Memory Girl

by Singleton, Linda Joy

  “Anyone can choose the wrong herb.”

  “Not anyone. It’s an art form, and you’re the master artist.” She sets down a bolt of red flowered fabric. “I haven’t laughed like this since … well, since we were together. I wish I could feel as natural with my Family. Instead I feel … like I’m lacking. I want to impress them, but there’s so much I don’t know.”

  “You’ll learn.”

  “Not fast enough.” She sighs. “I want my memdenity now.”

  “I’d rather wait.” Like forever, I think with a shudder.

  “Oh! My daughter is looking this way,” Lorelei warns. “I need to seem busy. Hold this bolt of fabric.”

  I look down at the fabric, swirls of red in black night. “This would make a nice tunic,” I say. “So how do I talk to Marcus alone?”

  “It would look fine on you,” she agrees, then whispers, “Don’t even try.”

  “I’m going to talk to him with or without your help.”

  She sighs. “Your best chance is during the playformance. Booths shut down for two hours. He’ll come to the show. Sneak in a quick convo with Marcus before the playformance begins—if he’ll talk to you.”

  “I won’t give him a choice.” I add in a loud voice, “I’ll take this one.”

  Lorelei lifts the heavy bolt, ignoring my offer of help, and carries it up to the front of the booth. Twenty minutes of bartering later, the fabric is ours.

  Afterward, Rosemarie and I walk up the aisles, browsing the booths. I obediently stand aside while Rosemarie barters. She’s quite good, pretending disinterest even if she admires something. I pay attention and learn to help her. I pick up a delicious-looking melon, smell it, then pucker like I just ate something sour. I shake my head at Rosemarie. “Not ripe enough.” This causes the trader to drop his barter demand, and we walk away with not one but three melons. Rosemarie pats me on the shoulder, grinning.

  Noises crash around me, and smells of savory, sweet, and spicy foods make my mouth water. When we come to a booth decorated with green vines and dried corn stalks, I peer inside, searching for Marcus.

  He’s turned away from me, long and lean, wearing a forest green shirt tucked into black pantons. I stare in surprise at his hair—his wavy wheat-brown hair has been sheared short.

  “What would you like, Milly?” Rosemarie asks.

  I’d like Marcus to be like he used to, serious but fun, with untidy hair and dirt under his fingernails. But that’s not the answer Rosemarie expects. I tell her I’d like a sugar sticklet.

  Rosemarie approaches a heavy man with black hair sheared like Marcus’s. The man sets down the knife he used for carving a corncob into a sculpture and asks what she wants. She shrugs with disinterest—and the bartering begins.

  Marcus won’t look at me. He knows I’m here. I know he knows I’m here. I stare hard at the back of his head, willing him to look. But even after the bartering ends, he still hasn’t turned around.

  When I bite into the sugary sticklet, whiskers tickle my ear. I know what you want, I think to Petal. I break off a sugary piece and sneak it up into my hair.

  Licking sugar from my fingers, I look at Marcus, then turn away reluctantly for the next booth. I only get a few steps before something makes me turn back. Marcus is staring at me. He quickly looks away.

  We stop at so many booths that our burlap sacks swell with food, fabric, hair brushes made from hoxen hair, and a teeth-scrub cream. Music trumpets throughout the fair, and an excited rumble of voices rise around me.

  “Playformance!” Rosemarie exclaims, sacks heavy in her arms as we stop by our cart to stow our goods. “If we hurry, we’ll get seats up close.”

  Tiered rows of wooden chairs face an elevated stage with a pleated royal blue curtain. Will the playformance be as thrilling as I imagine? Instructor Theo often acted out lessons and boasted that he always received standing applause after his performances. But when he read to us, his voice shrilled like a squealing pig, and Lorelei and I had to bite our lips to stifle giggles.

  While I’m eager to see my first playformance, I’d rather see the blue-eyed performer to prove to myself he’s not Nate. Can not be him. My born-mates and I are the only youths in ShareHaven.

  A claw jab in my neck jerks me back to the most urgent task: saving Petal.

