Elevated (Book 1): Elevated (2 page)

Images from the newscast flood my head. The odds lined up at Brownwood High and a classroom had the pleasure of watching a helpless student disintegrate in front of their eyes. That was five years ago. Now, even filming a GEMO procedure is illegal. Too many lawsuits from parents angry when things don’t go according to plan. But I don’t blame the technicians. GEMO technology is a roulette wheel. It’s as simple as that.

***

“That was entertaining. What was that, five, six, hours of my life I’ll never get back?” Aaron says as we leave the classroom. “At least we won’t have to endure this garbage next year.”

Zach strolls down the hallway with his usual grace. He waves to a couple of girls and they ignore him, too busy fawning over the poster of the Flier on the wall.

“Not sure what you see in that loon,” Aaron says.

“I find him interesting. Besides, I would think you’d like someone so distrusting of the government.”

“You should tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, that you sit next to him in every class because you like him?”

“I do not.”

“Name one. Come on. I dare you.”

A mental search through the list of classes we share confirms that Aaron is right. I do sit next to him in every class. And he still never spoke to me, at least beyond simple hellos.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say. “You’re a guy. It’s easy for you. All you have to do is walk up to the girl and ask her out.”

Aaron chortles. “And that’s easy?”

I laugh.

Aaron checks his phone for the time. “Gotta go. See you at the beach at ten tomorrow?”

The giant words “Know Your Potential” loom behind him from the posters hanging in the hallway

“I-I, I’m not going to be able to make it.” I try to avoid eye contact. Aaron sees through it, like always.

“You’re not going are you? I mean—you’re not—you couldn’t—”

“I’m not getting zapped!” I yell and then lower my voice when I notice I’ve attracted an audience. “I just, I haven’t told my mom yet. She’s going to drop me off.”

“She’s going to figure it out.”

“Not necessarily for a while. It can take months for powers to develop.”

“You’re a strong girl. You don’t need to be scared of your mother.”

“She wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t understand why you want to go down to those freak factories. What will you prove?”

I have no answer. I can’t tell my best friend I have doubts, that after years of hearing his stories and evidence that I wonder. That I’m not sure if I can go through life not at my full potential.

Full potential.

I laugh at myself for repeating the line from the poster. Guess I’m a chump like the rest of them. Maybe the years of government propaganda and Mom’s nagging wore me down. It should be an easy decision. I’ve made up my mind so many times, but it won’t stick.

“See you later, Aaron.”

***

I lay in bed, watching the video from my last conversation with Dad a few weeks ago.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I say to my dad on the video.

“Why not?” My dad’s booming voice makes me feel I can tackle anything.

“What if—I mean—what happens if—”

“You won’t turn out like me,” he says, his blue eyes growing intense. “I know it.”

“How can you—”

“Trust me,” he says.

Trust him? It’s not possible to trust a video feed monitored by the government. Something about our talks doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t dare bring it up with Mom, but I’ve talked to Aaron about my suspicions. He’s convinced the government is hiding something. It’s all one big conspiracy and his friend from the Basic Brigade can help me figure it out. Sometimes I wonder if he reads those Basic Brigade newsletters too much.

Dad tells me he has to sign off, and then ends the video with the same words he always uses.

“Remember to look up. You’ll always be in my heart,” he says and gestures towards his chest, “tonight, and every day. I love you.”

Then the screen goes black. I debate playing the video again, but it won’t make tomorrow’s decision any easier. Instead, I turn my attention to my flowers. At least that’s one part of my life I can control.

CHAPTER TWO

Mom smiles at me as I enter the car to head to the GEMO Treatment Center. “I have a surprise for you.”

Great. She’s about to give me a treat, and I’m going to repay her by stabbing her in the chest.

Mr. Roberts sits in front of me in the driver’s seat. I can’t get used to Mom being with him. I want her to go back to how she was before she met him. Now she’s depressed and disconnected. Coasting through life. The two of them talk with the warmth of a forced business relationship. Perhaps it’s selfish, but I’m glad she seems miserable with him. It would be hard to stomach her acting affectionate with Mr. Roberts. Not sure why she needed to betray my dad by taking up with this other guy anyway.

