Joan the Made

by Kristen Pham

  His arresting voice snaps me out of my own mind, and around me, my classmates quiet. Leo’s class is very different from the practical lessons that we absorb in Music, Movement, and Costumes. When Leo speaks, his words apply to the real world, not just the make-believe prison of my clone type.

  “I know that quote!” Alison squeaks. “William Ramschild said that in the commencement address at our school last year.”

  Leo’s mouth quirks as if he’s fighting a smile. “Actually, he stole that line from the original of his clone type, Mr. William Shakespeare.”

  “Whatever,” Ken says. “Tell us why we should care.”

  Leo isn’t baited by Ken’s rude remark. Instead, his eyes go dreamy as he speaks.

  “Your greatest role, your life’s opus, will not be a part you play in a vid, with someone else’s lines crammed in your mouth. The role of a lifetime is the character you play to the world, the shell you construct to keep your authentic self alive within you, safe from being battered by ruthless media, vapid fans, and Evolved people and companies who pay to control you.”

  His words etch themselves in my mind, ingrained forever.

  “You must accept that you have two selves,” Leo continues. “Be very careful who you reveal the truth of yourself to.”

  His words align with my own beliefs. Ultimately, the only person who can fully know you, whom you can fully trust, is yourself.

  “Oh, I dunno,” Ken quips. “I’m pretty comfortable with the entire world being aware of how incredible my authentic self truly is.”

  “You have already begun,” Leo says with an indulgent smile.

  “I see it,” I jump in, unable to resist the chance to needle Ken. “You’re playing the character of a pompous egomaniac. Brilliantly, if I may say.”

  “Better than playing a dried-up virgin with no talent and fewer friends,” Ken shoots back.

  “It works for me,” I say with a shrug, refusing to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

  “Enough with the Joan and Ken show,” Elizabeth says, and then returns her gaze to Leo. “Instruct us on the best role to inhabit. What role will aid us most in navigating the Evolved world? The humble actress? The quirky artist?”

  “The character must spring from within you to be believable,” Leo says. “Begin by giving this character a backstory that is different from your own. Make it a role separate from your life. This character has her own motivations and personality, though the facts of your life are the same.”

  Ideas spring to my mind as I unlock my tablet. I consider the possibilities, rejecting the characters that I don’t have the stomach to play for the rest of my life.

  “By next week, I want you to have a complete history for your public persona,” Leo instructs.

  Unlike when our other teachers give us assignments, no one groans at this one. There isn’t a Throwback in the room who doesn’t yearn for the chance to create a new life for themselves, including me.

  After class, Harriet meets me in the hall on the way to Crew’s classroom. Historicals are pouring through the halls, and the excitement in the air is contagious.

  “Just think, maybe next year, we can go to real colleges alongside the Evolved,” Elizabeth says to Sacajawea as they pass by.

  Harriet and I give each other a look.

  “Crew’s done too good a job of giving everyone hope that a better future for Throwbacks can happen in our lifetime,” Harriet says quietly. “Justice takes time. We’ll have to win court cases, have Evolved criminals punished, change laws.”

  “We’ll have to change minds, change hearts.”

  I knew my dream of being a doctor was over as soon as the results of my blood test came in on my eighteenth birthday. Now my life will be spent fighting political battles instead of medical ones, and a part of me still mourns the loss of the future I had planned. I can understand why Elizabeth wants to imagine that a future of her own choosing is still in her grasp.

  Inside the classroom, Crew lays out the plan he explained to Nic and me earlier. “We need hard, incriminating information on every one of these Strand executives by Circe Night. In order to have this rebellion taken seriously, our first offensive must be unforgettable. In one night, we will publicly cripple the most evil company in the world.”

  “Not bad for our opening move,” Joseph says, nodding his approval.

  “We have eight executives, and the headmaster, to investigate. Choose who you want to work with, and we’ll split up our targets,” Crew says. “All information you find will be turned over to the rebellion leadership for review and deeper investigation.”

