by JM Butcher
A creaking noise startles me a bit, but not enough to make me turn around. Neither do the footsteps that drag in my direction.
When the person is close enough, I softly say, “I’m sorry, Hayden.” I assume it’s loud enough for him to hear.
My apology might be semi-sincere. He deserved some of my scolding, but probably not the hitting. I mean, he was doing what I asked for, and I’m sure Jack instructed him about what to show me.
Hayden leaves about two feet between us when he sits down on the edge. We both stare straight ahead at the Cleveland skyline. The clouds cover the tops of the taller buildings, but most of downtown is visible. The slow, cool breeze creates a peaceful mood.
It takes me a couple minutes to recognize that Hayden has not said a word since sitting down. He might feel guilty or might be giving me space. Two things are for sure: he doesn’t think I should be alone, and he isn’t going to speak until I do.
I look at him with a forced smile and ask, “How’s your chest?” I’m sure it’s fine. I didn’t hit him that hard, but I need an icebreaker and don’t feel like apologizing again.
“Oh, it’s good,” Hayden replies with a chuckle. “I was born with a punching bag for a chest.” He slaps a closed hand across his ribs as a joke. “See? Rock solid.”
Although I usually appreciate his humor, I’m not in a playful mood. I set him up for that one, though. I really wish he would just leave. I didn’t come outside because I wanted company. I was looking for peace and quiet. I want to be alone, alone with my thoughts. That sounds dangerous. It’s probably why Hayden came out. While cooling off some is necessary, I’m probably not in the right mental state to be alone with my thoughts. Not looking forward to trying to sleep tonight.
“I really am sorry,” I apologize. Once again, I’m only half-sincere, but the awkward silence broke me. “I shouldn’t have hit you, but you…”
“Shouldn’t have hit me again,” Hayden interrupts me with a smile. “But seriously, I should be the one apologizing. Not you.”
He’s right. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, though. “No, I asked to know about Tara. That’s what you did.” There is truth to that. Maybe I should be the one apologizing.
“Yeah,” Hayden says, “but I should’ve known that you meant you wanted to know about your mother the person, not your mother the rebel leader. At the very least, I should have prepared you for it.”
This time, I let him know that he’s right. “Yeah, you should’ve. I trusted you. I trusted that you wouldn’t do something that would hurt me. And that, whatever that was, you knew wasn’t going to be easy for me.”
“You’re right,” he concedes. “But I know you’re super strong, Maggie.”
We sit in silence again. I pick up another stone and throw it into the water, not bothering to count the ripples. Leaning my head back, I try to look through the clouds to find even a single star shining down. Nothing.
I sense Hayden inching closer to me. As much as I wish I could tell him to leave, I don’t say a word. Quite the opposite, I meet him halfway.
“Maggie,” he says, “I should have known better. That’s true. But I promise that I had good intentions. I thought that if I just read the thoughts or told you the story, you wouldn’t believe it. I thought this was the only way. Sure, I should have prepared you, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”
It’d be easier to be mad at him if he didn’t make sense. And I do trust that he didn’t mean any harm. Does that make it any better? He should’ve known.
I say, “It’s fine.” I start to believe myself. “It’s not your fault. My anger shouldn’t be directed at you. Or Jack, for that matter. She’s the one who left me. Now, I know why. I should be thanking you.”
“No,” Hayden says.
Before he continues, I break in. “Yes, I should be thanking you. I have very few memories of her from before she left. In my mind, I try to convince myself that she’s the same as she was, but I don’t even know what the same looks like. I don’t know her. I haven’t known her for years. Maybe I had fantasies that knowing her would make it all better. That we’d have some sort of relationship. How could that actually happen? I’m dumb.”
“Look at me,” Hayden says and gently pulls my chin toward him so that we face each other. “You are not dumb. You are strong. How many people could even face that this soon after what you went through? That’s brave. That’s dedication. That’s passion. And after all this, you might be mad, but you aren’t hateful. You might resent her, but I can see it in your eyes that you wish her no harm. That is strong.”
