Unfavorables

by JM Butcher

  The vibration in my eye socket starts back up after being called by my full name for the second time today. “Okay…”

  “Well, Ms. Tatum,” Lexa interjects. Thank you, Lexa, I think to myself. “How much uniting and protecting is actually going on? The Republics don’t cooperate because the Union controls everything. And more kids keep disappearing from this great Union.”

  As Lexa reminds us all that one of our own classmates is gone, not even Ms. Tatum responds.

  After what seems like minutes, but is probably only seconds, Ms. Tatum speaks again. “How about some gratitude, people?! I think you are forgetting that the states in the Union provided the most military support during the War. We have the best White Coats, sacrificing and continuing their scientific discoveries and improving technology. Not to mention, we are lucky to have the best defensive base right here in the Union. In fact, right here in Ohio.”

  “Yes, more Gray Coats in Ohio is exactly what we need,” Olivia mutters.

  Ms. Tatum takes a deep breath, composing herself. “There are fewer transgressive attacks in the Union than in any other Republic. It is the future of this country, and we all are fortunate to be living here in 2040, fortunate to be a part of the republic that is leading the URA’s progress as a country and people.” Before anyone can sneak in another word, Ms. Tatum turns from Lexa to Olivia and says, “Let us get back on track before I recommend that you entitled cleared individuals retake the Behavioral Thought Exam.”

  Her threat shuts everyone up for the rest of class. No one wants to test a “true Patriot” too

  much, and Olivia and Lexa certainly pressed Ms. Tatum’s buttons. They need to be careful. Ms. Tatum might be loyal enough to the URA to recommend repeat exams.

  After being dismissed, everyone remains silent until they exit the classroom.

  In the hallway, students show a little more life than they did before. Students walk alongside each other, engaging in small talk and laughter. Melli walks up to Grant. I try to listen to their conversation from about nine lockers down. It doesn’t work.

  I close my locker loudly enough to get her attention. She turns and I put up seven fingers and mouth, “Seven o’clock, right?” She nods and turns back to Grant.

  The rest of the day goes by slowly. I continue to drift back to past times with Melli, while anticipating meeting her at the Garbage Spot.

  I survive the day and walk out of school. I spot Lexa and Ronnie out of the corner of my eye. They speed up to catch up to me. I pretend I don’t see them and keep walking. They’ll find another ride home.

  Once in the back seat of the car, I push the button to the car’s GPS. “Select your destination,” a mechanical female voice says.

  “Take me home.”

  Chapter 3

  Citizens of the URA:

  In light of the recent riots in the Union’s urban areas, I invoke my executive privilege. All non-Ivories in the Union are deemed Unfavorables, and will receive a Mills’ eye chip on or before their thirteenth birthday.

  In addition, with the rising same-sex relations among our youth in the suburbs, all Sleepers too are deemed Unfavorables, and will receive a Mills’ eye chip if such blasphemous behaviors are suspected.

  The Riffraff-Sleeper Order is effective immediately. Until our streets are safe from the Riffraff and our suburbs unstained from Sleepers, this order will remain in effect.

  Thank you. Thank God. Our United Republics of America will persist.

  -President Lionel Washburn

  The sound of the front door slamming shut wakes me from a nap. Two sets of footsteps thump on the hardwood floor below me. Dad and Tyler are home.

  Remembering Melli’s invitation, I jump out of bed. I immediately regret standing up so quickly when my blurred vision leads to dizziness.

  A voice coming from the bottom of the stairs travels through my door. “Hey Margie! We’re home!” Tyler’s the only one who calls me Margie. When he first started talking as a child, he couldn’t pronounce “Margaret” correctly. He called me “Marge-rit.” Kind of like “margarine.” Mother told him that I was not something you put on toast. It eventually became Margie. I don’t like it, but there’s no point in telling a thirteen-year-old to stop.

  “I’m coming,” I say, putting on a pair of jeans.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Your stupid friends are here, too,” Tyler yells.

  It’s 6:03 p.m. Lexa and Ronnie are three minutes late, or else I’m running three minutes behind. By foot, it will take us at least forty-five minutes to get to the Garbage Spot. I planned on arriving a few minutes early. I don’t want to keep Melli waiting.

