Shymers (8 page)

Bree walks down the aisles, but I stand frozen in the doorway, temporarily unable to move. “It’s okay,” she says, detecting my hesitation. “Only Shymers ride on here.”

But it’s not the fear of possible Futures being among us that keeps me from following. It’s the boy from earlier—the one with the beautiful blue eyes, the one who was cross with me. Harrison sits on a bench next to a smaller boy with greasy, jet black hair and wild eyes. They both watch me closely, their eyes narrowed, making their hatred apparent.

I look away and chase after Bree to the front of the shuttle. We pass two of the girls from morning break and one lifts her middle finger at us. Bree does the same and a couple Shymers snicker at this. I watch Bree, puzzled. Instead of explaining the gesture, however, she settles in an open bench a few rows ahead of the two boys.

I blow out a slow breath of relief once seated. I am glad my first day of school here is finished. It has been an emotional day, filled with shocking discoveries and heart-breaking realities. I am reminded of the wishes I made on my sixteenth birthday, and wish I could take them back. Nothing in Society is how I imagined it to be.

The Shymers next to us sit quietly with their hands in their laps, watching out the windows with seemingly no other thoughts on their minds. Even though I don’t turn around to see if I’m right, I swear I can feel Harrison’s gaze burning into the back of my head.

“Everything here feel
s
wron
g
,” I whisper to Bree. “Backwards.”

She shrugs. “You did okay today, Olive. You should be able to fit in here if you remember who you are.”

Remember who
I
am. That could prove to be difficult, considering I’m a Future.

Throughout the lessons today, I fell in and out of attention to what the instructors were saying. Instead I was busy sneaking glances at those they cal
l
Future
s
. Every one of them seemed full of arrogance. I fear what will happen if I am forced to become one of them—to alter my looks and color my hair a whiter shade of blond. Even if
I
looke
d
like one of them, I don’t imagine in a million years I would ever behave like they do.

Bree and the other Shymers I met—with the exception of Harrison—had been welcoming to me outside of the classrooms. Yet I know we would not be friends if they knew the truth—if they knew that I am actually a Future and guaranteed a life beyond the age of eighteen.

“Why does the government even make Shymers go to lessons?” I ask. “Why put them in the same building as the Futures?”

“The government likes to pretend there isn’t this big separation between Shymers and Futures. Some people think it’s really because they need some way to keep a close eye on us.”

Without warning, the shuttle bolts forward and my stomach lurches into my chest. I grab the bench in front of me to keep from hitting my head. For a minute, I am pushed forward by some invisible force and I become dizzy.

“You may want to hold on,” Bree tells me smartly. “These things go super-fast.”

“I’ll remember that,” I say once I find my breath again.

Before long the shuttles rises from under the ground and meets the bright sun. The lands pass by us in such a blur that I am hardly able to focus on one single thing. Society is filled with modern conveniences we did not have in the forest—cars, electricity, buildings made of brick and stone, and other things that are foreign to me or just unidentifiable from the rate of speed we have taken on.

The houses are so close together that they appear to be touching. Each one is its own bright color and reaches high into the sky. They remind me of grandmother’s book calle
d
The Cat in the Ha
t
. It was a young child’s story with rhyming words and hand-drawn pictures, but the houses are the same bright blues, yellows, reds and greens and have a similar whimsical sense to them.

I catch flashes of people hustling around underneath the canopies. Most of them seem to be adults with a purpose to their steps as they continue on with their day. I wonder if the market my mother went to is near. Did she have to ride one of these shuttles to get there?

Taking in so many new things is both exciting and overwhelming. This is a world I have waited to see my whole life. The things my parents and Taylor had described to me are now coming to life right before my eyes. I imagine the feeling is similar to that of a person who suffers an accident and loses their vision, only to have a doctor restore it to them—a medical procedure my father once spoke of.

The ride to the school this morning in the back of a vehicle had taken the better part of an hour. From the rate of speed this shuttle is taking on, we could easily arrive in half the time.

“Tell me more about your life in Society,” I whisper to Bree. “What is it you do when you get home to your family?”

Bree laughs loudly. “You don’t have to whisper, Olive. You don’t have to keep any secrets from the other Shymers.”

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, glancing over at the two young girls sitting on my other side. They wear similar plain blue pants, and while one wears a dark gray shirt made of cotton, the other wears a white shirt with visible stains. The drab colors match their equally drab moods, although both girls are quite pretty. The older girl is long and lanky—what my mother would describe as
a
bean pol
e
—with a face full of freckles darker than my own, and red curly hair. The younger of the two is slender with a small round face and big, bright brown eyes.

The girls realize I am gaping at them and begin to stare back. I smile kindly and immediately they both smile back, although theirs are forced and don’t stay on their faces long. They each turn back to the window.

“When we’re not at lessons, we’re working,” Bree finally answers with a shrug of her shoulders. “They’ll probably give you your assigned job when you get to the orphanage.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, but what do you do fo
r
fu
n
? Do you have music festivals? Movie projectors?”

My idea of entertainment—exploring the forest—would be foreign to her, as this world looks to be nothing more than a mix of concrete and steel. My mother had grown up with a movie projector in her house. She said it played moving pictures of stories made up by people pretending to be someone else. It was just another way, like books, for people to use their imaginations. Although many of the movies from the old world were lost over time, my mother remembered them well and would describe them in great detail.