  “Where’s the privacy room?” I ask Rosemarie after we’re seated near the front by the stage.

  “Near the vehicle park.” She gestures past booths. “Hurry back.”

  I rush off before she offers to go with me.

  Instead of heading for the privacy room—a wooden rectangular building with a compartment on one side for ladies and the other for gentlemen—I search for Marcus. If he refuses to even look at me this time, I’ll kick him in the backside. I won’t leave until he talks to me. But when I pass his booth, it’s empty.

  Sighing, I turn away, heavy with disappointment. But I’ve only gone a few steps when there’s a tap on my shoulder

  Spinning around, I discover I don’t need to find Marcus.

  He’s found me.

  FIFTEEN

  All the conversations and companionable silences I’d shared with Marcus seem long ago. The boy I grew up with is ruggedly tanned, with taut arm muscles, and he seems taller, more confident. Shorter hair lengthens his face into sharp angles. I miss the unruly sweep of hair above his eyes.

  “Heya, Jennz,” he says in that familiar half-teasing, half-serious way.

  “So you’re speaking to me now?” I fold my arms across my chest.

  “I couldn’t before. Sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “I was told not to speak to my born-mates.”

  “And you always do as you’re told?”

  “Clearly not, since I’m talking to you.”

  “Why now?”

  “Because when I saw your face, I knew you were troubled. What is it, Jennz?” he asks with such gentleness that I can’t hold onto anger.

  Tiny claws tickle my neck. “I need your help.”

  “You’ve got it,” he says with no hesitation.

  “What I’m going to tell you can’t be shared with anyone.”

  “I’m loyal to my Family.” Conflicting emotions cross his face. “But you’re like family too.”

  “You wouldn’t look at me at your booth,” I remind him with a flare of anger.

  “I was looking.”

  I arch my brows. “You didn’t act like we were even friends.”

  “I’m learning to disguise my true thoughts.” He lowers his voice. “My Family is welcoming, but they don’t trust me. They watch suspiciously as if I’m a fanged snake that might bite them.”

  “How could anyone mistrust you?”

  “It’s not only me. Other youths are being watched closely, and I’m sure it’s because of that crazed youth who attacked a Family member. I haven’t learned which Family he was from, but I know it wasn’t mine since Hector—the last youth—has been confiding in me. He tells me things I’m not supposed to know.” He stops when two women in yellow tunics walk by. After they’ve passed, he lowers his voice. “We can talk privately in my cart.”

  I follow him beyond the privacy room to a wooden vehicle with a curved roof and boxes stacked in the back seat. He clasps my hand warmly. “It’s good to see you, Jennza—oh, sorry. I should call you Milly.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Still resisting change?” His words would be critical except for his teasing smile. “When we’re with others, call me Neil.”

  “But you’re so not like a Neil.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “Why not?”

  “Neil sounds hard like nails. You can make me laugh even though you’re serious too, thinking all the time.”

  “Thinking isn’t a bad thing.”

  “No, of course not—it’s a trait I admire about you.”

  “You admire me?” he asks, surprised.

  “Always have,” I admit. “I should be sensical like you
and respect rules.”

  “This is a non-rule cart. Inside here, we’re just Marcus and Jennza.”

  “I like that.” I smile.

  “And I like … well … if only you’d gone to one of the Families on my list. Now there’s no chance for us to be ….”

  “To be what?” My throat catches.

  “Anything,” he says, taking my hand.

  His fingers. Touching my skin. A casual gesture we’ve shared many times, yet it’s not the same now. He’s looking into my face—sweetly, gently, longingly. My heart races like when I’m running with the wind. I’m breathless and shy with someone I’ve known since infancy.

  I pull away, words failing me. I can’t think now, and I must. There’s so much I need to explain to him, but I’m incapable of clear thoughts. So in a sudden, swift move, I reach underneath my hair.

  I show him Petal.

  “What—what is that?” he cries, eyes wide as sand-shells.

  “I don’t know what she is—only that she’s sweet and wonderful. I call her Petal.” I cuddle her to my chest, aware of her fast-pounding heart matching mine.

