Only Ever Yours (13 page)

With one word I can cast off my itching guilt like a snake shedding its skin.

“Weird,” I agree, another word that can never be taken back. She smiles, perfect teeth glinting.

As we walk into class, I see isabel seated in the front row and I forget myself, pausing at her desk like I always used to.

“freida! Come sit with me!”

The twins move seats obediently so that megan can snuggle up to me, resting her head on my shoulder. I’m instantly anxious. I’m afraid that my shoulder might be too hard or I might be doing it wrong, that she’ll keep her head on my shoulder for the whole of class or, worse, that she’ll stop and never do it again.

“I missed you!” she coos. Yes. Those five seconds we were apart must have been torture.

I watch the rest of the girls spilling into the room. There is an almost imperceptible pause, their eyes darting between isabel and the rest of us. It’s like a documentary on the Nature Channel, wild animals sniffing the air to determine who is the alpha. They want to know where they should place their loyalties.

megan waits until everyone has settled into their seats. “I hope you don’t mind, isabel, but I uploaded our photos onto Who Wore It Best.” isabel stretches her arms overhead and yawns. “And I got eighty-seven percent of the votes so far! I think the pleather leggings look more modern, you know?”

“But how . . .” agyness starts, and cara elbows her in the ribs to shut her up.

“Something to think about. I’d hate for you to do badly with the Inheritants due to poor clothing choices.” megan is so sweet, no one could accuse her of being nasty. Not that any of us would be brave enough to do so anyway.

“That is such good advice,” jessie says, cocking her head to the side and gazing at megan in admiration.

“For sure,” liz reiterates.

“Yeah. For sure,” I say, playing my new part. The classroom expands with a sigh as the hierarchy is clearly defined. We don’t like uncertainty. Our rankings may have been deemed obsolete, but somehow they have never felt more important. My stomach shudders, bellowing flames of fear to my heart.

isabel
.

If she just looks at me, even once, I’ll know that she cares and I’ll be sorry and I’ll apologize and I’ll get up and walk over and sit in that empty chair beside her. Anything would be better than her indifference. It’s as if she always expected this from me.

Look at me, isabel. See me. But her eyes remain fixed on the tiled floor, avoiding the mirrors although they can hold no fear for her now that she is beautiful again.

A shadowy outline melts into the corner of my eye, black robes swishing past. Once again we did not hear her arrive, the rubber soles slithering silently, so different from the clatter of our high heels. She casts her gaze around the room, noting our new seating arrangements with a raised eyebrow. A shiver of numbness runs its tongue up my spine and I tell myself I don’t care about isabel. I don’t care either.

“eves,” chastity-ruth says, “shall we begin?”

April

Three months until the Ceremony

After that, the Inheritants start visiting the School three times a week, coming from the main Zone by train. Because we’re never quite sure when they’ll arrive, everything tastes of anticipation, as if our excitement has bled into the water, the food, the air we breathe.

The Euro-Zone sends in a medical expert to examine us. He spreads my legs apart, shoving a rod-like instrument deep inside me, ignoring my gasp of pain. “Better get used to it, sweetheart.” He winks at me, marks me as satisfactory, and issues me my fertility certificate.

The Inheritants sit during our PE classes as we grind our hips, gripping a steel pole with our thighs. They watch as we cook dinner and as we sew a loose button back on a
shirt, all pointless tasks as we have machines to do them now, but apparently it will give them clues to “our nature,” which third we are best suited to. At the end of each visit we are ushered into a new classroom, one we have never used before. It’s a round room, with walls covered in cream embossed paper and ten individual stations dotted around in a semicircle. Each station has a small wooden desk with two steel-framed office chairs on either side. The Inheritants claim their places, their backs to the wall, while we eves move from one desk to the next, a shrill bell signaling the end of each Interaction.

“How could you have said that?”

“What?” rosie hitches her red PVC skirt up even higher in the bathroom’s full-length mirror until I see a flash of black lace underwear. At least she’s wearing underwear. Her black crocheted tank clearly broadcasts her decision to forgo a bra.

“I overheard your Interaction with Sigmund. He told you that King Solomon fable and you said that you would have cut the baby in half! He’s never going to want you to bear his sons after that.”

“freida, my darling.” She looks at me pitifully as she washes her hands. “Not everyone wants to be a companion. They get terminated at forty. Do you know what forty looks like? Have you looked at chastity-bernadette lately?”

“That’s just the chastities.” With a shudder I picture the loose skin sagging at chastity-bernadette’s jawline. “As a companion you’d get an Age Redesign. You might be forty, but you would only look twenty.”

“But you would still be forty,” she says, pouting at her reflection. “You would still be old.”

The classroom is breaking apart with noise now that the Inheritants are here today, the eves getting louder and louder, screaming over one another to laugh the hardest at the boys’ jokes, but I have lost my voice in the din, my legs jittering with adrenaline.

