Memory Girl (5 page)

“Which I have no control over,” I remind him.

“So you need to be ready with the best Name.”

I stare down at a floor tile with a scrape mark like someone slid to a sudden stop. “You know I'm not ready. I've barely studied.”

“That's why I studied for you.” Marcus pushes the rolled paper into my hand, his proud smile reaching deep inside of me. “Here's a list of suitable Names from the three Families most likely to Choose you.”

“Oh, Marcus,” I say, humbled that he broke a rule to help me. “You shouldn't have.”

“I wanted to … for you,” he adds softly.

“But how could you know which Families to study?”

“There are patterns in the selection process, like patterns a bee hive displays in the presence of its queen. I analyzed records of past Celebrazes to come to my conclusions. Besides, I hear things,” he says with a secretive lift of his brows. “Wait till you're alone before reading the list. Then memorize it.”

“I will,” I promise, suddenly lighter, as if the paper in my hand is made of wings. “Thank you so much, Marcus. You're the best best-mate ever.”

“I hope to be more than that … someday.” He looks into
my face as if searching for something, then steps away and disappears into his dorm room.

I stare at the closed door for a moment, puzzled and pleasantly warmed inside. Is he hinting at what I think? I stare down curiously at the hemper in my hand, rough-edged paper, smooth in texture and smelling rich in leafy pulp. In retro-century, paper was created from trees, but most of the trees on our island are on the dangerous side of the Fence, so tree paper was replaced with hemper.

Footsteps from a near hall make me jump and remember I must get ready for the Celebraze. The hemper rustles in my fingers and teases my curiosity.

When I reach the door to girls' dorm, curiosity wins.

Furtively looking around, I decide it's safe to peek at Marcus' list. Written in slanted precise letters, there are only three Names, each long with sentences of details. The Lost Ones had different roles, histories, and manners of death.

But they each shared one thing in common.

All three Lost Ones never married.

Opening the door to the girls' dorm room, I find a whirlwind of frantic changing of coverings and hair-brushing.

Lorelei rushes over to me, her black braid whipping like an agitated snake.

“Jennza, where have you been? Why must you always be late?” Lorelei cries as I enter a room scented floral by hair cleaners and body fragrances. Only two other girls are still getting ready, Merry and Asha; the others have already gone. Lorelei wears her Celebraze tunic, but she waited for me.

She offers to help me prepare for the Celebraze, but I assure her I can dress on my own. With a stubborn purse of her lips, she refuses to leave me and helps me button my tunic when my back buttons are out of reach.

Even with Lorelei's help, I'm last to dress and wrap my hair in a traditional white scarf. White symbolizes youth, and at the end of the ceremony, we burn our scarves as a gesture of leaving our childhood for new roles in the community. We'll be gifted with new scarves with symbols of our Families.

Tension builds as all fifteen of us—eight girls and seven boys—gather in the Communal Study, which is circular, with curved rows of chairs and luminous lamps. Floor-to-ceiling shelves overfill with books, most hemper-bound, but some are from long ago, with brittle yellow pages that crackle with
each turn.

Homer jumps atop the center table, his black hair wagging like a hoxen tail beneath his white scarf. He quotes poetry—something retro about the passage of youth—as if he's on a stage and we're his audience. His dramatical need to be the focus of attention annoys me, and it's satisfying to share an eye-roll with Lorelei. She's not a Homer fan either.

I look around at the born-mates I've grown older with. After we join a Family, we'll never learn together again. I don't want to think on this, but it's hard not to when others talk about what will happen in the next hours.

“I hope, I hope, I hope,” Lorelei says as she scoots her chair closer to mine. “I hope to be in the Ying Family.”

“Sewing will give you squinty eyes,” I warn.

“I am willing for the risk,” she says with a furrow in her brow that tells me she does not appreciate my teasing when she is being serious. “My top Choice is Flavia Ying—she was brilliant with design and fashionizing.”

“Didn't she die in a freak scissor accident?”

“I will not run with scissors. Fashionizing would be my perfect forever.”

“You'll have to make boring coverings like this,” I point out, plucking at my itchy tunic. “And needles hurt when they stab fingers.”

“Only for you, clumsy Jennz,” she teases.

“I'd rather do something exciting.”

She arches one eyebrow. “And your idea of ‘exciting' is?'”

“I don't know.”

“If you listened to the Instructors instead of window gazing, you'd be better prepared. I love you, Jennz, but learn discipline or you'll never adjust to a Family. I have worked
hard on my stitchery and will do well with the Ying Family—if I'm lucky and they Choose me.”

“They will be lucky to Choose you,” I say. Lorelei's crafting skill transforms coral into hair frivels, cloth into coverings, and shells into luminous buttons. When I gift her with coral and shells, she pretends I found them within boundaries, although she knows they come from the sea. She's very loyal that way.

“Seam work is my dream community role,” she says with a passion I envy. “So much more fun than office duties, repairing machines, or dirt-digging.”

“I'm all for dirt-digging.” It's Marcus coming to join us, taking the seat on the other side of mine. When I catch his gaze, he winks at me.

“Your filthy fingernails prove that,” Lorelei teases him.

“Heya, I just scrubbed them!” He wiggles his tanned fingers that I have never seen so clean. “I can't wait to muck out animal pens.”

“You're the oddest boy ever.” Lorelei flips her braid, then adds in a lofty tone. “I still want to know how you visited the Sarwald Family without us knowing. Did the Instructors allow it?”

His gaze shifts away. “Some may have.”

“Vagueness is a form of lying.” Lorelei wags her finger at him. “It's unlike you to keep secrets and break rules.”

