Memory Girl (13 page)

I don't fit in a literal way too.

When Rosemarie offers me Milly's clothing—tunics, blouses, and pantons in shades of garden flowers—they hang as loosely on my body as Arthur's wedding ring did on my hand.

“This won't do at all,” Rosemarie says, tapping her finger to her chin, thinking. “You must have new fabrics. Can you stitch?”

“Um … not my best skill.”

“I'm only modestly skillful with a needle myself.” Rosemarie pats my hand. “This is a prime opportunity for you to learn more about your duties. Have you heard of the Sunday Fair?”

Who hasn't? I jump, unable to contain my excitement. Whenever Lorelei found out an Instructor had been to Sunday Fair, she jabbed them with questions. What did they barter? Who was there? Did the artists sing, dance, or perform a play? What were people wearing? Was anyone in costume? Once Instructor Penny brought back lace headbands for all of us girls, and Lorelei wore hers constantly, even to bed, until she cut it up into lacy decors for her tunics.

“I'd love to go,” I say wistfully. “But will Leader Cross let me?”

“I'll talk to him.” Rosemarie waves away my concerns. “Bartering is the quickest way to get new clothes for you.”

“He won't grant me any favors.”

“I'll persuade him,” she says with a confident smile.

Sunday Fair is rich with booths filled with all the crafts, food, and frivels imaginable. And I may get to go … I hope.

The rest of the day, I learn to roll dough and cut vegetables into narrow slices. I help Rosemarie serve dinner
and am so polite Lorelei would be impressed. Leader Cross ignores me, though, except to ask for a napkin. What do I have to do to earn his trust?

Before I crawl into bed that night, I spread out my favorite belongings on my quilt: a wood comb Marcus carved for me, a coral twist hair frivel crafted by Lorelei, the lacy head-band from Instructor Penny, and a handful of sand shells. I touch each object, pieces of my life. I'm starting a new life now, and while I won't forget my past, I need to focus on my future. I add one new object to my special belongings: the utility tool Rosemarie gave me at the Celebraze.

An entire day passes into dark night without me poisoning anyone.

The next morning, Rosemarie tells me I'm allowed to attend Sunday Fair—if I keep out of trouble for three days.

I focus on my chores. I learn not to burn bread or leave egg shells in omelets. I dig vegetables from the garden and whip up a soup that tastes better than it smells. Each small accomplishment delights Rosemarie, and it feels good to succeed at lessons instead of daydreaming through them.

Leader Cross has stopped scowling at me, and I no longer feel like an unwelcome visitor at meals. I enjoy teasing with Jarod, who has a demental sense of humor. Rosemarie's sons are cordial too. But Daisy continues to ignore me, secluding herself with Grandmother. I'm avoiding someone too. Arthur, my “husband,” is growing too attentive, pulling out my chair at meals, carrying my food trays, and brushing against me whenever we pass. He's appealing in looks, and my pulse races when he touches me, but I'm not sure if I even like him. After the memdenity, we'll share a room, and he'll have every right to touch me … see me naked … and my
thoughts may long for him too.

Still I wish he'd stop staring at me like I'm on the menu.

On Saturday evening, I get through dinner without burning food or dropping plates. As I gather dishes from the table, I congratulate myself for keeping out of trouble for three days. In the morning, Rosemarie and I will rise early, prepare breakfast for the Family, then go to the Sunday Fair. We're taking pumpkin cupcakes to trade for coverings with the Ying Family. Leader Ying has a weakness for Rosemarie's baking.

When the last pan is dried and stacked in the cupboard, I wearily climb the stairs, exhausted but excited too. Sunday Fair, Sunday Fair, Sunday Fair! I'm almost singing with joy. I can't wait till the morning. I especially look forward to seeing Marcus and Lorelei, perhaps even Instructor Penny.

I'm feeling proud of myself for adapting so well to my new life—until I enter my room and find a tiny scaled creature curled on my bed.

Petal.

After the way I last treated Petal, she should hate me and never want to see me again. Yet she's come to me. At my cry, she swirls up on her curled tail, love shining from her precious dark eyes.

“Oh, Petal,” I sigh. “You shouldn't be here.”

She makes a purring sound, and I offer my arm so she can scrawl up to my shoulder.

“How did you come here from the cave and get in my room?”

She glances at an open window, blinking her silent answer.

“Clever girl.” I shake my head. “But what am I going to do with you?”

The sea is miles away. Petal's skin already shows flaky dryness. How long can she stay out of water? A day, maybe two, I guess. She must go back, or she'll shrivel to bones.

If I start walking now—assuming I don't get lost in the darkness—I might make it to the cave and back by morning. But not likely. And If I'm not here by breakfast, the Uniforms will search for me. If I'm lucky, I'll only be punished with a few days in lock-up. If I'm not lucky … well, I don't want to find out.

Why did Petal have to show up now? With Sunday Fair in the morning, I won't have any time on my own. Getting to the sea will be impossible.

“Milly,” I hear Rosemarie call as she twists the doorknob.

She's back! I rush into the privacy room, locking the door behind me. I hear footsteps inside the room and call out to let her know where I am.

Her reply is muffled since I've turned on the tub water. “I'll be awhile,” I raise my voice. “Go to sleep. Don't wait for me.”

Petal makes a questioning squeal, the rushing water filling the tub muffling her sound. She wiggles down my arm, excited by the water, and dives into the tub. But she pops out almost immediately, spitting with her long pink tongue. Shaking off water, she slaps her tail angrily against the tub.

“It's not salty,” I tell her. “You should have tasted it before diving in.”

She shakes again, purposely dousing me with droplets.

“Don't splash me with bad attitude. You're the one who came here. I don't know how you managed or how to get you back to the sea.”

