The Adoration of Jenna Fox

by Mary E. Pearson

  She stares at me. Longer than is safe when driving fifty miles per hour. ‘Never mind,’ she answers and looks back at the road. I look straight ahead again, too. I know what go means to her, but I wanted her to say it.

  Die.

  Go.

  To heaven? Is that where she thinks she’s going? Is she really sure of going to a place that isn’t even on a map? And how can she be sure she’d like it once she got there? But that’s Lily. One big question mark.

  We return to our silence. There are no more comments about tumbled buildings, who we are, were, or the strain between us. We return to something unnatural and painful and familiar. The way Lily and I are now.

  The mission comes sooner than I think. We are here and I long for more of the strained silence. It doesn’t make sense, but I suppose in my new world, it does. I follow Lily down the same path as last time—through the heavy wooden gate, the cemetery, and finally through the church that leads to the inner courtyard where I am to meet Ethan. When she opens the door into the church, an unexpected wave of chanting stops us. A choir of pink-cheeked boys lift their voices as a priest seems to pull the music from their throats with the urging of his hands. Lily immediately crosses herself and closes her eyes. The echo of their voices makes me stop, too. It feels like it is shaking something inside of me, something that aches.

  ‘Come along,’ Lily whispers. ‘They’re practicing.’

  We cross through the church, the priest acknowledging our presence with a nod but not stopping from his work. Lily opens the opposite door, and we exit to the courtyard.

  ‘Ethan is bringing you home, so once I finish my business with Father Rico, I’ll be going.’ She turns to leave.

  I am still filled with the sound of the boys’ clear voices. I don’t want to let it go. I don’t want to let Lily go. She is already walking away. ‘I heard you,’ I say. She stops and turns around. ‘Crying,’ I add. ‘When I was in a coma. I heard you cry out to Jesus. For me. I thought you should know. That people in a coma can hear.’ Her fingers tighten around the bag in her hands. Her eyes are fixed on me, but she doesn’t speak. ‘Did you know I heard you?’ I ask.

  She opens her mouth, but her words seem to be stuck in her throat. ‘No,’ she finally says. ‘I didn’t know.’ She swipes a strand of hair from her cheek. ‘I need to go,’ she says. ‘I need to go.’

  Ethan is not in the courtyard as promised, but after several misdirected attempts, I eventually find him at the lavanderia, the ancient washing basins next to the gardens. I don’t even know what I will be doing for my community project. Rae just seemed to be satisfied that I could work with Ethan until I found a project of my own. We must devote eight hours per week to it.

  ‘Finally,’ he says when I arrive. But before he spits out his cold greeting, I catch something. A smile? Not so much around the mouth but in the eyes. I’m learning amazingly fast. He probably doesn’t even know I saw.

  ‘I got a lecture this morning, thanks to you,’ I tell him.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Apparently dickhead means more than annoying.’

  ‘You called someone that?’

  ‘My grandmother.’

  He winces. ‘You didn’t know what it meant?’

  ‘I told you, I’ve forgotten a lot—that’s assuming I ever even had that lovely word in my vocabulary.’

  He grunts and runs his eyes over me. ‘I’m guessing you did.’

  He wastes no more time on chat and shows me what is to occupy me for the next four hours. Dirt. I will be shoveling dirt spoonful by spoonful. The lavanderia is undergoing restoration to remove a thick layer of dirt that covers its northern end, brought about by some long-ago mudslide. The dirt must be removed carefully so as not to damage the ancient stones beneath it. We work side by side, using flat-bottomed trowels and occasionally shears to cut the vines and roots that weave through the blanket of dirt. I notice he works close by my side, even though there is a long wall of dirt to remove.

  ‘So why is your grandmother a dickhead—I mean, annoying?’ he asks.

  I’m relieved that he breaks our silence first. ‘Because she said we shouldn’t be dating—’ Oh, my God, Jenna. Stupid. Stupid.

  ‘We’re dating?’

  ‘No. I mean, my mother thought—’

  ‘Your mother thinks we’re dating? Just because I’m giving you a ride home?’

