Genesis Girl (31 page)

My casts have been off for a few weeks now, and the doctors have finally given me the okay to ride my bike. So Seth and I are heading out to ride along the coast, all the way to the boardwalk. Cal thinks this is a horrible idea, and he’s been trying to talk me out of it all morning.

“Do you know what they call motorcycles?” he asks me at breakfast. “Organ donors! Why not let Alan take you guys for a drive —”

“Sorry,” I interrupt. “But I’ve been planning this day for a long time. You’re still going to meet us out for dinner tonight to get that hamburger though, right?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Cal throws his napkin on the table. “But I wish you would—”

“Stay safe,” I say, finishing for him. “I know. But I’ve got good instincts, remember? I can think for myself.”

“I realize that. But—”

“But what?”

Cal’s fighting back tears. I know it. He doesn’t have my training, so it’s a lot harder for him to stay composed. “I don’t want you to get hurt again,” he says huskily.

“I won’t.” I reach over to hug him. The tweed of his coat scratches my cheek.

“And I wish that I could keep you here safe, but I know that I can’t, and I know that—”

“You can’t keep me locked in my room forever?” I ask, smiling up at him.

“Yes,” Cal says. “Something like that.” His tanned face reflects warmth.

“I better get going. I need to grab my jacket.” I’m still wearing all white; it’s a hard habit to break. Fatima and I went shopping the other day, and she bought a bunch of maternity clothes in color, but I couldn’t join in. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and freak out that my cuff is gone. But then I call Seth, and he calms me down again.

“One more thing,” Cal says, right before I get up to go. “I’ve got a present for you.” He takes a little box out of the pocket of his jacket and hands it to me. It’s black velvet with a red bow.

“Nobody’s ever given me a present before.” My hand shakes as I reach for the gift.

“I’m sure this is the first of many.”

I take off the bow and open up the box. It’s my own chip-watch, entirely in white leather.

“It’s vintage,” Cal says. “But it still works.”

I slip the watch on my wrist, not knowing what to say. I was supposed to give Cal his watch back, not the other way around. But Cal’s watch never came back from Nevada.

“Cal,” I say. “About your chip-watch. I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s okay.” Cal smiles. “The most important thing to come home from that villa was you.”

“No,” I say, though I can’t help smiling a little bit. “It’s not only about your watch being lost. Cal, I invaded your privacy. I read all your messages
.”

“And did you have a good reason?”

“They kept me going,” I say simply.

“Then you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But your wife,” I say. “Sophia. I even saw her last message to you. ‘But, sweetheart, remember. Remember always—’”

“‘—that I love you. You are loved.’” Cal says, finishing Sophia’s words for me.

“It almost felt like —”

“Like what?”

“Like she was talking to me too.” I sound ridiculous.

Cal’s whole face smiles when I say this. “Maybe she
was talking to you,” he says. “Maybe she was talking to all of us.”

“Save any coffee for me?” asks Seth, coming into the breakfast room. His jeans and T-shirt are a clean contrast to his canvas of inked skin. Seth kisses me on the cheek and sits down next to me, grabbing a croissant from the table. “Are you still meeting us for dinner, Dad?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Cal offers his son a cup of coffee.

“Great.” Seth reaches for the mug and then pauses when he notices my new chip-watch. “Holy Barbelo, what’s that?”

“It’s a present,” I say. “From your dad.”

Seth picks up my wrist gently in his hand. “What, no finger-chips?”

“And infest myself with technology?” I say. “No thank you!”

“Maybe next year,” Seth says, grinning. Then he unclasps the watch for a closer look. He turns it over to inspect the back. “Nice, Dad. You did good.”

I bend over to see what Seth is looking at. That’s when I see the engraving.

Cal had the McNeal family sun etched on the back of my timepiece!

I look up at Cal, but I can’t find any words. I just stare at him while Seth slides the watch back on my arm.

Cal clears his throat. “You two better be going. Daylight is calling.”

“Exactly,” Seth agrees, taking a sip of coffee. “What do you say, Blanca? How about we go have some fun in public?”

I look down at my chip-watch and then up at my new family. “Let’s go,” I say. “This day is going to make the best post ever.”

THE END

This book would not be in your hands without two pioneering women behind it. My agent, Liza Fleissig, of the Liza Royce Agency, is my friend and champion. Georgia McBride, of Georgia McBride Media Group, makes dreams come true. There is no possible way I could express enough gratitude to these fine ladies.

Jaime Arnold, my excellent publicist, you really are a rockstar in the YA world. Thank you for answering so many questions and entertaining my wild ideas.

I would also like to thank my small army of beta readers, Alana Albertson, Carol Brudnicki, Karyn Brudnicki, Muffie Humphrey, Vanessa Moody, Jennifer Parmenter, Sarah Weston, and Sharman Badgett-Young. You made
Genesis Girl
better.

My LRA siblings, Joshua David Bellin, Darlene Beck-Jacobson, and Sarah J. Schmitt have answered many frantic emails, and provided expert advice on writing. Ginger Harris-Dontzin from LRA, thank you for your work on my behalf.

Jeanne Ryan, not only did you come to my son’s school years ago to volunteer your time as an author, you’ve been my Washington State fairy godmother, swooping in to help when I needed it most. I can’t wait to watch
Nerve
on the big screen.

