The Compound (4 page)

That surprised me, coming from her. “Why not?”

She looked straight at me, almost like it was a challenge. “I just don’t. So I’m going to keep on like everything is fine. But I don’t want you or the girls to eat any bread I make.”

I knew she wouldn’t take the chance of using that flour to make cake, even for my birthday.

Back in my room, I treated myself to a Snickers from the stale stash under my bed. In honor of my Super-Duper Special Day. As I chewed, I couldn’t help but remember other birthdays. The ones in the Compound blended together, not worth reminiscing about.

But the ones on the outside? They were dream parties, fantasies befitting the twin sons of a billionaire.

Pony rides and moonwalks and huge theme cakes and,
for our eighth birthday, a clown show plus players from the Seahawks. I thought we were too old for the clown. But that was the part of the party Dad let Mom plan, so Eddy persuaded me not to make a fuss.

That year should have been the best. Every boy from our class was invited, of course. But I knew they came for Eddy, not me. Eddy was kind to everyone, fun to be with, popular. I was just his twin; not so kind, not so fun. Definitely not popular. As Eddy’s twin, I was tolerated. We were a package—buy one, get one.

We were all outside. The front lawn had been transformed into a football field by temporary white chalk lines. The Seahawks played flag football with us for a long time. I should have been enjoying it.

I wasn’t.

I’d seen the boys from our class arrive, all bearing gifts. Of course they each brought two, one for me, one for Eddy. I could tell some were the same, but lots of them were different. Eddy’s presents were probably something cool. Mine? Not so much. I suppose it showed the degree to which we were liked. Or as in my case, not liked.

The blatant disparity bothered me. So I decided to do something about it.

With everyone out on the front lawn, I claimed I had to use the bathroom. I darted into the house, stopping to grab a roll of tape. In the backyard, a white tent was set up for the cake and presents and the clown show. At the table of gifts, I started switching tags. All the labels with Eddy’s name went on the presents for me, and vice versa.

My movements were hurried as I tried to finish before anyone came.

“Hey, kid!”

I jumped, startled, and the tape dropped from my hand.

The hired clown, in his white face, red nose, goofy striped outfit, and yellow clown shoes, stood there watching me. “What are you doing?”

Words didn’t come. What was I supposed to say? Laughter and cheers came toward us. I kicked the roll of tape under the table and crossed my arms in defiance. What was the stupid clown going to do? Screw up his biggest payday of the year?

The kids poured in and the clown just raised his freakish eyebrows. “You’re obviously the evil twin.” He stepped up onstage to get ready for his show.

We opened presents. I saw the confused looks. Our guests wondered why I ended up with the better presents meant for Eddy. Maybe some would mention it to their mothers later, although with the excitement of the day most of them probably forgot.

And Eddy didn’t know. Not only that, he didn’t even notice what I opened, or compare his gifts to mine. He opened each one, making a big deal over it and the person who brought it. Somehow, he made each kid feel that he had given him the one thing he’d always wanted. Me? I remember ripping open one after the other. Maybe I thanked kids. Maybe I didn’t. The presents were all dumb, anyway. I knew the good ones were yet to come.

That year Dad gave us laptops. Expensive prototypes not yet available on the market. Mine was exactly the same as Eddy’s, like everything Dad gave us. He presented them to us in front of all the kids from school. They immediately crowded around Eddy, clamoring to see.

Left on the outside of the circle, I tucked the laptop under my arm and sat down to have some more cake. The clown was on his way out and stopped for a second. “Hope you got what you wanted, kid.” He winked.

Yeah, there were a lot of reasons for me to forget that July 16 even existed. And even a few reasons to hate clowns.

T
HINKING ABOUT OTHER BIRTHDAYS MADE ME UNCOMFORTABLE
. I didn’t feel like sitting in my room that whole night, thinking about the past. But I also didn’t feel like hanging out with the family. Not that I ever did. They were busy with their own routines.

We did eat dinner together most nights. But after that we went our separate ways. Dad usually went and worked in his office. Lexie retreated to her room or helped Mom with laundry or other chores like that. Terese usually joined them.

That was one thing to be thankful for. Dad believed things like laundry and ironing were strictly women’s work. Fine with me.

I went to pick out a DVD in the media room. Our collection of movies and music was incomparable, as if Dad had sauntered into Blockbuster and Music World and
demanded one of everything. On the shelves beside the media were comprehensive catalogs, a product of my father’s fastidious nature, listing every item available. Even after six years, I still hadn’t watched or listened to nearly half of what that room had to offer.

I chose
The Matrix
, even though it was old and I’d seen it about a hundred times. Sometimes after I watched it, I pretended the Compound was simply an alternate reality and I would wake up any day in a better place.

My mom liked old Cary Grant movies. Sometimes I watched with her. She had a great laugh, an infectious kind that made everyone laugh along. It seemed Cary Grant was the only person who could draw it out of her anymore.

In the family room, Lexie was already watching a movie on the big screen. Horror, of course. Her routine. Sometimes I watched them with her, but she creeped me out more than the movies did. Lexie sat on the couch, not moving, her long, dark hair masking her face. Even during parts that made me flinch or jump or look away, my sister just sat there. Staring. Why was it that nothing seemed to scare her?