  ‘No. Well, yes. I mean, never mind.’ Help. Every word seems to bury me further. Was I always this inept?

  ‘Hm,’ he says. He grins and stabs his trowel in for another load of dirt. We work for another silent few minutes shoulder to shoulder on our hands and knees, being careful not to dig too deeply, and then he sits back, resting one arm on his knee. ‘So why doesn’t your grandmother like me dating you, other than because I teach you bad words?’

  I drop my trowel. ‘We’re not dating! And it’s not you. It’s me.’

  ‘She doesn’t like you? I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.’

  He’s right. It should be a law. Or maybe it is for most people. Hearing him say it out loud makes it more painful. So obvious. Of course a grandmother should like you, and I wonder once again if Lily has good reason not to. Somehow, down deep, I think she does. I think of Kara and Locke. I ache for them. Does it have something to do with them? Hurry, Jenna. I hear their voices like they are whispering into my ear right now. I don’t have a good response for Ethan. I feel like I should cry, but there are no tears. Not even a lump in my throat. I try to shrug off our conversation like it doesn’t matter. ‘I can’t explain it. I guess I’m just special.’

  Ethan looks at me like he is trying to decide something. His brown eyes make everything inside of me shift. He finally flicks some dirt from his fingers at me and smiles. ‘Nah, Jenna. You’re nothing special.’

  In an instant, my insides swell, and I can’t do anything but stand there returning his stare, and even though I should be embarrassed—I am embarrassed—I can’t look away either. He moves first, awkwardly returning to his knees, and I join him, shoulder to shoulder, snipping, clearing, and scooping a spoonful of dirt at a time.

  The sun is warm on my back. From time to time, I think I hear the chanting echoes from the church float on the breeze all the way down to the gardens, but Ethan says that is impossible. We are too far away. But I am sure I hear it. Or maybe the angelic tune is simply stuck in my head.

  I decide I like shoveling dirt. I like the garden sounds and the mindless repetition. It is like it is the first time in weeks that my brain truly has been able to rest from trying to remember. For hours we work. Ethan stands now and then, stretching his back, rubbing his knees, but I don’t tire.

  ‘You’re a horse,’ he says.

  ‘And you’—I want to find the right word—‘are not.’ Not much of a word, but the emphasis seems to have hit him nonetheless. He makes a show of rubbing his knees one last time and returns to my side. I smile, glad that my hair conceals my face.

  Long stretches of time go by where we don’t talk as we work. I listen to the birds in the garden, the chink of our trowels, the trickling of water from a nearby hose, and mostly to the voices in my own head. You’re fitting in, Jenna. You’re loved, Jenna. You’re normal, Jenna. You are almost whole, Jenna. And mostly, I believe them.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  I glance to where Ethan is looking. At the top of the stairs that lead to the gardens, a squat man is watching us. Just as I look up, he clicks a picture and then walks away.

  ‘No,’ I answer. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’ Or maybe I have and I just don’t remember him?

  ‘Probably a tourist,’ Ethan says. ‘Usually they just visit the mission—not way down here. Or maybe Father Rico sent someone to check up on us.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say.

  Trigger

  Sliding into Ethan’s truck, I remember.

  It’s the gray leather.

  I had a car.

  But no license. I di
dn’t have a license.

  Mother and Father wouldn’t let me get one.

  Why would they give me a car

  but not let me drive it?

  I remember racing down the road in my car.

  Hurry, Jenna.

  I did.

  And Kara and Locke were with me.

  A Hundred Points

  I slide across the seat of Ethan’s truck to make room for Allys. We are picking her up from her community project before we head back to the village charter. We’re outside the offices and labs adjacent to the Del Oro University Medical Center. Besides coming here for therapy, she also volunteers for the Del Oro Ethics Task Force. She gathers materials for review and helps process the numerous checks and balances that monitor their research activities.

