Gifted (22 page)

“Most of what she does in that shop is illegal, right?” I ask.

“I guess so,” Zimri says. “But who am I to judge. Putting on concerts and hijacking LiveStreams isn't exactly following the law!”

“About that,” I say. “I've been thinking. All the songs you played tonight were originals, right? You wrote them?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, the music copyrights and brain patents you're worried about don't extend to original music.”

Zimri shoves her hands in her pockets and kicks a rock. “Doesn't matter anyway.”

“Of course it matters!”

“I'm done for a while. Tonight scared the pee out of me. I'm taking a break. Concentrating on caring for my Nonda.”

“No, no, no.” I stop in the middle of the street beneath the yellow glow of the moon. “You can't quit! It would be criminal for you to stop.”

“Criminal—ha! Very funny,” she says.

“I'm serious, Zimri.” I put my hands on her shoulders. Her eyes open wide. “You were put on this earth to make music and nobody can take that away from you.”

Zimri's face blooms into a smile, revealing the little gap between her teeth that makes me want to press my lips against hers, but I hold back. “You're telling me that I
should
make music?”

“That is exactly what I'm saying.”

“No one but Tati has ever said that to me. Everybody else just tells me all the reasons I should stop.”

“They're wrong, Zimri,” I tell her. “You have a gift. You have what every Plute musician in the City wants! What they go through brain surgery and months of training to get. You are the real thing, Zimri Robinson. You are a genius and you should never stop making music.”

In one quick motion, Zimri jumps and wraps her arms around my shoulders. She pulls me close and holds on tight. It's one of the best moments of my life. “Thank you, Aimery,” she says into my ear. “Thank you for saying that.” Then just as quickly she lets go, grabs my wrists, and pulls me forward. “Come on. You can stay at my place tonight.”

*   *   *

“So, this is it? This is the whole entire thing?” I stand in the center of Zimri's tiny POD and turn a circle. Sofa, window, wall, kitchenette, and lots of dark and broody paintings lining the short hall to another closed door. I could fit two entire PODs in my bedroom at home.

“It's bigger than your car,” Zimri says as she digs inside a slender closet by the front vestibule.

“True. But … where do you sleep? Where's all your stuff? Do you have a bathroom?”

Zimri laughs, a musical giggle up and down the scale that makes my heart soar. “First, let's get you clean, then I'll give you the grand tour.” She hands me a stack of neatly folded clothes.

“Ahhh,” I inhale the herbal scent of the fabric. Lavender or rosemary, maybe? “I never thought I'd be so happy to see clean pants.”

“We have a MicrobeZapper.” She points to a small circular window embedded in the hallway just past the kitchenette. “Then again, maybe you should burn those pants you've been wearing.”

“Well, if somebody learned to ride a bike…” I tease as I follow her down the small hall. She grins at me over her shoulder and I have to resist the urge to grab her around the waist and pull her toward me.

At the end of the hall, she passes her hand over an electronic eye in the center of a closed door. It whooshes open. “You can shower in here.”

I peer inside the tiny room. It's more like a capsule, with a small sink and mirror on one side and a toilet on the other. The back wall is taken up with a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. “Um, not to be demanding or anything, but when you say
shower
…?”

“What? The sink's not good enough for you?”

“Oh, sure, sorry. Of course.” I step inside, feeling like a jerk and also appalled that Plebe PODs don't have showers.

Zim grabs my arm and pulls me out. “I'm kidding,” she says while cracking up. “We're not animals.” She takes a fresh towel out of the cabinet then presses a button on the wall that makes the cabinet spin. I expect a secret passageway to open but instead, a shower stall appears. “Ta-da!” she says.

“Wow!”

“I'm sure you're exceedingly impressed. There's soap and shampoo inside. Now, I'm going to make some food for myself. Are you hungry?”

“I don't want to be a pain.…”

“Too late!” She pushes past me but she's smiling. “We have plenty.”

“That'd be great. As long as…” I stop. “Never mind.”