Mr. Roberts glances over at me. His trademark frown hides nothing about his personality. “I remember my Elevation Day. I was nervous, much like you, but I fought through my fear.”

“I’m not scared.”

I don’t find it hard to lie to Mr. Roberts.

With the car on autopilot, he turns his seat around. “Sorry, I just wanted to—“

“I got all that GEMO stuff for hours yesterday. Can you lay off?”

Mom puts her hand on his to signal for him to stop talking. She glances back at me and I wonder if she realizes how torn I am. Probably assumes I’m ready to skip to my GEMO fate like the other kids in my class. Typical discussions of GEMO involve her falling to pieces at the mention of refusing the treatment. I long ago gave up talking to her about it.

Mr. Robert shuts up, which is fine by me. He has no business muscling in on this decision. He’s ruined my life quite enough already. Turning his seat around, he cranks up some heavy metal music. I snicker inside, imagining a rebellious teenager living within that wrinkle-free suit. Ignoring the music, I gaze out the window at the wildflowers growing on the side of the road. Wish I were out there picking them instead.

I’ve never been good at confrontations, but I’m going to tell her. Wish I knew how.

***

The surprise location is my favorite restaurant, Basic Cuisine. Stepping inside, I’m struck with the strong aroma of fresh oranges and skillet grease. I’m home. Something natural and normal about this place relaxes me. No modular chairs, designed to accommodate guests with multiple arms or wings. The tablecloths don’t shine with that disgusting sheen from chemical treatments designed to protect them from Inkers or other freak Elevateds. Some people want this place shut down. It’s discriminatory, they say. But anyone can eat here; management just doesn’t bend over for Elevateds like every place else. Here, you are required to harness your powers.

We sit down and Mr. Roberts scans the menu. Then he turns it around and lifts an eyebrow. I smile. It will be difficult to get a “healthy” option here. I silently thank Mom for strong-arming him into choosing this restaurant. Otherwise, I’d be enduring our daily breakfast of his bran muffins, with a texture somewhere between tree bark and cement mix, and a taste to match.

“It’s a shame Aaron couldn’t join us,” Mom says in a tone that almost sounds believable.

Aaron is still mad at me for not joining him. Of course, he wouldn’t ever speak to me again if he knew my inner turmoil over whether to get zapped.

Our waiter arrives. He’s only a few years older than me and there’s an instant bond. He chose to be a Basic, just like I will. We give our order and he heads off. I glance at Mom and back over at him. The fact he made the same decision gives me a surge of confidence. It’s now or never.

“Aaron’s not getting zapped,” I blurt out.

My mouth wasn’t as brave as I thought.

Mom shakes her head. “I knew it, such a shame. Throwing his life away.”

“He’s got reasons,” I say.

“And they are?” asks Mr. Roberts.

Our server returns and there’s an awkward silence as he places down our drinks. He begins to leave, but I call out to him before he does. “Excuse me, but, do you—I don’t know how to ask. You see, it’s my Elevation Day and I, do you—”

“Do I regret not getting zapped?” he responds.

Mom chokes on her cup of coffee. “Rose. What a rude thing to ask.”

“It’s fine,” the boy says as he brings himself down to eye level. “Nah. Not for a moment.”

I’m surprised at his lack of hesitation. “Never worry about what might have happened?”

“Curious? Perhaps. Worry? Never. Look, this is a big day for you, but I’ve got a piece of advice. Don’t forget that it’s your life. No one else’s.”

He gives a quick nod, stands up, and walks away. My insides glow warm. Across the table, Mr. Roberts gives me that look. As if judging my every move, down to the molecular level. I sink down in my seat.

“What did you expect him to say?” he asks. “That he hates his life? He has to cope with this. Working in this dump night after night, serving—”

“Lots of people don’t need GEMO to do what they want.” And I’m right. All I’ve ever wanted to do is work as a botanist somewhere, growing flowers and planting trees. While some abilities wouldn’t hurt, it’s not like anyone gets a magical green thumb or something.

“When you’re sixteen, how do you know what you want? You don’t even know your full potential.”

