Only Ever Yours (14 page)

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep
. You have a new VideoChat request. YouhaveanewVideoChatrequestYouhaveanewVideoChatrequestYouhaveanew . . . megan. megan. megan. megan. meganmeganmeganmeganmeganmegan.

“And then, I mean you are never going to believe what she said . . .” She breaks off, peering at me through the computer screen. “freida, are you listening to me?”

“Of course.”

“And then miranda said that she weighs 112 pounds now. Seriously. She actually said, in front of everyone, that she only weighs 112 pounds.” She laughs. “Does she think we’re blind? There is no way that she can weigh any less than 118, and that’s me being generous.”

“. . . pink is not cintia’s color, not with all that, ugh, hair, I was only trying to do her a favor. People can be so
sensitive
 . . .”

“. . . and I said, hello? Did you not read the
Daily Tale
? . . .”

“. . . and they’re not even that cute. The only reason they rank well is because of the whole twin thing . . .”

All I have to do is throw in a “hmm” and an “absolutely” every so often and she seems content with that. I move the ePad onto the pillow and stretch out, wishing I could shut this conversation down, take half a SleepSound from my stash and doze. She talks endlessly about how beautiful she is, how long her legs are, how full her lips are, how she’s so lucky to have such porcelain skin, such a high metabolism, such perfect hair. At the end of yet another monologue about how perfect she is, I stare at myself in my mirrors, seeing how less beautiful I am in comparison, how less perfect, less, less,
less
I am.

“Did you see how many helpings of noodles christy had today? Seriously, freida? Did you see how many helpings she had?”

Yes, I want to say. I was sitting beside you at lunch. And you mentioned it three times then. But I don’t have the energy to argue with her and I don’t know if I even want to. I like being included again. My advice is asked about the Inheritants, about clothes, about dieting tips, and I give my opinions readily. The words come easily, but I don’t know if I believe what I’m saying or if it’s just megan’s voice in my head, drip, drip, dripping out of my mouth.

“Speaking of diets . . .” I interject when she draws a breath, “have you seen how thin isabel is now? How has she managed to do it so fast?”

Within a week isabel has begun to look as if she’s folding in on herself, her bones eating her flesh from the inside. “I’m not hungry,” she says, turning away from yet another untouched tray of food. “I’m never hungry anymore.” isabel is the skinny eve in the class now, the one freja keeps tempting with slices of chocco-cake, the one that the other eves are urging to gain weight in case she’s taking all of the available thinness for herself, stealing it from the rest of us. What happens to those lost fat cells? Do they float into the ether, searching for a nearby body to land on?

“I’m worried about her,” I say now, watching megan shake out her hair until it resembles inky clouds.

“Why? It’s not like she worries about you.”

I hold my face as still as I can, pretending I don’t care.

“Anyway, she looks terrible,” megan says dismissively. “The procedure worked too well.”

“What procedure?”

“freida, freida, freida. How is it possible you know so little?” she sighs, and I refrain from asking how she always knows
everything
. I don’t want to know where the bodies are buried.

“She got her stomach shrunk.”

“What?” I say. “But I thought only companions were allowed to get that done?”

“Whatever. It’s ridiculous that she needed to get it done in the first place. They did it to
control
her. It’s so weak.” Her face crumples with disgust. “And now everyone is going on and on about how disciplined she is, wondering
how she’s managing to lose the weight so quickly. I’m sick of talking about it.”

She never wants to talk about her anymore. isabel, the former white queen to her black, has become a mere shadow in her peripheral vision.

“I’ve been thinking about that new task again,” she says, and I tense. “Unless you don’t want to, sweetie. I know it must have been
awful
for you, not being chosen.”

“I don’t mind, megan. I don’t!” I insist when she looks at me skeptically. “Go on, tell me. What happened when you and Albert went into the cupboard?”

She wouldn’t give any specific details earlier, banning the other eight girls who had been chosen for the new task from doing so as well. She said it would be an unfair advantage to tell us before we completed the task ourselves. We know the basic premise, chastity-ruth having outlined the rules of Heavenly Seventy to us in class. I immediately thought of him, the hope that he might pick me surging through my body, swiftly followed by fear of megan’s reaction if he did. But only nine of the Inheritants arrived, filling the room with their boy smell, sweaty excitement muddled with overpowering cologne. No Darwin.