  I grab the first pair of shoes I see and shove my sockless feet into them. The shoes are blue. I put my hair up with a purple rubber band. My shirt is a melon-orange V-neck. Although I want to look my best for Melli, I’m too late to make matching a priority.

  Hurrying down the steps, stumbling on the fourth one, I say, “Sorry, guys. Sorry, I fell asleep.”

  “Hey Margie, look who it is. Roxa is here.” Tyler snorts and slaps his knee three times. He’s so proud of himself for making a name that combines Ronnie and Lexa.

  “You know we prefer Lonnie, right Ty-Ty?” Lexa smiles and winks at Tyler. “Get it right.”

  Unfazed, Tyler grins. He’s had a boyhood crush on Lexa for as long as I can remember. “Lexa, you can call me whatever you want if you let me buy you dinner.”

  Ronnie laughs. “Ha! Where did ya get that line from?”

  “His new friend, Josh,” I say and pinch Tyler’s cheek. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Josh made out with a high schooler!” Tyler exclaims. “He’s cool. There’s hope for us Lexa. We could always be Tyxa.”

  “Let me see your cash card. I want a nice steak dinner.” She likes to play along. I think it bothers Ronnie, more so now that Tyler is getting older. Ronnie would never admit it, though.

  “I’d take you wherever you want if Ronald wouldn’t beat me up.” Tyler shuffles his feet and punches the air. Jab. Jab. Uppercut. Jab.

  “That’s right, punk.” Pointing a finger at his flexed right bicep, Ronnie says, “You don’t want any of this.”

  Lexa gives Ronnie a little shove. “Oh whatever, dude,” she says. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Eh,” Ronnie replies, “except maybe the one behind my eye. You know what I’m talking about, Maggie.” Ronnie knows the sensation of the vibrating chip. Washburn’s Executive Order applies to him.

  Lexa and Ronnie have officially been dating for a little over a year now. She’s lucky she waited until after her Exam, or she would probably be an Unfavorable by association. I worry that the Coats will catch on to her interracial relationship. But Lexa’s tough; she can take care of herself. And Ronnie is the nicest guy I know.

  Ronnie puts his arm around Lexa and kisses her cheek. He turns to Tyler and says, “You wouldn’t know how to treat a lady. I’ll explain it to you when you’re older.”

  “Pshh, whatever. Smell y’all later.” Tyler runs up the stairs to his room. “Oh, and Margie, you gotta let me know what’s on the Exam. Don’t want your brother to end up like Billy Conroy, do ya?” I let the insensitive joke go. But that’s right; he’s turning fourteen in a couple of months.

  “I don’t remember them,” I lie.

  The T-Blox causes memory loss, but I haven’t forgotten Exam day. Dad thought it was best that I take it after Mother was labeled a Transgressor. It was a paper test then. Now, you’re connected to a lie detector when asked the questions. That would’ve been terrifying for a nine-year-old.

  Your name is Margaret, right? The White Coat asked with a soft, soothing voice. Her smile was warm and reminded me of Mother’s. She had brown hair with a few stray strands of gray. She didn’t tell me her name.

  It’s Maggie, I said, folding my arms and scrunching my eyebrows.

  I hated being called Margaret. I still do. I loathe the name. Mother told me I should take pride in it because I was
named after some revolutionary writer. There’s no way for me to prove this, though. The writer’s books were banned some time ago.

  Okay, Maggie it is, the woman responded. Today, I have a few questions for you to answer. Are you a skilled reader, or would you like me to read them to you?

  I can read! I snapped.

  At age nine, I had a tenth-grade reading level. It’s a shame that now I’m in tenth grade, and I still have a tenth-grade reading level.

  I wonder if I were to take the Exam again if any of my answers would change. Maybe I should take the test again. It happens sometimes; people retake the Exam. But that’s only if the White Coats believe the person was mistakenly cleared the first time. I already have my eye chip, and I have never heard of a chip being removed.

  I yell to Tyler, “They’ll probably ask if your mother is a Transgressor and if your sister is chipped. You’re sure to pass!” Nobody thinks my joke is funny.

