XVI Page 3
IV
“There’s Mike,” Sandy said. “Derek’s with him.”
The guys sauntered down the street toward us, Mike gesturing like crazy and Derek laughing. Just seeing them started lifting the cloud on my mood. They were such opposites. Mike was short and round. Derek was at least a foot taller and skinny as a temo shaft. I’d known them both since the first day of kindergarten; other than Sandy, they were my best friends.
Before they got to us, Sandy turned to me and asked, “What happened to Mike?”
He had the scabbed-over remains of a gash across his forehead, left eye, and down his cheek. “His dad,” I whispered. “Those government experiments sometimes make him crazy. Don’t say anything, okay?”
“Sure.”
They joined us and we headed down the street as a group. Verts blasted out from every store, hoping that in the five seconds or so it took for a person to walk by they’d hear something that would lure them inside. They were the most annoying form of advertising I could imagine. Everywhere you looked downtown, there were flashing signs, moving displays, and audio sales pitches. It made me dizzy. As always, I clicked on my PAV to listen to some music and ignored everything else.
Sandy pressed her nose to the window of every clothing shop. “Come on, Nina . . . just this once?” She’d been sucked in by a group of mannebots in the window at Mars 9.
Their vignette was about one girl and three guys in a school hallway. One of the guys was supposed to be the Tylo, who was the hottest teen vid star ever. The girl-bot sported a XVI tattoo and an ultrachic outfit that I was sure cost more than what Ginnie made in a month. The guy-bots were circling around her like Saturn’s moons, but she only had eyes for the Tylo.
“We can’t even afford to breathe the air in there,” I said, dragging her away from the display. “Let’s go eat.”
An hour later, we were sitting in a booth at TJ’s fiddling with the remains of lunch.
As usual, Mike didn’t have any credits, but Derek was full up. He’d been playing music on the streets in his neighborhood. I joked that people only gave him money to keep him quiet. The truth is he’s a good musician. When he covers Van Stacy’s “Girl’s Gone to the Moon,” it makes me cry.
“You gonna finish those fries?” Mike asked Sandy.
“Take ’em.” She shoved the plate catty-corner across the table. “I’m not a big fan. Besides, I’m watching my weight.” She patted a nonexistent belly bulge.
“Oh, puh-leese,” I said. “Your mom is who’s watching your weight. You look fine. You know you can eat anything and not put on a pound.”
“Mom says—”
“Your mother is totally obsessed with your food intake.” I reached over and grabbed a fry. “There is nothing wrong with the way you look, and you know it. But you can give me those, I’m not watching anything.”
“Want more?” Derek asked. “I’ll get you some.”
“Huh?” I wrinkled my brow at him. “No.” Leaning on the table, I rested my chin on my hand, staring at a small rip in the plasticene seat between him and Mike, avoiding Derek’s eyes. He’d been acting strange lately. I’d been doing my best to ignore each little incident, like him buying me Astro-Lite’s latest music chip for no reason, but they were piling up. I had to put a stop to it, but I wasn’t sure how, and it was making me kind of mad.
I loved Derek, but not as his girlfriend. I didn’t want to be anyone’s girlfriend and Derek knew that. Better than almost anyone.
He knew that I’d much rather stay fifteen. Everyone knows what’s expected of a girl when she turns sixteen. They don’t call it “sex-teen” for nothing. We’re all supposed to be so excited about sex and willing to do whatever with practically any guy who asks. But the whole sex thing was definitely not what I wanted. I’d seen more than just the Health and Sociology vids at school. I knew girls hadn’t always been treated like that, making me wish I’d been born one hundred years earlier.
The thought of Ed crossed my mind and I shoved the fries away, shutting down those images. I was so wrapped up in my own head I didn’t notice Mike sneaking his hand across the table until he’d knocked my elbow out from under me.
“What the ...!” I managed to catch myself before my face smacked onto the tabletop.
“On the moon, Neenie-beanie?” He grinned at me. Sandy laughed out loud.