  ‘Grunt work,’ Ethan called it when he described it to me. How could it be any more grunt work than spooning dirt? And I remember the way Allys spoke of it a few days ago. It’s important to her. She is passionate, and I think she would do it even if Rae did not require a community volunteer project. She has accepted the loss of her limbs but blames an out-of-control medical system for the outcome. She thinks if someone had regulated antibiotics long ago, when they first knew about the dangers of overuse, she and millions like her would have had a different fate, and now she seems determined that no new medical injustices will be unleashed on the world.

  When he talks about Allys, Ethan’s voice takes on an edge I hadn’t heard before. Like he feels her injustices, too. Does he care about her? How much does he care? Or does he have injustices of his own? I know nothing about him, really. Why is he at the village charter? Ethan said they all had their reasons for being there. Allys talked about her physical limitations. Gabriel said he had an anxiety disorder and the small environment was more comfortable for him, but Ethan never revealed his reasons.

  ‘Can you take these?’ Allys hands me the braces that still steady her, and she slides in next to me. ‘Two more weeks, and these will be gone. At least that’s what they tell me.’ Her eyes sparkle, and her words come out in a continuous excited stream. ‘They uploaded some new technology that will help the prosthetics anticipate my own balance system. It will supposedly read nerve signals from my brain and learn from them. They said to walk as much as possible to speed up the learning process. Imagine that—I’ve got smart legs.’ She shoots a warning look at Ethan. ‘Don’t say a word.’

  ‘Me?’ Ethan says sweetly.

  ‘I thought you were here for your volunteer project,’ I say.

  ‘That, too. But the therapy and the ethics offices are in the same complex, so I get it all done at the same time. How’d your project go?’

  ‘Shoveling dirt?’

  ‘She’s a horse,’ Ethan says, repeating his assessment of me.

  ‘I liked it,’ I tell her. ‘It is not exactly a mental challenge—well, except maybe for Ethan—but Father Rico was very grateful.’

  Ethan jogs the steering wheel to register my point, and Allys laughs. ‘The mission’s a good cause. They don’t have funds, so without volunteers they’d never be able to keep it up. It has a lot of history that’s important. It was my second choice right after the ethics office.’

  ‘Who runs the ethics office? The hospital?’ I ask.

  ‘Are you kidding? The hospital hates the ethics office, but they’d never admit it. You’ve never heard of the FSEB?’

  I try to scan my pathetic excuse of a memory. It seems like I should know it. Like it is almost within my reach.

  ‘It’s not another bad word, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Ethan says.

  ‘It’s the Federal Science Ethics Board,’ Allys says. ‘They run the office. They’re the yea and nay of all research and a lot of medical procedures, too. If you don’t file all the forms and report every procedure, they shut you down. Whole hospitals. They’ve actually done it. Not often, but enough times that it’s put the fear into every medical and research facility in the country.’

  ‘Why do they do it?’

  ‘They’re the watchdog. There has to be some central control. Look at human cloning at the turn of the century. Even though it was illegal, some lab facilities were still doing it because the checks and balances were so weak. And then there’s Bio Gel. That alone is probably responsible for Congress even establishing the FSEB.’

  Allys is still talking, but it is a garbled echo. Bio Gel. Father’s work. I can hear Lily saying it again, He made a big splash. ‘Bio Gel?’

  ‘It changed everything. It made almost anything possible.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

  Allys raises her eyebrows. ‘You do have big blanks, don’t you? Well, Blue Goo—as the hospital calls it—is, well, blue.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Ethan interjects.

  ‘And,’ Allys says, raising her voice, ‘it’s artificially oxygenated and loaded with neurochips. They’re smaller than the human cell and communicate with each other pretty much the same way neurons do, except faster. And they learn. Once you’ve loaded them with some basic information, they pass on information to other neurochips and begin to specialize. And of course, the truly spectacular thing is they can communicate with human cells in the same way. You pack a human or lab liver in Bio Gel, and the neurochips do the rest—deliver oxygen, nutrients, communicate with the central database, until it can be transplanted into someone who needs it.’

  ‘Isn’t that a good thing?’

  ‘Sometimes. But just because we can doesn’t mean we should. That’s what the FSEB considers.’

