by Risa Green
Lucretia smiled forgivingly. “Of course, dear Plotinus. It shall be our secret.”
Gemina reached out to take Lucretia’s hand, kissing it once more, despite the foul taste. “You have my humblest thanks,” she said, backing out through the door and making her way out of the courtyard as quickly as possible.
Plotinus was no more accustomed to wearing the long tunic for women than Gemina was to wearing the short one for men. He had to slow his natural gait considerably to accommodate the extra fabric at his feet. More than once he stepped on the hem and almost tripped while walking to the Forum. The heavy gold hoops Gemina wore on her ears made his head feel as if it were being pulled down by stones. Plotinus had always known that women were responsible for taking care of a household, but he never fully understood the magnitude of female responsibility until now.
Lugging baskets through the marketplace, he wondered how Gemina—with her curious, intelligent mind—could bear the day-in, day-out monotony of purchasing food, overseeing slaves, educating Gaia, and hosting dinner guests. He never realized how much he took for granted the simple freedoms he enjoyed because he had been born a male. It isn’t right, he thought for the hundredth time as he stepped around a group of women talking loudly in the street. It isn’t right at all. We all come from the same place. We are all but part of The One.
He resolved then and there to write about the crime of gender inequality. He resolved to use his influence with Castricius and other senators to have the laws changed. As soon as he and Gemina switched back, he would show all of Rome the truth.
In the immediate moment, however, he was determined to help Gemina discover the truth about her husband. She had been such a loyal patron and friend; she introduced him to the best of Roman society, she convinced Castricius to host him in their home, and she had been the most eager and willing student he had yet known. Admittedly, he was concerned about what would happen to him if her allegations against Castricius proved to be true. But he flung those concerns aside. As a philosopher, he was committed to pursuing truth at all costs. If the truth about Castricius ruined his life, then so be it.
From the corner of his eye, Plotinus spotted Amphiclea filling a small basket with oranges. He approached her. The thought of not having to pretend to be Gemina for a few moments filled him with relief.
“Amphiclea!” he called out, still surprised to hear Gemina’s voice emerging from his throat.
Amphiclea looked up and smiled at the familiar voice, but then eyed him warily, as if she’d just remembered that her friend was not who she appeared to be. He resisted the habitual urge to kiss her hand as he scurried up beside her. “Hello, Gemina,” she replied awkwardly, glancing at the woman selling the oranges. “I wasn’t expecting to see you at the market today.”
“Well, I must carry on with my daily duties, must I not?”
Amphiclea frowned. “I suppose you must.”
Plotinus took her by the arm and led her into a narrow alleyway, where they could talk without being overheard. “Have you heard from Gemina?” he whispered.
Amphiclea shook her head. “I have not, and I am worried. Oh, Plotinus, what if she’s caught? She has a daughter to think of. I’m afraid this might have been a terrible mistake.”
“Gemina will be fine,” Plotinus assured her. “She’s the most intelligent woman I know. More so than many of the Roman men in power, I dare say. And with you as our witness, we are guaranteed to be successful in this endeavor. You still wear the anklet?” Amphiclea lifted her tunic to show him the gold chain encircling her ankle. Plotinus patted her paternally on the arm. “Then all shall be fine, my dear. I’m expecting her to be home this evening. If we have the opportunity to speak in private, I’ll remind her to be careful.”
Amphiclea thanked him and bid him farewell.
Lost in thought, Plotinus wandered back toward the Forum. He wasn’t ready to return to the house quite yet, so he continued walking, wandering farther through the city, until he came upon more familiar territory. Here were the Coliseum, the Pantheon, the Curia, the banks, and the library: places inhabited almost entirely by men, with the occasional female slave waiting by a chariot along the road. Here, in this part of the city, Plotinus began to feel like himself again. The woman’s tunic he wore seemed to slip away, and he hardly felt the heavy gold earrings of which he’d been so conscious earlier. He looked upon the library with longing and found himself ascending the steep, marble stairs that led to the front door.