And, one by one, the Inheritants chose their preferred eve. I waited and waited for my name to be called by one of them, any of them. The anxiety in my stomach swelled as each Inheritant said a name that wasn’t mine:
megan . . . liz . . . jessie . . . daria . . . gisele . . . cara
 . . . Until at last I knew all hope was gone and I had to watch the couples climb into
the wooden boxes that had been newly erected in the empty U-shaped corridor around the bleachers of seats.

The leftover eves grouped together, talking and laughing too loudly. They tried to include me but I couldn’t sit with them, couldn’t be associated with their failure even though it was my failure too. I sat there, holding myself separate, listening to the
Daily Tale
’s commentary on celebrities from the Americas-Zone.
She has camel toe in that jumpsuit. She’s a slut. Is she carrying her son in her belly or her ass? I don’t care if she is pregnant—she’s going to get sent Underground if she doesn’t watch her weight, and I wouldn’t blame her husband if he asked for a replacement
.

“Well, I shouldn’t tell you because you didn’t get chosen,” megan says, twirling a strand of shiny hair around her finger, “but I will. Because we’re best friends.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She ignores my sarcasm. “I’m sure you’ll be asked next week. You definitely will, if cara is to be believed.” Her beautiful face is as innocent as a child’s, but my palms moisten. I wipe them on the bed sheets uneasily.

She goes on. “That was interesting when cara said the only reason you weren’t chosen is because the other Inheritants know that Darwin prefers you. Do you think that’s true?”

“Whatever,” I say, cursing cara for saying it although my heart soared with joy at the time. “How would she know anyway? She’s a stupid bitch.” megan nods, unable to imagine that any of the Inheritants might think I was prettier
than her. “Now, come on.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. “Tell me what happened with you and Albert.”

“Well,” she whispers, “when we first went into the cupboard, it was a tight squeeze. Not that Albert seemed to mind.” She chortles at her own wit, looking at me sharply when I don’t join in. She’s grown accustomed to the twins and their disposable laughter. “He’s kind of fat, isn’t he?”

“Does it matter?”

“True,” she agrees. “His dad is a Genetic Engineer. So, we were in the cupboard. It was weird, just the two of us. You could say anything, couldn’t you?”

Is she planning on getting Darwin into the cupboard to tell him that she’s the #1? Is she going to convince him not to waste his time on me, #10, the loser whose best friend dumped her?

“I wonder if there are cameras.” That might scare her off. “You know, to make sure that we’re doing it right.”

“They could barely afford to put up those cupboards, not to mention install cameras,” she says testily. “I hate this stupid Zone. You know, in the Americas—”

“And then what happened with you and Albert?” I stop her before she can launch into another rant about the Americas.

“Oh. Yes,” she says. “It was so fast. I couldn’t believe it when chastity-ruth rang the bell to say the seventy minutes were up.”

There’s so much more I want to ask her. What was it like being kissed? Did you know exactly what to do? How did she know she was doing it right? If it was isabel I was talking
to, I would be able to ask all those questions without being afraid of sounding stupid. But it’s not isabel. It will never be isabel again.

“We just kissed. I made it very clear to Albert that was as far as I was willing to go.”

“freida, freida, freida,” megan says again as I do a tiny double take at this. “No man is going to want his companion to have had sex with someone else.”

“But we’re not allowed to say no to them. chastity-ruth said that we were to accommodate their every need. How did you say no to him?”

“It’s easy. I told him that I wanted to because he’s so attractive . . .” we both smile, picturing Albert’s belly straining against his T-shirt—“but I wanted to save myself for companionship.”

“You told him you want to be a companion?” I ask in shock. “chastity-ruth said that we weren’t allowed discuss that. You could get in so much trouble, megan.”

“She said we weren’t allowed tell them what our
rankings
were.”

“But surely by saying you’re saving yourself for companionship you implied you were in the top ten?”

