Scripted (13 page)

“Wait, that Initiative idea guy told you he cut Revere
for
you?” she mouths.

“No, but he didn't say he hadn't, so—”

“So you're jumping to conclusions.” She begins to draw herself up again, and I reach out to stop her.

“Aren't you worried?” I whisper into her ear while pulling her back toward me. “About what they're going to do with him? We have a right to know.”

“That's not what the Originals agreed to. God, Nettie, calm down. I thought you were over all that,” she whispers. “Listen. I'm sorry I lied to you about Bek.” She puts down her pen and gives my hand a squeeze. “That was wrong.”

I'm grateful for the apology. We haven't spoken about it all week, and even though I'm not angry anymore, it's still been nibbling at the back of my mind.

“I understand why you did it,” I mouth. “I know you just want me to be happy.”

“Exactly,” Lia replies, clasping my hand in both of hers now, and for a moment, things feel right between us again. We both laugh, a nice tension-releasing laugh.

I feel brave enough to continue. “I probably would have kept believing if I hadn't heard on my radio that—”

And with that, the moment's gone. Lia yanks away her hands away and shakes her head adamantly. “
No.
Nettie, knowing the publicity thing isn't true just means that you and Scoop have to live like everyone else on this island—trusting the company to keep them safe. It's in the Contract. It's what we promised.”

I didn't promise anything.

• • •

Before we walk through the revolving doors into Delton's, Selwyn pauses to look at me. “Nettie, are you
sure
this is okay? Do you have enough money?”

“I have enough,” I say. I scratch behind my ear, and she smiles knowingly.

“Plus ten,” she murmurs, pushing on the glass door, and we walk onto Delton's marble floors, dodging perfume sprayers in the cosmetics section as we make our way to the escalators, headed toward the juniors section, third floor of five. I raise my head and gaze at the immense glass dome that caps the building, making it one of the highest buildings on the island. This is the first time I've felt like I belong at Delton's.

It's fun to shop with enough money to buy what I actually want. Selwyn takes charge, selecting outfits for me, giving me a thumbs-up or thumbs-down when I model her selections.

I take a break in the shoe department while she promenades, showing off sparkly stilettos. “What do you think? Imagine these with jeans at the Flower Festival. Like, casual sexy.”

“Awesome,” I say absently, running my hand along the bench, which is upholstered in velvet. The
voxless
music is soothing, a single guitar strumming a melody that Selwyn occasionally hums along to. It's been much easier lately to spend time with Selwyn than with Lia. No weird boy tension.

She stops in front of a three-sided mirror in an ornate gold frame, turning her foot to study the shoe from every angle. “Yeah, they're high, but I think I'll survive the parade. Looking camper—hot is worth it.”

“I might skip this year.” I've never really liked the Festival, and with my ratings climbing, I feel less compelled to attend the Special Events.

She turns from the mirror, distraught. “You don't want to go to the Festival?” she says. “But you'll miss the sing-along!
The coming of spring, the joy that it brings.
”

“I haven't decided yet,” I hedge. “I've never had much fun at those things, but Lia makes me go . . . You know how she needs to be involved in
everything.
”

“That's just Lia,” she says, bending down to pull off the shoes.

“Yeah.” I stretch over the carpet and pick up the discarded stilettos, putting them back into the box next to the bench. “Lia's been getting sort of controlling. She's on the verge of forbidding me from
looking
at Callen.”

“Well, have you been looking at him a lot lately?” she asks coyly. “Are you two . . . hanging out?”

“He seemed to like hanging out with me on the porch,” I say. “I
would
like to talk to him more.” I rub behind my ear.

“Plus ten. It's a tricky situation, but you two are so cute together. At least you don't tower over him, like Lia does,” she says, doing a pirouette. “Whoa, check this out.” She skips over to a rack and pulls out a clingy magenta dress with a low neckline and black belt. “Try this on. April twentieth, you in this dress, a total knockout.”

I walk over and take the dress from her, holding it out dubiously.

“It will go so well with your earrings,” she says. Way back in seventh grade, Lia, Selwyn, and I had gotten earrings and vowed to wear them for our Double A—identical imitation pearl drops, but in different colors.

“My earrings are more purple than magenta,” I inform her. The dress is way too sexy for the ceremony. “Selwyn, do you want me to be the slut of the Double A?”