Inside, Plotinus hardly noticed the strange looks he received from the other patrons. The library was part of a complex that also housed a palestra for physical games, along with the baths; the room smelled faintly of the oils the men used to wash themselves. He purchased a reed pen and some parchment papers and began to give a written voice to the thoughts that had been germinating since he’d been enlightened.
If the perfect life is within human reach, the man attaining it attains happiness. Man, when he commands not merely the life of sensation but also of Reason and Truth, has realized the perfect life. But what of a woman? Can she not attain the same degree of Reason and Truth? Is this life something foreign to her nature? No: there exists no single human being who does not either potentially or effectively possess this thing which we hold to constitute happiness. But then if a woman can have a truly perfect life within, the same as a man, then why should she not be permitted the privileges of men without? Why should a woman not own property or take part in politics? If she has the same capabilities as man, why should a woman not become Emperor, even? Is it fear that leads men to keep the laws of women unequal? Fear that women might perhaps be better qualified to govern this Roman Empire?
Plotinus stopped writing and gazed off into the corner of the room. In the corridor across from the library, leading into the baths, he recognized a banker whom he’d met several times with Castricius. This man, he knew, would be familiar with Castricius’s finances. Suddenly, Plotinus had an idea for how he might find out exactly what Castricius was doing with his money and bring swift justice; he quickly jotted down his ideas on the back of his paper in order to have them straight in his mind when he approached the man.
Senator Castricius has accounts with you. I’d like to open an account of my own.
Plotinus quickly gathered up his papers and followed the banker down the hallway and through the door, finally catching up with him just inside the baths.
“May I help you?” the banker asked, indignantly.
“Yes,” Plotinus replied. But the voice that spoke was not his own.
Oh, no, he thought, delicate hands flying up to cover his mouth. What have I done? How could I have forgotten that I was Gemina?
“What do you want, woman?” the banker asked, angrily.
Plotinus said nothing as the other men in the room turned to stare at him. He began to back up.
“What is this?” the banker demanded, grabbing the paper out of Plotinus’s hand. When he was finished reading it, he looked up, his face bright red. The banker let out what sounded like a roar.
“You follow me into the men’s baths because you want to open a bank account? Guards! Guards! Arrest this woman!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
DELPHI, CALIFORNIA
PRESENT DAY
A group of fifteen or twenty soon-to-be juniors crammed around the oversized center island of Nick Ford’s kitchen, surrounding Nick as he stood, shirtless, sloppily pouring shots of tequila into his mother’s platinum-rimmed Wedgwood tea cups.
Ariel stood next to him. She was careful to strike the balance between possessive and nonchalant: keeping one arm resting on his smooth, hairless shoulder. The gold-plated bangle that she’d swiped from the counter of a local boutique yesterday glinted in the soft glow of the overhead light. With her other hand, Ariel discreetly pinched the top of her thigh, just under the hem of her white miniskirt. She pinched until her eyes smarted.
Yup, she thought. This is definitely real.
“Ju-niors,
ju-niors, ju-niors,” the guys started to chant, banging their fists on the glossy marble.
It was the Saturday night before school started, and Nick’s parents had conveniently decided to spend Labor Day weekend in Martha’s Vineyard. Ariel glanced around the kitchen at the familiar faces: classmates who had finally accepted her for what she knew she was always destined to be, the most popular girl in school. And Nick Ford—with his olive skin, bright blue eyes, and rippling muscles honed from two years of lacrosse practice—had fulfilled his destiny as her natural partner: the hottest guy at Delphi High.
It didn’t matter anymore how she’d gotten here. She’d gotten here. That was all that counted. But still, a brief thought of her victims tried to push its way up to the surface. She told herself what she always did when the guilt surged: I never meant for things to get so bad. She’d never meant for them to leave Delphi altogether. Jessica, she knew, had quickly found a spot at a boarding school somewhere abroad. But Gretchen was a question mark. Ariel’s hand trembled just the slightest bit on Nick’s shoulder, and she quickly lowered it to her side.
