"I can't wait until selection day. I plan on being chosen." She squirmed around, trying to get the guys' attention. "I wonder if the FeLS rep will be cute."
"I don't think that matters. It's probably the only time you'll see him." Twice a year, a man from the Governing Council's Liaison Department came to select sixteen-year-old girls for training as Female Liaison Specialists. All tier-one and -two girls-the lowest of the low-were required to fill out applications when they turned fifteen. Upper-tier girls never went into FeLS. It wasn't even an option for them. It was the only option for us low-tiers: the government had set up the program so that only the bottom two tiers were eligible.
On selection day, the FeLS rep-everyone called him the Chooser-interviewed everyone and made his picks. The GC sent the girls who were chosen to an education center on one of the space stations where they were trained for diplomatic service.
"It better not be your mom's boyfriend." Sandy wrinkled her nose. "He's gross."
"Yeah." No way could I argue with that. "You don't really want to go into FeLS, do you?" I was 99 percent sure I didn't want to. Ginnie certainly made her opinion on the matter clear. I'd filled out my application, but only because it was mandatory. The idea of moving up in the world was certainly attractive, but the program didn't sound all that great. The worst part of it was you couldn't have any contact with your family for the entire two years you were in the program.
"Yes," she answered, but she wasn't paying attention to me. One of the guys had noticed her. "It's the only way for girls like us to get into the upper tiers."
"You could study harder and try to get a scholarship," I said. "Then you wouldn't need FeLS."
She shrugged her sweater off one shoulder, smiling at the guy looking at her, and completely ignoring me.
"Sandy"-I hoped to appeal to her obvious sex-teen-ness-"you know you can't dress like you do now if you're a FeLS. I heard you have to wear uniforms. Plus, you'll be out there in space, and who knows if there are any guys there?"
"Of course there are guys." She shot me a look like I'd just said two plus two was five. "Guys are everywhere. And"-she paused; for effect, I guessed-"you've seen the verts . . . in your free time, you can dress any way you want, go anywhere you want, and do anything you want. Anything, except that." She could tell I was not impressed. "Well, you can go anywhere on the station. Guess you can't really sneak off of it." She laughed, shaking out her hair, and the other side of her sweater slipped down, too. "Hey, Mike, isn't Joan a FeLS?"
Mike was staring across the booth at Sandy's practically naked chest. "Huh?" he grunted.
"Joan." I snapped my fingers under his nose. "Your sister? She's in FeLS?"
"She is?" He was struggling to focus somewhere besides Sandy's breasts.
In order to help, I yanked her sweater closed. "Joan?" I kicked him under the table. "FeLS?"
"Oh, yeah." He snatched up a fry. "She was."
"Maybe I should talk to her," Sandy said. "She could tell me all about how to get chosen, right?" She propped her chin in her hands, leaning toward Mike. "Can you arrange that? Please?"
"Nope. Sorry. Haven't talked to her since she left."
"Wait, isn't her two years up?" I said.
"I guess. Mom gets chips from her, I think," Mike said. "Heck, I dunno. My dad says she probably thinks she's too good for us now."
The guy who'd been watching Sandy motioned her to show her wrist. Reluctantly, she did. He shook his head and turned away.
"Oh well." She flipped her hair, scanning the rest of the tables with no success.
"You gotta be a virgin to get into FeLS, don't you?" Derek said.
"Of course." Sandy rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows that. Why does everyone keep asking me if I know that?" She turned her attention to me. "I wonder what it's going to be like, really? Can you believe those 'how-to' vids? We've watched like, what, one a week since school started? I mean, sex has got to be the most ultra thing in the galaxy! I wonder what the guys get to see when we're watching our vids?" She looked over at Derek. "I don't know why they separate us, we're going to be doing it together, so, duh-"
"Will you stop?" It was bad enough that Derek was making moon eyes across the table at me. I didn't need Sandy saying anything that might encourage him to think about me and sex in the same thought. "No wonder guys think when girls are tattooed all they want is to get laid."
"Don't they?" Mike gave me his biggest wide-eyed innocent look.
A part of me knew he was joking, but the part that didn't said, "Shut up." I paused, knowing the reaction I'd get if I said what was on my mind. I couldn't stop myself. "Look at what happened to Angel."
Suddenly, it seemed the remaining ketchup on Mike's plate was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. Sandy began digging around in her purse. Derek glanced at me for a second and then looked out the window. Nobody wanted to remember. I should have felt bad for bringing it up, but I didn't. I was sick and tired of the constant sex talk, and teasing. Couldn't my friends at least try to understand that maybe all girls-like maybe me-don't want to have sex?
Angel Cordoba had been in Mike's older sister Joan's grade, just a couple of years ahead of us. She was cute and nice, and we'd all hung out at Oak Street beach two summers earlier, before Joan went into FeLS. Right after Angel got her XVI, a couple of guys invited her to a party. It was an eighteenth and she was the only girl there.