An unseen hand in
Genesis Girl
is the pioneering work of Dale Carnegie. I based some of the Vestal tactics on ideas first explored in his famous book from 1936 called
How to Win Friends and Influence People
. I also used my experience as a Psychology major at Stanford University where I was taught by the most brilliant researchers in the field.

Thank you to all of my social media friends and followers. I’d like to give a special shout-out to my Delta Gamma sister Claire McCormack Hazlett, who has had my back every step of the way on my blog, TeachingMyBabytoRead.com, and on my Facebook page, The YA Gal. An extra wave goes to my pals from The Sweet Sixteens.

Sixteen to Read sisters, Michelle Andreani, Ashley Herring Blake, Jennie K. Brown, Jennifer DiGiovanni, Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, J. Keller Ford, Catherine Lo, Sarah Glenn Marsh, Sonya Mukherjee, Marisa Reichardt, Meghan Rogers, Shannon M. Parker, Erin L. Schneider, Janet B. Taylor, and Darcy Woods, this journey has been richer because of your friendship.

I live in Edmonds, Washington, and am proud to call Puget Sound my home. Every week I write a column called “I Brake for Moms” for
The Everett Daily Herald
. To my
Herald
readers, it is a privilege spending Sunday mornings with you. To the wonderful people at
The
Herald
including Jon Bauer, Sally Birks, Andrea Brown, Gale Fiege, Jessi Loerch, Melanie Munk, Doug Parry, and Aaron Swaney, thank you for developing me as a writer. I owe a special debt of gratitude to executive editor Neal Pattison for taking a chance on an unknown stay-at-home mom.

To my parents, Bruce and Carol Williams, thank you for giving me such a beautiful childhood full of warmth and happy memories. Thank you to my sister, Diane, for making it joyous. My in-laws, Marc and Lynn Bardsley, are the best second set of parents I could ever wish for.

To my husband, Doug, thank you for putting up with the thousands of hours I spent crafting Blanca’s world. Bryce and Brenna, I love you with all my heart. When you are old enough to join social media, you can be certain that your mom will be watching your every move. Have fun and be safe.

Jennifer Bardsley
writes the parenting column “I Brake for Moms” for
The Everett Daily Herald.
You can find Jennifer on her website: http://JenniferBardsley.net or on her Facebook page: The YA Gal. An alumna of Stanford University, Jennifer lives in Edmonds, Washington, with her husband and two children.

DAMAGED GOODS

Jennifer Bardsley

Chapter One

All I smell is leather. Seth’s arms are around my back, his hands tangled in my long brown hair. My lips devour his, hungry for contact. Beyond us a seagull cries and soars above the waves of Santa Cruz beach.

If I kiss Seth hard enough, my scars fade way into oblivion. Barbelo Nemo and his mind control tricks. My childhood spent in seclusion at Tabula Rasa, hidden from the Internet. I slide my fingers underneath Seth’s jacket against the stickiness of his shirt. I begin to undo a button.

“Whoa, Blanca.” Seth pulls my hands away. “We’re not the only people in the parking lot.”

I scan to the left and right of the rest stop. Strangers are everywhere. “Since when did you care about what other people think?”

“Since I started dating a Vestal.”

I pull back and look out at the cliffs. “I’m not a Vestal anymore. You know that.” I feel the antique chip-watch on my wrist. Seth’s dad, Cal, gave it to me as a present after my platinum cuff was removed. Once a Vestal is de-cuffed, they are expelled from the Brethren.

“So those tourists snapping our picture don’t bother you?” Seth motions to a small crowd a few cars over.

I look to where he points, and the flash of thumb-cameras blinds me. Vestals must never have their pictures taken by random people. That privilege belongs to the companies that purchase them and market a Vestal’s privacy one advertisement at a time. I reach my arms out by instinct, to protect my face from the public. “I’m fine with it,” I lie, pulling my hands down. “But we better leave now or we’ll be late to the restaurant.”

“My dad can wait a few minutes.” Seth scoops me in his arms.

“Blanca!” one of the spectators calls. “And Veritas Rex! Is that really you?”

Seth holds up his hand and wiggles his finger-chips. “The one and only!” Then he dips me back for a kiss.

I stiffen like cardboard. “Stop it,” I mumble, trying not to squirm. All I can think about is the cameras, my face flashed worldwide and weirdoes slobbering over my private moment with Seth. “We’ve got to go or we’ll be late.”

Seth kisses my nose. “I didn’t know you were so punctual.”

“Yes.” I pull myself out of his grasp. “Cal’s waiting.” The sooner I put my helmet on and get back on my motorcycle, the better.

“Blanca,” a man calls as we ride away. “I love you! I’ve watched you all year!”

Underneath my jacket, I shiver. The fame that surrounds me is chilling.

A few miles of pavement put me in a better mood. The day is radiant, perfect for riding our bikes from Silicon Valley over to the coast and back. It’s our favorite weekend ritual. Seth cruises next to me on his motorcycle with the lion-headed cobra painted on the side, and I zoom along beside him in head-to-toe white.

The speed rushing over me tastes of freedom. When we shift into high gear I can forget—for a moment—that three months ago I was a captive at the Plemora compound in Nevada. The memory of my mother’s face exploding gets sucked away.

But not for long.