I glared back at both of them, ignoring my grade school nickname and trying to recover some dignity. Derek opened his mouth to say something, which I was afraid was going to be an overly concerned You okay? So I went for a quick comeback before he had the chance.
“For your information, Mikey, I was thinking about my birthday this December and how I’d just as soon not turn sixteen.”
“Not an option,” Sandy said. “I’m looking forward to it myself.” She tossed her bangs to the side and glanced around the restaurant, most likely looking to see if anybody was checking her out. Two boys were sitting across the restaurant. Sandy unzipped her sweater, exposing the slide top that barely hid anything.
I sighed. Gran was right. Sandy needed watching over.
“I can’t wait until selection day. I plan on being chosen.” She squirmed around, trying to get the guys’ attention. “I wonder if the FeLS rep will be cute.”
“I don’t think that matters. It’s probably the only time you’ll see him.” Twice a year, a man from the Governing Council’s Liaison Department came to select sixteen-year-old girls for training as Female Liaison Specialists. All tier-one and -two girls—the lowest of the low—were required to fill out applications when they turned fifteen. Upper-tier girls never went into FeLS. It wasn’t even an option for them. It was the only option for us low-tiers: the government had set up the program so that only the bottom two tiers were eligible.
On selection day, the FeLS rep—everyone called him the Chooser—interviewed everyone and made his picks. The GC sent the girls who were chosen to an education center on one of the space stations where they were trained for diplomatic service.
“It better not be your mom’s boyfriend.” Sandy wrinkled her nose. “He’s gross.”
“Yeah.” No way could I argue with that. “You don’t really want to go into FeLS, do you?” I was 99 percent sure I didn’t want to. Ginnie certainly made her opinion on the matter clear. I’d filled out my application, but only because it was mandatory. The idea of moving up in the world was certainly attractive, but the program didn’t sound all that great. The worst part of it was you couldn’t have any contact with your family for the entire two years you were in the program.
“Yes,” she answered, but she wasn’t paying attention to me. One of the guys had noticed her. “It’s the only way for girls like us to get into the upper tiers.”
“You could study harder and try to get a scholarship,” I said. “Then you wouldn’t need FeLS.”
She shrugged her sweater off one shoulder, smiling at the guy looking at her, and completely ignoring me.
“Sandy”—I hoped to appeal to her obvious sex-teen-ness—“you know you can’t dress like you do now if you’re a FeLS. I heard you have to wear uniforms. Plus, you’ll be out there in space, and who knows if there are any guys there?”
“Of course there are guys.” She shot me a look like I’d just said two plus two was five. “Guys are everywhere. And”—she paused; for effect, I guessed—“you’ve seen the verts . . . in your free time, you can dress any way you want, go anywhere you want, and do anything you want. Anything, except that.” She could tell I was not impressed. “Well, you can go anywhere on the station. Guess you can’t really sneak off of it.” She laughed, shaking out her hair, and the other side of her sweater slipped down, too. “Hey, Mike, isn’t Joan a FeLS?”
Mike was staring across the booth at Sandy’s practically naked chest. “Huh?” he grunted.
“Joan.” I snapped my fingers under his nose. “Your sister? She’s in FeLS?”
“She is?” He was struggling to focus somewhere besides Sandy�
��s breasts.
In order to help, I yanked her sweater closed. “Joan?” I kicked him under the table. “FeLS?”
“Oh, yeah.” He snatched up a fry. “She was.”
“Maybe I should talk to her,” Sandy said. “She could tell me all about how to get chosen, right?” She propped her chin in her hands, leaning toward Mike. “Can you arrange that? Please?”
“Nope. Sorry. Haven’t talked to her since she left.”
“Wait, isn’t her two years up?” I said.
“I guess. Mom gets chips from her, I think,” Mike said. “Heck, I dunno. My dad says she probably thinks she’s too good for us now.”
The guy who’d been watching Sandy motioned her to show her wrist. Reluctantly, she did. He shook his head and turned away.
“Oh well.” She flipped her hair, scanning the rest of the tables with no success.