  “All right,” Dad says walking downstairs. I didn’t see him go up. His tie is off and the top button on his white shirt is undone, so he must have.

  Dad hates working for the government as an accountant. And I know he hates wearing a suit every day. He doesn’t complain, though. He says the job pays the mortgage and feeds the kids.

  Dad shouts, “Hey Tyler, clean your damn room! I just walked by it. I don’t think the mess would impress Lexa.” He gives us a wink.

  From upstairs, Tyler yells, “Dad! Language!”

  “Where are you three off to tonight?” Dad asks.

  Trying to hide my excitement, I answer, “We’re meeting Melli at the Garbage Spot.”

  “Wow.” Dad looks surprised. “Queen Melody is stepping out of the royal court for you, huh?”

  Dad loves Melli, but he resents her too. When she and I drifted apart, he blamed her. He’s known her most of her life. She’s like a second daughter to him, and he became like a second dad to her after hers ran off with his assistant. Dad surely feels abandoned too. I chalk up his resentment to one of those “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed” things.

  I also sense that Dad is jealous. Despite the T-Blox, I seem to have an emotional connection Melli that I don’t have with others—including Dad.

  “Not only that,” Lexa responds sarcastically, “but she’s letting the peasants Ronald and Alexa join her!”

  Lexa and Melli never really got along, only tolerated each other for my sake. I’m not sure why this rivalry started. Maybe Melli didn’t want to compete for best friend status, so she would make fun of Lexa in front of me. Melli really didn’t like that Lexa dished insults back. Lexa is the sweetest girl in the world until provoked. Just don’t intentionally hurt her or her friends or else “fiery Lexa” comes out. Out of all of Lexa’s great qualities, loyalty tops the list.

  As far as I’m concerned, there never really was any competition; Melli was my best friend, and Lexa had Ronnie.

  “Well,” I say, looking at the ground, “I didn’t really tell her I invited you two.”

  “Ha…told you!” Ronnie remarks. “Let’s go, Lex. See ya, Mr. G.”

  They turn toward the door. I grab hold of Lexa’s arm. “No, no, pleeeeease,” I beg. “I need you two. Be my peasants in shining armor, and I will owe you until the fall of Queen Melody’s reign of terror.” When I’m vulnerable, I play along with their running joke about Melli.

  Several seconds go by before Lexa speaks. “Fine, Maggie. You better not leave us at school again. Don’t think we’re dumb enough not to know you were avoiding us.”

  My face turns red. “Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry. Thank you, thank you!” I wrap my arms around Lexa so tight that she can’t wiggle free.

  “Ugh,” she mutters. “Air, please.”

  “Sorry!” I let go. “You know how much I love you!” Ronnie sighs, knowing he has lost the battle.

  I look at the clock above the stove. 6:19 p.m. We’re going to be late.

  I turn to Dad, who has begun putting dishes away. “I love you, Daddy.” I hug him and kiss his cheek.

  “Be safe, baby girl. And be home by 7:30.” He smiles as I give him the you-are-not-cool look. “Seriously, though, don’t be out past ten.”

  “Deal!”

  Dad says, “The car should be charged enough. You’re not going far.”

  “It’s cool. We’re walking.” I squeeze between Lexa and Ronnie and take them both by the hands and drag them outside, allowing Dad to close the door behind us.

  ***

  This is my first visit to the Garbage Spot without Dad, and my first time at night. It certainly doesn’t look like garbage. The cleared clique—those kids who make sure everyone knows they’ve been cleared—calls it that to be ironic. It should be called Money Cove. Officially, it’s Crosswoods Mall.

  As we walk up to the main gate of the outdoor shopping center, I’m distracted by the techno music and the neon lights that spell out each of the store’s names. At least I know my chip is charging.

  The blue lights from Killa Kicks Co. steal my attention. In front of the store, a hologram of a teenage male model wearing a backwards cap repeatedly lifts his leg as if he’s karate kicking onlookers. The shoe changes with every kick. Red low-tops. Black low-tops. Purple high-tops. I stop watching after seeing those. Who would buy a pair of purple high-tops?