“Not break … bend. Jennza is the rule breaker.” He playfully taps my shoulder. “But I'm learning too.”

“If I don't agree with a rule, I'll find a way around it.”

“You can't, Jennza,” Lorelei argues. “It'll dishonor your Family.”

“What can they do? Return me?” I say recklessly.

“Shhh!” Marcus glances around the room. But the other youths are too busy talking to notice us.

“I was only joking,” I tell him, shrugging. “Returning is a scarytale.”

“It's real, Jennz—even if Greta Hu won't admit it,” he adds bitterly.

Lorelei's jaw falls open. “What do you mean?”

“Greta lied to us.” Marcus narrows his brown eyes to slits. “She said she was still friends with
all
of her born-mates. But that's impossible.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because one of them was Returned.”

Lorelei nearly falls out of her chair.

“Are you sure?” I ask him.

Marcus nods. “The youth, Carlos, was bonding well with his Family until he suddenly stopped talking. One morning when his cousin told him to help with kitchen chores, he sliced her face with a knife. He was Returned.”

The way Marcus says “Returned” chills me. No one knows what happens to the Returned, only that they're never seen again.

“Who told you this?” I demand. “An Instructor?”

“No. I heard it from ….” His brows furrow, as if he's reluctant to say any more. So I stare him down, challenging him to finish.

“Scientists,” Marcus finally admits in a hushed voice.

“No way!” Lorelei smacks his arm.

I find it hard to believe too, although I can't remember Marcus ever telling an untruth. It's just that the scientists are so … so mystical. Only Grand Sarwald is allowed to consult with them, and for this, he must travel to the highest peak
of our island where the scientists live in a mysterious compound seemingly invisible to ordinary eyes. Every morning it's customary to arise, look to the east, and recite the Faith Pledge:
I pledge to honor Family, community, and the miracles of the scientists. Peace and safety forever
.

“You did
not
talk to scientists,” I say skeptically.

“Ripping impossible,” Lorelei adds.

“But I did.” Marcus speaks so sincerely I know he's truth telling.

“Seriously? You met them?” I'm still shaking my head. “But the scientists keep to their compound.”

“Not always. You already know I visited the Sarwald Family.” He glances around nervously. “They asked me to dine with them, and during dessert, two visitors arrived—a man and woman in purple and gold robes.”

“Scientists.” The word tastes mysterious on my lips. The four scientists seem almost magical, more thrilling than ordinary humans. If the scientists had a Name Book, I would have been eager to study, dreaming of wearing gold and purple robes. A secret wish I have, not even revealed to Marcus and Lorelei, is to go to the top of our island where the scientists live.

Lorelei's eyes widen like dark moons. “Are they really aged beyond twenty-five? With wisdom lines and hair shining like stars?”

Marcus nods. “Scientist Lila's hair has more silver than her brother Scientist Daniel's, but the wisdom lines are deeper on his face. It was hard not to stare. When Scientist Lila noticed, she ordered me out of the room. I left but could still hear when she shouted, ‘There's nothing wrong with the process!' Leader Sarwald argued, ‘Then why did that youth
attack his cousin? We need to be sure these new youths aren't a risk or there will be more Returns.'” Marcus breathes hard as if he's run a long distance. “They stopped shouting, so I couldn't hear any more. But later I asked my sister—my future sister—what happens when a youth is Returned, and she told me they cease to exist.”

Cease to exist?
I wonder.
As in dead?
What would cause a youth to go crazy, and why would Leader Sarwald blame the scientists? We've been told over and over that we're precious gifts to ShareHaven. With only fifteen youths born every twenty-five years, Families treasure us. Yet a youth was Returned.

Could it happen again?

Marcus looks so miserable, and I know it's because he broke rules by repeating a private conversation. I squeeze his hand to remind him he's with friends. I clasp Lorelei's hand too. No matter who we become, we'll always be best mates.

“It's right you told us.” Lorelei also squeezes Marcus's hand, so we're now a circle of friendship. “But no worries. Our Families will love us.”

I smile at Lorelei. “Your Family will love you so much they'll shower you with gifts.”

“I only want one thing. Can you guess?”

“What?” Marcus and I both ask.

Lorelei sits up straighter. “Memdenity. All three mems right away.”

“Not a good idea.” Marcus frowns. “Memories must be carefully timed over a year for proper adjustment.”

I nod. “Or your brain will explode.”

“Don't exaggerate,” Marcus says, pretending to be annoyed.

“It could happen.” I shrug. “Maybe.”

“I'll more likely explode from waiting.” Lorelei twists her white scarf. “A whole month before the first mem—and then I'll only have up to age fifteen memories. Torturous! I want to know everything from fifteen to forever about my new brothers, sisters, cousins, parents, aunts, uncles, husband and children.”

“If we have children in our new role, they'll already be age twenty-five,” I say, my uneasiness returning. “I read in a retro-book that youths used to be grown by genetic parents.”

“Not in a lab?” Lorelei's brows arch. “That's ripping random.”

“It was nice in the book. Youths had mothers and fathers.” I idly tap my hand on my chair. “It'll be strange to be called
mother
.”

“It won't happen if you Choose a Lost One who never married or had children,” Marcus says with deep meaning.

“I don't care if I have a zillion children. I just want the Celebraze to start now,” Lorelei says, with a frustrated look at the wall timepiece. She throws up her hands, her shell-bracelets jingling. “Why haven't they come for us yet? It feels like I'll be a youth for centuries. I'm tired of being treated as if I'm brain-lacking because I'm only a youth. I'm still growing too, but not in places where I want to. And I found a pimple yesterday.”

“Really?” I look closely at her face. “I don't see anything.”