Genesis Girl (26 page)

The first things I notice are the chickens, defecating everywhere on the porch. The sunlight is white-hot now, and it reflects off the adobe walls. I hold up my hands to filter my eyes, which means I don’t get a good look at the front door. All I can see is that it’s rounded at the top, like a Roman arch.

But inside the villa, it’s cool and dark. My eyes dilate, adjusting to the light. There are plants everywhere, turning the interior into a lush greenhouse. Vines creep upward to the ceiling where skylights filter the heat.

“Come, Blanca. He’s waiting.” Lydia speaks softly, almost reverently. I fight the urge to kick off my shoes.

We cross the Spanish tiles through another doorway into an atrium. Here the garden is wilder than ever, at least at first glance. A veritable jungle is before me, bathed in the light of a single oculus at the center of the glass dome. The air is thick with humidity. I breathe in, and my lungs fill with moisture.

As Lydia leads me through the vegetation, I realize it’s not wild after all. Everything is proportioned, controlled, and cultivated. The jungle builds up in terraces. Planters and lattices pull everything together. Fruit trees are clipped into espaliers. Tomatoes are grafted upward. This garden is both verdant and measured.

At the far corner, I see the gardener pruning a fig tree. He wears a white linen tunic and drawstring pants. A straw hat covers his long white hair. The gardener hears our footsteps and turns around. It is then that I see his beard and glasses.

At long last I meet Barbelo Nemo.

“And so,” he says, putting down his pruning shears. “It’s my little Vestal. Welcome to Plemora.” He reaches out his hand and grasps my shoulder. “Blanca, you have had a hard road. In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it
.
You’re here at Plemora now, and you have everything you need to achieve happiness.”

I try to feel nothing. But it’s hard, especially when he blesses me. Icicles prick down my spine. “Thank you very much.” I’m overcome with the strange feeling of having met him before.

And it’s more than that. It’s more than just a feeling. Because when I look underneath his glasses, I see that Barbelo Nemo has green eyes flecked with gold.

Just like mine.

I’ve never been here before, but I know what to do. I know what’s expected of me. Headmaster Russell trained me well. Old habits come back to me easily, like pulling on an old pair of shoes. They’re comfortable and damaged at the same time. Maybe they’re even dangerous.

“Did you know I could cook?” That’s what Barbelo’s asking me, here at the dinner table.

“No, sir. I did not, sir. This is excellent, sir.” I take another bite of tilapia, poached in water and seasoned with lemon juice.

“Not only that, but everything on this table was raised right here at Plemora. We’re completely self-sustaining.” Barbelo digs into his tossed salad with gusto.

“The fish too,” offers Lydia. “Barbelo breeds them right here in the garden.”

“A three-hundred-gallon tank,” he says, “with its own geodesic dome. Tilapia live on algae.”

I finish chewing and wipe my lips with the linen napkin. “Yes, sir. That’s amazing, sir.” Fish and vegetables. Cal would have words about food like this.

But I shouldn’t be thinking about Cal or Seth. I need to stay present. I need to focus, so I can stay safe, like they would want me to.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time.” Barbelo taps his fork against his plate to dislodge a bone. “You might say I’ve followed your career.”

I shouldn’t feel chills, but I do.

“You have a very clean soul, Blanca. I’ve always admired that about you.”

“Thank you sir,” I say automatically. And I’m trying to concentrate. I’m trying to figure it out.

“You’re so rule-abiding,” Barbelo says. “You’ve always been so obedient until now.”

Something’s coming. I know it.

Barbelo takes a long sip of water. He puts down the glass exactly one inch away from his plate. “The trouble is, you’ve been running wild. I think you should remain cloistered until you can clear your head.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” I try to stop my insides from decomposing into mush.

“Blanca has an excellent character,” Lydia tells Barbelo. For some reason she’s arguing on my behalf. “Blanca always does what she’s told.”

“Not always.” Barbelo’s voice is cold. He takes off his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief.

I wonder which time he’s talking about: my online transgression with Ethan or trying to call Seth on the chip-watch?