Full potential. There it is again. The carrot dangled in front of every would-be GEMO participant. Wish I could brush it off, but it keeps finding a way into my imagination and holding it hostage. Mr. Roberts tries to smirk, but the muscles in his face don’t seem to remember how to do that anymore. Bet he thinks my lack of a response comes from me not having an argument. But he’s wrong. Mom’s face remains frozen in shock. I wonder if she realizes that I might not go through with it. She refuses to talk, probably scared to find out her suspicions are correct.

The server returns with our food. A feast of goodies not seen in my house in ages: chocolate milk, maple syrup, and breakfast sausage. Mr. Roberts examines his plate as if it’s from outer space. Can’t wait to watch him handle all of this “toxic food.”

I plunge into my blueberry waffles and there’s a huge bite in my mouth when he decides to speak up again. “I’m not sure why Aaron’s worried. GEMO is perfectly safe.”

“No, Mr. Roberts. Sugar is safe.” I pour a huge glob of maple syrup on my waffles while Mr. Roberts shifts in discomfort. I enjoy the effect it’s having on him, so I dump out some more.

“It’s madness. That’s what it is. He’s a conspiracy theorist cuckoo.”

I drop my fork. “Aaron is not crazy. Choosing to be a Basic is not crazy. Living a normal life is not crazy.”

Mr. Roberts keeps slicing his breakfast sausage, then patting down the pieces with napkins to soak up the grease. “It’s absurd, giving up your future. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to get for Basics? Businesses will require Elevated powers to get work. Accountants will need enhanced brain processing, chefs will need enhanced taste, and marine biologists will need to be able to breathe underwater. Those without will suffer. Is that what you what? Dependence on the government? Leeching off society?”

His rant begins to create a stir in the restaurant. Embarrassment flushes his face and I wonder if he finally realizes how insensitive he always sounds. He just insulted most of the people there. Their angry faces fuel my resolve. I don’t need these powers anymore than they do. He has no right to speak this way.

 My hands dig into the booth, rubbing against the duct tape holding the cushion together. “You just can’t understand why anyone would make another choice, can you? That some people might be okay with being simple, living as a normal person.”

The tone in Mom’s voice breaks my heart. “But is that what you want, Rose? Working in a dive like this? Fooling yourself?”

Now I understand why she took me here this morning. It wasn’t only to get on my good side. She wanted to display my fate if I chose not to be zapped. Working in a greasy spoon and serving the Elevated. As if that's the only option.

I’m about to respond when a loud voice fills the restaurant. “You gave me no choice. I had to!”

A government official with wiry blond hair marches in behind a pair of police officers. They handcuff an older man's third arm, which he had hidden under his coat.

“You’re under arrest for obtaining a GEMO treatment by a non-authorized administrator,” says the official.

It’s for our safety. That’s what they always say. People need to be inspected and researched before they are released to ensure their powers aren’t a threat.

 “No one would hire me. Two-armed piano players are old news. I had to!”

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to come quietly,” says the police officer.

As the man passes by our table, I see the same horrified and depressed expression from the woman in the poster at school.

“Wish there was enough government funding for the elderly,” Mom says.

“I’ve been fighting to get more than five years prison sentences for these people. They’re dangerous. More and more people are getting desperate enough to use the black market.” Mr. Roberts says. “I saw a report today. Your generation is being dubbed Generation GEMO. The vast majority will choose the treatment. Soon, Basics won’t be able to compete.”

Until ten years ago, GEMO was only available through private funding. Some saved up for years for the treatment, while others relied on charities or special government programs. After much debate and political arm wrestling, the Elevation Day bill passed. Adults under 30 years old were offered the treatment and future generations would have a chance to discover their unknown potential when they turned seventeen.

Words whirl around like a tornado in my brain. Unknown potential. Can’t compete. I pretend I’m strong, but it’s clear why I haven’t told Mom. I’m not sure what I want to do. I think about calling Aaron, but that would be pointless. Talking to him is as helpful as trying to reason with Mom. No, this is a decision I must make on my own. And I will make it.

As soon as I get to the treatment center.