Genesis Girl (16 page)

But I can’t tell my friends what’s really been going on. I can’t tell them about crazy month or Cal trying to release me. Cal’s given up on telling me to think for myself for the time being. But he’s not giving me a lot to work with.

That’s when I feel the sucker punch to my heart.

Because I thought tonight would be different. I thought with the Vestals, I could finally be myself. But I can’t tell them the whole truth. I’ve exchanged one filter for another.

“I’m here to meet Soap-boy.” I quickly correct myself. “I mean, I’m here to meet Trevor.”

“Trevor?” Ethan asks. “You mean that Trevor over there?”

We all turn to look at the Vestal family entering the room. There’s Trevor, and he’s taller, blonder, and clearer-skinned than ever. He stands next to his Vestal-mom, who has ageless skin and gray hair. His Vestal-dad looks like he’s about ready to step out of a shaving commercial. The entire Soap Family is stunning.

As soon as I see Trevor, I feel hope. Maybe with Trevor, things will be different. Maybe Trevor will make my whole world right.

“I guess that could have been your family too,” says Fatima.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s where you would’ve ended up, if you hadn’t protected me from that picture,” Fatima says quietly, almost apologetically. Sensing the privacy of the moment, Beau and Ethan move away.

“You would have done the same for me,” I say.

Fatima contemplates her golden cuff. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

My platinum cuff feels heavier than ever for some reason.

“I was
so
jealous,” Fatima admits. “I always thought I’d be top pick instead of you. That’s why I didn’t say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For protecting me. I’m sorry I was such a jealous idiot that I never thanked you for shielding me from that Virus. I’m sorry you had to go Geisha over it.”

“But—” I say, trying to protest. I don’t get the chance. Ms. Lydia and Cal are right there, waiting to introduce me to Trevor.

He’s perfect for me. I know it the first time Trevor looks at me with his clear blue eyes. He’s honest and kind and obedient and respectful, all rolled up in one. He’s the perfect boy next door, and he smiles down at me like I’m the only girl in the room.

I could thank Ms. Lydia for a thousand years, and it would never be enough.

“Blanca,” Trevor says.

I’m not sure if that’s a question or statement, but I don’t care. It’s not like I’m going to be able to answer anyway, not with my tongue permanently attached to the roof of my mouth.

The woman standing next to Trevor speaks for me. “So this is Blanca,” she says. Her skin is so smooth that the gray hair sets off her face like a frame.

“Yes, Lilith,” says Ms. Lydia. “This is
Ms.
Blanca.” She puts the emphasis on the Ms.
,
and Lilith finches.

I take notice too, of course. Lilith is older than me, more experienced. I’ve followed her career ever since I was a little girl. I should be kowtowing to her, not the other way around. Why doesn’t Ms. Lydia want that? But then I look down at Lilith’s wrist and see gold, not platinum. For some reason, that loosens my tongue.

“It’s nice to see you, Ms. Lilith,” I say. “And you too, Trevor.”

Trevor smiles back at me with a mouth full of perfectly straight, white teeth.

“And this is Blanca’s purchaser, Mr. Calum McNeal,” Ms. Lydia continues the introductions. Then she indicates the razor model behind Lilith. “And Richard, Trevor’s father.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Cal shakes everyone’s hands. Then he looks at me and winks. “Richard and Lilith, I’m dying to hear about the soap industry. Let’s give these two some privacy, and you can tell me all about your work.”

The other Vestals try not to laugh.

Ms. Lydia actually does, that silvery laugh of hers that is so beautiful. “Calum!” she says as she leads him away. “You can’t
give
privacy. You can only
protect
it. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

And then it’s me alone with Mr. Gorgeous, although we’re in a room full of people.

“So, um,” says Trevor. “You’re Blanca.”

“Yes,” I say, “I’m Blanca. Do you remember me from school?”

“Um, no, not really. But Lilith, I mean …
my mom
said that you and I are going to be perfect together.”

“Ms. Lydia said that too.”

Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and steals a glance at his mom.

“So,” I say, “you’re twenty?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

I struggle to think, but it’s like my brain is made out of cardboard. “I’ve been a fan of your mom forever,” I finally say. “I’ll never forget that campaign she did for Citrus Sunshine when I was little.” Then I start to hum the tune like a dork before I can stop myself.

But Trevor smiles and hums along with me. “Yes.” He steals a glance at Lilith. “That was a good one.”

I look at Lilith too. She glares at me like I’m a menace. But then she sees me looking at her and quickly turns around.

“Would you like to dance?” Trevor asks me. Without waiting for a response, he pulls me onto the floor. He binds his arms around me, and we float around the dance floor like we’re clouds. Trevor’s such a great dancer that for a second I forget about everything else. The Virus, the picture, the month locked in my room; it all spins away into oblivion.

“So you went Geisha?”

The question snaps me back into reality. “Yes. But it’s not what you think. My purchaser and I, we’re not … you know.”

“Oh,” says Trevor. “My mom said … Never mind. You and me? This could be for real?”

I feel my ears turn red. “If you want,” I manage to get out.

