“Mami!” Fatima toddles over to the piano on dangerously high heels.
Pilar attacks the keys harder, not budging an inch as Fatima struggles to sit next to her on the bench. She wraps her arms around her mother and presses her nose against Pilar’s cheek.
“Please?” Fatima pleads. “Beau’s brothers are okay with Seth coming.”
I turn away and look across the suite. Images of Beau’s wasted frame in our Plemora prison fill my memory. I squeeze my eyes tight and try to make Nevada go away. But the picture of Beau striking Barbelo’s neck with a garden hoe is stuck forever in my psyche.
“Fatima is like a sister to me.” I speak loudly so I can be heard over the music. “She’s my best friend. But I’m done arguing.” I walk over to the piano and slam my fist on the keys, making a dreadful noise. “The McNeals are my family now, and I won’t go anywhere they aren’t wanted. If it weren’t for Seth, Beau would be dead. If you care at all about the father of your grandchild, you will see that.”
Pilar grabs my wrist, her fingernails digging sharp into the skin. “Don’t you dare question my devotion to my family.”
“Then trust me.” I look deep into Pilar’s hazel eyes. “Seth is not your enemy.”
Pilar lets go of my wrist and brushes nonexistent wrinkles off her lap. She takes a deep breath that pushes her chest up against the boning of her bodice. Finally, she looks at Fatima and smiles. Brilliant white teeth take up her whole face. Even in her forties, Pilar is every inch the supermodel. “How about a compromise? Seth can come, but he needs to wear lead-lined gloves over his finger-chips.”
“But this place is cloistered,” I protest.
“And he’s a Virus,” Pilar answers. “An expert hacker.”
“Where would you get lead-lined gloves?” Fatima asks. “I’ve never heard of those.”
“Your father has some.” Pilar points back to the bedrooms. “Alberto has a pair that lock.”
Fatima shifts her weight to one foot. “What do you think, Blanca? Will that be okay?”
“I guess,” I answer.
Hoping it’s the truth.
“Absolutely not!” Seth exclaims when I hold up the gloves. We’re in the back seat of the limo parked in the garage underneath Fatima’s building. If my powers of persuasion fail me, we’ll be late for the engagement party.
“It’s only for tonight. A few hours.” I bite my lip.
“Lead-lined gloves?” Seth stares at my offering. “Locked to my wrist?” He glowers at his father. “Why doesn’t Dad need to wear them? He’s not a Vestal.”
Cal wiggles his fingers. “No finger-chips. Remember? They were surgically removed before Blanca moved to the manor.”
“Which I’ve been begging you to do too,” I say to Seth. “If you used a chip-watch, this wouldn’t be necessary.”
“I’m not wearing an antique.” Seth uncrosses his legs and sprawls in the backseat.
I tilt my knees toward Seth and lock our feet together. “This is just for one night.”
“But I thought they lived in a cloister,” Seth says. “My finger-chips won’t work up there anyway.”
“They’re taking no chances,” I say. “You know how Vestals are.”
“Exactly. So why would I want to hang out with them?”
“I can’t believe you said that!” I pull away.
Seth reaches for my hands. “Blanca, that came out wrong. Of course I want to be with you and your friends, but I don’t want to make nice with people who hate me.” He picks the gloves up and waves them around. “To people who think I’m the enemy.”
“Fine,” I say. “Be that way.”
“Seth,” Cal tries, “it’s a few hours.”
“Don’t bother, Cal. I don’t want him to come anyway.” I climb over Seth’s lap out of the car as fast as I can. Alan doesn’t have the chance to open the door for me.
“Blanca!” Seth calls. “Come back.”
I walk resolutely toward the elevator and pound the button. I feel the white fabric of my full skirt swish behind me. The door slides open right when Cal approaches.
“Going up?” He smiles half-heartedly.
As soon as the doors close behind us, I sob.
Fatima and Beau’s companies have gone all out. There’s a child-sized four-wheel drive truck exactly like Beau drives in his latest commercial set up in the entry way of the apartment. It’s loaded down with designer clothes from Fatima’s fashion house, with outfits in every size from infant to teen.
“Smile,” a photographer says as soon as we step out of the elevator. I blot my eyes to hide the tears.
