Your Favorite Girl (YFG Series)

by Steph Sweeney

  The line of girls snaked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

  "Am I in trouble?" Flora asked.

  More than you can possibly imagine, I thought, but instead I said, "No, I just wanted to say hi. I'm Melissa."

  "I remember," Flora said. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Flora."

  "Do you all use the same name? Dumb question, I guess."

  "Yes," she said. Then quickly, "Yes we have the same name, not yes it's a dumb question." Embarrassment only made her cuter. Consequently, I had a hard time remembering my point.

  "How does anyone know when they're being spoken to?" I finally asked.

  This question made her brow curl. "Um . . . you're supposed to look someone in the eyes . . . when you talk to them."

  Now that she mentioned it, Flora hadn't broken eye contact with me yet. It was enchanting. She was so polite and genuine. Even the way she stood facing me directly with her fingers interlaced and resting on her lower abdomen. This particular Flora Girl had an allure with which the Libido Drug could not compete.

  "We better catch up," I said.

  As we walked, I asked her about school, friends, all the things teenagers like to chatter about--except boys, of course.

  Flora spoke as though it were an interview. She gave me the rundown of a school day, most of which took place in that one classroom, the subjects they studied, how the elder half of the class tutored the younger half, with pairs assigned according to age.

  "I tutor the oldest of the younger half," Flora explained, "so when I graduate, she'll become the newest tutor."

  "When you graduate," I said without realizing it.

  Flora mistook it for a question. "In ten days," she said. Her voice was a little shaky.

  We reached the auditorium doors. I stopped, hoping she would, too, but she wandered on inside, drawn, perhaps, to the random spurts of music--a bow drawing across the strings of a violin, a few quick finger taps on a piano. Brief snippets of testing and tuning that portended brilliance. I, too, was drawn inside.

  Flora was halfway down the aisle, headed for the stage, where Mrs. Lane doled out encouragement and praise as she instructed the girls where to stand or sit and which strings to tune. Even the youngest girls were setting up to play, and not categorically with small instruments, either. Some held violins and clarinets, but one girl no older than nine had an acoustic guitar in her lap, a girl not much older sat at the grand piano, and two tiny little Floras--including the one I'd taken to the bathroom--were busy standing an upright bass. I watched these two position themselves with one girl readied to handle the frets and the other to pluck the strings.

  I caught up to my Flora before she reached the stage and asked Mrs. Lane if she could sit with me during the recital. Mrs. Lane pondered for a moment, and I watched her facial features sink slowly, as if she knew Flora's fate--the same fate as the previous Flora . . . and my involvement with it.

  "I suppose you two might as well get acquainted," she said, confirming my suspicion and confusing Flora, who, despite her confusion, seemed excited by the change of pace. Mrs. Lane and Patton aside, I doubt she'd had much interaction with anyone other than her genetic duplicates.

  And maybe the other Favorite Girls. I still didn't know how things worked around here. Patton and I always went to lunch before the students. He'd mentioned that the Vampire Girls liked to pick on the others, so there had to be interaction at some point.

  Flora could answer some of my questions, if I could elicit conversation during the music. With that in mind, I led her to the very back row, underneath the sound booth window. As we sat, the piano flared up with impressive speed, precision, and harmony. I didn't recognize the song, but it was captivating. String instruments joined in, then wind. Behind it all, a girl of maybe fourteen years slapped at a set of bongo drums.

  "What is this?"

  "It's called A Work in Progress."

  "I don't think I've ever heard it."

  "Do you like it?"

  "Absolutely. It's amazing."

  We listened for a few minutes, completely captivated. I even managed to forget where I was and what I was witnessing. Each Flora Girl became an individual, full of talent and ability, thoughts and emotions. Not one in a herd of lambs being systematically selected for slaughter but real students, embracing an education most people don't get, destined to do great things in the world.

  My concentration was only broken when I heard the sweet sound of Flora humming a melody. When I looked at her, she stopped and whispered, "Sorry."

