with a family I know nothing about. Why haven’t they told me anything yet? Did I fail the health screening?

  Our driver gets out and comes around to help me into the car. He opens the back door before propping one of my arms around his neck. His body is warm, and I find myself wanting to curl into him when he lifts me. I don’t even know him. Either I’m woozy, or the thought of having a dad is starting to sink in. I hope it’s the latter.

  “Here you go,” he says as he eases me down behind the passenger’s seat. I offer him what I think is a smile as he buckles me up, but the muscles in my face must not be working because he doesn’t return it.

  When he shuts the door, I faintly hear Ms. Preen talking with the nurse. The glass is tinted, and except for a few shadowed images, I can’t see a thing.

  The driver opens the other door for Ms. Preen, and she sits so softly that the leather seats don’t make that crinkly sound like they did when I sat down. She digs through her purse and pulls out lipstick and a compact mirror. A thick coat of red goes over the layer she already has on.

  “Congratulations,” she says, tucking the lipstick and compact away and pulling out a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic. One side is bent like it was sitting at the bottom of the cookie jar waiting for someone to pluck it out before it was tossed.

  It’s the nicest thing she’s ever done for me.

  “I take it I passed?” I ask, my mouth watering.

  “Better than that! Your stats were perfect. Exactly what the family hoped for.” She stretches her arm across the seat, holding the cookie away from her skin and clothes. “Your time at the Center is over after tonight.”

  I reach out cautiously, as if the treat might disappear. I can’t remember the last time I had chocolate or anything sweet for
that matter. My heart pounds like it’s determined to break out and grab it before I do.

  The chocolate chunks have melted from being trapped in her purse, and the middle of the cookie feels squishy in my fingers. Even before I take a bite, I anticipate the rush of sugar. I pull it out of the bag and bring it close to my nose, inhaling slowly. My real mom used to bake. I remember sitting on a counter and licking the spoon after she finished mixing the ingredients. The images are fuzzy, but they’re mine. It’s one of the few memories I have, but at least I retained some. No one else at the Center does because they were never raised on the outside. I feel a wave of guilt and smell the cookie again to trigger happier thoughts.

  There’s a hint of vanilla and brown sugar and a dozen other things I can’t put my finger on. I lick the melted chocolate from my thumb, and Ms. Preen looks away as if I’ve done something dirty. Well, this is a rare treat, and I’m going to enjoy it.

  I give her the best smile I can manage. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She scoots her body closer to the window and stares at the dark glass even though we can’t see what’s on the other side. Like she’d rather look at nothing than at me.

  When we start moving, Ms. Preen taps the headrest in front of her. “Don’t forget the shield.” The driver pushes a button near his visor and the barricade between the front and back seat goes up. “You were raised in the best conditions. People would kill to be as healthy as you are,” she says, rummaging through her purse again. She grabs a green tube and pops the lid off, letting a pill that looks like a watermelon seed drop in her hand. It’s glossy, and she slips it in her mouth and swallows it dry. “Now that we know how healthy you really are, delivering you safely is our top priority.”

  I try my best to sit up and remain alert. Our trainers warned us that there were people on the outside jealous of our health. In the past couple of years, there have been rumors about a group trying to kidnap anyone fostered from the Center so they can sell their organs on the black market. Once I’m released, I’ll have to count on my self-defense training to keep me safe. I know how to fight. I know how to run. I hope I don’t have to do either.

  I eat my cookie slowly, savoring each morsel. The last bite hits my tongue when I hear the rattle of a gate, the same sound I heard when we left. The car pulls forward, over a speed bump, and turns to the right.

  When we come to a stop, I feel a surge of power—like I could run a marathon. The driver opens my door, and I bring my arm up around his neck. I’m not sure I need him to help me get out, but I also don’t trust this burst of sugar energy. Our trainers have warned us about the effects so I know a crash is minutes away.

  He puts me down inside the garage, which could hold several cars, maybe even a small airplane. The evening light bleeds in through the large roll-up door we came in through, but because of the way the driveway curves into the garage after the gate, no one can see in—and we can’t see out.

  “I’ll inform your instructors that you are leaving. You’re dismissed from tonight’s activities,” Ms. Preen says.

  “What if I want to participate?”

  She stops in front of the door that leads from the garage to the Center’s lobby. Her blue eyes flash like the flame of a blowtorch. “It’s not up to you to decide. Don’t you think you should focus on saying your goodbyes?”

  The door buzzes open and she heads inside, leaving me momentarily stunned. I’m not ready for goodbyes, not when I don’t even know where I’m going. I feel like I’m swinging from one rope to another, only my grip is slipping on both.

  I snap out of my stupor and hurry after her. Hope pricks my heart as I scan the lobby, thinking maybe I’ll see my new family. That maybe they’re waiting inside, as anxious to meet me, as I am to meet them. The excitement in their eyes would be the reassurance I need.

  But there’s nothing to see. The lobby is empty, except for the girl behind the counter. She’s about my age and has short blonde hair, a miniature version of Ms. Preen. She waves a pen as if she has a question, but Ms. Preen punches a keypad near the girl’s desk, completely ignoring her like she’s just another inanimate object in the room.