“Oh,” I say. “Hi.” The photographer is the director of my McNeal Solar commercials. Jeremy was one of the first Vestal-rejects I met in the real world. Unlike most Rejects, Jeremy left Tabula Rasa of his own accord a few months before his senior year, despite the fact he had a good chance of being Harvested.
“How’s it going, Blanca?” Jeremy sports three nose rings and unidentifiable neck tattoos. His curly brown hair is neatly combed and matches his brown shirt.
“Fine.” I smooth my hairstyle. “Are you on photographer duty tonight?”
“Yeah. Me and some others.”
Vestal photo shoots are always packed with Rejects. Ms. Lydia thought they were the best choice because they were familiar with Tabula Rasa and understood the Vestal mindset—although they weren’t good enough to be part of the Brethren.
“Would you mind posing for a picture?” Jeremy holds up his camera. “Beau and Fatima’s companies are using this for their next ad campaigns.”
Cal wrinkles his forehead and steps away. But I grab his arm and pull him back into the frame. “Now who’s afraid of having their picture taken?” I tease.
“Thanks,” says Jeremy. He takes a few shots. “See you around.”
I wave a quick good-bye and then lead Cal through the lobby to an enormous table piled with gifts.
“I thought this was an engagement party,” Cal whispers. He puts the present I picked out, a cut crystal vase wrapped in ivory paper, into a sea of stuffed animals and booties.
“I guess people are bringing baby gifts too,” I say. “I didn’t realize. This is all new for us.”
It’s new because Vestals don’t normally have babies. Back at Tabula Rasa, all girls—including me—were sterilized at age fourteen. It was one of Barbelo’s sicko decrees. After Ms. Lydia became pregnant with me, Barbelo decided no Vestal should become a mother ever again. It was easier for him to control childless minions. Until last year, I didn’t understand how despicable this was. I was so committed to being a Vestal that I willingly gave up everything, including my future children. Now, I try not to think of it. Luckily for Fatima, her operation didn’t work.
Cal and I are about to head into the party when the elevator doors open again. My heart leaps when Seth walks in with his hands in the lead gloves.
“Smile!” Jeremy says, and then cowers as Seth lunges at him.
“Don’t you dare,” Seth growls. Then he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I suppose you want the key to these mitts, Blanca.”
“Not necessary.” I wink. “I trust you.”
“Well I don’t.” Cal grins and holds out his hand. “Why don’t you give it to me?”
“Funny, old man.” Seth pulls a hand out of his pocket and slams the key down in Cal’s palm so hard his dad winces. “I knew you always wanted to lock me up.”
“Maybe once or twice.” Cal winks. “Are you two ready?”
Seth holds out his elbow to me. “Sure.”
I link my arms with both of them and get ready to party.
Fatima’s apartment has been transformed into a dazzling club. Thousands of white lights twinkle across the ceiling and outline every window. It’s like stepping into a glowing cage of brilliance. Most of the furniture is gone, and white-clad Vestals dance on a temporary parquet floor. Electronic house music beats rhythmically, and
my toes tap with anticipation.
Unfortunately, the first people we encounter are my old boyfriend, Trevor, and his girlfriend, Sarah.
I know she’s Sarah. Cal and Seth know she’s Sarah—because I’ve told them—but the rest of the world thinks Sarah is actually Trevor’s mom and that her name is Lilith.
The tragedy is that the real Lilith is my aunt, my only remaining blood relation. But many years ago, Barbelo made Lilith disappear and replaced her with Sarah. The real Lilith could be buried in a pit somewhere. That’s probably part of what twisted Ms. Lydia—never knowing what happened to her sister.
Sarah’s been going gray since ninth grade. Now she’s making women all across the world believe that she’s Lilith and that the wrinkle cream she advertises will make them look as young as her. The public is completely duped since as a Vestal, Sarah doesn’t have any virtual fingerprint to betray her. The only pictures of Sarah in existence make her look exactly like Lilith but with silky smooth skin. Nobody knows that Sarah and Trevor swap spit whenever the cameras turn away, even though supposedly they are mother and son.
Trevor and Sarah’s Vestal-cest wouldn’t have mattered to me except last year Ms. Lydia made Trevor be my boyfriend. He’s the only person I’ve ever met with skin as nice as mine. No wonder Ms. Lydia paired us together. One perfect date after another was caught on film for the whole world to see. The problem was, Trevor was a sloppy kisser, and every time I was with him I thought of Seth.