The guys got off with six months' community service for the "accident" with the lighter fluid. There were no rape charges. They convinced the prosecutor that she'd wanted it-that happened a lot when the girl was a sixteen. All the Media news stories said Angel was just another oversexed sixteen, that she got high, accidentally lit herself on fire, and then blamed the guys after the fact. But anyone who knew her knew that was a lie. No one had the nerve to say anything, except her brother. He started an antitattooing, antigovernment vlog, but it got shut down and he disappeared. Rumors were he became a NonCon. Ginnie'd told me she thought he was dead.
Angel had five operations total. She almost looked like herself afterward, but looks weren't everything. She hadn't been the same person since.
"Sorry. But Angel didn't want sex, did she?" I dropped the card Gran had given me on the table. "That covers mine. I'm going for a walk."
"I'll come with you." Derek started to get up.
"No. I'll catch up with you guys at the Water Tower at one."
I always found downtown streets overwhelming. Sometimes I felt like the combination of verts and people would drown me or swallow me whole. My stomach tightened and my breathing quickened, and I had to keep myself from breaking into a run. Once I was out of the worst of it, I hurried over to Lincoln Park, to my favorite place.
A bigger-than-life-sized holographic statue of Lincoln stood at the park entrance. He'd been a president of the United States, which hadn't existed for years. Ever since the End-of-Wars treaty, the Governing Council had ruled the Americas, the moon colonies, Venus, and the ocribundan mines on Mars. Except for the Great Oil Deserts, which no one cared about now that ocribundan was the Earth's main fuel, and some islands off the Greater United Isles, the rest of the world was ruled by councils run like the GC.
I shielded my eyes from the sun, peering up at the statue. Lincoln was ugly, but there was something in his eyes that seemed kind. I pressed the info button and the image began reciting the Gettysburg Address. I should take time to learn more about what Lincoln believed in-freedom and equality for everyone. Between school and art classes and life, I barely had enough time to study anything except homework, and I didn't always get that done.
Before the recording ended, I'd forgotten about Lincoln and everything else. My attention was drawn to the scene in front of me and I shuffled off through the brilliant fall colors. The trees looked like giant candles. Their fiery leaves were sparks flying wherever the wind took them. I crunched through the ones on the ground, reveling in the crackles and snaps and the earthy aroma that filled my nostrils. I felt lighter, freer. Being in any kind of natural setting did that for me. If I didn't look beyond the trees to see the buildings, I could imagine I was a million miles from the city. Maybe out at Mill Run Farm with the cows and horses; I wouldn't worry about anything then.
Before long, I was at the grassy mound that I'd always called "my mountain." There was a weird animal-like noise, and for a moment I was scared. Oh, come on, I thought, what kind of animals would be loose in the park? Squirrels? Chipmunks? Not exactly terror-worthy. But the noise got louder and I realized that something wasn't right. I strode to the top of the mound and looked down the other side.
Three guys were beating up a fourth who was curled into a ball, arms wrapped around his head. I could tell he was homeless by his clothes.
I should've turned and left, but I didn't.
V.
"Stop it!" I yelled.
The three boys, college athletes according to their letter jackets, stopped kicking the guy and turned around.
One of them, a beefy guy with slicked-back brown hair and piggish eyes, leered at me. "You sixteen?"
"No," I squeaked, holding up my wrist for him to see. That's when I realized the danger I was in, all alone in a secluded area of Lincoln Park facing three 'letes who were primed for trouble. My being underage wouldn't matter to them. 'Letes could do whatever they wanted. There was no way I could outrun them, so I stood my ground, hoping the meanest glare I could muster would hide my terror.
The tallest of the three yanked on Pig Eyes' sleeve. "Come on, Coach'll bench us if we're late again."
Pig Eyes shook off his grasp, and locked eyes with me. Then his gaze traveled downward. "Oh, baby, I'd love some of that." He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips at me before turning to follow his friends. I wanted to vomit.
On their way past the guy on the ground, Pig Eyes kicked him one more time.
They finally disappeared behind the trees. I was shaking so hard I was afraid if I tried to walk I'd collapse in a sobbing heap. The homeless guy still lay there like a giant tattered baby. I should have gone; anyone else would've left him.
Homeless are no better than river rats, maybe even worse. They get beaten and killed without anyone noticing. No one in their right mind has anything to do with them. But I guess at that moment my mind wasn't quite right. Even though my knees were like rubber bands, I took a deep breath and scrunched through the leaves to the moaning heap of ragged clothes.
"You okay?"
All I got back was a grunt.
"Hey, can I do anything?"
Rolling onto his back, he groaned.
"Shit." He spat out some blood and touched the split on his lip from where it was flowing. "How stupid am I?"
"I dunno." I stared at him. He looked almost as bad as Ginnie after one of Ed's rages. "You look more hurt than stupid."
I was surprised-the face that glanced up at me wasn't a man's, old or otherwise. He was a boy, my age. "That was rhetorical," he snapped, dabbing at his lip with a filthy sleeve.
"Here." I offered him a rumpled napkin from my pocket, ignoring his attitude.
Holding it on the cut, he squinted in my general direction. "You're not afraid to talk to me?"
"No." That wasn't entirely true. I was terrified. "You homeless?"
