Memory Girl (18 page)

Now I'm the one disappointed.

“Penelope, you're being too emotional,” Leader Cross says.

“The boy only did what he was told,” Instructor Penny argues, lifting her head high and not allowing Leader Cross to intimidate her. I want to applaud.

“The savage got caught,” the bushy mustached man complains.

“Still, he succeeded,” Arthur says. “Also, his aim was impressive.”

“True. He showed real talent. Unfortunately, he won't be around when we need those skills again.” Leader Cross' words knife-twist inside me. He used Nate to kill Grand Sarwald and speaks of murder with no regret. Anger burns through me. No one is who I thought. Not Leader Cross, my almost-husband, or my favorite Instructor.

Daisy pushes back her hair to expose her disfigured cheek as she stands beside Instructor Penny. “This is all wrong. What have we become?”

“Never doubt why we gather here, child,” Grandmother's gnarled fingers grasp Daisy's hand. “In your soul, you know what matters. Hold onto that.”

“But I never expected something so public … so bloody.” Daisy's voice is softer, vulnerable. “It was different last time—a quiet passing. The only one who suspected the truth was Rosemarie, and she'll never give us away.”

Leader Cross nods. “Not after what we've given her.”

“Against my wishes.” Daisy glares. “I don't care what the scientists say, youths can't replace the dead. That girl will never be my mother.”

“I won't argue with you,” Leader Cross says. “But she
is a distraction that keeps Rosemarie happy. That's all that matters.”

“Unless she flips out like the last one,” Daisy warns.

“He was a DNA abnormality. The scientists assure it won't happen again.”

“If you can believe them,” Daisy says.

“Can we return to the real issue here?” Arthur lifts his arm, demanding attention. “What should be done about the boy? He could destroy us.”

“I've spoken to the Civility Keepers,” Leader Cross assures, “and they'll arrange the execution soon.”

“Your solution to a death is more killings?” Instructor Penny stomps her boot on the floor. “How can you be so callous?”

“Is it callous to protect my Family? Turn your concern to your own Family. The savage was only a tool. No one will mourn him.”

I cringe, wanting to defend Nate. He's intelligent, gentle, and his smile is far from savage. Why would Nate take orders from people who hate him?

Instructor Penny shakes her head. “Have you all forgotten why we meet in secret? Where's your compassion? The boy isn't much older than our youths.”

Leader Cross snorts. “He's fortunate to have survived this long—those creatures rarely see age eighteen. We should have exterminated them long ago. One less Noc is no loss.”

Noc? But that would mean …. Not Nate. No, he can't be. Yet it explains why he didn't tell me where he came from and how he can live outside the Fence.

Nate is a Nocturne.

My thoughts are fog, so cold and dense that I'm sure I'll never find my way back to my room. But I do.

Rosemarie snores softly from her bed, a sniffly snort that often keeps me awake yet now rumbles reassurance. I'm glad she wasn't involved in the secret meeting.

Careful not to wake her, I don't turn on a lamp. Moonlight spills through the window—a silvery path I follow to my bed. I slip out of my clothes and underneath the covers. Sleep, though, is not so easy. My brain won't shut off and replays everything I've heard. I clutch my pillow, squeezing it so tight I'm surprised it doesn't burst and spill out feathers. What am I going to do? Why did everyone at the meeting conspire to kill Leader Sarwald?

Nate knows the truth, I realize. But he won't get a chance to tell anyone.

Execution. I can't bear to think of this. Leader Cross called Nate a “savage,” as if he's less than human. But he's very human. I can't forget his stunning smile and the way he spoke my name, in that lilting yet husky voice that touched me in an unexplainable way.

My head aches, and my pillow is damp. I hadn't realized I was crying. Is it for Nate? Why do I even care? I can't help him. There hasn't been an execution in many decades. Death will be quick, that much I remember from my lessons. But
I don't know which method will be used. Poison injection, electrical wires, or a flame pyre? He'll be marched to a raised podium as if he were the playformer he'd pretended to be. But he won't speak any lines, and there's only one act.

If only I could save him, I think as I sink into sleep. If only ….

I wake to aching eyes and a sick feeling of dread. I glance over at Rosemarie's bed made neatly. She's gone.

Sunlight slices through the window. Hurriedly, I put on coverings and run a comb through my tangled hair, then wrap my hair in my scarf and hurry downstairs. I smell buttery toasted bread as I near the kitchen. Daisy sits at the table alone, sipping tea and biting into sourdough toast. Her hair looks different today, parted to one side so a soft curl waves across her scar, and her face is brighter with rosy lips, a soft lavender coloring over her eyes, and she wears a pink tunic with a lovely pattern of red roses.

Although I long to ask about her transformation, I know I'll be lucky to get a “good morning” from her. So I ask if she's seen Rosemarie.

“She's busy.” Yup, the rudeness goes on.

“Doing what?” I persist.

“Not your concern.”

“It is too.” I stand my ground, giving her a hard stare. “Rosemarie's going to drive me to City Central for Family clothing.”

“Change of plan. She can't, so I'm going to take you.”

“Where is she?” I ask, alarmed. “Is she okay?”

“She's fine.” Daisy sighs as if talking to me is a waste of breath. “If you must know, her son, Titus, sprained his ankle, so she's helping him today. We leave in a half hour.
Don't make me wait.”

Before I can protest, Daisy stands up from the table to stride out of the room, leaving crust on a dish for me to clear.

I rush through breakfast, then quickly tidy the kitchen. I'm wiping my damp hands on a cloth when I hear footsteps. Daisy has returned, standing in the doorway with folded arms, frowning in a clear message of “time to go.”

Tossing the cloth aside, I follow her.

