Projection (11 page)

Jessica reached into her pocket. “My phone’s going crazy,” she muttered.

Gretchen’s phone started vibrating, as well. She typed in her pass code and clicked into her email. There were at least twenty messages in her inbox from school friends she hadn’t spoken to all summer, and each one of them had the same forwarded message attached.

Delphi Teen Scandal
, read the subject line. In the body of the message was a link to YouTube.

“Are you getting this?” Gretchen asked Jessica, as she waited for the video to buffer.

Jessica nodded, clearly horrified.

The video was only ten seconds: the kiss inside of the teepee. Gretchen read the caption.
Popular Girls: Secret Lovers. The up and coming Oculus Society Elite. And we wonder why a murder took place?
It had been posted by Anonymous.

Gretchen scanned the posting. It had been put up only ten minutes ago, and already there were over five hundred hits.

Jessica looked up. Her face was ashen, and her hands were shaking. “I think we’re too late for apologies, Gretch.”

Gemina strode down the
Roman street, Plotinus’s short tunic exposing the lower part of her legs in a way that she was not accustomed to. It made her self-conscious, and she kept pulling at the robe in a futile attempt to make it longer. She had to remind herself to stop, lest people think that Plotinus had developed some sort of twitch.

So strange, being a man!

His feet were so much bigger than her own; she found it difficult not to trip over them, and she felt naked without her long hair to cover the back of her neck. The rough, itchy skin on his hands and forearms drove her crazy. A little sea mud would fix it. Men could afford not to take care of themselves. If only they knew! Gemina felt exhilarated by the freedom.

And the Roman Empire, she knew, was not as restrictive as Persia. Plotinus had told her that Persian women were treated almost as badly as the slaves: they were not permitted to show their faces in public, were not afforded any education; they were considered no better than kept animals.

So where did this fury come from? But she knew even as she asked herself the question; she knew because there were no women who walked as she walked in this part of the city. She could not own property, even though her husband’s house had been bought with her money. She could not hold office or vote, even though the senators made laws that directly affected her. She could not even meet with the money lenders, let alone be given credit or a bank account of her own, even though her husband was stealing from her. And most infuriating of all, she could not enter the private rooms within the Curia, where the senators surely hid the evidence of their most incriminating secrets.

Gemina smiled to herself.
But I can now
, she thought, resisting the urge to pull on her tunic again. The Curia, however, was not the first stop on her itinerary. No, that distinction was reserved for Miss Lucretia Iusta.

The slave girl asked
Gemina to wait while she fetched her mistress, and a few moments later Lucretia emerged from a long hallway. She was in her late twenties, her face creased with the sharp angles of a woman who was no longer a child. Her dark hair wound in long coils around the back of her head. Though Gemina hated to admit it, Lucretia was quite beautiful.

Lucretia curtsied before her. “Plotinus, to what do I owe this honor?” She extended her right hand, and Gemina had to remind herself that she was a man. Her skin crawled as she took Lucretia’s hand and gently placed her lips on it.

“Miss Iusta, the honor is mine, I can assure you. I was sent here by my dear patron, Senator Castricius,” Gemina lied. “You do know him, do you not?”

Lucretia looked at the ground, and Gemina thought she
saw her cheeks turn pink. “I’m sure you have heard about my rather unfortunate history with his wife’s family, sir, seeing as how she is such a devoted student of yours.”

“Ah, yes, I believe I do recall there being something of a feud between the two of you. Now I see perhaps why the senator did not want to call upon you himself. At least not in the light of day,” she added slyly.

This time Lucretia flushed a deep red.
You wicked woman
, Gemina thought. If only reddened cheeks could be held up as evidence in a court of justice.

“And what, kind sir, did the senator wish you to tell me?” Lucretia asked.

“Ah, yes, of course. I’m afraid it’s a rather … delicate matter. You see, the senator has incurred some unexpected debts as a result of property investments that turned out to be less profitable than planned. The senator has asked me to inform you that, as a result, he’ll be needing access to certain moneys that he
loaned
to you.”

Gemina searched Lucretia’s face for any sign of worry but saw none. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir. The senator has never loaned me any money. He must have me mistaken with someone else.”

Gemina tried not to convey her surprise. She had fully expected Lucretia to react with outrage—or panic, perhaps, at the idea of having to return the money,
her
money—to Castricius. In a thousand years she would not have guessed that Lucretia would instead deny that money had been given to her at all.

Unless she suspects him
, Gemina thought suddenly.
She knows that Plotinus is my friend. She might think he’s acting on my behalf
. It crossed Gemina’s mind that Castricius wasn’t too fond of Plotinus and that if he had shared his opinions
with Lucretia, then she would never believe that Castricius had sent him.
This was a terrible mistake
, Gemina realized. A slow panic began to burn through her, making her feel as if she were being suffocated from the inside out.
If she tells Castricius of this meeting, I will be found out for sure
.

“I see,” Gemina said, trying to match Lucretia’s calmness. “Perhaps you’re correct, Miss Iusta. My mind gets so confused these days, I hardly know who I am anymore. You must forgive me. And please, I beg you not to tell Castricius of my error. I’m sure you can understand that a philosopher cannot afford to upset his patrons, especially the ones who provide a roof over his head.”

Lucretia smiled forgivingly. “Of course, dear Plotinus. It shall be our secret.”

Gemina reached out to take Lucretia’s hand, kissing it once more, despite the foul taste. “You have my humblest thanks,” she said, backing out through the door and making her way out of the courtyard as quickly as possible.