“Hey,” Mahatma says, grinning broadly as I sit opposite him for our Interaction. He is brown-skinned, like me, his eyebrows like two black caterpillars over deep-set brown eyes, small ears sticking out at right angles. His prominent nose appears to have been reset badly after a break, veering to the left at the tip.

“Hi.” My mouth is already drying up. Yesterday I watched the Introduction videos again, rehearsing relevant conversational topics for each Inheritant, but now my mind is like a black hole. We’ve been sitting in silence for at least two minutes when megan struts past in sprayed-on jeans and a cropped vintage T-shirt, an inch of tummy flashing between. She looks as if she’s oblivious, but I can tell that she knows she’s creating a stir, her eyes trained steadily on a point in the middle distance. Mahatma gulps, still dazed as the bell rings and I move on, heavy with my inadequacy.

I just can’t seem to forget that they’re not girls, as stupid as that sounds. Their very differences seem so alien that all I want to do is stare at them, take countless fotos to scrutinize later, learn them all by heart. Can they tell how dry my mouth is? It feels as if my lips are cracking as I drag them into a smile. I go back to my dorm after each visit and
practice. I look at myself from every angle, trying to figure out what I would have looked like from the left or the right. Did I look prettier when I was smiling or when I was concentrating? What did my legs look like in my leotard when I was hanging upside down from the stripper pole? I play the Interactions over and over in my head, like a spinning wooden top. But it’s always my Interactions with
him
that I return to, taking my favorite memories out of their box to look at, to admire.

Interaction 4
: Darwin told me I looked pretty in my yellow halter-neck dress.

Interaction 5
: I felt dizzy when I stood up too quickly so Darwin gave me the last of his can of EuroCola, watching in concern as I gulped the drink down, a rush of sugar and shock fizzing through me.

Interaction 1
: “Hi, I’m Darwin,” he said, and I fought the urge to laugh. How could he think I wouldn’t know his name?

“I’m freida.”

“Oh.” His eyes crinkled. “I know who you are. I’ve been excited about finally meeting you.”

I couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about what “finally” could have meant. The other girls post detailed descriptions of their Interactions on MyFace, wondering about the meaning behind every sigh and flicker of eyelids, but for once I stay silent, unwilling to share.

“How fascinating,” megan says. We’re in the Interaction room again and she’s tapping her fingers against the
wooden desk, visibly bored. Albert’s story of his most recent escapades with two concubines must not be to her liking. He frowns and megan pales, reaching her hand out to cover his.

“I am so sorry,” she says silkily. “I’m jealous, imagining you with other girls. I’m not normally this possessive. You must bring it out in me.”

He puffs his chest out, accepting her apology with a bow of his head, and continues his story, megan appropriately rapt.

“What do you think?”

When Leonardo smiles, his oversized mouth and nose spread across his face, dimples appearing in his cheeks and his chin. I have no idea what he’s asking me about.

“I . . .”

The bell clangs, rescuing me.

“. . . will see you next time,” I finish, waving idiotically at him. At his bemused face I stop, my hand flopping down like a dead fish. Is it possible to die of embarrassment?

“Hey, Albert.” He adjusts his considerable weight, excess flesh trapped in the cutout panel at the back of the chair. He fiddles around in the pockets of his gray blazer, pulling out a bar of chocco.

“Hey, freja,” he says as I sit down.

“It’s freida.”

“Oh, right.”

“That’s okay,” I say, heat rising in my face. Was correcting him a mistake? Should I have just pretended my name was freja?

“I’d offer you some, but I know you eves have to watch your weight!” he says as he unwraps his bar. Smears of chocco melt onto his fingers and he licks them with relish.

What about your weight, fatass?
A nervous thrill runs through me. I wonder what would happen if I said it, if I stood up right now and screamed FATASS at him, grabbed the chocco bar off him and smushed it into his face?

“So, my dad . . .” he’s saying, “he’s a Genetic Engineer, you know. Well, he bought me an hour with two concubines for my birthday last year. He knows I need more than one woman to satisfy me. Ha ha . . .” I laugh weakly to keep him happy. “Anyway, one of them was . . .”

“That is such a wonderful way to explain it. You’re so clever.” At the table next to us, megan drops her head, looking up at Darwin through lowered lashes. She might be my new best friend but, my Father, is she ever insincere. “But you’re the son of a Judge—of course you’re intelligent. You know, I’ve always felt like it was my destiny to be with someone intelligent, someone
high-ranking
, because I’m . . .” chastity-ruth glides past, fixing her with a vicious look. “Enough about me,” megan says, her unerring instinct for self-preservation kicking in. “Tell me more about
you
, Darwin. You’re much more interesting anyway.”

I feel sick and not just because Albert is now opening a second bar. He continues talking, mouth gaping open, a gooey mass of chocco congealing on his tongue. I’m trying to concentrate but it’s difficult with Darwin so close to me.

“. . . and then the second girl put the ping-pong ball in . . .”