  I like that he doesn’t treat this like a classroom assignment where he creates the groups, but it makes me nervous to see Joseph, Rob, Sal, and Mary teaming up. What if their tactics turn violent?

  I shake off my worry as I turn to Harriet, Marie, and Sun. We’ve been spending more time together lately, and I think we’ll be a strong team.

  “Crew told me that we could investigate the headmaster,” I tell them. “If any of you want to be on a different team because you don’t want to waste your time on taking down a nobody like Dr. Hunter, I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not going to lie and say that part of this isn’t personal for me. He beat the shit out of me, makes little kids cry, and prostitutes his students. And that’s just what I know about.”

  “I’m with you,” Harriet says.

  Even though I expected it, her instant support makes me grateful. My friendship with Ava was based on listening to the same music, finding the same celebrities hot, and an undying love of all things chocolate. Not enough to keep us connected after graduation. Harriet and I share our ideals, passions, intelligence, and loyalty. It’s on another level.

  “I don’t think it’s a waste of time to pursue the headmaster,” Sun says, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “The demise of the Strand executives will be lumped together. They’re an evil corporation, and people will feel that if those individuals are prosecuted, nothing else has to change. But showing how a regular Evolved person like the headmaster is abusing Throwbacks will shed light on the larger problem of how little power Throwbacks have over their own lives.”

  “I agree,” Marie says quietly. “Also, there’s no one else I trust in this class.”

  “Thank you,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek.

  It’s awkward to accept that I’ll be part of a team, instead of acting on my own. But this isn’t your average study group, and Harriet, Sun, and Marie have skills that I don’t.

  “Let’s take this tyrant down,” Harriet says.

  We spend the rest of the night trolling online for every scrap of information we can find on the headmaster. He has a son, though his wife left him years ago. No surprise. He’s very vocal about his donations to various arts programs, and he also quietly gives money to Citizens for an Evolved Future, a political lobby for the “rights” of Evolved to live separately from Throwbacks. But hours later, we haven’t turned up anything in the way of illegal activity.

  “If we had access to Dr. Hunter’s bank accounts, there must be large deposits all the time from his customers,” Harriet muses.

  “Even Nic probably can’t get that information,” I say. “The security on bank sites is almost as tight as Strand’s.”

  “Vid and images of what he is doing will be more powerful than showing the deposits into his account,” Sun suggests. “If we can find enough evidence to launch an investigation, the police will have access to his bank records, anyway, and that will back up our story.”

  “Let’s follow him,” Harriet says. “It’s not like he has a bodyguard or heavy security, like the Strand executives. We’ll create a vid that will leave no one with doubts of what he’s up to.”

  “What if the police choose not to investigate?” Marie asks.

  “Then we go public with the information. We need a contact in the Evolved press who would be willing to share our story if the police try to bury it,” I reply.

>   “I might be able to help with that,” Elizabeth interjects.

  I didn’t know she was listening.

  “We have no reason to trust you,” Marie says before I can say the same thing, but more rudely.

  “You’re not the only ones who want to see the headmaster torn from his throne,” Elizabeth says, her voice low. “Jail is too good for him. He needs to be publicly humiliated.”

  Elizabeth is wearing her queen mask, but it slips a little. Are those tears she’s blinking back? I can’t stand her, but I also know how much it sucks to show weakness to your enemies. If she’s letting me see her like this, she must really hate the headmaster.

  “We’ll take any help we can get,” I say, pretending not to notice as she sucks in a deep breath.

  “Good,” she says, and our eyes connect.

  What’s that old expression Addie used to say? Politics makes strange bedfellows.

  Chapter 29

  It only takes Elizabeth a couple of days to get me a meeting with a reporter at one of the major Seattle news sources, the Emerald City Adviser. Their news program is one of the highest watched on YouTube.