“But…” I start to say.
“No. Let me talk. Who could blame you for hoping there’d be an emotional connection? I don’t completely understand what you’re going through, but I have my own issues with my dad. I hate him. Sometimes, I wish he was dead. I don’t know if I mean it, but still…it’s hard. And after all of this, I still yearn for some sort of emotional connection. It’s still family.”
A single tear runs down his right cheek, from his good eye. I feel like I should hug him, but I’m not ready to.
“Seriously,” Hayden says. “You are an amazing girl, Maggie. Better than Johnny. Better than me. Better than all of us. You are brave. You feel things. You should be proud of yourself. I’m sure your whole family would be proud of you if they could see you right now.”
Would they be proud? I don’t care if Mother is proud or not. But would Dad be proud? Dad was proud that I chose to stop the T-Blox. I want Dad to be proud of me. He would be.
The clouds above break enough to let moonlight creep through. I can see its reflection in Hayden’s glass eye. Outside of that first day, I’ve never really paid attention to his glass eye. I’m always aware it’s there, but I don’t think I’ve considered the story it tells. It tells a story of horror, bravery, and perseverance. It’s his history.
Not taking my eyes away from his, I ask, “Do you really think they’d be proud?”
Hayden puts his hand on my knee and answers. “I have no doubt in my mind. I’m proud of you.”
My body tingles. It shakes. Not because I’m about to break down. My body shakes because I’ve never kissed a boy. Hayden will be the first. I nervously tilt my head to the side. I place my trembling hand behind his head and slowly pull it toward me. Our lips touch. I pull back instantly when my eye twitches.
To share a real kiss, I will have to close my eyes. The chip will record my thoughts. Will someone read them? Do I care? Does Hayden care?
As we gaze at each other for a few seconds, I wonder if Hayden’s thinking the same thing about my chip. If he is, he doesn’t mind. He pulls my head to his. His lips are warm and dry. I wet my lips, under the impression that it’s what I’m supposed to do. The kiss is smooth and pure. His lips taste sweet.
My legs more than shake. They rattle as the excitement and blood flow through my body and I take in each precious second of this moment. I pull away for a second to catch my breath. I’m obviously not too good at this. He smiles, sending a message that it’s okay.
We kiss again. Is this how Melli kisses?
I hope someone reads my chip—to see how I feel when I’m wanted.
When our lips finally separate, I sense a burning blush creep across my face. I shyly turn my head aside and bite gently on my lips. I look back at him with a smile that I imagine will clear the clouds from the sky. He returns the same powerful smile.
“If I help you all,” I say, “I don’t want any violence. Nobody gets hurt. I want to clear a Juvenile Unfavorable Home. But nobody gets hurt. Is that a deal?”
“It’s a deal,” Hayden says without a sign of his smile fading. He thinks for a moment. “Tonight, when you’re in bed, try to dictate your thoughts.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, puzzled.
“Don’t think about your mother. Don’t think about violence. Just think about a message for the kids in a Home. That’s why your mother’s thoughts appeared so, as you said
it, rehearsed. Try to do that. I know you can.”
“Why?”
“Because the Maggie Gordon’s thoughts are going to save those kids,” Hayden answers. “The Maggie Gordon is a good person.”
The Maggie Gordon. I kind of like that. But she is going to be different than mother. She’s going to be better.
“You have a big day tomorrow, Maggie,” Hayden says. “Let’s head back.” We stand up, and Hayden and I lock hands as we head back into the compound.
What a night. What a day.
Now, all I have to do is try to master the task of controlling my thoughts. That should be easy for someone who only began thinking a couple of nights ago. For someone who flipped out twice in as many Think Tank visits. For someone who caused a scene in the lunchroom because she can’t handle herself.
Yes, this should be easy. Or impossible.
No, I can’t fail. The Maggie Gordon has to save those kids.