  ‘How so?’ I ask, trying to sound only mildly interested.

  ‘Well, one way is point values,’ she says. ‘Everyone gets a lifetime maximum of one hundred points. My limbs, for instance. The implanted digital technology to work with the prosthetics is very low point value. Sixteen points for all of them. But a heart—that’s worth thirty-five alone. Throw in lungs and kidneys and you’re at ninety-five points.’

  ‘That sounds simplistic,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe. But fair, too. It doesn’t matter how rich or important you are. Everyone’s in the same boat. And medical resources and costs are kept under control.’

  ‘What about brains?’ Ethan asks. ‘What are they worth?’

  ‘Brains are pretty much illegal. Only biodigital enhancement up to forty-nine percent is allowed to restore some lost function and that’s it.’

  ‘That’s an odd number,’ I say. ‘Why only forty-nine percent?’

  ‘You have to draw the line somewhere, don’t you? Medical costs are a terrible economic drain on society, not to mention all the ethics involved. And by restricting how much can be replaced or enhanced, the FSEB knows you are more human than lab creation. We don’t want a lot of half-human lab pets crawling all around the world, do we? I think that’s the main point of it all.’

  ‘And the FSEB is always right?’ Ethan asks.

  Allys sits up straighter, and her words come fast and clipped. ‘They’re trying to preserve our humanity, Ethan. How can anyone argue with that? They’re protecting us, and I for one think that is quite admirable. Plus, I happen to know there are a lot of very intelligent and qualified people in that agency.’

  Ethan pulls into the parking lot at the charter. ‘All I know is that a lot of “intelligent and qualified people” screwed up my life two years ago.’ He throws the gear into park. ‘So much for intelligence, huh?’ It seems our conversation has taken a sudden turn that I wasn’t expecting. Ethan’s voice is rigid, like the day I called us all freaks at the market. He leaves to go into the charter, not waiting for us.

  Allys lets out a huff of air. ‘He can really go off sometimes.’ She rolls her eyes and reaches for her braces. I watch him walk away, wondering if his life changed just about the same time mine did. And if, like me, he is still getting over it, though I don’t know what the it is, and I’m afraid to ask. But I’m sure it’s why he’s at the charter now.

  I wait outside for Ethan to take me home. I have already co
nferenced with Rae, and now Ethan’s conference is going over.

  ‘Hello.’

  Dane surprises me from behind. I haven’t talked to him much since that first day. He’s been out. Rae didn’t say why, and Mitch only groaned when Allys asked.

  ‘How are things going?’ His voice is warm and eager and I like the sound of it, but I also remember what Ethan said about him.

  ‘Good,’ I answer.

  ‘Like your project?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Need a ride?’

  ‘No.’

  He blows out a heavy breath, obviously annoyed at my short responses. He swings around in front of me and grabs my hand. ‘C’mon. Has Ethan been saying bad things about me? You’re not going to listen to him, are you?’

  His hand is warm, firmly clasped around mine. I look up and am surprised at how closely his eyes match the color of the sky behind him. ‘I have a problem,’ he says. ‘I admit it. I’m honest. Like when I said you walked funny. I don’t think any less of you because you do, and I didn’t mean anything bad by it. You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  He loosens his grip on my hand, but I notice he doesn’t let go. ‘We all have our problems, and Ethan’s is he can’t deal with the truth. He can’t even tell the truth. I’d stay away from him if I were you, but I guess you’ll figure that out on your own. You’re obviously smart.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t mesmerize me like the day I first saw him at his house. I’m changing daily. I can see things in faces that I couldn’t see just a few days ago. Things that I think other people can’t even see. And what I see in Dane’s perfectly beautiful face disturbs me. Emptiness. The word is strong in my head, and yet I wonder if it could be the wrong one.

  ‘Friends?’ he asks.

  Friends. That’s why I wanted to come to school in the first place. Maybe Dane had friends like I once did, friends who are gone now, and he misses them the way I miss Kara and Locke.

  ‘Friends,’ I repeat, because I know it would be rude not to. And because I think maybe. Maybe.