Plotinus was no more
accustomed to wearing the long tunic for women than Gemina was to wearing the short one for men. He had to slow his natural gait considerably to accommodate the extra fabric at his feet. More than once he stepped on the hem and almost tripped while walking to the Forum. The heavy gold hoops Gemina wore on her ears made his head feel as if it were being pulled down by stones. Plotinus had always known that women were responsible for taking care of a household, but he never fully understood the magnitude of female responsibility until now.

Lugging baskets through the marketplace, he wondered how Gemina—with her curious, intelligent mind—could bear the day-in, day-out monotony of purchasing food, overseeing
slaves, educating Gaia, and hosting dinner guests. He never realized how much he took for granted the simple freedoms he enjoyed because he had been born a male.
It isn’t right
, he thought for the hundredth time as he stepped around a group of women talking loudly in the street.
It isn’t right at all. We all come from the same place. We are all but part of The One
.

He resolved then and there to write about the crime of gender inequality. He resolved to use his influence with Castricius and other senators to have the laws changed. As soon as he and Gemina switched back, he would show all of Rome the truth.

In the immediate moment, however, he was determined to help Gemina discover the truth about her husband. She had been such a loyal patron and friend; she introduced him to the best of Roman society, she convinced Castricius to host him in their home, and she had been the most eager and willing student he had yet known. Admittedly, he was concerned about what would happen to him if her allegations against Castricius proved to be true. But he flung those concerns aside. As a philosopher, he was committed to pursuing truth at all costs. If the truth about Castricius ruined his life, then so be it.

From the corner of his eye, Plotinus spotted Amphiclea filling a small basket with oranges. He approached her. The thought of not having to pretend to be Gemina for a few moments filled him with relief.

“Amphiclea!” he called out, still surprised to hear Gemina’s voice emerging from his throat.

Amphiclea looked up and smiled at the familiar voice, but then eyed him warily, as if she’d just remembered that her friend was not who she appeared to be. He resisted the habitual urge to kiss her hand as he scurried up beside her. “Hello,
Gemina,” she replied awkwardly, glancing at the woman selling the oranges. “I wasn’t expecting to see you at the market today.”

“Well, I must carry on with my daily duties, must I not?”

Amphiclea frowned. “I suppose you must.”

Plotinus took her by the arm and led her into a narrow alleyway, where they could talk without being overheard. “Have you heard from Gemina?” he whispered.

Amphiclea shook her head. “I have not, and I am worried. Oh, Plotinus, what if she’s caught? She has a daughter to think of. I’m afraid this might have been a terrible mistake.”

“Gemina will be fine,” Plotinus assured her. “She’s the most intelligent woman I know. More so than many of the Roman men in power, I dare say. And with you as our witness, we are guaranteed to be successful in this endeavor. You still wear the anklet?” Amphiclea lifted her tunic to show him the gold chain encircling her ankle. Plotinus patted her paternally on the arm. “Then all shall be fine, my dear. I’m expecting her to be home this evening. If we have the opportunity to speak in private, I’ll remind her to be careful.”

Amphiclea thanked him and bid him farewell.

Lost in thought, Plotinus wandered back toward the Forum. He wasn’t ready to return to the house quite yet, so he continued walking, wandering farther through the city, until he came upon more familiar territory. Here were the Coliseum, the Pantheon, the Curia, the banks, and the library: places inhabited almost entirely by men, with the occasional female slave waiting by a chariot along the road. Here, in this part of the city, Plotinus began to feel like himself again. The woman’s tunic he wore seemed to slip away, and he hardly felt the heavy gold earrings of which he’d been so conscious earlier. He looked upon the library with longing and found
himself ascending the steep, marble stairs that led to the front door.

Inside, Plotinus hardly noticed the strange looks he received from the other patrons. The library was part of a complex that also housed a palestra for physical games, along with the baths; the room smelled faintly of the oils the men used to wash themselves. He purchased a reed pen and some parchment papers and began to give a written voice to the thoughts that had been germinating since he’d been enlightened.

Plotinus stopped writing and gazed off into the corner of the room. In the corridor across from the library, leading into the baths, he recognized a banker whom he’d met several times with Castricius. This man, he knew, would be
familiar with Castricius’s finances. Suddenly, Plotinus had an idea for how he might find out exactly what Castricius was doing with his money and bring swift justice; he quickly jotted down his ideas on the back of his paper in order to have them straight in his mind when he approached the man.

Plotinus quickly gathered up his papers and followed the banker down the hallway and through the door, finally catching up with him just inside the baths.

“May I help you?” the banker asked, indignantly.

“Yes,” Plotinus replied. But the voice that spoke was not his own.

Oh, no
, he thought, delicate hands flying up to cover his mouth.
What have I done? How could I have forgotten that I was Gemina?

“What do you want, woman?” the banker asked, angrily.

Plotinus said nothing as the other men in the room turned to stare at him. He began to back up.

“What is this?” the banker demanded, grabbing the paper out of Plotinus’s hand. When he was finished reading it, he looked up, his face bright red. The banker let out what sounded like a roar.

“You follow me into the men’s baths because you want to open a bank account? Guards! Guards! Arrest this woman!”

DELPHI, CALIFORNIA
PRESENT DAY

A group of fifteen
or twenty soon-to-be juniors crammed around the oversized center island of Nick Ford’s kitchen, surrounding Nick as he stood, shirtless, sloppily pouring shots of tequila into his mother’s platinum-rimmed Wedgwood tea cups.

Ariel stood next to him. She was careful to strike the balance between possessive and nonchalant: keeping one arm resting on his smooth, hairless shoulder. The gold-plated bangle that she’d swiped from the counter of a local boutique yesterday glinted in the soft glow of the overhead light. With her other hand, Ariel discreetly pinched the top of her thigh, just under the hem of her white miniskirt. She pinched until her eyes smarted.