“No, no, no. Sexy, not slutty,” she laughs. “Okay, maybe it's not for the Double A, but just try it on. You have to lose the old idea of yourself. Stop being so dowdy.”

Lose the old idea of yourself.
Luz's words. Does she realize that she's parroting Media1? Luz must write out what the other producers should tell their Characters. I examine the dress again, wondering if it really is that simple. Change my dress. Flirt with Callen. Be new, be fresh, be someone the Audience loves. Most of my life I've been seen but not really noticed. With a few suggestions, I'm changing—becoming better than I ever thought was possible.

I take the dress into the changing room and peel off my jeans and tank top. Dowdy, she called them, and suddenly my old look does seem plain. Is that how the Audience sees me? I shimmy into the dress and burst out into laughter when I see how different I look.

The dress hugs my curves, making me look at least three years older. I pull my hair back, and my eyes become bigger. I look like someone to watch.

Selwyn pops her head in. “See?
Sexy,
” she croons. “Beautiful, even. The hottest math teacher around.”

I wince, the Revere guilt coming back. I gesture her inside the fitting room and pull her into a corner, out of the camera's range. “I talked to Luz about the math apprenticeship. He wouldn't say outright that Revere was cut for me, but he didn't deny it either.”

Her mouth makes an O of shock.

“Do you have any ideas about what Media1 does with the Patriots? I've been thinking about them a lot lately.” I haven't brought up the Patriots with Selwyn in a long time—like most Characters, she thinks all questions end with the Contract.

“I guess one of the rumors is true,” she mouths. “But I don't really know which one.”

“My radio tapped into walkie-talkie transmissions—Reals talking about sending the Patriots to caves in the Drowned Lands.” I'm mouthing a lot more than I intended. Selwyn leans on the wall for support and shakes her head over and over. “Scoop thinks they might do medical experiments on them. There's a building behind Character Relations—it's called the Sandcastle, and that's where they keep them before sending them to the Sectors.”

There's a long, long pause. Selwyn's lower lip is quivering now. “Nettie,” she whispers, “I don't know why you're trying to dig this up or what you think you're going to find, but I need you to leave me out of it. I just want to stay on the island, get my cello apprenticeship, and help my family.”

She's steps back, firmly on-camera. “You should buy that dress.”

I glance down at the dress, suddenly unmoved by its sexiness, the whole exciting transformation seeming a million miles away. Scoop is the only one I can talk to about this stuff. I start changing, feeling unsteady. Scoop is nice, but it's Lia and Selwyn I depend on the most on the island, and it's like they've abandoned me.

“The dress might not be right for the Double A, but you'll find a good time to wear it.” Selwyn puts the dress on the hanger slowly, her hand trembling, while I change. “You really do look fabulous in it, Nettie.”

It's a pity compliment. She feels guilty because she's not supporting me.

“I'll take it.” The dress is definitely not for the Double A, but I have the cash, so why not?

“Yay,” Selwyn says, picking up the shoebox. “I'll get these.”

As we make our way to the cash register, she finds a dark blue pencil skirt, sleeveless silk top, and sparkly silver socks for me, and a pair of tight pants for herself. By the time we exit Delton's, she's back to her cheerful self. Trundling along with bags in both hands, she stops at every store window, cooing over rings and lamps and toys. She yanks me past the yarn store and the Game Palace, stopping in front of a window with sticker sheets on display. I'm puzzled until I notice the ceramic arm next to one of the sheets, an eagle etched on its biceps. Aha: they're not stickers, they're sample tattoos. The sign above the door confirms it:
INKED UP.

“Isn't that one pretty?” She points to a rose.

“Yes . . . but I thought you decided
not
to get one.” I wait to see if she scratches behind her ear.

No. Arms stay at her sides. “I haven't changed my mind. Too permanent.” She shudders. “But I thought I'd say hi to Garrick,” she says, grasping the door handle tentatively.

I hesitate. I don't want to tell her what to do, exactly. That's a Lia move. “Just remember, he's not really boyfriend material, okay, Selwyn?”

“Don't worry. I know that. Besides, it's not ab—” She pauses and shakes her head. “Actually, Nettie, I think I might be a while. You can go on without me.”

“Okay,” I agree. “But be careful.” She enters, and I stay long enough to see Garrick saunter over and shake her hand, the old devilish smile on his face. I hope she stays smart.