  Marcus holds out his hand, and after Petal sniffs his fingers, he gently strokes her scales. “She’s amazing—like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “You would have seen her a long time ago if you’d climbed the Fence with me. Remember all those times I snuck out? I went to a cave—and that’s where I met Petal. She didn’t understand about my leaving and found me.” I touch Petal’s scaly skin, and flakes flutter down like papery rain. “She’s drying up. I’m afraid she’ll die if she doesn’t return to the sea.”

  Marcus’s gaze sharpens with interest. “Webbed legs, gills, claws, and horizontal markings. Leathery skin, but with bristles that are almost like fur, and webbed legs similar to wings. A fish-reptile hybrid. You say she lives in the sea?”

  I nod, worry squeezing my heart. “But she won’t live long without salt water.”

  He strokes her curled tail. “You’re a beauty, little one.”

  Petal relaxes at his soft words, and I know she’s accepting him, as all wild creatures do.

  “Want to hold her?” I offer.

  “Can I?”

  “Here.” I hold her out to him, and he takes her gently.

  “Poor creature. Her skin is so dry.”

  “That’s why I came to you.”

  He frowns. “I don’t know how to heal her.”

  “I do.” I fix him a challenging look. “She must go back to the sea. I can’t take her there myself because it’s too far. But your compound borders the sea.”

  He touches Petal lightly, but his gaze stays on me. “What are you asking?”

  “You only need to take her to the Fence, and she’ll slip through the wire.”

  He rubs his chin thoughtfully but says nothing for a while. Finally he blows out a long sigh and nods.

  Marcus finds a bucket and fills it with water from a pitcher. Petal hisses at the clear water, and I tell her this is the best we can do. I explain through words and gestures, begging Petal to return to the cave and not to look for me again. I sense she understands—at least I hope so.

  Still, saying good-bye—again—is difficult. I kiss Petal’s soft leathery head. “You can trust Marcus,” I say.

  “I’ll take care of her,” he promises.

  I nod, biting my lip. I won’t cry. I won’t.

  He cradles the bucket with Petal in his arms, and I turn away.

  It kills me not to turn back.

  When I return to the playformance, it’s crowded with hundreds of bright patches of Family colors. There are familiar faces—youths, Instructors, and members of my new Family. I’m surprised to see two scientists in the front row. Lila shines like a queen in gold and purple, sitting beside her brother Daniel. I’m tempted to go to Lila, to beg her to give me another chance. But I remind myself of her deceit.

  “What took you so long?” Rosemarie whispers as I sit beside her.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I was feeling ill … something I ate.”

  Her expression softens. “Are you better now?”

  I imagine Petal swimming in seawater soon. “Much better.”

  Grand Sarwald climbs up the steps to the stage, then takes the microphone, tapping his gnarled fingers on the podium. The echoing thud silences the audience. His thin lips fade into a pale, wrinkled face, and he seems more aged than I remembered, although that’s impossible. Still he stands confident with an inner strength, and I understand why the scientists chose him for our highest leader.

  “Welcome to Sunday Fair!” his gruff voice booms out. “I trust you’ve all enjoyed successful bartering.”

  The crowd explodes in applause, whistles and foot stomping.

  “Our artists have prepared a fine entertainment for us. Let me welcome the playformers.” He gestures to a royal blue stage curtain behind him, which slides open to reveal the dark-robed dancers.

  The cloaked performers form a line at the back of the podium behind Leader Sarwald. I lean forward, searching each figure for blue eyes. But they stand in shadows. I’m being foolish, I tell myself. A boy of the sea has no place in ShareHaven. I only imagined Nate’s eyes.

  “A few announcements,” Grand Sarwald calls out across the audience.

  I’m glad Rosemarie chose seats near the podium so I have a good view.

  “We have an esteemed audience,” Grand Sarwald continues. “This could be the largest attendance yet for a playformance. I’m especially pleased to see our youths present. A round of applause for our newest citizens.”

  I glance around and spot Lorelei three rows behind me. She catches my gaze, and we share smiles. I don’t see Marcus and guess he’s farther back, hidden by taller heads.