  “Walt is a good friend of my mom’s,” Elizabeth says as we take a bus to the Emerald City office complex on the outskirts of Seattle. “Don’t embarrass me by acting like . . . yourself.”

  “I see. He doesn’t like charming, brilliant, young go-getters?” I ask, and smile when Elizabeth glowers at me. “How the peasants must have cowered under that gaze.”

  Elizabeth scratches her nose, and I think it’s to cover up a grin.

  We get off the bus twenty minutes later, and the Emerald City office building is easy to spot. It’s the only skyscraper this far away from the city center. Naturally, it’s green, which seems like an obvious choice to me.

  Security guards are posted at the doors.

  “Identification,” barks an Evolved officer as we come closer.

  Elizabeth and I show our IDs on our phones, and he gives a nod. “Straight to the tenth floor. Go anywhere else in the building and you’ll be arrested.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth says, and then gives him a nod as if she’s dismissing one of her subjects.

  I follow her confident stride inside to a large lobby with a white marble floor. An elevator waits, open, and Elizabeth and I step inside. It knows to take us to the tenth floor, and we exit into a busy office.

  Screens cover the walls, and every single one has different vids on it. The effect is overstimulating, and I can’t imagine how the reporters turn the chaos into narratives.

  But all of the action doesn’t faze Elizabeth, and she leads me through the crowded room to an office in the corner. Without bothering to knock, she steps inside a room that is blessedly quiet. It must be equipped with the highest quality noise-canceling technology because the clamor outside the door is completely muted.

  Sitting behind a large glass desk is a man with silver hair and thick-rimmed glasses that he can’t possibly need. The style choice is hopelessly old-fashioned, and I hope that he’s more up-to-date on current events than he is on fashion trends.

  “Lizzie,” he says with a warm smile, standing to greet us.

  He gives her a hug, and she rests her head on his shoulder. It’s only for a heartbeat, but she looks relaxed and safe—two things I’ve yearned for my entire life. I beat down a little spark of jealousy.

  “This is Joan, a classmate,” Elizabeth says. “Joan, meet my uncle Walter.”

  “Good to meet you, sir.”

  “None of that. Call me Walt,” he says, before hugging me like he hugged Elizabeth.

  “How is show biz treating you, Lizzie?” he asks after we settle into chairs.

  “You know I think it’s all a waste of time,” she says, tucking her feet under her. This natural girlish side of her is unexpected and unsettling. “I only went to Seattle Secondary to see some action.”

  “And have you?” he asks with a grin.

  This guy knows about Crew and the rebellion? It’s all I can do to keep from yelling at Elizabeth for being so stupid. I haven’t even trusted my parents with that information!

  “We need your help,” she says.

  The amused smile drops from Walt’s face, and he leans forward, his eyes shining eagerly. “You have a story for me?”

  “Yes. And it’s epic,” Elizabeth says. “Joan, tell him about the headmaster.”

  In her sharp gaze, I realize that I’ve underestimated her. She isn’t revealing critical information about the rebellion or the Strand executives. This is about publicly humiliating the headmaster.

  “Would you be interested in a headmaster of a prominent local Throwback academy who is pimping out his students to Evolved men?”

  Walt’s eyes widen. “We’d put a story like that in a prime time slot. What footage do you have?”

  “None, yet,” I admit, and Walt’s smile falls.

  “You know better than to tease me like that, Lizzie,” Walt says. “Come back when you have something I can use.”

  “Of course, Uncle,” Elizabeth says. “Joan’s going to be putting herself in danger getting those vids, and she wanted a guarantee that if she obtains them, that you’ll post them on all of Emerald City’s major news feeds.”

  Walt eyes me before replying. “Any other Throwback who came in here promising a story with nothing to back it up would be kicked out for good. Bring me a story, no gossip or secondhand interviews. Raw footage of this headmaster in action. And I promise, it will be—”

  Walt’s phone buzzes on the table, and he frowns when he glances at the screen. He picks it up and reads a message. His face pales.

