Memory Girl (6 page)

She touches her nose. “I clear-creamed it away. But what if it comes back and brings friends?”

“I see it,” Marcus says, pointing at her chin.

“No!” She jumps from her chair and rushes over to the wall mirror at the far side of the room.

“You're a wicked boy,” I accuse Marcus, not sure whether I'm angry or amused. “Her face had no mark.”

“My mistake.” He grins with no apology. “So did you read it?”

I nod, well aware we're no longing speaking of Lorelei.

“And memorize the names?”

I humph, insulted. “There were only three.”

“Recite them,” he orders, clearly doubting my study skills.

“Seriously?” I retort, annoyed by his superior attitude.

“Unless you can't remember ….” He says this slowly, taunting me.

“Oh, I can,” I reply with a wicked-sweet smile. “Agnes Candras was trampled by a team of hoxen. Vesper Sanchez drowned while collecting algae samples in her role at our water system. Hilda Treveno died from falling off a cliff and landing on a deadened tree limb that pierced her throat.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Why do you focus on life endings rather than life accomplishments?”

“Morbidity interests me,” I say to annoy him, although in truth I found Hilda Treveno's community role interesting. She's my top choice, concocting herbal cures that boost immunity systems and spiced up her salsa. I've found unusual plants in my cave and would be interested to learn more about them. If the Treveno Family Chooses me, I'll be ready.

Lorelei returns to her seat and starts to say something but stops at the click of a door opening. The room goes silent.

Instructor Ivan appears in the doorway, a tall cornstalk of a man with a thick thatch of bark-brown hair on a long,
sharp-boned face. He gestures to us and says in a deep booming voice, “Now.”

Marcus gives my hand an encouraging squeeze while Lorelei jumps up with a squeal. I look around the room at my born-mates grinning, rising, and moving to the door.

It's time.

I've attended many events in the torium but never any so grand as the Celebraze. I step away from my born-mates and Instructors to peer through the doorway. My breath catches at the tiered seats, streaming banners representing each Family's colors, and a stage adorned with banners and ribbons grander than on Haven Day, the anniversary of the Fence's completion.

I am dazzled. Excited. Uneasy.

My too-long white tunic drags on the tiles as I line up according to my Edu-grade ranking:
last
. Grades are an unsensical way to define someone. I've learned more by exploring my cave, swimming with sea creatures and gathering shells, than from brain-dulling lessons. I'd rather be in the cave with Petal.

Poor little Petal. Alone in the storage room. How will I get her back to the cave? My only chance will be after the Celebraze, when I'm allowed to gather my belongings and say good-byes.

“Jennza!”

Startled, I look up at Instructor Penny. The line has started to move.

“Don't be so sluggy, Jennza.” My Instructor's smile takes the sting from her criticism. Her bark-brown tunic is styled similar to mine, but it fits well, not dragging. She's tall and
willowy, with shiny dark hair curled high on her head, reminding me of an elegant yet sturdy oak tree. Her gray eyes always sparkle with humor, making her seem more like a youth than a mature twenty-five.

“I'm hurrying,” I tell her.

She touches my cheek softly. “Don't be afraid,” she whispers.

“Me, afraid? Never.”

“No need to pretend with me, Jenny.”

I shrug, looking down at the dusty hem of my tunic. I don't care—I don't want to care—yet I do. I don't mean to voice what I'm desperately trying
not
to think about, so it's a surprise to hear myself say, “No one will Choose me.”

“Of course they will.”

“Last.” I spit out this foul-tasting word.

I expect Instructor Penny to argue. You'll be wanted and loved, she'll assure me. But she slips her arms around my shoulders, saying nothing, only holding me tight. Soon I'll walk to the stage to be judged among Family Leaders.

I will be chosen last. There's no one to blame except me.

As I follow the others down the center aisle I hear flutters as the audience flips through booklets citing our grades, good habits, poor habits, health history, photos, and recommendations from the Instructors for placement.

“Lift your head; smile.” Instructor Penny pats my arm. “You'll never forget the day you meet your Family. They'll love you as I do.”

She is being kind and we both know it, but I lift my head with a forced smile. Being last doesn't matter. Someone has to Choose me. Right?

Musicians perform on the stage, their string and pipe
melodies soothing. Belonging to a Family is an honor, not a punishment. So why do my hands shake? I have no fear of high climbs or exploring darkness, yet leaving everything I know is scarifying. I tell myself it's the natural way for youths. I'll become a useful member of society, restoring lost knowledge, and gaining a Family—all connected to me by memories.

Someone else's memories.

My own memories will be pushed aside like outgrown clothes buried in a closet corner. But I'll hold tight to my important memories, reminding myself of them so often they'll never fade. It's possible because I've tried it already.

At age ten, we had our first memdenity lesson. Instructor Ivan said, “Raise your hands if you can remember something that happened when you were age six.” We all raised our hands. “Age four?” he asked. Only a few hands were raised. “Age one?” I looked around and saw no hands raised. So I raised mine.

“Are you sure, Jennza?” He arched one bushy black brow, doubting me.

“Yes.” I nodded. “When I was learning to walk, I fell on a big rock and cut my knee. It was a deep cut and bled and bled. There's still a little scar.”

The next day I was taken to the health-keepers. They dabbed clear-cream on my knee until there was no trace of the scar. But whenever I look at my knee, in my mind I see the tiny scar.

New memories may crowd my mind, but the important memories, especially my friendships with Lorelei and Marcus, will never fade. Instructors say stubbornness is my worst trait, but my stubbornness will keep me always Jennza.

So bring on the Choosing!

The music stops abruptly when all fifteen of us reach the stage. We line up in our white tunics while the Instructors, draped in dark-brown, file to their seats in the audience.

