Staring out the window, my gaze shifts off to the distant forest. A shadow flickers high in a tree, then vanishes into leafy limbs. It could be a harmless, gentle monklee. But I’m certain I’ve glimpsed something far more scarifying. A claw beast? Their massive jaws can crunch a hoxen in one bite and their razor claws rip through skin like it’s cheese in a shredder. The claws only fear the Nocturnes—savage humans living beneath ground during light hours, then rising at night to hunt beasts. When I asked Instructor Penny how humans can be so savage, she said Nocturnes are monsters in human bodies, and while they’re dangerous, they protect us by killing beasts and keeping outsiders away from our island. There is only safety inside the Fence.
Whatever happens to the Returned, I hope I never find out.
Poisoning my Family, although accidental, deserves a severe punishment. Uniforms could be on their way now to contain me. I gaze through the window and see no sign of solar coaches. They aren’t coming to get me. Yet.
My skin aches with anxiety. I can’t sit idly, waiting for others to decide my future. I’ll go downstairs where decisions are being made.
When I reach the main floor, I follow the rumble of voices to a closed door. I press my ear against the wood and hear the sound of arguing.
“—wasn’t her fault!” Rosemarie is shouting. “She used the wrong herb. It was clearly an accident!”
“I warned you not to trust another youth,” a woman snaps.
“Don’t be emotional, Daisy,” Leader Cross says.
“It could happen again,” Daisy warns angrily.
“No, it won’t.” Rosemarie’s voice is soft and pleading. “Milly is nothing like him.”
“That remains to be proven,” Leader Cross replies. “She’s not allowed to prepare meals alone until the completion of memdenity.”
I can’t blame them for not trusting me. Food poisoning won’t kill you, but the antidote makes you wish you were dead.
“I should have been in the kitchen helping her. Blame me, not her,” Rosemarie says, and I vow that if I survive this, I’ll work hard to be like Milly.
“I blame both of you.”
There’s a pause, then Rosemarie asks quietly, “Daisy, why can’t you accept her? She may not be like your mother yet, but with memdenity she’ll know everything Milly knew, and she will love you. You need to let go of your hate. Open your heart to your mother.”
“You’re delusional!” Daisy says fiercely. “She’s only a youth and nothing like my mother. Memdenity can give her information, but my mother was more than her cleaning skills and recipes. I see her in dreams and feel her so close like she’s holding me. She’s gone somewhere else … not into a tube of DNA. If you truly think that girl can bring back Milly, then you’re fooling yourself.”
“Enough, Daisy!” Leader Cross roars with a thud as if his fist hits a table.
“You’re at fault too,” Daisy accuses. “You insisted on bringing her here even though we voted against taking another youth.”
“Are you challenging my decision?” His voice cuts like the sharp edge of an ax. “Rosemarie and Arthur will keep a close watch on the girl. Once she has all of Milly’s memories, she’ll be as pliable as Milly.”
“You’re a fool to trust memdenity.” Daisy’s voice shrills so she’s almost screaming. “You may forget, but I’m marked forever. I’m warning you. Return her now, or we’ll all regret it.”
There’s the sound of stomping feet. When the door flings open, I jump behind a corner. Daisy pushes her hair from her eyes and for the first time I see all of her face. Her words strike me with new meaning: I’m marked forever.
Marcus told me about a crazy youth who stabbed his sister.
Not a rumor—the truth marks Daisy’s face.
From cheek to chin is a jagged scar.
TWELVE
I can’t get Daisy’s scar out of my mind. I’ve never seen anything like it. Faces are eternally smooth and perfect. Bruises, cuts, and burns are easily mended by health workers’ medicreams.
So why hasn’t Daisy had her scar removed?
Summoning sympathy for Daisy isn’t easy since she’s been so awful to me. But I dislike her less. My emotions tangle with what I’ve overheard. Daisy’s words slam in my head: “We voted against taking a youth.”
Yet they Chose me instead of strong, muscular Clark. I’d thought Leader Cross saw something worthwhile in me and was glad to add me to his Family. But the truth eats inside me like a poison I can’t vomit out.