She scrawls up my arm, dripping water all over me, and leaps back onto my shoulder. Her blinking gaze criticizes me—as if it's my fault humans don't have salt in their water. Hmmm … maybe I could add salt to the water.

I'll wait till Rosemarie falls asleep, then take Petal down to the kitchen. If the salt-into-water recipe works, I'll bring a bowl of salty water back to my room and hide Petal under my bed. I'll make her understand she must stay hidden until I get back from Sunday Fair. Then I'll return her to the sea—even if I have to walk.

Not a great plan, but it's the best I have.

Rosemarie snores softly from her bed as I tiptoe from the room with tiny Petal hiding under my hair. We make it down the stairs, through the halls, and to the kitchen
without meeting anyone.

I open the dry goods cupboard and take out the salt box, then sprinkle salt into a small bowl of water.

Petal sniffs the water and hisses. She slaps the bowl with her tail, tipping it over so water spills across the wooden floor. Sighing, I get a towel and clean up her mess. So much for my great plan ….

Petal rumbles a musical sound as she crawls to my lap. When I stroke her skin, dry flakes sprinkle off like dust. Petal doesn't seem sad, though, and rubs against me with her tinkling purr.

Leaning against a cabinet, I sink down to the floor and cover my face with my hands. I'm so frustrated I can't even cry. How can I save Petal? Would Rosemarie help if I explained? I'm not sure.

If only I had someone to talk to. I miss whispering with Lorelei at night, and I even miss how she bosses me around. I miss Marcus too—his curiosity and gentle voice that can charm even venomous crawlies. Marcus would know how to help Petal.

If only I could talk to him.

And I get an idea.

Sitting up straighter, I force myself to think logically. I don't rush into action impulsively like the old Jennza. Instead I sort through positive and negative details. It'll take careful timing and a few lies, but after much thought, I am confident it will work.

As long as I don't get caught.

Petal clings to the back of my neck, her tiny claws scratching my skin. I've wrapped my red scarf around my
head so my hair falls thickly behind my shoulders, concealing Petal. I take a seat in the solar coach beside Rosemarie, and she doesn't seem suspicious.

Daisy sits across from us, staring out the window as if no one else exists in her world. I ignore her too. I wonder, though, if once I have Milly's memories she'll become friendly. It'll just take time—like a century or two.

Leader Cross drives our solar coach slowly. Following behind are Rosemarie's sons with the hoxen driven cart, carrying baked goods and building materials for bartering. Everyone wears posh tunics—except me. None of Milly's coverings fit, so I have to wear the white tunic I wore to the Celebraze. It's embarrassing—it makes me appear more a child than a nearly grown woman.

Rosemarie turns excitedly to me. “You're going to love Sunday Fair—all the booths and food and people. I'll do the negotiating,” she reminds me for at least the fiftieth time. “Stay close, and only speak when properly addressed.”

I nod. Obedience is a small price for the honor of attending Sunday Fair.

“Youths don't make decisions about their coverings, but I'll allow you to choose one fabric. When you find something you like, point it out to me in a gesture. Don't be obvious. You must act disinterested.”

I tilt my head, curious. “Can't I just tell you?”

“Bartering is a complex and acquired skill. The first rule is to never admit you want something. If you show interest, they'll ask for more in trade.”

“Why don't they give us what we want?” I ask.

“That wouldn't be any fun.” Rosemarie's face lights up with her grin. “You're no longer in the Edu-Center where the
community replaces the coverings the youths outgrow. The system works well—quite different from the retro-century use of paper money and coins.”

I nod, remembering these objects from a lesson trip to our history center. It seemed unsensical that retro-people would value strips of green paper. The coins were coolness, though, like shiny buttons. Once I found a copper coin and polished it until it shone like a winter sunset. Instructor Penny admired it, explaining that she'd been named after this “penny” coin, and I gifted it to her.

Still, it's puzzling why the retro-people didn't share or barter useful items. You can't eat a copper coin. I ask Rosemarie about this.

“Life was complicated in retro-century,” she explains. “Some countries had abundant water and food, yet others starved. Our system is simple, balancing work hours with necessities. Leaders assign Family roles and community work hours. While this works fairly, there are frivels like hair ties or sweets or jewelry that we can trade among Families. On Sunday Fair, if you want anything, it's what you have to trade that matters.”

“I can't wait to see all the—ow!” I cry out when a lurch of the solar coach startles Petal, and she digs her claws into my neck.

“What's wrong?” Rosemarie leans close, her face soft with concern.

“Only a bump to my elbow,” I say, hiding my grimace.

I pretend to smooth my hair, but I'm reaching through curls to Petal's scaly skin, stroking her to calmness. Petal's tail wiggles across my ear, and I shift in my seat so Rosemarie won't notice. It's getting harder and harder to hide Petal.

The drive to town center—half of the distance to the sea—is longer than I remembered. It would take hours to walk. I can't return Petal back to the sea without a vehicle. Breaking rules is the only option.

And if it works, Petal will be safe.

After I talk to Marcus
.

Not Marcus anymore, I correct myself. What's his new name? Oh, yeah. Neil Sarwald. How is he doing with his Family? They surely love him—how could they not? He's fun, kind, and brilliant. But he can be overly quiet. Lorelei has criticized him for this, but I think it makes Marcus more interesting. Sometimes we sit outside, saying nothing as we watch birds building a nest or study star patterns in the sky. He'll point out a distant constellation and tell me the name of each star. Once I teased, “There should be a star named Jennza.” He didn't mock me but nodded as if considering this. “A star is a luminous mass of gas held together by its own gravity. Why would you want a gas named after you?” He doesn't always understand me, but he's a friend I can count on.

And I really need to count on him today.

But what if he's not at Sunday Fair?