“You gotta be a virgin to get into FeLS, don’t you?” Derek said.
“Of course.” Sandy rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows that. Why does everyone keep asking me if I know that?” She turned her attention to me. “I wonder what it’s going to be like, really? Can you believe those ‘how-to’ vids? We’ve watched like, what, one a week since school started? I mean, sex has got to be the most ultra thing in the galaxy! I wonder what the guys get to see when we’re watching our vids?” She looked over at Derek. “I don’t know why they separate us, we’re going to be doing it together, so, duh—”
“Will you stop?” It was bad enough that Derek was making moon eyes across the table at me. I didn’t need Sandy saying anything that might encourage him to think about me and sex in the same thought. “No wonder guys think when girls are tattooed all they want is to get laid.”
“Don’t they?” Mike gave me his biggest wide-eyed innocent look.
A part of me knew he was joking, but the part that didn’t said, “Shut up.” I paused, knowing the reaction I’d get if I said what was on my mind. I couldn’t stop myself. “Look at what happened to Angel.”
Suddenly, it seemed the remaining ketchup on Mike’s plate was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Sandy began digging around in her purse. Derek glanced at me for a second and then looked out the window. Nobody wanted to remember. I should have felt bad for bringing it up, but I didn’t. I was sick and tired of the constant sex talk, and teasing. Couldn’t my friends at least try to understand that maybe all girls—like maybe me—don’t want to have sex?
Angel Cordoba had been in Mike’s older sister Joan’s grade, just a couple of years ahead of us. She was cute and nice, and we’d all hung out at Oak Street beach two summers earlier, before Joan went into FeLS. Right after Angel got her XVI, a couple of guys invited her to a party. It was an eighteenth and she was the only girl there.
The guys got off with six months’ community service for the “accident” with the lighter fluid. There were no rape charges. They convinced the prosecutor that she’d wanted it—that happened a lot when the girl was a sixteen. All the Media news stories said Angel was just another oversexed sixteen, that she got high, accidentally lit herself on fire, and then blamed the guys after the fact. But anyone who knew her knew that was a lie. No one had the nerve to say anything, except her brother. He started an antitattooing, antigovernment vlog, but it got shut down and he disappeared. Rumors were he became a NonCon. Ginnie’d told me she thought he was dead.
Angel had five operations total. She almost looked like herself afterward, but looks weren’t everything. She hadn’t been the same person since.
“Sorry. But Angel didn’t want sex, did she?” I dropped the card Gran had given me on the table. “That covers mine. I’m going for a walk.”
“I’ll come with you.” Derek started to get up.
“No. I’ll catch up with you guys at the Water Tower at one.”
I always found downtown streets overwhelming. Sometimes I felt like the combination of verts and people would drown me or swallow me whole. My stomach tightened and my breathing quickened, and I had to keep myself from breaking into a run. Once I was out of the worst of it, I hurried over to Lincoln Park, to my favorite place.
A bigger-than-life-sized holographic statue of Lincoln stood at the park entrance. He’d been a president of the United States, which hadn’t existed for years. Ever since the End-of-Wars treaty, the Governing Council had ruled the Americas, the moon colonies, Venus, and the ocribundan mines on Mars. Except for the Great Oil Deserts, which no one cared about now that ocribundan was the Earth’s main fuel, and some islands off the Greater United Isles, the rest of the world was ruled by councils run like the GC.
I shielded my eyes from the sun, peering up at the statue. Lincoln was ugly, but there was something in his eyes that seemed kind. I pressed the info button and the image began reciting the Gettysburg Address. I should take time to learn more about what Lincoln believed in—freedom and equality for everyone. Between school and art classes and life, I barely had enough time to study anything except homework, and I didn’t always get that done.
Before the recording ended, I’d forgotten about Lincoln and everything else. My attention was drawn to the scene in front of me and I shuffled off through the brilliant fall colors. The trees looked like giant candles. Their fiery leaves were sparks flying wherever the wind took them. I crunched through the ones on the ground, reveling in the crackles and snaps and the earthy aroma that filled my nostrils. I felt lighter, freer. Being in any kind of natural setting did that for me. If I didn’t look beyond the trees to see the buildings, I could imagine I was a million miles from the city. Maybe out at Mill Run Farm with the cows and horses; I wouldn’t worry about anything then.