I’m not going to think about that anymore, Ariel told herself. It’s a new year. A fresh start. She could almost hear Mrs. Lackman, the school psychologist whom she secretly saw every week, repeating to her what she had said so many times before. You can’t change the past. All you can do is change how you behave in the future.
Nick passed around the tea cups, gently handing the last one to Ariel. He raised his own, and Ariel caught a few of the girls around the table staring longingly at his outstretched bicep. She put her hand back on top of his shoulder.
“What should I toast to?” he whispered to her, his blue eyes glassy.
“To the future,” Ariel said.
Everyone lifted up their cups. “To the future!” they all shouted back.
She threw her head back and tossed the tequila down her throat, then placed her cup down on the counter without flinching. She could feel Nick watching her, and she fought the urge to make an ugly face as the alcohol burned her insides. He pulled her close to him, and she couldn’t help noticing how much she liked the feel of her smooth arms against his bare chest.
“You look so hot tonight,” he breathed in her ear. “I still can’t believe it took us so long to hook up.”
Ariel smiled. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to put this outfit together: a black, low-cut tank top that she’d put on in the dressing room under her T-shirt, and the white skirt (which she’d stuffed into her purse while the saleswoman wasn’t looking). She tilted her head up to look at him—she was tall, five six and a half, five eight in her wedge heels—but Nick was easily six foot two. “You were worth waiting for,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her.
“Get a room!” yelled Connor Matthews, Nick’s best friend and teammate.
Idiot, Ariel thought, her eyes still closed. Everyone knew that the only reason Connor hadn’t been kicked out of school yet was because his father was a member of the City Council. He was always getting caught doing stupid shit—like the time he brought a live pig into the girl’s locker room at school. But in keeping with the “boys will be boys” mentality of certain wealthy community leaders, he never got into any trouble. Ariel had never liked Connor—in fact, she resented the way he breezed through life without any consequences—but she would never say that to anyone. Especially not to Nick.
Everyone in the kitchen laughed. Finally, she pulled away from Nick, blushing. “I’m gonna go outside and get some fresh air,” she murmured to him. “I’ll find you later, okay?” He nodded, but before she’d even had a chance to kiss him on the cheek like she’d intended to do, Nick had already pounced on Connor and was now good-naturedly twisting his arm behind his back.
The fresh air felt good. Ariel could feel people staring at her as she walked by them. Three years ago, she would have snarled, but now she knew they were staring not because they hated her, but because they were envious. And she reveled in it. This is going to be the best year ever. She stumbled along through the backyard, trying to count how many shots she’d done. There was the one with Nick, and then a few more before that when she’d first gotten to the party. Four, at least. Her head was spinning, and she needed to just chill out somewhere for a little while. She was searching for a quiet spot where she could be alone when she spotted a hammock strung between two enormous maple trees at the far end of the yard. She was less than three feet away and already sinking into it in her mind when Brinley Porter stopped her in her tracks.
“Oh, Ariel, there you are! Have you heard?”
“Heard what?” Ariel asked, annoyed. Did she slur those words? It didn’t matter. Ariel knew that Brinley couldn’t stand her, and the feeling was mutual. They’d sort of been friends in middle school, but in ninth grade, when Ariel had begun to get popular, she’d dropped Brinley like a hot coal. To be honest, she reminded Ariel of the way she herself used to be. Whatever the news was, Ariel knew that it was going to be bad for her. If it wasn’t, Brinley wouldn’t have been trying so hard to find her.
“Jessica Shaw is here. She’s back, and she’s re-enrolling at Delphi. Can you believe that?”
Ariel narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say?”