Daisy leads me to a three-wheeled cycle. It's smaller than a solar coach, with a glass bubble over a padded bench and space only for two. I watch Daisy turn a knob on the wheel then pump a foot pedal until a panel light shines blue and the engine hums to life
. I could do this
, I think, and wonder when I'll be allowed to drive alone.

“Sit,” Daisy commands, tapping a sequence of four buttons on the panel.

Daisy is speaking to me, which raises hope that she'll get over her resentment. Was it my idea to become her mother? No. So why does she hate me? When I have Milly's memories, I'll love Daisy. Hard to imagine now.

Once we're on the main road, Daisy returns to ignoring me. I look out the window, eagerness rising as I remember my last journey to City Central. As a youth, coming to City Central was rare. I pressed my face against the window, fascinated by how quickly we traveled and by all the glimpses of flat-roofed dwellings and hybrid work-animals penned in corrals. I tried hard not to blink, afraid to miss anything.

It was especially thrilling to tour the Retro-Museum, spilling with questions as I followed the Instructors from one exhibit to another. So much to see! Displays, photos, and relics from retro-century covered the walls and dangled from
wood beams high on the ceiling. Retro devices like cameras, music on disks, and hand-sized computers were displayed behind protective glass. And there were rare paper relics: shoe boxes, cereal boxes (for some sort of morning meal), and newspapers with tiny faded printing. Paper made from trees, not the hemper grown in heat-domes, was as common as dirt back in long ago. Murder was common too. In a back room, a wall of photos showed scarifying visions of riots, wars, gangs, and even violence among families.

“Let this be a warning,” Instructor Ivan told us, “of what happens in societies that don't respect Family and follow rules.”

Of course, today is about fashion, not history.

The first building we see as we enter City Central is constructed with steel and bricks, towering like a doomed castle. Instead of curtains on the windows, there are iron bars.

The prison, I realize with a twist in my stomach. I frown at the gray-garbed Uniforms standing guard at the entrance. I know who they're guarding. His execution will take place within days.

And I will join my Family to watch.

Daisy drops me off at the fashionizing shop, a rectangular dwelling in a dark wood hue, with shuttered windows like most buildings. The plaque over the door glitters with bright purple writing:
Ying Coverings.

“If you finish before I return, wait on the front steps.” Daisy actually smiles, probably because she's glad to get rid of me. She hurries away, her step light with eagerness. Where is she going?

When Lorelei leads me into a back room, I tell her about Daisy's strange behavior. “She seemed so joyous,” I add.
“Not at all like her usual sourness.”

Lorelei shrugs. “I'm not surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“Daisy is your daughter and you don't know?” She arches her brows in an exaggerated way.

I shake my head. “I'm the last person Daisy would confide in.”

“It's not a very secret secret.” Lorelei's braid brushes against me as she leans to whisper. “She's in love with a man from a different Family. But she can't marry him because he is committed to his wife partner.”

I think of Marcus and how he wanted me to Choose a Name that would leave me free to marry. “Why doesn't Daisy find someone to love who's free to marry?” I ask.

Lorelei giggles. “Don't you know anything about love?”

“As much as you know. We had the same edu-lessons.”

“But I paid attention in class, not only to the books but to what went on with our mates and Instructors,” she says in her annoying know-everything tone. “Remember when I told you that one of our mates was in love with an Instructor?”

“I didn't believe you. Who was it?”

“Clark. Didn't you notice the flowers on Instructor Serenity's workstation?”

“Those flowers were from a student?” I asked, surprised because I thought Instructor Serenity picked the lovely vase of wildflowers herself.

“If you didn't stare out windows so much you'd notice what's going on in front of your face,” Lorelei teases. “It ended badly, though. Because of Clark's obsession with our teacher, her Leader gave her a different work assignment.”

“But it wasn't her fault,” I object.

“Love isn't fair … it just is. You're clever, but you know little about romance.”

“I know more than you think.” I turn from her, pretending to admire a pink silk fabric while I bite back anger.

Lorelei wouldn't mock me if I'd told her about my oneand-only kiss with Marcus. It happened during a game of seek-hiding. When I crawled into a hollow beneath a willow tree, I found someone already hiding there. In the darkness, I wasn't sure who it was until he whispered, “Quiet!” I recognized Marcus's voice. We huddled close, barely breathing. I could smell his lemon-washed hair, feel the fine hairs on his arm, and hear the quick thuds of our heartbeats. He started to speak, but I heard a footstep outside our hiding hole, and I silenced his words with a kiss. My body softened, heated and tingling at his nearness. But Marcus pushed me away. I'd confused him—but it was confusing for me too. The kiss made me wonder if I loved Marcus, yet afterward he avoided me. We didn't speak for two miserable weeks.

I began to understand why, when Head Instructor Ivan held a special lesson for all youths. “You are reaching an age where your bodies will turn traitor on your sensical natures. You must resist these childish feelings. Immature emotions create a false love that can be as destructive as the mind-plague. Those under twenty-five are in most danger of losing their minds to love. When you are sixteen and protected by the sterilization process, you may explore your physical natures. But always remember that the purest love is for your Family.”

For a long time, I thought if I got near a boy I'd lose my mind. Retro people lost memories because of the airborne
disease that attacked their brains. Love sounded like a disease too, when not controlled in a Family. It was reassuring to learn the urges would go away with medication and maturity.

Yet Daisy has been a mature twenty-five for over a century, and she's “exploring her physical nature” with someone she can never marry. It would be more sensical to find someone unmarried in the Cross Family.

I turn back to Lorelei to ask about the man Daisy loves, but we're interrupted by Lorelei's “daughter” bustling into the room, a cloth measuring tape dangling from her fingers and the fabrics Rosemarie selected for me at Sunday Fair.