  "Don't be. You have a beautiful voice."

  She smiled shyly. "Thank you. I'm writing lyrics for the song. We always do instrumentals, so I don't know if Mrs. Lane would like it. It's just for fun, really."

  "I'd like to hear you sing."

  "It wouldn't be me singing, though," she said, pointing at the stage. "See the one playing the guitar? She has an unbelievable voice, and she's only nine."

  "I'd still like to hear you sing."

  "Maybe I could do backup vocals. A few of us, even. That would be neat."

  She didn't understand I was asking for a private concert, but then she probably couldn't foresee an occasion in which we would be alone together. In ten days, her world would completely change. She would be hauled down to Level B for "preparation," endure no telling what kind of trauma, and then before being delivered to me, the device would be activated.

  Would her personality return when I shut it off? Would the shock of reality change her completely? What did she think would happen when she graduated? What lie were they feeding her?

  I had to ask.

  "What are your plans after graduation?"

  "Marriage, of course."

  That surprised me. I struggled to respond. "You're getting married?"

  Her confusion was so pungent one might mistake it for fear. "That's the next step, isn't it?" she asked. "Didn't you get married when you graduated?"

  Shortly thereafter, yes, but Flora meant something different. She believed marriage was a post-graduation assignment. Better to placate her for now, so I just nodded and changed the subject.

  When music practice ended, the girls put away their instruments and filed back to the classroom in a straight line.

  I touched Flora on the shoulder to get her attention. She stopped.

  "I better get back to the office. Patton might be looking for me."

  She smiled. "Tell him I said hi?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks for talking to me."

  "Maybe next time you can sing that song for me."

  She shrugged and looked down at her feet. "Maybe."

  I watched her until she was gone, and just as I turned the door to my left flew open. The lights were out, and a tall, pale woman with jet black hair and big hoop earrings emerged from the dark.

  "You're the new girl?" she snapped.

  "Yes," I said. "I'm Mellissa R-"

  "Where's Patton?" She looked up and down the hallway and then scanned my body. "Speak up, girl."

  "He's . . . I'm not sure where he-"

  From inside the dark room, a young, shrill voice screamed, "Close the goddamn door!"

  The teacher jumped a little. "Get back to your office," she said, slamming the door in my face. I turned and ran back to Patton's office but not before catching a glimpse of the label on the door: Vampire.

  I waited half an hour for him to return, growing more and more restless by the minute. The walls began to close in on me, and I felt like I was being crushed. My life was set to a timer. A million dollars a day just to keep one Flora alive, and thus myself. I had no idea how much money Ted had left behind, how many days his estate would buy me.

  What was the point?

  When the money ran out, I would be dead and Flora would go wherever the used Favorite Girls go. No one could afford to keep one forever. The whole thing was a scam. What did Mr. Shriver do with them when the client ran out of money?

  Patton came in the door smiling, b
ut I knocked it down instantly.

  "Why the fuck am I here? I sit here all fucking day making coffee and pulling my goddamn hair out while you . . . do whatever the fuck you do every day. I can't handle this shit. You should have just let them kill me."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I interjected.

  "You know what I've been doing today? I went to the music room with the Floras. It was incredible. They're all so smart and talented and . . . n-nice. I met the one I'm buying. She's . . . she's writing lyrics for their song. She thinks she's getting married in ten days. Really? That's what you tell them?"

  "I have to tell them something."

  He'd put his hands in his pockets and now he stood there grinding the toe of one shoe into the floor as if he were putting out a cigarette.

  "I think you're full of shit," I said.

  He shot me a look that screamed otherwise. It was terrifying--more so than Mr. Shriver and Sean put together. He reached back and slammed the door. I sat down as he approached my desk.

  "Listen," he said, leaning over me. "I don't expect you to trust me. And I understand what you're going through."