I’ve never heard of a Family deciding not to take a youth. Families wait so long for a youth that they’re joyous to welcome us. Instructor Penny confided that some Families want to change the laws so youths are born every ten years instead of twenty-five. As decades pass, the Name Books grow thicker, and important knowledge is forever lost. There aren’t enough youths born to carry on all memories. We’re valuable and necessary to our community. Why blame all youths because of one crazy boy?
She can’t be trusted.
This prejudgment is so unfair. Anger rips through me … yet I’m hurting too, longing to be accepted. I don’t need Milly’s memories to be trustworthy.
I’ll show them.
Instead of returning to my room, I detour through the kitchen and yank open the cabinet that holds rows of cookbooks, fluttering through pages until I find a chapter titled “Cooking Made Simple.”
Not taking the time to study the Name Books before the Celebraze was my worst mistake. I deserved the shame I felt at the Celebraze on stage, unprepared for my own future. I didn’t prepare then, but I will now. If I don’t want to be Returned, I need to work harder to fit into my Family, starting off with learning to cook without poisoning anyone.
Although my recipe for redemption may be too late.
The Cross Family was poisoned against me long before I arrived.
Hours later, Rosemarie looks surprised when she finds me reading the cooking book in our room. She pulls up a chair beside where I’m sitting on my bed and points to the book. “My favorite recipe is on page 132,” she says, as if there are no worries behind her smile.
“I’m not there yet.”
“It pleases me to see your interest in cooking.”
“I’m Milly, right?” I try to smile but fail.
“She never bothered with cookery books. You needn’t either,” Rosemarie adds. “You’ll know everything soon.”
I frown. She’s referring to the memdenity, which I don’t want to think about. I’m not even sure I’ll be here long enough for new memories. If I make another mistake, I could be Returned. I’d probably already be gone if it weren’t for Rosemarie.
“I want to learn so I can better help you,” I tell her.
“By being here, you’re helping me.” She pats my arm.
“I wasn’t any help this morning,” I say bitterly.
“You had no way of knowing to use the cinnasweet roots, not the leaves. I explained this to Ryan—I mean, Leader Cross. A health worker administered the medidote, so everyone is well and able to attend to their duties.”
“I want to make up for what I did.” I close the cookbook. “I doubt any other youth poisoned their Family on the first day.”
She chuckles. “But we didn’t Chose those other youths. We wanted you.”
When she hugs me, I hug her back, even though I know her answer is untrue. Rosemarie wants me to be Milly, and a majority of the Family doesn’t want me at all. I touch my smooth cheek, cringing at the memory of Daisy’s gruesome scar.
What happened to the crazy youth after he was Returned?
Is he still living on the island?
Is he still living at all?
I have to work hard not make any more mistakes. No daydreaming or breaking rules. I will become as perfect and useful as the real Milly.
The rest of the day flies by without any mishaps. Rosemarie leads me to the gardens and points out the prime herbs to use for cooking. Afterward, she shows me the cleaning cupboard, where brooms
, mops, and cleaning bottles are stored. I soak in all this new information. Rosemarie accepts me as if I already have Milly’s memories. I’m grateful yet uneasy. Despite Rosemarie’s encouragement, I don’t fit into this Family.
I don’t fit in a literal way too.
When Rosemarie offers me Milly’s clothing—tunics, blouses, and pantons in shades of garden flowers—they hang as loosely on my body as Arthur’s wedding ring did on my hand.
“This won’t do at all,” Rosemarie says, tapping her finger to her chin, thinking. “You must have new fabrics. Can you stitch?”
“Um … not my best skill.”
“I’m only modestly skillful with a needle myself.” Rosemarie pats my hand. “This is a prime opportunity for you to learn more about your duties. Have you heard of the Sunday Fair?”
Who hasn’t? I jump, unable to contain my excitement. Whenever Lorelei found out an Instructor had been to Sunday Fair, she jabbed them with questions. What did they barter? Who was there? Did the artists sing, dance, or perform a play? What were people wearing? Was anyone in costume? Once Instructor Penny brought back lace headbands for all of us girls, and Lorelei wore hers constantly, even to bed, until she cut it up into lacy decors for her tunics.