  “Pay attention,” Rosemarie whispers into my ear. “Show respect for Grand Sarwald.”

  “Apologies,” I murmur, and return my gaze forward, bringing my palms together as the audience explodes in applause.

  “Much better,” Rosemarie approves. “He’s our Highest Leader, and it was kind of him to give tribute to youths. Gaining his notice is an honor.”

  I nod, noticing how Grand Sarwald’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, as if he’s heavy with responsibilities. For a moment, I see beyond the smile to the old soul who survived over a century to reach this moment.

  “ShareHaven embraces our precious new citizens,” Grand Sarwald continues, moving his hands as he speaks. “The past is reborn again with each new cycle of youths. Precious resources are restored through these fine youths.”

  I smile, but my gaze shifts beyond Grand Sarwald to the playformers. A few have lifted their masks, men and women with tawny shades of smooth skin that ceased aging at twenty-five. Only one woman has blue eyes, but they’re more gray than blue. I narrow down my search to two tall figures at the far edge of the podium. One leans to the other. I strain to see his face ….

  “And our communal bounty continues to prosper,” Leader Sarwald is saying. “I wish to thank the Instructors with us. Without our educators, our youths would be empty vessels. Let’s give these fine men and women a round of—”

  Leader Sarwald jerks back, gasping. He clutches at his chest. Blood spills through his fingers as he collapses on the stage.

  It’s all so fast. A blur of shouting. People rushing to the stage. Rosemarie’s hand slaps over her mouth, but I still hear her scream. Loud, shrill, scared. My heart lurches. I want to run forward to help, but I can’t move. Can’t breathe ….

  “Grand Sarwald has been shot!” someone cries.

  “He’s not breathing!”

  “Dead!”

  A wall of people swarm the front of the stage. While most gazes are fixed on Grand Sarwald, I climb on my chair and search the back of the stage where the playformers huddle together—except for one cloaked figure, backing away. Lights glint off a silver object in his hand—a blow pipe. As he shoves the pipe into his cloak pocket, his mask slips off.

  I cry out, and he l
ooks straight at me.

  With killer sea-blue eyes.

  PART

  TWO

  SIXTEEN

  I realize the word I called out: Nate.

  Around me people are shouting, shoving. Yet I’m frozen in a dream of unreality.

  Nate stares at me for a few heartbeats, then whirls and jumps off the stage. Before his feet touch the ground, he’s tackled by four hulking Uniforms. They punch him, viciously twist his arms, and drag him away.

  My eyes burn like I’m crying fire. But there are no tears.

  “Milly!” snaps a voice beside me.

  I don’t move. I can’t. I’m in a dream, right? Nothing is real.

  But my shoulder hurts, fingers dig into my skin, and when my thoughts clear, I realize Rosemarie has grabbed me. She jerks me around so we’re facing each other, her usually sweet features twisted in fury.

  “Come with me,” she orders. “Now!”

  The stage is a mob of Uniforms, barking out orders, and there are pink-garbed people too, kneeling beside Leader Sarwald. Hope surges through me at the sight of the skillful health workers. They’ll know how to repair him.

  No one ever dies.

  Rosemarie pulls me away, but I look back at grim head shakes. The Uniforms have stepped back in a respectful line, their heads bowed. Health workers bend over the still figure, only they’re using sharp cutting tools on his head, not saving a life. Retrieving memories.

  “Do not say a word until we’re alone,” Rosemarie hisses at me.

  I nod. I can’t talk. Don’t want to.

  She marches me down aisles through people buzzing with shock and outrage. I keep seeing blood spread across Grand Sarwald’s chest and the blow pipe in Nate’s hand. A nightmare cycling on repeat.

  Rosemarie leads me to the solar coach and shoves me inside. She slams the door then turns to me. “How do you know the hooded boy?” she demands.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know him.”

  Anger twists her face as she leans toward me. “I heard you!” she accuses. “You called him Nate.”

  I shake my head again, desperately. “I don’t know what I said! I was too scarified to do anything.”

  “You know him,” she accuses.