Before long, I was at the grassy mound that I’d always called “my mountain.” There was a weird animal-like noise, and for a moment I was scared. Oh, come on, I thought, what kind of animals would be loose in the park? Squirrels? Chipmunks? Not exactly terror-worthy. But the noise got louder and I realized that something wasn’t right. I strode to the top of the mound and looked down the other side.
Three guys were beating up a fourth who was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his head. I could tell he was homeless by his clothes.
I should’ve turned and left, but I didn’t.
V
“Stop it!” I yelled.
The three boys, college athletes according to their letter jackets, stopped kicking the guy and turned around.
One of them, a beefy guy with slicked-back brown hair and piggish eyes, leered at me. “You sixteen?”
“No,” I squeaked, holding up my wrist for him to see. That’s when I realized the danger I was in, all alone in a secluded area of Lincoln Park facing three ’letes who were primed for trouble. My being underage wouldn’t matter to them. ’Letes could do whatever they wanted. There was no way I could outrun them, so I stood my ground, hoping the meanest glare I could muster would hide my terror.
The tallest of the three yanked on Pig Eyes’ sleeve. “Come on, Coach’ll bench us if we’re late again.”
Pig Eyes shook off his grasp, and locked eyes with me. Then his gaze traveled downward. “Oh, baby, I’d love some of that.” He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips at me before turning to follow his friends. I wanted to vomit.
On their way past the guy on the ground, Pig Eyes kicked him one more time.
They finally disappeared behind the trees. I was shaking so hard I was afraid if I tried to walk I’d collapse in a sobbing heap. The homeless guy still lay there like a giant tattered baby. I should have gone; anyone else would’ve left him.
Homeless are no better than river rats, maybe even worse. They get beaten and killed without anyone noticing. No one in their right mind has anything to do with them. But I guess at that moment my mind wasn’t quite right. Even though my knees were like rubber bands, I took a deep breath and scrunched through the leaves to the moaning heap of ragged clothes.
“You okay?”
All I got back was a grunt.
“Hey,
can I do anything?”
Rolling onto his back, he groaned.
“Shit.” He spat out some blood and touched the split on his lip from where it was flowing. “How stupid am I?”
“I dunno.” I stared at him. He looked almost as bad as Ginnie after one of Ed’s rages. “You look more hurt than stupid.”
I was surprised—the face that glanced up at me wasn’t a man’s, old or otherwise. He was a boy, my age. “That was rhetorical,” he snapped, dabbing at his lip with a filthy sleeve.
“Here.” I offered him a rumpled napkin from my pocket, ignoring his attitude.
Holding it on the cut, he squinted in my general direction. “You’re not afraid to talk to me?”
“No.” That wasn’t entirely true. I was terrified. “You homeless?”
He sat up, clutching his stomach. “Man, that really hurts,” he muttered, not to me in particular, so I didn’t comment. Shading his eyes with one hand, he looked up at me. “Does it make a difference if I am?”
“Well ... uh ... I, ah . . .”
I couldn’t shake the impulse to help him. It seemed that the older I got the more I believed that everyone, homeless or not, deserved to be treated at least like a human. I knew it was my mom’s influence. She always says everyone has a right to live. Just because the homeless don’t want to take handouts from the government because of what they have to do in return doesn’t mean they’re subhuman.
This guy looked so vulnerable, all I could think of was Ginnie after a go-round with Ed. For ten years I’ve seen this—I’d try to help her clean up afterward, but she looked so awful I would cry and that would upset my little sister, Dee. I’d choked back so many tears, they’d become a lake of sadness in my belly.
“Well?” His voice brought me back to the present. “You got a problem with that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, right, Little Miss Burbs.” He looked me up and down, but not the way Pig Eyes had. “I bet you don’t.”