“I’d love to go,” I say wistfully. “But will Leader Cross let me?”
“I’ll talk to him.” Rosemarie waves away my concerns. “Bartering is the quickest way to get new clothes for you.”
“He won’t grant me any favors.”
“I’ll persuade him,” she says with a confident smile.
Sunday Fair is rich with booths filled with all the crafts, food, and frivels imaginable. And I may get to go … I hope.
The rest of the day, I learn to roll dough and cut vegetables into narrow slices. I help Rosemarie serve dinner and am so polite Lorelei would be impressed. Leader Cross ignores me, though, except to ask for a napkin. What do I have to do to earn his trust?
Before I crawl into bed that night, I spread out my favorite belongings on my quilt: a wood comb Marcus carved for me, a coral twist hair frivel crafted by Lorelei, the lacy headband from Instructor Penny, and a handful of sand shells. I touch each object, pieces of my life. I’m starting a new life now, and while I won’t forget my past, I need to focus on my future. I add one new object to my special belongings: the utility tool Rosemarie gave me at the Celebraze.
An entire day passes into dark night without me poisoning anyone.
The next morning, Rosemarie tells me I’m allowed to attend Sunday Fair—if I keep out of trouble for three days.
I focus on my chores. I learn not to burn bread or leave egg shells in omelets. I dig vegetables from the garden and whip up a soup that tastes better than it smells. Each small accomplishment delights Rosemarie, and it feels good to succeed at lessons instead of daydreaming through them.
Leader Cross has stopped scowling at me, and I no longer feel like an unwelcome visitor at meals. I enjoy teasing with Jarod, who has a demental sense of humor. Rosemarie’s sons are cordial too. But Daisy continues to ignore me, secluding herself with Grandmother. I’m avoiding someone too. Arthur, my “husband,” is growing too attentive, pulling out my chair at meals, carrying my food trays, and brushing against me whenever we pass. He’s appealing in looks, and my pulse races when he touches me, but I’m not sure if I even like him. After the memdenity, we’ll share a room, and he’ll have every right to touch me … see me naked … and my thoughts may long for him too.
Still I wish he’d stop staring at me like I’m on the menu.
On Saturday evening, I get through dinner without burning food or dropping plates. As I gather dishes from the table, I congratulate myself for keeping out of trouble for three days. In the morning, Rosemarie and I will rise early, prepare breakfast for the Family, then go to the Sunday Fair. We’re taking pumpkin cupcakes to trade for coverings with the Ying Family. Leader Ying has a weakness for Rosemarie’s baking.
When the last pan is dried and stacked in the cupboard, I wearily climb the stairs, exhausted but excited too. Sunday Fair, Sunday Fair, Sunday Fair! I’m almost singing with joy. I can’t wait till the morning. I especially look forward to seeing Marcus and Lorelei, perhaps even Instructor Penny.
I’m feeling proud of myself for adapting so well to my new life—until I enter my room and find a tiny scaled creature curled on my bed.
Petal.
THIRTEEN
After the way I last treated Petal, she should hate me and never want to see me again. Yet she’s come to me. At my cry, she swirls up on her curled tail, love shining from her precious dark eyes.
“Oh, Petal,” I sigh. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She makes a purring sound, and I offer my arm so she can scrawl up to my shoulder.
“How did you come here from the cave and get in my room?”
She glances at an open window, blinking her silent answer.
“Clever girl.” I shake my head. “But what am I going to do with you?”
The sea is miles away. Petal’s skin already shows flaky dryness. How long can she stay out of water? A day, maybe two, I guess. She must go back, or she’ll shrivel to bones.
If I start walking now—assuming I don’t get lost in the darkness—I might make it to the cave and back by morning. But not likely. And If I’m not here by breakfast, the Uniforms will search for me. If I’m lucky, I’ll only be punished with a few days in lock-up. If I’m not lucky … well, I don’t want to find out.
Why did Petal have to show up now? With Sunday Fair in the morning, I won’t have any time on my own. Getting to the sea will be impossible.