“Ethan was a corrupting influence that has been dealt with.” Lydia swallows hard. “I still think Blanca’s trustworthy.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think, my dear, now does it?” Barbelo reaches for a toothpick.

“No, Barbelo. Of course not, Barbelo.” Lydia folds her napkin into a tidy triangle.

“That’s a good girl.” Barbelo reaches over to squeeze Lydia’s hand, and she beams with pleasure. “A week of cloistering will do Blanca some good.”

“Yes, Barbelo. Of course, Barbelo.” Lydia doesn’t look at me.

“Besides, Lydia,” Barbelo says, pushing himself away from the table, “you’ve been gone a long time. I have needs that you need to take care of.”

The last time I was cloistered for this long, I went crazy. I can’t let that happen again.

At least at McNeal Manor I had more space. Here at the villa, I’m alone in a tiny cell. There’s a cot, a nightstand, and a tiny bathroom. High up above me is a skylight full of the never-ending sunlight.

I think Lydia might be trying to help me. She brought me a yoga mat my first day and a hairbrush the next. But Barbelo must have found out, because since then, there’s been nothing. She no longer brings me my tray of food. Barbelo unlocks the door in the middle of the night and slides the tray in on the floor.

I can’t let myself go crazy. Not like last time. So I’ve been trying to think. I’ve been trying to dig deep within myself to come up with answers. I need to figure out the genesis of how I got here. That’s the only way I’ll escape.

Lydia told Barbelo that I have the perfect character. But that’s not true. My character isn’t perfect. It’s nonexistent.

If you take off my platinum cuff, then there’s nothing left of me. In that long-ago conversation with Seth, I couldn’t tell him what I liked to do for fun.

The truth is, I have no idea.

So I revert back to the old ways. An hour of Kenpō. An hour of yoga. Running around my little cell like I’m a trapped animal. Only there isn’t any room to run, so I jog in place instead.

But the harder I run, the more I know. Even with the old routines, I’m still different. And maybe the part of me that’s always been is still here—the part of me that fights to survive.

Lock me in a box, and I’ll fight to get out.

Because that’s who I am at my very core. That’s my character. I’ve finally figured it out.

I’m a survivor.

No matter what shitty hand life deals me, I keep going.

I’ve got good instincts, like Cal told me. And my instincts are telling me loud and clear that I can do this.

I can think for myself.

There’s another thing about me that’s important. It’s really important to know this. I’m smart. I’m a fast learner. Even Cal said so. He said he’d never seen anybody with such a scientific mind.

It’s been six days in this cloister, and I’m keeping track. I don’t have anything to write with, but I’m marking the time with my hairbrush. I know it sounds funny, but each day I bend down one more wire bristle.
I am loyal. I am discrete.
That’s how I keep track of the days.

Barbelo said I’d only be here one week. But you can never trust a Vestal. You can’t.

He shouldn’t trust me either. Because today I had an epiphany. I was lying on my bed looking up into the skylight. The sunshine made me feel safe and warm and happy, like the great hall at McNeal Manor. And I remembered Cal saying, “It’s a great day for making solar power.” It’s a great day.

I’ve got a scientific mind. Cal said so. Solar circuits are like little cloisters. Close off the doors and the electrons won’t run free. Close me off in my cloister, and I’ll fight to get out.

So I take out Cal’s chip-watch, and I turn it over and look at the sun. Lydia thinks it busted when it fell in the water. She’s right, but she’s also wrong. Just the power is wrong. Just the battery.

It’s a great day to make solar power. It’s a great day to rip little bristles out of hairbrushes. It’s a great day to take things apart and see how they work. See if I can fix them. It’s a great day to bring broken things to life. It’s a great day.

It’s a great day.

It’s a great day.

Sophia McNeal speaks to me. I see her now about two inches tall hovering above the chip-watch. I can’t connect to the outside world, but I can access the watch’s memory. It’s Cal’s own private archive of secrets, and I’m conducting the ultimate Invasion.

“I won’t be with you much longer,” Sophia says. She’s sitting down in her hospital bed, a scarf around her head. “But, sweetheart, remember. Remember always that I love you. You are loved.”