Xvi (37 page)

“We’re home.” I tossed my gloves on the top shelf of the closet.

Pops thumped into the room. “Checkerheads were here today.”

I stopped right in the middle of taking my coat off. “What did they want?”

“It was about that ... uh ... Dee, honey, go see what your gran wants. I heard her call you.”

My knees were knocking together as I hung up my coat and sat down across from Pops. “Ed?”

“Yup. Seems he disappeared. Tracked his last PAV signal somewhere around Lincoln and Wells.”

“Why did they come here?” I managed to keep my voice normal—suppressing the shriek that wanted to burst out.

“They thought he might have visited Dee.” Pops chunked back in his chair. “I told them the deadbeat never bothered before, why would he have been around then? She wasn’t anything to him, ’cept by DNA.”

I hadn’t told Gran or Pops about Dee’s parentage either. They were safer not knowing.

“Did the police say anything else?”

“Nah, just to let ’em know if he showed up.” Pops snorted. “Like I’d tell them anything. They said his wife hadn’t even reported him missing, it was his job that wondered why he wasn’t at work.”

“I’m not surprised,” I muttered.

“Huh?” Pops cupped an ear toward me.

“Nothing, I just wondered if they’d ever find him.”

“I hope the miserable SOB dropped off the planet,” Pops said.

If only you knew,
I thought. Sal had never told me the whole story about who did the cleanup after we’d left Robin’s Roost that night. He said the less I knew, the better. I was in full agreement.

December 10, 2150. My sixteenth birthday.

I’d left the doctor’s office after getting my STD vaccines. They say a girl has to be safe; I was thinking it was more that the guys didn’t want to catch anything. Next stop, the government tattoo parlor. I sat in the ID tech’s chair, gritting my teeth while she jabbed the needle into my wrist. When she was done, the GCMANDATED XVI was etched into my skin—a black stain.

“You’re absolutely certain about this?” the tech asked Gran, pointing to a line on the paperwork.

“That’s what it says,” Gran replied. “The girl’s got sense—she doesn’t need to be tracked like some animal.”

The woman shook her head, but proceeded. I winced as the vac tool penetrated my skin and then sucked the pellet out. She chucked it into the wastebasket. One less GPS to track, I thought.

Gran tucked away my birth certificate, signed the remaining forms, and we left.

Our next stop was the Bureau of Identification and Ranking. More forms, more signatures. I couldn’t believe I actually smiled for my photo. The new scan listed all my pertinent information and the box marked
Creative
was checked. All I’d had to do was show them the transcripts from my art classes in Cementville and pay a fee. Now I knew why Ginnie’d sacrificed so much for me to take the classes.

Much as I wanted another tattoo, one like Wei’s—the thistles circling the XVI—I knew I couldn’t afford one. Besides, when she’d told me about hers, a bit reluctantly as I recalled, it seemed like the tattoo had another meaning, one even beyond its anti-XVI symbolism . Maybe someday I could afford to get my own tattoo, one I would design myself, with special significance for me.

When we stepped outside the bureau, Wei was waiting for us.

“Let’s go to Rosie’s,” she suggested. “I’m dying for a shake.”

Gran kissed my cheek. “You go along now. Spend the day with your friends. You deserve some fun.”

I didn’t argue.

Rosie’s was deserted when we got there.

“I’ll go in the back and see where Rosie is,” Wei said. “Think you can find a table?” We both laughed—since the place was empty.

I sat down and studied my wrist. The zone-out chip had worn off and my arm was throbbing. Mrs. Jenkins had sent along ajar of salve with Wei for me to use on it. I’d just unscrewed the lid when the kitchen door swung open.

“Surprise!”

Rosie came through the door carrying a big cake covered with white icing and chocolate sprinkles. She was flanked by all my friends, and Gran, Pops, and Dee. Even Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins and Miss Gray were there. I burst into tears.

“Hey ... hey.” Sal swept me out of the chair. “No crying today. This is a happy day.” He kissed me.

Mike set a bag on the table. “Some stuff from all of us.”

I gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I went through all the presents. There was an antique porcelain horse figurine from Derek and Wei. A bill of sale for a new bed from Gran and Pops; the survivor benefits had finally come through. Dee had made me an old-fashioned picture album with photos of me and her and Ginnie. Mike gave me a digi-frame of me and Sandy that he’d taken at the zoo in the summer. The Jenkinses had paid for the party, and Rosie was giving me a year of Cliste Galad lessons for free. Miss Gray had tucked a real edition of
1984
into a winter cap she’d knitted for me.

“You guys are all so great.”

“I think Dad’s saving the best for last,” Wei said. “Give it to her now, okay?”

“Second best,” Mr. Jenkins said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope. “Your FeLS contract, Nina. Signed, sealed, and I recorded them notarizing it. You can never be chosen. You are free.”