Chapter 17
URA GOVERNMENT PROPERTY: CONFISCATED EVIDENCE
My dear yellow bird,
I am so sorry for leaving you, but I have to do something. Actually, I already have done something. To keep you out of harm’s way, I must leave. Your father knows. I hope he gives you this letter and tells you that it’s not your fault, because it isn’t. I love you and would never want to hurt you. I know that you will understand. You are a strong girl. The strongest!
I hope that one day, when you see what I’ve done, you will be proud of me. If you have any of your mother’s genes in you, then you will be proud of me. You might even follow my footsteps.
As long as your father gives you this letter, I will always be here.
I know I will see you again. I promise, Maggie girl. I promise.
I love you so much. So much and forever. So much and forever, my yellow bird.
-Mommy
-Confiscated from the home of Tara Gordon, 25 February, 2035
I wake up to a splitting headache—like someone literally stuck an ice pick through my skull. The pain makes it difficult to open my eyes, but I crack my eyelids and watch the room spin.
I remain in bed for a few minutes before my eyelids gain the strength to open halfway. Once I get up, I walk to the sink, fumbling for the tap. My eyes shoot wide open when I’m reminded how hot the water is. I run my hands under the faucet a few times. I wet my face and rub some of the grease off with my shirt.
What happened last night? Did I think at all?
I close my eyes to confirm I still have night thoughts. I do. In fact, the darkness helps my recollection. The day comes back to me quickly. I remember Sophia. I remember the lunch room. I remember Mother. I remember the kiss.
The kiss. My headache eases a little as I relive the kiss in my head, but it’s still not weak enough for me to fully relive the ecstasy of last night’s moment.
But I can’t remember what happened afterwards. Hayden escorted me to my room. We shared another short kiss. Before he left, he repeated to me how I should think in order to help some JUH kids.
Don’t think about violence. Just think about a message for the kids in a Home.
Did I do it? Did I control my night thoughts? I wish I could answer those questions, but I haven’t the slightest clue what I even thought about. It’s like when I was on T-Blox; my memory is blank from the second I got into bed last night. However, I can think now.
I open my eyes.
Best to not overthink it. I’ll ask Hayden about it. Otherwise, I might just freak out. It’s too early in the day for that.
I actually have no clue what time it is. It might be early; it might not. Every day since I’ve been here, someone has woken me up. Whether it was Hayden or Gia, someone came to get me early in the morning. Very early. Although I’m super groggy with a headache, I don’t get the sense that it’s that early right now.
Something is off.
Before leaving the room, I consider changing out of my night shorts and shirt, but I decide against it. I’m impatient at the moment, and the fear of being judged by others is no longer an issue. Not after the lunchtime entertainment I provided yesterday. I’m not sure even I can top that embarrassment.
After I pass through the power room and enter the computer room, I receive my usual greeting. Silence and a sea of eyes locked on me. This time, I ignore the looks.
I am about halfway down the aisle when a boy with spiked hair and crutches hurries to block my path. It’s one of the JUH kids. I remember him bragging about injuring a Keeper at a Home. Yes, he damaged a Keeper’s feet.
The boy hands a crutch each to someone on either side of him and struggles to stand upright. Looking around the room, the boy yells, “Let’s give it up for Maggie. The Northfield Juvenile Unfavorable Home is shut down. All because of Maggie!”
The boy starts clapping and loses his balance. I’m lucky to react quickly enough to catch him before he hits the ground. The kid wraps his arms tightly around me and whispers, “Thank you, Maggie.”
I think it’s a whisper. He might have yelled it. While I was catching the boy, the room burst into an uproar. I now hear the applause and shouts of appreciation. I’m in the center of a boisterous standing ovation.
My legs go numb and I feel like I’m floating. I’m not used to this sort of positive attention. The rowdy crowd desires a wave or a bow or some sort of acknowledgement from me, but I’m paralyzed. And I have no idea why I’m receiving this applause.