I stood in front of her, blocking her view, forcing her to look somewhere other than the screen.

Lexie sighed and tucked her hair behind her ears, revealing her face. She was pretty, with hazel eyes that lit up when she smiled, which wasn’t very often. “Move, stupid.”

“I want to watch something else.”

My sister finally looked directly at me, like I hadn’t
existed before then. She frowned. “So, go watch it in your room.”

“No. I want the big screen.” I turned to the player and ejected her movie.

“Hey! I’m watching that.”

“So.” I inserted my DVD. “It’s my birthday.”

“Oh my God.” She laughed and mimicked me.
“It’s my birthday.”
When she stood up, the top of her head was even with my chin. “I’m watching my movie.” With one fuzzy-slippered foot, she tried to push me away.

I laughed. “Ooh, tough guy.” She was strong but light, so it didn’t take much effort on my part to shove her with one sock-covered foot.

As she fell back on the couch, she swiped at my face, barely missing it with her long, sharp, and perfectly shaped nails. Except for her left thumbnail, which she chewed incessantly.

Through the barrier of her blanket, I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, forcing her face into the back of the couch. “Now I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

Lexie tried to rip the blanket off me to get at my skin. To touch me, knowing full well my weakness. But I was stronger.

I smacked her face not all that lightly with her DVD, and then dropped it next to her. “So why don’t you watch this in
your
room?” With an extra twist, I let go of her arm.

Lexie whirled around, pushing her hair away from her
reddening cheek. She picked up the disk. Before she left, she kicked me in the shin. “Happy frickin’ Birthday.” I didn’t bother to retaliate.

The Matrix
came on. I dropped the blanket and sat down, rubbing my shin.
Yeah
, I thought.
Happy frickin’ Birthday
.

I
N HER OUTBURST ON MY BIRTHDAY
, T
ERESE ACCUSED
D
AD OF
planning all of it. Of course he planned the Compound. We wouldn’t still be alive if he hadn’t. But she had made me think.

My father had given us a detailed orientation to the Compound when we first arrived. The structure was three stories underground, made mainly of concrete and steel. The operation of the Compound was fairly simple, as Dad explained it. Room temperature was kept at a constant seventy-two degrees, reverse osmosis technology made our water drinkable, and three industrial incinerators burned all the garbage and waste products, miles of ductwork taking the smoke far away from our pristine air supply.

The Compound itself must have taken years to build. I never asked for the details. It would be like a lion asking about who built his cage. Knowing more wouldn’t make any of it easier.

But our birthday got me thinking about Eddy, about what he’d be like. Eddy would want to know everything about the Compound; he was always curious. Maybe that was a fault of mine—accepting things without ever questioning them. Or maybe I had just let him take care of that. But he wasn’t around to take care of things anymore.

Across from my room was a blue door. Eddy’s room. I had never been able to bring myself to enter. Besides, I assumed it was an exact copy of mine. I reached for the doorknob, but my hand hovered there, inches away, trembling a bit. Why did I feel the need to do this now? What good could it possibly do?

Maybe I was looking for a way to feel closer to Eddy. Maybe that’s all it was.

With a deep breath, I twisted the knob and pushed.

The air smelled of oranges, almost too much so. I’d expected the room to smell musty, like a museum. I’d forgotten that it was connected to the same ventilation system as the rest of the Compound. The light switches were in the same spot as in my room. Nothing seemed to happen after I hit the first switch, but I soon saw that his ceiling was set to the sunrise. I turned it off and switched on the regular fluorescents.

I walked over to the bookshelves, ran my hands over a few of the books and toys. The bookshelves looked like mine used to; until I’d outgrown the books and toys and shoved everything in my closet. As I looked around that room, so much like mine had been, I felt strange, like I’d traveled back in time.

But something was missing. Dust. There was none.

I looked in the trash can. Several used dusting cloths lay inside. I leaned closer and sniffed. That was where the orange smell was coming from.

Except for the recent cleaning, it didn’t look like anyone had stepped foot in there for a long time. If ever.

Inside the closet, I found nine-year-old Eddy’s wardrobe on hangers; orderly, neat, and pressed. Never touched. I slammed the closet door, not wanting to see, not wanting to remember. As I backed away, my hip collided with the desk.

I shifted around. Something on the desk caught my eye. I grinned and reached out. A laptop. A duplicate of the ones we’d gotten at our clown and Seahawks birthday.

Whatever happened to mine?

I remembered.

Shortly after we entered the Compound, Dad had borrowed it, saying he wanted to upgrade it for me. Then he’d given me a different one, a better one. He said mine wasn’t worth upgrading after all. I’d never asked for the first one back.

This laptop, the one intended for Eddy, was plugged in, the light proclaiming the battery to be charged. Had it been charging for six years? I opened it and hit the power button. As the icons appeared on the screen, my fingertips rested on one I hadn’t seen for so long. Internet. That was the difference between this laptop and the one I used. Mine had no integrated wireless Internet.

My elbow rested on the desk and my head automatically
leaned on my palm. I stared at the screen. I hadn’t forgotten about the Internet. I had just put it in the category of things I no longer had, things too painful to think about. Like Eddy.

Eddy and I had lived on the Internet, playing online games, instant messaging our friends. We even IM’ed each other at night, even though we were separated by only a bedroom wall.