  We enter the gymnasium, and my throat tightens when I hear the clank of weight machines and the high-pitched squeak of shoes against the varnished floor. It’s a large room divided into training stations dedicated to strength, agility, and speed respectively. It smells of hard work and sacrifice, and I take in a deep breath.

  “She’s back!” Paige waves from the top of the rock-climbing wall and starts to rappel down.

  Someone in the pool calls out my name and a barbell drops, making Ms. Preen jump. One by one, my friends gather around to hear the news. Paige stands next to me, her fingers reaching for mine. When she finds them, I squeeze, feeling my heart tighten as well. For the last decade, this is the only family I’ve known. We’ve lost baby teeth together and, here at the Center for Excellence, baby fat as well. I wish I could take everyone with me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and end up in a home with a dozen kids, perhaps even a sister like Paige.

  Parker wipes the sweat off his brow and marches over to Ms. Preen. He get so close to her I’m certain his perspiration will drip onto her coat. “Are you ever going to get the rest of us out of here?” he says, with a hostile tone.

  Ms. Preen puts a flat hand against his chest and removes it almost immediately. She holds it against her side, fingers spanned like she’s drying her nails.

  “Easy, Parker.” I use my body to wedge a gap between them. If Parker wants any chance at being fostered, getting on Ms. Preen’s bad side isn’t the way to do it.

  His eyes cloud over in anger as he stares right through me, making it clear his words are for her. “I’ve been here the longest.”

  “You know that’s not how it works,” Ms. Preen says. She takes a step back and glances at the door we came through, probably gauging how fast she can get there in her heels.

  Parker doesn’t give her the chance to find out. He turns to leave, kicking one of the towels near a weight machine. I watch him cross the room until he disappears into the sleeping quarters. I face the group again, feeling like I need to defend Parker’s actions, but the words stay glued to my tongue.

  Paige is the one to break the silence. “Did you pass?”

  I match her smile. “It’s over. I passed.”

  She lets out a high-pitched squeal and throws her arms around me, the impact causing me to teeter.

  She doesn’t let go until Ms. Preen clears her throat. “I’ll be back for you in the morning. You know the drill. Give your belongings away. Your family will provide everything you need.”

  “I get your running shoes!” Paige yells out.

  “Hah! You wish,” Meghan says, punching her in the arm.

  “Are you afraid I’ll beat you if I wear them?”

  Paige puts her arm around me in an effort to seal the deal for the shoes. Someone else pipes in, begging for my red sweatshirt. The voices climb higher, everyone arguing over one another. Underneath all the noise, the click of heels fades away. Ms. Preen is gone. I still don’t know anything about where I’m going tomorrow. All I have are questions and a stomachache—and I know it’s not from the cookie.

  • • •

  My bed is right underneath a vent. Years ago, I tied a ribbon around one of the metal blades, and sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I watch it flutter. Tonight, I’m also listening to the sounds of my friends for the last time: the deep breaths from Meghan in the bunk next to mine; the subtle snores from Paige, who sleeps on her stomach with one arm hanging over the edge of her bed.

  Since the girls’ sleeping quarters are separate from the boys’, I can’t talk to Parker. He stayed quiet all through dinner and sat as far away from me as possible. I can usually gauge how he’s feeling by how tightly his eyebrows come together. Tonight, they practically kissed. He’s angry, and although I doubt he’d admit it, I’m certain he thinks I’m abandoning him.

  I picture t
he dream house he described: two-story with cathedral ceilings, a big front porch with a rocking chair, and a backyard that butts up to a park. I know he sees me in the house with him, that he envisions having children and a golden retriever together. He’s told me at least a dozen times.

  The idea makes me uneasy. I’m not sure if I could love him in that way, if the brotherly feelings I have for him could ever evolve into something more. But this isn’t the time to imagine the future, because I know it’ll lead nowhere. I just want to say goodbye.

  As soon as I close my eyes, I feel something wet hit my forehead. I wipe it away and look up. There’s a face hanging out of the open vent. It’s Parker, and he’s holding a water bottle.

  “You coming?” he whispers.

  I smile and sit up, catching the bottle when he drops it. I take a quick drink and set it on the ground so I can grab his hand. The bed doesn’t squeak when I stand on it, and Parker pulls me up with ease.

  “When’s the last time we did this?” he asks.

  The answer is easy. It was my fifteenth birthday. Parker thought it’d be fun to run through the sprinklers on the track to celebrate, but we got caught and had to do pushups until our arms turned to dough. I decide not to remind him.

  He points the flashlight at his face and the light casts an eerie shadow, making him look dangerous.

  “Turn that off!” I say, trying not to laugh.

  “What? You can’t get in trouble anymore; you’re flying the coop.”

  To my relief, he dims the light, but just enough so we can still see where we’re going. We crawl through the ventilation shaft to the end of the gym where there are some bleachers outside. We need to exit feet first in order to land on them, and I turn when we reach the flap at the end of the building. Parker has gained a few pounds since the last time we did this, and he struggles to get into position. His socks rub against my forehead as I shimmy out. I push the vent open with my feet and slide until my head and arms are the only parts left inside. The edge of the vent presses against my ribs while I feel around with my foot. Then, Parker’s toe jabs me in the eye.