“As long as what?”

“Just … no more grubworm-meal noodles, please?” I grab my gut. “I can't eat another grubworm-meal noodle.”

“Don't worry,” she says and pats me on the shoulder. “I'll make you something good.”

When I come out of the bathroom, freshly clean and feeling like a new man, Zimri's busy at the stove.

“That was quick!” she says.

“I didn't want to use too much water.”

“We have more.” She turns back to the pots and dishes out two plates full of steaming food. “Do you like morels over corn porridge and watercress?”

“I don't know,” I tell her honestly. “I don't think I've ever eaten any of those things, but it smells good.”

She carries the plates out of the kitchenette and with her elbow pushes a button on the wall so that a waist-high platform slides out from a slot then two legs fold down, followed by a bench on either side.

“No way,” I say.

“What?”

“I didn't expect a table to appear!”

“Maximum efficient use of space,” she says and hands me a plate.

I climb in beside her and take a big bite of food. “This is amazing!” I shovel more into my mouth. “You have to show me the packages so I can order some. Do you get it at the warehouse?”

She lays her fork on the side of her plate and turns to face me. “Aimery, I don't mean to be rude, but if you're trying to seem like you're from around here, you're doing a really bad job.”

I think about whether to be offended by what she said, but then I realize she's right and I crack up. “That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully,” she says.

“OK, fine. I'm not from around here but I am trying hard to do well at the warehouse and I'm grateful for the job and for all your help and for letting me take a shower and giving me clean clothes and feeding me, and…” I shake my head. “It's incredibly generous of you.”

“It's not a big deal.” She pokes at her food with her fork. “It's just what people do.”

“Not where I'm from,” I tell her. “If some stranger showed up in dirty pants no one would hand him anything.”

“First off, you're not some stranger. I've been working with you for a week. And second, the place you're from sounds pretty crappy.”

A surprised laugh pops out of my mouth. “I never thought of it that way, but you might be right.”

“Is that why you left?”

“Well, that's a longer and more complicated story.”

She holds up her hand. “You don't need to explain.”

“Thanks,” I say and look down at my lap. “For the pants.” I glance up at her, hoping that I've lightened the mood. “They your boyfriend's?” I tease.

She pushes her eyebrows into a furrowed
V
. “Actually, they were my father's.”

“Oh!” Regret rolls over me like a rain cloud when I think of the story Nonda told me. “I'm so sorry about what happened to him.” I put my hand on hers. “That must have been devastating. You were so young.”

Zimri pulls away. “Yeah, well, you know, life's rough.” She stands up and gathers our empty plates.

I pop up, too. “Let me help.”

“It's OK. I've got it. You can put the table away.” As she carries the plates to the sink, she stops and looks at me. “Wait. I never told you about my dad.”

I freeze.

“Someone else did,” I say slowly, then add quickly, “at the warehouse.”

“I guess that shouldn't surprise me. You can never keep a secret around here. Everybody's always in everybody else's business.”

I push the button to retract the table, then step around the corner into the kitchenette. “Zimri,” I say. “I'm sorry if I ruined things for you at the show. I didn't know it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Yeah, about that.” She chews on the inside of her mouth as she loads the dishes into a zapper. “That could be a problem.”

“Why?” I ask. “The music you make…” I stop and try to wrap my head around how to tell her that she's incredible without sounding like a sycophant.

“It's illegal. I'm breaking the law.”

“I think you're wrong,” I tell her.

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, I'm afraid I'm not. And just to warn you, there could be a knock on the door any minute.”

“Don't worry,” I say, stepping closer. “I'll protect you.”

She snorts like she thinks I'm kidding, but really, I'm dead serious.

 

ZIMRI

“You can sleep
in here,” I tell Aimery, pointing to the main living area.

He runs for the sofa and plops down. “Ah!” He lies back and kicks up his feet. “This is so comfortable.” Then he rolls to his stomach and buries his face in a pillow. “I never knew how grateful I'd be to lie down flat!”