He sat up, clutching his stomach. "Man, that really hurts," he muttered, not to me in particular, so I didn't comment. Shading his eyes with one hand, he looked up at me. "Does it make a difference if I am?"
"Well ... uh ... I, ah . . ."
I couldn't shake the impulse to help him. It seemed that the older I got the more I believed that everyone, homeless or not, deserved to be treated at least like a human. I knew it was my mom's influence. She always says everyone has a right to live. Just because the homeless don't want to take handouts from the government because of what they have to do in return doesn't mean they're subhuman.
This guy looked so vulnerable, all I could think of was Ginnie after a go-round with Ed. For ten years I've seen this-I'd try to help her clean up afterward, but she looked so awful I would cry and that would upset my little sister, Dee. I'd choked back so many tears, they'd become a lake of sadness in my belly.
"Well?" His voice brought me back to the present. "You got a problem with that?"
"No."
"Yeah, right, Little Miss Burbs." He looked me up and down, but not the way Pig Eyes had. "I bet you don't."
My jaw dropped. As if I would lie to some guy I'd risked my life to help? And the slam about the suburbs? It hadn't been my choice to go from our tier-five apartment in the city to our tier-two existence in Cementville. Any compulsion to help him flew right away like a swirl of autumn leaves.
"Seems like you're fine now." I stepped around him "Keep the napkin."
A tiny part of me wanted to kick him, too, not because he was homeless, but because he was a judgmental asshole.
"Hey," he called after me. "Sorry. I'm not usually . . . well ... the circumstances, you know."
That stopped me. I did know. Sometimes when Ginnie'd come home beat-up, she would lash out at me. Not ever physically, but she'd say mean things. She needed to share her pain, so I took some of it. I'd do anything for her, no matter how much it hurt. I turned around.
I sat on the ground across from him. "Where do you stay? Is there someone I can call?" I pulled my PAV receiver out of my pocket. "Do you need-"
"I'm not homeless. I live over there." He jerked his head to the west. "Ow!" He grabbed his neck and rubbed it. "I'll be fine, it'll just take a sec." He wasn't homeless? I started to ask him why he looked like he was, when he said, "What about you? Where do you live?"
My cheeks reddened, remembering his earlier slam. "I do live in the suburbs." I held my chin up. "But I used to live here, on Wrightwood."
"What's your name?"
"Nina."
"Nina what?"
Why did he want to know? I wasn't sure I should tell him my last name. The earlier terror I'd felt had subsided, but this interest in me made me nervous. I shook it off. What would it hurt for him to know my name? It's not like he could get my PAV number. (I shoved the receiver back in my pocket, just in case.) "Oberon."
"Oberon?" He dropped his hand from his neck. "Nina Oberon," he repeated, scrutinizing my face, which made me even more uneasy.
"What's yours?" I felt the heat rising up my neck again. Damn blushing. I averted my eyes.
"Sal Davis."
I glanced back at him, and he looked away. A bit of napkin clung to the blood that had dried on his lip. Even though he was sitting, I could tell he was taller than me, and he was skinny, but not in an unhealthy way. Thick dark lashes rimmed his eyes. His longish black hair was wavy and there were leaf bits randomly sticking out of it. He's kind of cute, I thought, which didn't make me any less uncomfortable.
"You're a mess." I pointed to his head. As he reached up, I took a deep breath and asked, "How come you're dressed like that if you're not homeless?"
"No one notices me that way." He brushed the leaves off his head.
"Why don't you want to be noticed?"
Sal leaned back and looked at me. "You sure do ask a lot of questions. What's up with that?"
Me? He'd asked just as many questions, maybe even more. Whether it was his attitude again or the stress of the whole situation, a stupid tear chose that moment to trickle down my cheek. I wasn't fast enough to wipe it away before he noticed.
"I'm hurt and you're crying?" He started laughing.
"You know what?" I jumped up and jabbed my finger at him. "I came down here to help you. I was trying to be nice."
I marched to the top of the mound, and looked over my shoulder, at not-homeless Sal Davis, leaves stuck to his ratty clothes, eyes shaded by a hand that was still clutching the tattered, bloody napkin. "Thanks, Nina Oberon."
I kept on walking until I got to Michigan Avenue. I was almost glad to hear the verts, "Celebrate Moon Settlement Day on the Dark Side. Only Four hundred and fifty round-trip . . . ," "Maria Corcoran fashions, straight from the runway in Milan ...," ". . . Stacy's latest hit, 'City of Tears' . . ." They drowned out Sal's voice saying my name.
VI.
"You gotta listen to this one, Neens." Mike dragged me toward a sporting-goods store. "They're talking about how balls feel-it'll crack you up."
I pulled my arm away. "Cut it out."
"First you stomp off and now you're acting all weird. What's gotten into you?" Sandy gave me a sideways look.
"Nothing," I said. Everything, I thought.
"Here." Derek handed me a little box. "Maybe this'll help."
He stood there watching while I lifted off the lid. Inside was a little silver horse charm nestled in a bed of fluff.
"Wow, Derek! It's beautiful. Why'd you do this?" I looked up at him. "My birthday's weeks away."