  "Really?" My fear was replaced with rage. "My husband is dead, and now I'm a prisoner--on death row, mind you. And you understand?"

  "You think I don't know what it's like to see someone you love die." He leaned in close and whispered, a tremble in his voice. "Once a month, one of these girls is taken from me, and if the one before her hasn't been sold, the new replaces the old."

  I couldn't maintain eye contact. He was too intimidating.

  "What do they do with the old ones?"

  Patton stood up straight. "You'll see soon enough."

  "When?"

  He crossed the room to fill his coffee mug. With his back to me, he asked if I had plans Saturday evening.

  "Is that a joke?" I asked.

  He ignored the question. "Mr. Shriver is having a party, and I need a date."

  I hadn't been asked on a date since I was eighteen. Thrilling as the prospect was, all I could think about was Kate slipping a knife through my ribs in my sleep.

  "Who's going to be there?"

  "Top business executives from around the world. Influential political figures. You know, the scum of the Earth."

  "Kate's going to kill me."

  "She'll get over it."

  "She's obsessed with you."

  "I know."

  "Why don't you tell her you're not interested?"

  "You think that would stop her?"

  "Maybe. She obviously thinks there's a chance."

  He turned back to me, stirring his coffee with a spoon. "You think I'm leading her on."

  "Are you?"

  "No."

  "Have you ever fucked her?"

  He laughed and shook his head.

  "Have you ever fucked anyone?"

  "Of course."

  "Who?"

  He took a sip, then said, "A little candid when we haven't had our first date, don't you think? Coffee's getting low."

  ─Pre-Gaming─

  I DECIDED to wait until Saturday before telling Kate about my date with Patton. I'd already made plans to invite Pete, Judy, and Murphy to our own little party on Friday, and I didn't want Kate to spoil it.

  At first she objected to the whole thing, but I enticed her with the prospect of hooking up Judy and Murphy. Five minutes later she'd woven the idea into a full-blown conspiracy.

  "We could drug them," she said, one of many sordid suggestions. "It would be hilarious watching them go at it."

  "Is that against the rules?"

  "Sort of. Technically I'm the only employee allowed to take the Libido Drug--and only when meeting clients. You know how that works. But who's gonna know?"

  "What if they tell someone?"

  She smiled confidently. "They're both scared of me--especially Judy. They'll do whatever I say."

  It took us a while to agree upon a plan. Kate's ideas turned very dark. She wanted to tie them up, videotape them for use as blackmail later on, all kinds of crazy things. I had to talk her down from each scenario she created. In some instances all I could do was soften her intentions.

  In the end, we knew only how we would go about drugging them. At some point in the evening, I offer to make everyone a fresh drink. In the process, I spike the drinks intended for Judy and Murphy. Kate insists upon giving a toast, to ensure everyone drinks at the same time. Then she and I kick back and observe the results.

  I would have to keep her in check beyond that point.

  The discussion went well into the early evening, disrupted only once, when Pete arrived to bring the food we'd ordered, a sandwich apiece and party trays for later.

  "Eight o'clock, don't forget," I told him at the door.

  He just nodded and walked away quickly.

  "I still don't see what Pete has to do with anything," Kate said when I returned to the couch.

  I'd prepared for this. She didn't want him invited. "You have to present the illusion of a party," I explained, "so Judy and Murphy won't feel singled out. They're extremely smart people. They could get suspicious."

  "Are we going to let him watch?"

  "We could drug him, too."

  Her face lit up all over again and she clapped her hands together. "Yes! Oh my God, that's perfect. Judy's going to be so humiliated tomorrow."

  It took everything I had not to scream at her right then and there. That was when I decided to change the plans.

  We prepared the room shortly before eight. Trays of food, fresh glasses and buckets of ice for drinks, plenty of liquor and weed, and an assortment of music at the ready. Kate dimmed the lights and put on a jazz album while I changed into a pair of black leggings and a long, fitted white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

  With a few minutes to go, Kate hurried to the closet, grabbed something quickly--a red wad of something she'd picked out while we discussed the logistics--and ran to the shower room.