“Wow.” If I ever had any doubts about becoming a concubine Albert just confirmed them for me.

He sniffs, brushing a lock of curly blond hair off his forehead. Uneasiness circles in my stomach. He doesn’t seem to be enjoying this Interaction as much as his one with megan. Maybe if I had chosen a different outfit he would be more interested in me. I should have worn my hair loose today. I thought the low ponytail was cute, but soft waves would have been more flattering.

“No, honestly, continue. It’s fascinating,” I say, a note of pleading creeping into my voice. The bell tolls again, and rosie has barely claimed my seat when I hear him launching into the same story.

“I’ve been practicing with a few ping-pong balls myself, you know,” she says seductively.

“I liked the ponytail,” Darwin says as I sit opposite him, shaking my hair out so that it fans around my face. megan is over by the door, her mouth puckering with distaste when he compliments me.

“Please return to your room immediately, #767.”

“I was just getting my things!” megan protests, toying with the zip of her clutch.

“Now, #767.” chastity-ruth points at the door. “You have completed your Interactions with all ten Inheritants. Please leave.”

“Phew.” Darwin sighs with relief as the door slams behind her. “megan is intense, isn’t she?”

I giggle, stopping instantly in case one of the other eves will overhear and tell megan I was making fun of her.

“She’s a really good friend of mine,” I say loudly to cover myself.

“Lucky you.” He stretches out, his lean body rising off the chair slightly. I want to see if his T-shirt will inch away from his abs again, but I can’t look; if he caught me looking at him like that I would absolutely die of shame. On my left I can hear jessie coaxing insults about the other eves from Leonardo.

“naomi is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but I think she’s a bit muscled. Don’t you agree, Leonardo?”

naomi, whose athletic limbs are clad in a cream lace playsuit, keeps running her hands up and down her gleaming black thighs, causing every Inheritant in the room to stare at her, Leonardo included. I suppress a smile.

“That megan girl doesn’t seem like the kind of person you would be friends with,” Darwin says, drawing my attention back to him.

“Really? And what do you think my friends should be like?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the blond girl you keep looking at.” He gestures subtly at her. “The one Interacting with Mahatma now.”

If you can call it Interacting. Every muscle in her body is tense, her ankles wound around the legs of the chair as if to hang on in case he decides to kidnap her. Not that there’s much chance of that. Mahatma is messing around on his fone, not even pretending to be interested in talking with her.

“That’s isabel.”

“You’re always staring at her.”

“Why don’t you know her name?”

“She’s not on our report cards.”

“
What
?” A few of the others look up, startled. chastity-ruth walks toward us, only leaving when Darwin assures her that everything is under control.

“What?” I say again, more quietly. “She has to be on the report cards.”

“No.” He’s definite. “There are only twenty-nine names. She wasn’t at that parade thing either, was she?”

“She was sick,” I say, beginning to feel a little unwell myself. “But she’s back. They’ll probably add her to the cards now, right?”

“Yeah, probably,” he says doubtfully. “Hey, don’t be upset.” He moves his seat closer to mine and touches my hand with his.
I’m touching a boy
. I take a deep breath, looking away to steady my nerves, and I see jessie staring at me, one eyebrow raised quizzically. I shake my head, hoping she’ll understand that I’m not the one instigating this. The bell rings but neither of us moves.

“You don’t give much away, do you?” he says, looking at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Do you know what?” I shake my head and he smiles slowly. “You really intrigue me, freida.”

rosie, standing behind me waiting her turn, clears her throat faintly and I get to my feet, dizzy with this new feeling of need muddled with heat. He refocuses his attention on her, on to the next. The memory of our Interaction is already dissolving, the way sandcastles used to crumble in an incoming tide. Is he laughing as much with her as he did
with me? Does he look as interested in what she has to say? I stay there, searching for some sign that I’m his favorite.

You intrigue me
.

I wish I knew exactly how I intrigued him so I could keep doing it.

“What was that all about?”

megan is waiting for me outside the classroom door. The abstract print of her dress is enough to give me a headache, and there’s so much of it, long sleeves and midcalf length, the clinging Lycra belying the modesty of the cut. She looks me up and down, wrinkling her nose at the black velvet dress with the see-through lace panel running down the center. She gestures at me to adjust it, to cover myself up, and I do so, feeling cheap.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask her.

“I saw you,” she says, towering above me in vertiginous ankle boots. She points at the glass panel cut into the solid wooden door and I can see Darwin and rosie, laughing at some joke, and the traces of good humor shrivel inside me. “I saw you holding hands with him.”

“I didn’t hold his hand. He—”

“Yes,” she breaks in. “Yes, I’m sure it was his fault. But you know how I feel about him. I said that I wanted him first. And friends would never betray each other like that. And we are friends, aren’t we? Best friends. Because if we’re not . . .”

Because if we’re not best friends, I won’t have any friends. I will be alone.

“Of course,” I say. “Of course we are.”