• • •

As soon as I get home, I grab the fan letter and sit on my bed. The handwriting is labored and big. A young girl's writing.

Dear Nettie,

I turned eleven last month, and I've watched Blissful Days my whole life. I am so excited about you and Callen being together! You were so cute on the porch swing. My mother, brother, and I started looking at archived episodes featuring you, too, and I guess I never realized how cool you were before. Mom says that you're just like your parents: funny, tough, and smart.

Sincerely,

Kat Deva

I fold the letter back into the envelope and put it on the night table. Callen and me
being together.
She sees things the way I've always wanted them to be. I feel like I'm so close to making what seemed like ridiculous fantasies a reality, thanks to the Initiative. So close . . . but I don't know if it'll happen without Lia detonating.

I get up and start putting my new purchases away. But the letter keeps running through my head. Especially the last line.
You're just like your parents.
She must have meant
parent,
because she's too young to have seen my father. But she'd written
funny, tough, and smart.
Mom is obviously smart. Mom maybe is tough, if you count hushing up Characters in the library. But I don't think Mom is very funny.

I linger
outside the history classroom, waiting for class to let out. Callen's inside, and Lia is too—it's the site of the great battle over the seats. I'm going to try to bump into Callen as he leaves. I have a plan. I recite it to myself.
Is your mom stressed out about the Flower Festival?
Ms. Herron is in charge of the Arbor neighborhood float.
Does she need help? I could come by after school this week.
If I volunteer for the Arbor float, I'm bound to run into Callen. Three conversations should be easy.

Hopefully my asking now counts as one. I'm jittery, and seeing Lia makes it worse.
Forget her.
I take a step closer to the classroom. I have to do this. For Violet's security and even for little Kat Deva. But most of all for me.

I painted my nails for
voxless
last night, with the Temptress Tin nail polish Lia had left me when she came over to do the Diary, and this morning I put on the new socks I bought with Selwyn yesterday. I did the Skin Sequence, and I dug up some makeup Selwyn bequeathed to me for a birthday party.

I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

The bell rings, but Mr. Primer's determined to make them stay until he's done with his lecture. While I wait, I wander over to Henna Shelter's poster for the Drama Club play auditions. The play's title is
The Big Steal,
the words encircled by cetek bills.

“Enjoying the view?” Scoop joins me in front of the poster. I'm glad to see him.

“Yeah, it's a nice poster. I have something to give you.” I'd wanted to pass him a note about the Sandcastle in math earlier, but Terra had taken my seat again and Mr. Black was on time for once.

“A surprise gift. Lucky me,” Scoop says. In a light blue button-down shirt and nice khaki slacks, he hasn't changed much for
voxless.

“Don't get too excited—it's just notes for the test.” I scrounge in my book bag for the note. Buried in the string of math tips is my idea that the stone building behind Character Relations is the Sandcastle.

“Thanks. Every little bit helps,” he says, casually tucking the papers into the book on whales he was reading during math.

I peer into the history room again, and Scoop chuckles.

“Callen?” he guesses, tossing the book from hand to hand playfully.

“Shhh.” I whip my head around and scratch behind my ear fiercely.

“Oh, okay.” He nods. “Sometimes I think Callen might kind of like you too.”

“Really?” Now he has my attention. “Why? Has he . . . said anything?”

Finally, the history room door swings open, and the students pour out. Scoop takes off, saying something about needing to get to physics on time.

Callen is nearly the last to leave the classroom, but he sees me and smiles. For a second, everything seems simple.

Then a familiar voice makes me look away.

“Nettie, were you waiting for me?” Lia strides out of the classroom. “Nice nails,” she says, holding up her hand to show off her identical ones.

“Um.” Callen's still standing in the hall. He has to be waiting for me. I reach behind my ear, hoping that Lia will see the gesture and step aside, but her gaze just drifts behind me to the poster.

“The poster looks amazing,” she sighs, positioning herself beside it so a nearby camera can get a good shot of her. “Doesn't it?”

“Yeah, plus ten,” I agree, but she needs more and waves to a passing Pastel, one who I think is a stagehand for Drama Club. Skinny, skittish Geraldine Spicer, who seems surprised that Lia noticed her.

“What do you think of the poster, Gerry?” Lia calls. I take a furtive step away from them, but Lia shoots me a glance, eyebrows raised, and I stop and turn back to gaze at the poster with her and Geraldine. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Callen's still waiting for me. He didn't see Lia's
stay
signal.