  Pete arrived right at eight o'clock. He'd probably stood outside the door staring at his watch with his fist raised, ready to knock right on time. I immediately made him a whiskey and coke, which he tried to refuse. "Oh, no, I've never drank before."

  "Come on, it's a party," I said, pushing the glass into his hand.

  He took a reluctant sip and grimaced, but I stared him down and without a word he drank half the glass, finishing with, "There's too much alcohol in this."

  "How would you know? You've never drank."

  "Is Kate drinking?" he asked, searching the room for her.

  "She's in the bathroom, and yes she's already had two martinis."

  He spoke next in a whisper. "So do you think . . . it could really happen?"

  "Just be yourself, Pete. Have some fun. Don't think too much."

  A knock at the door made him jump.

  "Are we in trouble?" he asked frantically. "Maybe I'm not supposed to be drinking."

  "Relax," I said, opening the door and greeting Judy and Murphy. They looked like a couple of Mormons the way they were dressed. Judy was actually smiling. Murphy, on the other hand, looked nauseous and irritated, like he'd just eaten too much of something he didn't enjoy.

  Judy pushed her glasses up and said, "Thanks for inviting us. No one's ever thrown a party here before."

  "We were supposed to have a movie night," Murphy grumbled.

  "We do that all the time, though," Judy said, more to me than to Murphy.

  "Wait, are you guys dating?" I asked.

  "No," Murphy said.

  Judy looked embarrassed, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, leaving Murphy to solve the riddle of how to enter without an invitation.

  I made Judy and myself a mixed drink of pomegranate-flavored vodka, orange juice, and a splash of pineapple juice. She, too, sipped reluctantly, but her eyes widened and she pulled back saying, "This is great, thank you!"

  "Be careful with that," Murphy said, finally lumbering inside. "She's never drank before."


  "Neither have you," Judy fired back, though she tried to make it sound like she was kidding around.

  "This is my first time drinking, too," Pete squeaked. "I don't think I like it."

  "You'll like the second one," I said. "Looks like we have a roomful of booze virgins."

  "Sex virgins, too." I turned to see Kate emerge from the shower room corridor wearing the skimpiest red dress I'd yet to see on her. No bra, so her nipple piercings jutted out distinctly. The skirt rode so high on her thighs I feared if she bent over even slightly, everyone in the room would see ass cheeks.

  Pete was falling in love with her all over again, as was Murphy, by the look of him. They gravitated toward her instantly and there they remained, like moons in orbit, for most of the night. When Kate sat on the couch, they sat on the couch. When they finished their glasses, they waited until she finished and followed her to the kitchen. Both were completely engaged by her aimless, self-indulgent chatter, most of which focused on Patton. You could see the tender anguish in their faces each time she mentioned his name.

  Judy and I spent the better part of the evening alone together, and that was fine by me. We sat awkwardly at the foot of the bed for a while, sipping our drinks and making small talk, but Kate's volume level increased as she pounded mixed drinks. Finally it became unbearable and I took Judy through the corridor to the shower room, where she wandered through the mist in awe.

  "This is unbelievable," she said.

  We sat at the edge of the Jacuzzi pool and Judy let her fingers graze the water surface. "Our dorms are tiny. It's like being in college all over again. I would live in this hot tub."

  "Do you want to get in?"

  She looked down at her lap. "Someone might come in. I don't have a bathing suit, so . . ."

  "You can stay the night, if you want, and we can get in after we kick the boys out."

  "I don't know. Maybe. Murphy won't want me to stay."

  "I thought you weren't dating."

  "We're not. It's complicated."

  I've always been a pretty forward person, just not with people I've just met. Maybe it was the notion that I only had so much time left, but I felt myself developing impatient tendencies. No more placating. No more beating around the bush. If I had something to say, I should just say it.