“Um, Aimery?”

He flips to his side and props his head up on his hand. “What?” Then he looks embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. Oh, god. Was that a total dick move? Is this where you sleep? Did I take your bed?” He rolls off the sofa onto the floor. “I can totally sleep here.” He pats the rug.

“Seriously, Aimery?”

He tucks his hands behind this head. “This is great! Just as long as it's flat and not inside a car.”

“We have beds!”

“You do?” He sits up and looks all around. “Where?”

I lift my index finger in the air then circle it around my head dramatically before I push the button on the wall to release Nonda's sleeping unit.

Aimery's mouth drops open. “No way!” He scurries over to watch the bed roll out. Then he presses his palm against the wall as if it might be magic. “A table! A bed! What else is inside here?”

“Just the screen,” I say with a shrug and a laugh. “Oh, and a portal to another dimension.”

“Ha!” he says when he realizes that I am joking, then he grins, which sends a tingle down my spine. I quickly look away.

“That's where Nonda usually sleeps and I sleep up there.” I point to my loft over the kitchenette.

He runs to the footholds built into the wall and climbs up to get a better look. “Wow!”

I grab clean linens from the closet and laugh at his amazement. “Either you grew up in a cave and this all seems very high tech or you're slumming it and can't believe how real Plebes live.”

“That would make a great reality show.” He jumps down from the ladder.

“Lifestyles of Poor Losers?” I strip Nonda's bed.

“The Prince and the Plebe,” he jokes back.

“How about some help?” I toss him a clean sheet then carry the dirty ones and his clothes to the MicrobeZapper. When I return he's still staring at the bed with the sheet limp in his hands. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, it's just that…” He holds up the sheet. Turns it one way, then the other.

“You've never made a bed, have you?”

“I wouldn't exactly say
never
.”

“Then what would you say?”

“I'd say…” He pauses. “That I haven't made a bed
yet
.”

“Good god!” I grab the sheet from him and stretch it over the mattress. Then I spread out the flat sheet and tuck the corners in just like Nonda taught me. Finally, I throw him a pillow and a fresh pillowcase. “See if you can puzzle through this one.”

He tries to wrestle the pillowcase over the pillow from the top but it slips from his hands. He tries to stuff it inside but it gets bunched up. He tucks the pillow under his chin and tries to pull the case up like it's a pair of pants but it won't budge so he jumps up and down with the pillow bouncing off his knees. I double over, laughing at his ineptitude.

“How have you existed this long in the world?” I ask, wiping tears away.

He gets the pillow inside the case, then swings it over his head and bashes me with it.

“Hey!” I yell, still laughing. “That's not fair.” I run around the bed and he chases me, bonking me with the pillow.

“Take that! And that!”

I jump up on the bed but he comes after me. “Stop it! Stop!” I yell but I'm laughing so hard that I can barely get the words out. I trip and fall off the bed onto the floor with a thud.

“Attack!” He jumps after me, making the entire POD shake.

I roll into a ball, unable to breathe because I'm laughing as he pummels me with the pillow. Then I get up on my knees and grab hold of it. We tug back and forth as I stand. He yanks it hard and I ricochet toward him. We bump together, the pillow in between us, and we freeze, our eyes locked, our faces inches from one another. Then I hear loud knocking.

“Oh, no!” I whisper. “This is bad.” I let go of the pillow and scramble, sure it's Medgers at the door, ready to haul me off. We hear it again but this time I feel vibrations beneath our feet. We each look down. I exhale loudly. “It's coming from downstairs.”

“Quiet down up there,” a muffled voice yells.

I drop to my knees and cup my hands around my mouth. “Sorry, Mrs. Jones!” I yell at the floor. “Sorry about the noise!”

“Yeah, sorry about that, Mrs. J!” Aimery hollers.

“Shhhh!” I hiss at him and swat his legs. “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing,” he says and laughs.

“You're not supposed to be here!”