For a moment, Brinley seemed surprised by Ariel’s sudden intensity. Of course, she remembered just as well as Ariel did how Jessica used to ignore them both, or at best, sneer at them. “I said, Jessica Shaw is back. And she’s here. At this party.” Brinley could hardly contain her glee. “I take it you hadn’t heard.”
“Whatever,” Ariel muttered, pushing past her and lumbering back toward the house. But her heart had started to pound. Jessica Shaw is back, she repeated to herself. Jessica Shaw is back. She hesitated for a moment and stayed hidden in the shadows. She wasn’t sure if she even believed Brinley. Still … If Jessica was really here, Ariel wanted to see it for herself. She peered out from behind a large shrub and scanned the kitchen. There was Connor, acting stupid, as usual. There were some semi-popular, semi-attractive girls playing quarters with a few guys from the lacrosse team. And there was Nick, talking to—Ariel’s heart stopped beating. He was talking to the prettiest girl she’d ever seen. Tall and thin with subtle curves, a full, pouty mouth, and long, beachy-blonde hair. She wasn’t even moving, but you could see her self-confidence just in the way she stood, even from this distance.
Ariel felt herself deflating like an old pool raft at the end of the summer, her own confidence practically hissing as it leaked out of her. Nobody knew that Ariel was the one who released that video of Jessica and Gretchen kissing. She’d had to post it anonymously. If people had known the true source, they would have just chalked it up to Ariel being a jealous outcast instead of seeing it for the scandal that it really was. The only ones who knew the truth were Jessica and Gretchen themselves. And now here was Jessica, holding all of the cards yet again.
What if she tells everyone the truth about me? What if they all hate me again?
Her stomach sank as she watched Nick talking to her.
“You can’t just hide from her like a scared little girl,” came a voice from out of the darkness. Ariel turned around to find Brinley standing behind her.
“I’m not hiding,” Ariel insisted.
Brinley crossed her arms as if to say yeah, right. “Look, Ariel, I know that you and I were never really friends, but I hate Jessica Shaw just as much as you do. You’re in charge now, and you don’t have to let her back in. Go in there and deal with her. Put your hand on Nick’s ass, and let her know that she doesn’t get to just waltz in here and take over like she never left. Let her know that you haven’t forgotten about how she treated you.”
Ariel took a deep breath. Brinley did have a point. After all, Ariel hadn’t clawed her way up the social ladder just to have the rungs knocked out from under her. But then again, Brinley didn’t know the truth, either. If she did, she’d think that Ariel was evil—and so would everyone else if they found out that she’d
pulled a stunt like that on a girl whose mother had just been murdered.
What if Jessica tells? Ariel tried to put herself in Jessica’s shoes: if she’d been scandalized for kissing another girl, then disappeared and suddenly re-emerged two years later, the last thing she’d want to do is bring up the scandal that sent her running off in the first place.
No, she thought. She wouldn’t dare bring it up again. The only reason she’d even come back is if she thought people had forgotten about it.
“You’re right,” Ariel finally answered. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“You’re welcome,” Brinley said. “Now go put that girl in her place.”
Ariel was already gone, striding through the French doors with her head held high and her long, layered blonde hair bouncing at her shoulders. She was glad now that she’d done all of those shots earlier. She didn’t think she’d have the nerve to do this sober. Liquid courage, she’d once heard her mom call it.
Ariel walked through the kitchen, making a beeline for Nick. Ignoring Jessica, she sidled up to him, sliding her hand across his back and then slowly making her way down until she reached the left back pocket of his jeans. She placed her hand inside and left it there.
“Nick,” she cooed. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
“Hey, babe,” he said, giving her a kiss on the mouth. Ariel made a big show of kissing him back, harder than she probably would have if Jessica weren’t standing there watching them. But then Nick broke away from her, waving his hand toward Jessica. “Hey, Ariel, do you remember Jessica Shaw? She left right before ninth grade. And now she’s back.”
Ariel hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should pretend not to remember, or if she should give a terse acknowledgement. But Jessica beat her to it.