“Milly,” I hear Rosemarie call as she twists the doorknob.
She’s back! I rush into the privacy room, locking the door behind me. I hear footsteps inside the room and call out to let her know where I am.
Her reply is muffled since I’ve turned on the tub water. “I’ll be awhile,” I raise my voice. “Go to sleep. Don’t wait for me.”
Petal makes a questioning squeal, the rushing water filling the tub muffling her sound. She wiggles down my arm, excited by the water, and dives into the tub. But she pops out almost immediately, spitting with her long pink tongue. Shaking off water, she slaps her tail angrily against the tub.
“It’s not salty,” I tell her. “You should have tasted it before diving in.”
She shakes again, purposely dousing me with droplets.
“Don’t splash me with bad attitude. You’re the one who came here. I don’t know how you managed or how to get you back to the sea.”
She scrawls up my arm, dripping water all over me, and leaps back onto my shoulder. Her blinking gaze criticizes me—as if it’s my fault humans don’t have salt in their water. Hmmm … maybe I could add salt to the water.
I’ll wait till Rosemarie falls asleep, then take Petal down to the kitchen. If the salt-into-water recipe works, I’ll bring a bowl of salty water back to my room and hide Petal under my bed. I’ll make her understand she must stay hidden until I get back from Sunday Fair. Then I’ll return her to the sea—even if I have to walk.
Not a great plan, but it’s the best I have.
Rosemarie snores softly from her bed as I tiptoe from the room with tiny Petal hiding under my hair. We make it down the stairs, through the halls, and to the kitchen without meeting anyone.
I open the dry goods cupboard and take out the salt box, then sprinkle salt into a small bowl of water.
Petal sniffs the water and hisses. She slaps the bowl with her tail, tipping it over so water spills across the wooden floor. Sighing, I get a towel and clean up her mess. So much for my great plan ….
Petal rumbles a musical sound as she crawls to my lap. When I stroke her skin, dry flakes sprinkle off like dust. Petal doesn’t seem sad, though, and rubs against me with her tinkling purr.
Leaning against a cabinet, I sink down to the floor and cover my face with my hands. I’m so frustrated I can’t even cry. How can I save Petal? Would Rosemarie he
lp if I explained? I’m not sure.
If only I had someone to talk to. I miss whispering with Lorelei at night, and I even miss how she bosses me around. I miss Marcus too—his curiosity and gentle voice that can charm even venomous crawlies. Marcus would know how to help Petal.
If only I could talk to him.
And I get an idea.
Sitting up straighter, I force myself to think logically. I don’t rush into action impulsively like the old Jennza. Instead I sort through positive and negative details. It’ll take careful timing and a few lies, but after much thought, I am confident it will work.
As long as I don’t get caught.
Petal clings to the back of my neck, her tiny claws scratching my skin. I’ve wrapped my red scarf around my head so my hair falls thickly behind my shoulders, concealing Petal. I take a seat in the solar coach beside Rosemarie, and she doesn’t seem suspicious.
Daisy sits across from us, staring out the window as if no one else exists in her world. I ignore her too. I wonder, though, if once I have Milly’s memories she’ll become friendly. It’ll just take time—like a century or two.
Leader Cross drives our solar coach slowly. Following behind are Rosemarie’s sons with the hoxen driven cart, carrying baked goods and building materials for bartering. Everyone wears posh tunics—except me. None of Milly’s coverings fit, so I have to wear the white tunic I wore to the Celebraze. It’s embarrassing—it makes me appear more a child than a nearly grown woman.
Rosemarie turns excitedly to me. “You’re going to love Sunday Fair—all the booths and food and people. I’ll do the negotiating,” she reminds me for at least the fiftieth time. “Stay close, and only speak when properly addressed.”
I nod. Obedience is a small price for the honor of attending Sunday Fair.
“Youths don’t make decisions about their coverings, but I’ll allow you to choose one fabric. When you find something you like, point it out to me in a gesture. Don’t be obvious. You must act disinterested.”
I tilt my head, curious. “Can’t I just tell you?”
Memory Girl Page 9