Once my body finally starts working again, I scan the room. There is not one person seated, and everyone is clapping.
Everyone except for the girl with the purple hair and rhino ring. Gia’s on her feet, but she doesn’t clap. At least not a real clap. She slowly moves her hands against each other as if she’s only going through the motions out of obligation.
During the ruckus, a few more people enter the room from the opposite doorway. I recognize Bubba and a few of the other Suits. They’re clapping and waving their fists in the air, too. Bubba high-fives the Suit next to him, then resumes his applause.
As I focus on the Suits, I observe that one of them isn’t cheering for me. The swelling of Leon’s eye has retreated even more, though shades of blue are still visible.
While Gia makes an effort to join the crowd, the Suit doesn’t pretend to show any excitement. He shows no emotion. Just stares at me with his one eye as if I’m a fraud. If anything, there may be a bit of sadness in his face, or perhaps a look of disappointment.
Whatever telepathic communication we’re engaged in is interrupted when Makayla slaps my back and says, “That’s my girl, Maggie. I knew you could do it.”
I raise my voice to compete with the ongoing celebration in the room. “Do what?”
“Do what?” Makayla states a rhetorical question. “You took down a Juvenile Unfavorable Home. You took the whole damn thing down! There’s nothing left. You really got it done.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I hiss into Makayla’s ear. “And what do you mean there’s nothing left?” If she said there’s nobody in the Home anymore, I’d feel okay. But nothing left? That scares me.
“Maggie!” Makayla exclaims while shaking my shoulders with excitement. “Your thoughts worked. You did it. You succeeded. We succeeded! That Home got torn down to the ground! Nice work, Maggie. I knew you could do it.”
“Hold on,” I say.
Before I can continue, Makayla shouts, “It’s too loud here. Let’s go to my station.” Makayla grabs my arm and pulls me along.
As she drags me along, every stranger I pass pats me on the shoulder or back. Someone even rubs my head and says, “That’s what I’m talking about, Maggie.” I have no idea who he is. I don’t know any of these people.
When we arrive at Makayla’s station, she puts two fingers in her mouth and produces a screeching whistle loud enough to bring the celebration to a halt.
“Hey,” she calls out. “Everyone back to work. There will be plenty of time to congratulate Maggie later. We got some more work to d
o first. Let’s locate any survivors. Plan rescue ops. Do what you can. Go!”
Like clockwork, everyone in the room resumes their duties, and the Suits head back to their rooms. If people walked into the room now, they’d have no clue that ten seconds ago this place was like a high school football pep rally. And I, the star quarterback. Ugh. That would make me Lance Farmer.
For some reason, the disturbing football metaphor brings me back to reality. It also reminds me that my head is still pounding. The roars probably didn’t help.
Taking a seat next to Makayla, I ask, “What thoughts worked? I didn’t have any night thoughts last night. I…I don’t understand any of this.”
“Shh,” Makayla says. “No need to talk so loud anymore.” She smiles and pats my shoulder. “You did good, Maggie.”
“I don’t know what I did that was so good,” I respond in a softer voice. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure ya did,” Makayla says as she pulls a document up on her computer. “Look. These are your thoughts from last night. Here, switch seats with me.”
I scoot over so that I can scroll through the transcriptions of my recent night thoughts.
We have to revolt!
Revolutions are not always peaceful. Peaceful action is ideal, but when has the ideal succeeded?
We only gain favor by demanding favor. By fighting for favor.
Could I, though? Could I kill?
The Keepers will be in here again soon. I can’t take another black eye. My ribs hurt. They’ll do it again.
Stop complaining. So stupid. So selfish. You have it easy. A bruised rib here; a black eye there. Better than broken bones and missing teeth.
Could I ever talk back like the others? Why don’t I?
The Keepers will be in here again soon.
Break my bones. Knock out my teeth. No more crying. I can handle a whooping. My ribs aren’t too bad.