“freida. Look at me. I’m sure they know that I’m #1 anyway.” She sighs at my stupidity.

Where does she get this arrogance from? I have a sudden fanciful image of her sneaking into our cubicles at nighttime, a razor in hand. After making an incision she puts her mouth to the wound and sucks, draining us of our confidence until her belly is swollen with her plundered loot.

“Did the others say no too?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“What do you mean, of course?”

“Well, it’s obvious. Everyone knows it.”

I didn’t know. I bet isabel doesn’t know either. We have never had a class on how to say no to men while simultaneously never saying no to them. Suddenly I’m glad I wasn’t chosen today. I might have made an irreparable mistake.

“Mark my words,” megan says. “Any eve who wants to be a companion will have been smart enough to withhold her favors. It will be the slutty ones who will be chosen for Heavenly Seventy from now on. You’ll see.”

And, as always, she’s correct. In the next session we sit before the Inheritants once again, waiting for our names to be called, but it’s different girls who are chosen.

“
rosie . . . adrianna . . . heidi . . . lara . . .”

The following week is the same, and the couples emerge from the cupboards flushed and breathless. The boys dig each other in the ribs, smirking at miranda or alessandra or karlie, patting them on the ass as they leave. A break is forming in our class, one that feels more serious than our usual cliques. The chastities were right. These tasks
are
preparing us for our lives after School, a life in which concubines and companions might share their men but are otherwise eradicated from one another’s existence. We may be sisters, but in the future we will not associate with each
other. We will not speak to one another. We will be invisible to each other. That is the way it has always been.

“Look at them. Do they think the slutz are auditioning for a new member?” megan points at a table at the far end of the Nutrition Center. The twins, cara, gisele and daria all swivel in their seats to look behind them.

“Come on,” I say, embarrassed. “Don’t be so obvious.”

“You think
we’re
being obvious?” megan frowns at me. “Look at them.”

rosie, adrianna, alessandra, heidi, karlie, lara, anya, miranda and angelina—or the Heavenly Seventy girls, as megan has renamed them—are sitting together at a large table. Their hair is teased into messy waves, faces made up with flushed cheeks and smudged dark eye makeup. They’ve even started to dress alike, today all wearing matching red latex skirts.

“And they’re wearing red. How shameless.”

“Why is it shameless?” iman asks, stopping at our table to adjust the plywood tray in her hands. Her sleek brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating her high forehead and long neck.

“I’m sorry—were we talking to you, fatima?” megan asks pointedly, shooing her away.

“Isn’t her name iman?” cara asks, tugging at the cream-and-navy printed headband she’s wearing across her forehead like a crown.

“I don’t know.” megan shrugs as iman slumps crestfallen at a table with other 15th years, her coffee-colored
skin aflame with embarrassment. “They all look the same to me.”

“Why is it shameless though?” I ask, pulling the sleeves of my sheer cream blouse over my hands. My skin looks paler through the fabric. “We wear red too. You’ve practically made red lipstick your trademark.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me, freida,” she says, and places a napkin over her coral knitted pencil skirt. “This is different. They’re using it like a uniform or something.”

The Heavenly Seventy girls stand in unison and walk out in single file, pouting at us as they pass.

“Pathetic. Dooming themselves to lives as concubines,” megan sighs.

“Maybe that’s what they want,” I say, thinking of what rosie told me. “Maybe they want to be concubines.”

“No,” megan replies. “Everyone wants to be a companion. They’re just making the best of things.”

The days pass and there is still no sign of Darwin. Every time the Inheritants arrive I scan the group, my heart sinking when I realize that he’s not there.

“Where’s Darwin?” I ask Isaac during our Interaction, checking megan isn’t in hearing distance.

“He’s sick,” Isaac answers, his blond hair like curtains over his thin face, crooked nose peeking though.

“Is he okay?”

“I think that—”

“He’s fine.” George interrupts his Interaction with agyness at the table next to us, shooting Isaac a look of warning. “Just a mild dose of . . .”

“. . . influenza?” Isaac finishes uncertainly.

He must be quarantined. The Zones are so insular that any illness, although rare, can spread like wildfire within hours.