  My eyes sail to the pink lights for Bahama Boutique. I watch a hologram of a fit woman in red lingerie and knee-high shiny black boots. Her dirty blonde hair floats behind her as her red lips pucker for the buyers. A handsome man with nicely groomed hair and an artfully scruffy beard approaches her from behind, pulling down sunglasses to investigate her from toes to head. He looks ahead and raises his eyebrows. His blue, collared shirt is unbuttoned so he can flaunt his smooth, ripped chest.

  As the man gets closer, the woman glances back, wags her finger, and says, “Not good enough for this woman.” Her voice is raspy and sexy at the same time. The man disappears and the advertisement starts over again. This time it’s a different guy.

  Dad would just as soon send me to deletion before allowing me to shop at Bahama Boutique.

  None of these stores are operated by individual businesses. The red letters hovering over the entire shopping center remind everyone of that. u-NIVERSE. Without success, I search for a trail of light to lead me to the source of the great air spectacle. The corporate name literally appears to hang in the air, like it’s a part of the sky. If there’s a corporation that could pull off such a feat, it is u-NIVERSE. It owns nearly every business you can think of. Somehow, though, Amazon and Starbucks avoided buyouts.

  Lexa rescues me from my u-hypnosis when she says, “Would you like to buy some clothes with your ads?”

  “Is she here yet?” Ronnie asks. I can tell he’s irritated. They’re both irritated. This is not their scene. “Do you even know where we’re supposed to meet her?” I wish I had an answer.

  “Umm…” I reply, searching the parking lot for Melli’s car. “Yeah, she’s here. There’s her red u-Ford Laser.” Melli’s dad isn’t around much, so he thinks buying her a two-door sports car fulfilled his fatherly duties. It has a retractable roof, and the rims of the car spin backwards when the car moves forward. When the speed of the car reaches 55 mph, the red paint turns a burnt-reddish orange. I hate to admit that it’s pretty cool.

  Next to Melli’s car is a beat-up white auto-drive four-door. A young couple walks by and stares, probably thinking, Who let the Riffraff in? On the back of the car is a black and white bumper sticker that reads IN ME I TRUST. What is Olivia doing here?

  A voice from behind me says, “I told you to come alone.” I recognize it as Melli’s.

  Lexa responds, “Ronnie, bow for Her Majesty.” Mocking Melli, they bow in sync with one another. Melli looks at them but doesn’t take the bait.

  Melli no longer has the Bic-bun. Her hair is in its usual straight and shiny form, parted in the middle. The neon holograms from the stores light up her blue eyes. She’s wearing a bright pink summer dress w
ith spaghetti straps that only she could pull off in October. Her tidy nail polish—fingers and toes—match the dress. She looks beautiful, like always.

  Melli says, “Oh well, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  Melli doesn’t answer. The sound of her flip flops slapping against the soles of her feet lead the way. I envy the way she always walks. Her head is always high and her arms are never tense. I wish I knew how to make my hair bounce and wave with such perfect precision, like the girl in the Bahama Boutique ad.

  I’m too busy admiring her to notice when she stops. I bump into her and she says, “Hold up.” She points ahead. Two low-level Gray Coats drag a boy out of the mall. He can’t be older than fourteen. The boy’s knees drag on the ground as he tries to struggle free.

  “Stop!” a frantic woman shouts. “He’s only thirteen! He’s a good boy.” She drops to her knees and, in broken English, begs for her son’s release.

  “Ma’am,” one of the Coats says, “your boy needs to come with us.”

  “But he’s just…” her sobs break up her words. “What did he do?” She pounds the pavement with both of her hands. “Whyyyy?”

  The other Coat lifts the woman’s chin so that her eyes meet his. “Yes, and if you would have done your civic duty, we wouldn’t have to arrest him publicly like this.” He shoves her face to the side.

  I follow Melli, as she rushes forward. “Hello, sir,” she says. “May I ask what the boy did? Should my friends and I be worried?” I can’t tell if Melli is sincere or if she’s acting like a worried citizen so that she can dig for information. She’s so good at adapting to any situation.

  “No, miss. You have nothing to worry about. This negligent woman thought it would be okay to ignore the Riffraff Order. As you can see, this boy is a non-Ivory. And as his mother just admitted, he’s of age.”