Bree squints her eyes for a moment before cocking her head to the side. “Our family can’t afford anything like that. We don’t even own a television. Besides, there wouldn’t be time for that stuff.”

I huff quietly. What kind of job will I be given? Are Shymers allowed to do anything that is considered fun? Other than Bree and Kai, none of them ever seem to smile on their own accord. I study Bree with new appreciation. Maybe her cheerful mood is something that just comes naturally to her, or maybe it is completely forced. Either way, everyone else around her seems set on being unhappy.

Aside from a few muffled conversations and the low hum of the shuttle, it is quiet. Unsettling. “Bree, when is your DOD?” I ask gently.

Her brown eyes sweep away to the window. “Next May,” she replies, her voice flat.

I breathe in deeply. My new friend has less than a year to live. “I’m sorry,” I say.

She shakes her head and the corners of her mouth curve into a small smile. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“Still,” I say.

For the first time, I realize Harrison may be in the same orphanage as me. I slowly glance over my shoulder to discover him whispering with the boy beside him. Their heads are low and their faces are hard, like they’re having some kind of argument.

A hint of stubble grows along Harrison’s sharp jaw line, making him look more like a man than a boy. Originally, I had guessed he was close to my own age, but I now think he could even be older. Since he’s a Shymer, he wouldn’t be eighteen. He may be extremely close to his death. I shudder.

Turning back to my new friend, I whisper, “Tell me more about Harrison.”

“He’s pretty cute, huh?” she asks mischievously, a twinkle in her eyes.

My mother and father were only fourteen when they first met, so I anxiously waited to meet a boy in the Free Lands after I turned fourteen. The closest I ever got was one time last year when Taylor and I spotted one darting through the forest. He was blond haired and blue eyed, much like Harrison. As we hid behind some bushes to watch him, my foot snapped a twig underneath me. For a thrilling second he found me and our eyes locked. Then he ran off.

I returned to the spot again over the next couple of days, hoping he would be there. I never saw him again. Now I wonder if the boy had been a Future. Why would he have been in the forest?

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

Bree’s amusement is instantly erased from her face. “Why? What would be the point of that?”

“You know, a girl to share his free time with. Maybe even to fall in love.”

Bree’s laugh sounds more like a choked cry. “You don’t get it, Olive. We don’
t
hav
e
any free time. Besides, he is going to be gone in six months. Why would he bother doing something like that?”

I catch my breath. It feels like I am literally standing with my feet planted high in the sky and seeing this whole other world from upside down. Not only are people considered less desirable and their lives lack in any kind of entertainment, they don’t see themselves as worth getting to know or eve
n
lov
e
?

My chest tightens to the point I fear my heart will suffocate from the pressure of it. Society’s standards are the total opposite from how I was raised. The boy who I thought to be so strikingly handsome has less than a year of his life to live, my new friend only a few more months beyond that. Yet they are still living these uneventful lives in which they don’t think there is a reason for anything. Will I ever see my mother again, or is this how I will be forced to live the rest of my life, as well?

Looking down at my feet, I try to catch my breath and keep my tears from spilling.

“Olive, are you okay?” Bree asks gently.

I’m not. My stomach lurches and my head spins. I want nothing more in this moment than my mother’s arms around me, and for her to tell me everything will be all right. All day I have tried to push away the visions of her locked in a small room all by herself. I have tried to ignore the nagging sensation that my life is about to forever change into something dark and direful, where I will forever be forced to hide under sun canopies and speak only after being spoken to.

But a life without love is just too much.

The only glimmer of hope I can see is not much better. I am
a
Futur
e
, after all. I will live past eighteen. I wouldn’t have to live this way if I didn’t want to. I may have a chance at love with someone other than Harrison—but not with anyone naturally good-looking as he is. Only with those strange, clone-like blondes who are cruel.

Why did Bree and the other all assume I’m a Shymer? Why did the Futures automatically judge me like I’m one?

I sit tall and turn to Bree. “How did you know?”

She squints at me. “Know what?”

“Know that I’m a Shymer, like you. You know I come from the Free Lands where my parents kept me away from this life. Why did you just assume I was one of you?”

She chuckles nervously. When I don’t smile or show any signs that I’m joking, her mouth drops. Her eyes flicker to the others sitting nearby. She stares at me for a moment and swallows slowly. “You know. Because of the mark.”

I shake my head, frowning. “What mark?”

“The mark they give Shymers at birth.”

I still have no idea what she could possibly be talking about. I haven’t noticed a mark on her or any of the others.

Bree sucks in her breath and gathers her hair to the opposite side, pointing to a spot just behind her ear without the communicator. A glowing mark no bigger than her smallest fingernail pulsates against her skin, as if alive. It almost looks to be some kind of light, shining from within.

“You’ve had that your whole life?” I ask, reaching out to brush my fingertips against it. Her skin is soft and smooth, giving no indication of an indent or a change in temperature where the mark is.

She drops her hair and turns to me, her face contorted. Her eyes dance between mine, like she’s still waiting for me to tell her I am only joking. “Olive, I thought you would know. I mean…I figured someone would have told you by now.”

Part of me is filled with blinding panic, while another part wishes she would just spit it out already. I grab her arm. “Told me what?”

Her lips settle into a line and she sighs. “It’s how I knew you were a Shymer the minute I first saw you. Olive, you have the same mark behind your ear.”