“
The Big Steal
is such a great title, and the cetek bills fit perfectly. It makes you want to know more.” Geraldine bobs her head enthusiastically.

The second bell rings, and I catch Callen's eye, but he shrugs and starts walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Literature, Nettie,” Lia says, abandoning Geraldine with a smile and dragging me down the hall. “Mom's going to go to that counseling appointment I made for her at the hospital.”

“That's great, Lia,” I respond, using all my strength to resist the urge to turn around and run after Callen. You'd think she'd help me with my suggestion, since she's so diligent about her own. Did she get me away from Callen on purpose?

“Selwyn says you bought a sexy dress yesterday,” she says, walking fast. “I'm sure it looks nice, but probably not the right fit for the Double A.”

“
Understood,
” I snap. She seems oblivious to my irritation, holding up her arms and fluttering her fingers about, examining the nail polish.

• • •

I return home that afternoon, defeated. I wanted to try to talk to Callen at lunch, but he and Rawls ate in two minutes flat and took off. Art was a failure too, after Ms. Shade's instructions to “paint with silence as your inspiration.”

I have five more days.

After dinner, I curl up on my bed and halfheartedly page through
The Player in the Attic
before tossing it aside. “Boring,” I mutter into my mic. I put down
Player
and pick up
Blissful Nature,
the book Violet gave me. I flip to the back, where there's a map of the island ringed in blue. My eyes drift southwest, to where the Drowned Lands should be. Where Luz said the Originals came from. How long did it take them to get to Bliss Island? I wonder how long it will take Belle and Revere to make the reverse journey.

I pinpoint where they are now, the approximate space where the Sandcastle is, behind Character Relations, though there's nothing that marks the Center on the map, so that the Audience remains ignorant of its existence.

Avalon Beach is marked and the neighborhoods are all there: the Granary, the Heights, Treasure Woods, Four Corners. I'm drawn into a long section about the Brambles.
As the largest green space on the island, the Brambles attract thousands of migrating birds every spring, many moving from the chillier climate of the northeast.
The mainland Sectors.
The diversity of birds found on the island is the greatest in the world. Come spring, the birds will leave the Brambles and fly off the island, headed southwest.
To the Drowned Lands.

An idea occurs to me: Callen talked about missing the Brambles—maybe he'd be interested in the book. I could give it to him now.

I go over to my window and see that his car—a hand-me-down junker with a lopsided antenna—is there. I grab
Blissful Nature
and dash outside, conscious of the cameras embedded in the trees and of a neighbor mowing the lawn across the street. I ring the doorbell, practicing what I'll say. To Callen's parents:
Is Callen here?
To Callen:
Here's a book.
I frown. Not good enough.
Here's a book I thought you'd like.

After what feels like a month, his mother answers the door, her hands and arms encased in long yellow gloves with traces of dirt on them, like nature's embroidery.

“Didn't mean to keep you waiting, Nettie. I was out in the garden,” she says, standing in the door frame. She has the same blue eyes as Callen, but hers are icier.

I fumble with my words. “Yes, um, Callen's not expecting—I brought this book over for him.”

She steps back, which I take as an invitation. “Callen,” she calls upstairs as I sidle inside, her voice reverberating in the spacious front hall. The interior of his house is solemn as a cathedral. The walls are covered in dark blue wallpaper with golden vines, and plants in exquisitely patterned ceramic pots provide most of the decoration.

A few seconds pass, then we hear steps overhead. Should I ask her about the float?

“I think he was napping,” she confides. She sees the book's cover and her eyes light up. “What's that? A nature guide?”

“Sort of. My grandmother gave it to me.” I pass
Blissful Nature
over and watch as she peels off a glove and pages through it, clicking her tongue admiringly at the pictures.

Callen appears at the head of the stairs, hair rumpled, tufts sticking up like hay. His voice is thick with sleepiness. “Hey, Nettie,” he says, blinking a couple of times as he descends the stairs. “What's up?”

“Nothing much,” I say hastily. “I was just reading this book that my grandmother gave me, and there's this section about the Brambles that made me think of you. So, here, I'm lending it.” I am talking superfast, almost like a Real. It's awkward coming over here, not as natural as it was just running into him on his porch.

His mother yawns as she hands the book to him.