“Thank you!” I hugged him as hard as if he’d been my own dad. Free. That was how I felt. No FeLS, no two years away from Dee and Gran and Pops, no fear of turning into someone like Joan and no living like a fugitive. Plus, I could apply to the Art Institute now that I had my Creative designation. I felt like someone had lifted a trans off me.

“There is one other thing,” he said. “Jade?”

Wei’s mother nodded and handed me a special PAV receiver, one that still had a signal in the midst of Rosie’s DZ. “I think this is for you. You might want to take it somewhere private.”

Rosie directed me into the kitchen.

I held the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

“Nina?”

“Dad!” I would have known his voice anywhere.

Our conversation lasted for exactly as long as it took for him to say, “Happy birthday.”

For me to say, “Thank you.”

And for him to say, “I’ll see you soon.”

That was it. And it was so much more than I’d ever dreamed.

After we’d all eaten, the Jenkinses took Gran, Pops, Dee, and all my goodies home. Mike had to go take care of his little sister, and Derek and Wei were working on something special for Holiday Day. I didn’t ask what—I knew it was just an excuse for them to be alone together.

Sal and I walked over to the park, to my mountain—that had become “our place.”

“Did you know this was DZ?” he asked.

“Really?”

“I’m sure that’s why your mom brought you here so often. She could talk to your father without worrying about being heard. No matter, though.” He pulled me close. “It’s the most special place in the galaxy as far as I’m concerned.”

We kissed several times before sitting down.

“Have you read anything else in the book?”

“No, it’s personal stuff for my father. Ginnie wanted him to know what she’d been thinking and feeling all those years.”

Sal took my hand and kissed my fingertips, which sent a shiver, a really good one, all the way down to my feet. I caressed his cheek, loving the scratchy stubble feeling on my hand. “Right now, though, I don’t want to think about the past or tomorrow.”

“Me either.” He kissed me again.

It was amazing—here we were sitting in the middle of snow, and I was feeling as warm as summertime. Weatherproof jeans notwithstanding—I knew Sal’s kisses were the reason.

When we came up for air, Sal said, “Aren’t you wondering if I got you anything?”

“No.” I laughed. “I guess I was so surprised by everything ... I never ever imagined a birthday like this one.”

He took a small box from his pocket. When I opened it, I found half a silver heart charm. Engraved on it was
I lo
—then there was a jagged break. “What’s this?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled a chain from under his sweater. The other half of the heart was dangling there:—
ve you
was written on it.

Blushing, of course, I threw my arms around his neck and whispered, “Me, too.”

We spent the next hour kissing, wrestling around in the snow and generally “acting our age,” as Gran would say. But no sex. I wasn’t a sex-teen. I was just a girl who was sixteen, and that felt pretty good.

My initial inspiration for
XVI
was an image of a punk rock girl walking down the street in a big city. I chose Chicago, drawing on my memories of the atmosphere, the architecture, the places I used to hang out when I lived there, and the different neighborhoods.

The characters were born exclusively in my imagination. But, as often happens, certain traits and quirks popped up from memories of friends past. There’s a little real-life inspiration in quite a few of my characters.

 

Honestly, I didn’t even think about that when I was writing the book. Sexuality and sexual identity is something that teens deal with on a daily basis. There is a huge disconnect between the vestiges of our country’s underlying Puritan mind-set regarding sex and the business of selling teen sexuality through movies, television, and all kinds of advertising. I remember well how it felt as a teen growing up with societal pressures, family expectations, and the struggle for my own identity, of which sexuality is, of course, a part. And, when you’re a teenager, it can seem like an overwhelming part.

 

My mind tends to jump immediately to the what-ifs in discussions about politics, society, and technology. I’ve found that for pretty much every utopian theme, there’s an equally dark dystopian one. And the dystopian ones are much more thrilling!

 

It has to be my protagonist, Nina. Sixteen for me was instant adulthood. I believe that most teens, if thrown into situations requiring them to grow up quickly, will rise to the challenge and discover what they are made of.

 

It was not a conscious decision to have Nina’s situation be similar, but, as the story unfolded, it was impossible not to draw on my own experiences. Moving to Chicago was the single most pivotal event of my life (except for having babies!). My entire world was turned upside-down, in both good and bad ways. However, Nina’s choices and her life experiences are not mine, even though remembering my own teen years gave me insights into how she might feel and react to situations.

 

Perhaps a better question would be, “What has
not
surprised me?” I think my biggest surprises had to do with time and with the editing process. Publishing time is nothing like real time. There’s a lot of hurry up and wait involved every step of the way. And, with editing, I was surprised by how cringeworthy some of my writing was, and even more surprised when I’d read something that was so good I’d have to remind myself that I wrote it.