“Cool.” Trevor pulls me closer, and we both spin around.

We don’t say much after that. I’m too busy thinking about how we’re the perfect couple, and that it’s a shame that Virus isn’t here to see what a real relationship should look like.

I can’t stay for the whole evening. I’m not exactly sure why. But right after dinner when the lights dim and the tables are being cleared away, Ms. Lydia suggests we leave. Cal immediately agrees.

It’s been nothing but smiles and stolen glances between the two of them ever since we climbed into the limo.

“I appreciate you allowing me to be your escort tonight, Lydia,” Cal says. “I realize now how courageous you had to be, to show up with an outsider like me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Ms. Lydia blushes. “It was my pleasure.”

“No, really,” says Cal. “You’re a remarkable woman, Lydia. Exactly like this young lady over here.”

Cal elbows me in the ribs gently when he says that, and I flush too. He’s sitting between Ms. Lydia and me in the back of the limo.

“I only have one complaint,” Cal continues, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “Where was the food? I thought we were going to a banquet!”

Ms. Lydia giggles. “What are you talking about? There was plenty of food.”

“Fish and vegetables
do not
count as plenty of food,” says Cal. “I’m starving!”

“That’s how Vestals eat,” I say. I catch Ms. Lydia’s glance, and we both start laughing.

“No wonder you people don’t go out,” Cal says. “Restaurants would be wasted on you.”

“Fish and vegetables are good for you,” insists Ms. Lydia. “That’s what everybody should eat.”

“Did somebody tell you that?” Cal asks.

Ms. Lydia’s face freezes, and I feel a chill overcome the backseat. She recovers in a flash and changes the subject. “So, Blanca, what did you think of Trevor? You two were dancing all night.”

“He’s nice. But I had a horrible time remembering how to talk.”

“Oh?” asks Ms. Lydia.

“Yes.” My ears turn red.

Cal looks directly at Ms. Lydia. “I get tongue-tied by beauty too.”

“Oh, Calum.” Now Ms. Lydia’s the one blushing.

Watching old people flirt is bizarre. But I’m happy for them, even though I feel out of place. So I do the only sensible thing possible: I rest my head on the wall of the car and pretend to fall asleep.

“Won’t you let us drop you off at home?” Cal asks Ms. Lydia. “I hate to think of you out on the roads by yourself this late at night.”

“Thank you, but no. I’ll be fine.”

“It would be no problem at all to take you to … ” Cal leaves the sentence hanging, a question. A Vestal would know better than to press Ms. Lydia on where she lives, but Cal’s not a Vestal.

“Thank you, Calum, but again. I’ll be fine.”

I give a snore. Not a that’s-so-fake-I-can’t-believe-it-snore, but a soft one, like I’m sound asleep.

“Poor girl,” says Cal. “She’s had a long night.”

“Yes,” says Ms. Lydia. “Blanca’s so lucky to have you to watch out for her. I couldn’t be happier with how things turned out. I wish I could spend more time with her.”

“Then why don’t you?” Cal says. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. Or the next night, or the one after that.”

There’s a few seconds of silence.

I try to calm myself, to keep my breathing regular so it still looks like I’m asleep.

“Well?” Cal waits for an answer. “I would love to see more of you. Would you consider that?”

“Yes,” Ms. Lydia says, breathlessly. “I would.”

I feel my eyes flutter, in spite of myself. Hopefully they still think I’m asleep. If I could fall asleep for real, I’d know exactly what to dream about.

I want to be like Ms. Lydia someday. I want to be a Vestal Geisha who has completed her contract. I want to be exactly like her. Ms. Lydia has her freedom and her cuff.

Ms. Lydia could have gone back to Tabula Rasa as a teacher, but instead she’s our elected agent. Even Headmaster Russell fears her.

She’s the most perfect Vestal I know.

The Virus waits for me at the door of my cloister. He leans against the door in a T-shirt and old jeans, his dark hair sticking up wildly all around his head. He clicks off his new finger-chips when he sees me approach, but I know he’s been online.

“So you’re back?” he asks.

A wave of heat rushes over me when I meet his eyes. “Yes.” I take the key to my room out of my pocket and unlock the door.

The Virus follows me in. “Where’s my dad?”

“Saying good-bye to Ms. Lydia.” Then I turn to him and try not to smirk. “They really hit it off.”

“What are you talking about?” asks the Virus.

“Nothing.” I pull the mirrored doors half closed, so the Virus can’t see me when I change into my nightclothes. But then on a whim, I open them again so he can see me when I head into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Through the mirror I see him lean forward and stare at my behind.

When I finally come out, he’s sitting on the velvet ottoman in the center of my dressing room. He pats the seat in front of him. “You look pretty with your hair pulled back like that,” he says to me, and for the slightest fraction of a second, I think it’s a compliment. But then the Virus adds, “I bet you could have done a great job selling soap.”

“Get out, Virus.” I don’t bother to sit. Why does he have to be so mean?

But the Virus doesn’t move one muscle. “My name’s not Virus. It’s Seth.”