“Callen, honey, can you finish watering the garden for me?” she asks apologetically. “I'm just so tired after today's back-to-back Festival meetings.” It's my chance to ask about helping out with the float, but my mouth is dry, my whole body suffused with shyness and fear.

“Not a problem,” Callen says, patting her back.

“Nice to see you, Nettie,” she says, and heads upstairs. I'm too nervous to even get out a good-bye. Callen sets the book down and finds his sneakers. I watch as he bends to lace them up, but I can't think of anything to say.

Maybe those few words sufficed? My Missivor will tell me.

“I think I'll go home,” I croak.

He stands up in the blink of an eye, body unfurling with the same graceful movements that define him on the baseball field. “Wait, do you want to come outside?”

“Yeah, okay,” I say quickly, not giving myself any time to chicken out. I can't tell whether he actually wants me here or is just being polite, but I'm encouraged by his smile.

“This way—it's faster.” He leads me downstairs, through the basement, piled high with gardening tools and seeds and fertilizer, and out into the blooming backyard. A rabbit sees us, freezes, then races into the bushes.

Bees and butterflies tangle among the flowers and plants, their vivid colors swirling together like a finger painting. Callen unravels the hose curled up at the back of the house while I watch the lilies bobbing in the breeze at the outer edge of the garden.

“I see your mom out here every morning,” I say, jumping back as he turns on the faucet. Droplets fly in the air, making a rainbow.

“She's dedicated,” he says, squinting as he aims the hose toward the hollyhocks against the fence. “She lucked out—she was anyassigned to the Botany Society.”

“You're kidding. That is lucky.” I follow him down a wood-chip trail to the back of the garden, where waves of flowers break against a row of pine trees.

“It's a nice surprise—you stopping by. We've been next-door neighbors for years, but you never visited before,” he says, watching the water fall over a patch of violets. “But I guess you surprise me a lot. I just can't tell what you're thinking, Nettie. Like, why did you ditch me in the hall today? I thought you wanted to see me.”

“Ditch you in the hall?” I ponder the statement for a few seconds. “Do you mean after history, when Lia—I didn't think I was ditching you, she—”

“It's okay,” he interrupts. “That's not the only time I've been curious about what you were thinking. I used to wonder about you during lunch, when you were always so . . . watchful. You've always been sort of mysterious.”

“Me?” I say. “Thanks. Or . . . sorry? I don't know—is that a compliment?”

He smiles. “You decide.”

“Well, I don't mean to be mysterious,” I say, thinking about the last few weeks and dealing with Luz and the apprenticeship. I do feel like I've been hiding a lot. Lia said Callen would freak out if I told him about the suggestions, but I could just tell him a little. Dispel the mystery. “It might be because of the Initiative,” I whisper.

Callen moves a few feet over, putting us out of the range of the cameras in the pine trees. “I'm not in it,” he mouths. “What are they making you do?”

Straight to the point, of course.

“Random stuff, like about getting my apprenticeship,” I mouth. He raises a sandy eyebrow.

I pretend I don't get that he wants to know the actual suggestions. “I came up with a signal, to tell people when something's a suggestion.” I demonstrate for him.

He stares at me pointedly for a second, as if he's waiting for me to say more, but I don't, and he does a sort of half shrug. “Smart,” he says, easing us back on-camera.

And that's it. He hauls the garden hose toward the sunflowers. The greenery is thick here, and I have to swat away leaves.

“Yeah, sometimes she goes overboard with the plants,” he says, even though I haven't said anything. “Anything new at the lunch table?”

“Not really,” I say, gliding over Revere's absence. “Martin's around a lot now. Henna Shelter too.”

“Still Lia's show, then?” he says, shaking his head. “I don't miss it.”
Or her
goes unsaid, but I hear it. He turns the water off, and side by side, we walk to the front of the house. My hand drags along the rosebushes as we round the corner.

“I miss you at lunch,” I blurt out when we reach the bottom of the porch steps. The fading light blurs his features, but he's so close, I can feel his breath on my skin.

“I miss having lunch with you too,” he says quietly.

Panic seizes me. Followed by guilt slamming down. I almost feel like Lia is here, watching everything and hating me, realizing that I actually do like Callen . . . and that maybe he likes me too. “I should go catch up on
Player in the Attic.
” I step back.

Flustered, he looks away, and I see his disappointment in the way his eyes fall and his jaw twinges, like he wants to say something, but can't.