  “That will be all today,” he says to Elizabeth and me.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Thank you for coming by and for the cookies, dear,” he says, giving her a meaningful stare.

  “You’re welcome, Uncle,” she replies smoothly. “I miss you. See you soon for Mom’s Fourth of July party.”

  Elizabeth hustles me into the elevator and out of the elaborate office building quickly. We’re only a few steps from the door when pain knifes into the base of my skull. It’s sudden and violent, and I promptly barf all over the pavement.

  My eyes are bleary, but I can see that next to me, Elizabeth is hunched over as well. The sounds of the world around me are eliminated by the ringing in my ears. None of the headaches Strand has sent me over the years compare to this one.

  We blindly make our way to the bus stop, half holding each other up so we don’t collapse. It’s a silent ride back to campus, and neither of us says anything until we’re safely outside.

  “Strand knew we were there,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from the acid in my throat.

  “I shouldn’t have helped you,” Elizabeth says with a shake of her head. “You’re on their radar; of course they’re watching you. And now they’re watching me, too. From now on, stay away from me.”

  I’m too sick to snap back at her. Instead, I focus my eyes on my phone screen to text Nic to bring the painkiller for Elizabeth and me. I make it into the dorm elevator and halfway down the hall before I pass out.

  When I wake up, my headache is only a little better than when it started. My room is dim, and Sparkle is nowhere to be seen.

  “Nic wouldn’t let me give you anything for the pain,” Harriet says as I force myself to sit up. “He says that you have rehearsal tomorrow, and Strand will be watching to make sure you’re suffering.”

  “We’re in an acting program. I’ll fake it.”

  “That’s what I said. He said you’re not that good yet,” Harriet replies with a huff.

  “That’s why I hate him.”

  “One other thing,” Harriet says, her face hesitant.

  A wave of nausea crashes over me. I lean over the side of my bed, and there’s a bucket there to catch my puke. Harriet thinks of everything.

  I’m wiping my mouth when the door bursts open. It’s Justus. Is it too late to dive under my c
overs before he sees me pale and weak, with a little vomit in my hair? Oh God, even if he doesn’t see it, he probably smelled it when he walked in. Maybe it would have been better if Strand killed me today instead of subjecting me to this torture.

  “Justus called,” Harriet says in a small voice.

  “You told him he could come over?”

  “No!” she replies, a hand on her hip.

  Justus has been glaring at us during our exchange, and he finally interrupts. “What happened? Who did this?”

  “Not so loud,” I mutter, his voice sending darts of pain from the base of my skull down my spine. “It’s not that big a deal. It’s one of the headaches that Strand sends us every so often to remind us of our place. You guys must get them, too.”

  “Never,” Justus whispers.

  “Not like this,” Harriet replies. “Mine are pretty minor, and they don’t come very often.”

  My head is fuzzy, and it’s hard to focus on her words. “It’ll pass in a few days. I’m not going to let it derail our plans for tonight.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” Harriet says. “You’re in no shape to be following the headmaster around.”

  “I can function like this. Let’s go, now, before he takes off for the night.”

  I begin a slow breathing routine that one of my physicians taught me to help manage the pain when I was sixteen.

  “You’re right; she’s raving mad,” Justus says to Harriet, like I’m not sitting next to him. Then he turns to me, his voice soothing, like he’s talking to a small child. “Lie down, Joan. Everything will be a little better in the morning. I promise.”

  I smack his hand away as he tries to gently push me back down on the bed.

  “I’m a grown woman; I can make my own choices. Harriet and I have somewhere to be tonight, and I will not let a headache set us back.”

  “No way,” he says, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “I’m with Justus on this one, Joan,” Harriet agrees. “You have to consider what’s best for the mission. You’re in pain, and your mind isn’t at its sharpest. Our plans for Headmaster Hunter are ruined if we slip up and let him know we’re on to him. You have to know when to back down.”