Grand Sarwald steps on a block of wood behind the podium. He has a scruffy white beard and no hair on his head. I've heard scientists are working on a hair growth pill but haven't succeeded. He clears his throat, silencing the audience. Not even paper rustles.

“Welcome, Havenites. Has it already been twenty-five years since I last stood here to welcome youths into our Families?” He chuckles. “Time used to govern our existence; now it's only visible in the aged faces of your founders.” His deep-set eyes crinkle with humor as he rubs his bald head. “On this joyous day, we welcome our newest Family members.” He sweeps his hand toward us. “It is my honor and pleasure to introduce our fifteen youths!”

Applause thunders through the room, and my pulse jumps with an unexpected thrill. ShareHaven has waited a long time for us; we're as treasured as the rarest plastics. To be accepted and loved could be, well, nice.

“Also we're fortunate to have our esteemed Instructors to teach our youths. They have worked hard to shape these fine youths and may now return to their Families until their roles are needed again.” Grand Sarwald gestures to the Instructors, each Family in the audience clapping louder for one of their own members. I clap loudest when he calls Instructor Penny Dallow.

More introductions: each Family Leader. I've met a few Leaders on rare trips to City Central Museum or to pastures to observe cows, wooly grazers, and hoglets. Youths
stay separate from the community to avoid favoritism at the Celebraze, which is why Marcus's visit to the Sarwalds is so unusual.

I'm itching from the tunic but can't scratch—not with hundreds of gazes on me. Grand Sarwald pauses, and I think he's finished with his speech until he gestures to the back of the room. “We are much honored today with a rare appearance from our revered scientists,” he adds. “Lila Farrow, Daniel Farrow, Martyn Scallag, and Kataya Jovovich.”

Scientists! Here? Graces good! I shift in our lineup for a better view of the audience, peering at four figures shimmering in purple and gold robes: a twig-thin man with stooped shoulders, a taller man with midnight-black hair, and two women of contrasting seasons—strawberry summer and silvery-frosted winter. Silver hair? She must be the scientist Marcus overheard being warned by Grand Sarwald, “If we don't change, there will be more Returns.”

Now on the podium, Grand Sarwald beams a gracious smile, founder lines deep on his aged face. “We owe much to our fine scientists,” he says. “Never forget our beginnings—over three centuries ago, when scientists from many countries came to this island to work together for the betterment of humanity. When the mind-plague struck, they searched for a cure. Sadly, they failed. But untrue rumors spread to the outside that we had a cure—which led to the Attack.” He grimaces. “Hundreds killed, research destroyed, and buildings burnt.”

I know our history well, yet his words bring it alive in vivid images of fire and blood. There's a hush over the audience, their heads bowed.

“But out of chaos, the surviving scientists gave us immortality and memdenity,” Grand Sarwald continues. “We are protected in ShareHaven, safe from beasts and Nocturnes, sharing memories, resources, and respect for Family. We are not divided by warring religions as were retro-societies; instead, we're united in the shared faith of science miracles. Some might say ShareHaven is utopia, where life is forever and not even memories die ….” He clutches the podium, doubling over with a hacking cough. “Dry … throat,” he murmurs, sipping from a water glass. His coughing ends quickly and he lifts his head, once again smiling. “As I was saying, we are a strong society, but societies can't thrive without growth.” He sweeps his hand toward us. “Our youths bring hope for the future.”

Applause echoes so loudly that I long to cover my ears.

“I hold fifteen tiles in this bag, each representing a Family who will welcome a youth,” Grand Sarwald declares. “The first Family to Choose is ….”

Tensing, I hold my head high and struggle to hide the fear from my face. I am torn between wanting it over and wishing time would stop.

If aging can stop, why not time?

When Grand Sarwald pulls out a tile bearing his own Family name, I am not surprised (nor, I suspect, is anyone in the audience). I'm glad for Marcus, who proudly steps forward to announce his new Name: Neil Sarwald.

Once Marcus, it's hard to think of him as Neil, leaves the stage with a tall dark-skinned woman who wears her hair in a tight knot on her head, the room goes silent.

I'm holding my breath. Waiting …

Another tile drawn. The Candras Family.

Agnes Candras
, I think with a rise of hope. One of the Names from Marcus's list. If I'm called, I'll have a Name ready for this Family.

Leader Candras, a rounded woman with wispy sun-streaked hair, steps up to the podium. She glances at the booklets with our information then moves toward us. I remind myself,
You're going to be last
.

With a lift of her arm, Leader Candras points to Jane, a shy, freckled girl who is a skilled swimmer. “I Choose you,” Leader Candras says, not using the youth name because “Jane” no longer exists.

Formerly Jane jumps excitedly. This is the Family she hoped for.

“Have you Chosen a Name?” Leader Candras asks the traditional question.

I hold my breath, waiting for Jane's answer. Watching the Celebraze unfold is stunning—not a lesson anymore but real life.

Jane shows no hesitation as she declares herself. “Hillari Candras.” I know of Agnes Candras but all I recall of Hillari Candras is her death from falling from a high window.

Another tile is drawn.

I cross my fingers, hoping it's not Sanchez or Treveno, so my top choices are last. Like I will be.

But Leader Sanchez is next, and he Chooses Merry. Never one to wait until the last minute for studying, Merry is quick with her Choice: Vesper Sanchez.

The Sanchez Family sits in the front, so I'm able to watch Merry (oops, Vesper) being welcomed. A woman hugs her, tears streaming down her face as she ties a scarf around Vesper's head. A man offers Vesper a lily bouquet and another
woman gifts Vesper with a wrapped box. Many arms reach to embrace Vesper. So much love and acceptance …. My heart tightens.

Only one Name remaining from Marcus' list.