“Hi, Blanca.” Sarah wears a white pantsuit with padded shoulders that makes her look a million years old. “I didn’t know you would be invited.”
“Why wouldn’t she be invited?” Seth’s voice booms over the music. “She’s Fatima’s best friend.”
Sarah eyes Seth across the narrow rim of her champagne glass. “I don’t talk to Viruses.”
“Uh, I do.” Trevor gives Seth a curt nod. “How’s it going?”
Seth eyes Trevor up and down. This is the first time they’ve met in person, although Seth has seen Trevor hundreds of times on billboards sticking his tongue in my mouth.
“Fine.” Seth grunts.
“Er … uh … Lilith,” Cal says to Sarah, “it’s so nice to see you and your son Trevor again. Is your husband Richard here?”
Sarah nods across the dance floor where her token husband talks with Alberto, Fatima’s Vestal-dad, a tall man with golden brown skin and silvery gray hair.
“Wonderful,” Cal says. “I’ll go and say hello.”
As soon as Cal leaves, Trevor says, “Look, Blanca. I want to say again how sorry I am we used you as cover for our Vestal-cest.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m over it.”
“It sucks that your relationship can’t be public,” Seth offers.
At this, Sarah turns around. “You won’t say anything, will you?”
“Of course not,” I blurt. “Seth has known for months and hasn’t revealed your secret. You should be thanking him instead of being rude.”
Sarah looks down into her glass. “Whatever.”
“It’s been difficult,” Trevor says. “People would freak out if they thought I was kissing my mom.” He puts his arm around Sarah’s shoulder. “Isn’t that so, Mommy?”
“Ugh!” Sarah shrugs his arm off. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
Seth smirks.
“Do you know what happened to the real Lilith?” I ask Sarah. “My aunt? Ms. Lydia’s sister?”
“Sorry.” Sarah shakes her head. “I have no idea.”
“Speaking of family, if your last name is McNeal now, doesn’t that make you two brother and sister?” Trevor points his finger at me and Seth.
I grin mischievously. “Don’t think about it too hard.” Then I reach up on my toes and kiss Seth full on the mouth.
“Blanca!” I hear somebody squeal. “You’re here!”
I look over and see Fatima run over with quick, tiny steps. Her red dress is so tight she can barely move her legs. Beau is behind her wearing a white suit. Like the rest of the Vestals, they wear gold cuffs on their left wrists. Ms. Lydia and I were the only Vestals I know who wore platinum. We were top picks.
Fatima gives me two quick air kisses so we don’t mess up our makeup. Then Beau brings me in for a bear hug. Without each other’s help, we never would have escaped from Nevada alive.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Seth says.
“Hey, man. We’re glad you could come.” Beau reaches out to shake Seth’s hand.
Seth pulls his hands out of his pockets to show his lead-lined gloves, and then stuffs them away again.
“Dude!” Beau exclaims. “Who made you wear those? That blows.”
Seth glances at me sideways.
“It wasn’t my fault!” I look across the room to Pilar. She wears a skintight strapless dress and sky-high heels that make her tower over Cal, who is beside her. Pilar flips her hair back, exposing a naked shoulder.
Is it my imagination or are they both leaning together? Cal laughs at something Pilar says. Then he whispers in her ear. At that exact moment, Jeremy walks up to them and holds out his camera. Pilar jumps away like Cal is poison.
“So did you hear?” Fatima asks.
“What?” I jerk my head back toward our conversation.
Fatima pulls me a few steps away from Seth and lowers her voice. I can barely understand her over the loud music. “The Harvest might not happen. With Headmaster Russell in prison, Ms. Corina doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Headmaster Corina,” I correct, although I can’t bring myself to think of her like that. “And maybe it’s all for the best. Maybe this class of Tabula Rasa graduates will get a say about their lives instead of being auctioned off to the highest bidder.”
Fatima wrinkles her perfectly arched eyebrows at me. “How can you say that?” She waves her hands around at the apartment packed with Vestals in white. “Without new blood, this whole thing falls apart.”
“You sound like a vampire.”
Fatima crosses her arms across her chest. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
“None of this is okay,” says Beau, causing Fatima and me to turn around.
“Honey,” says Fatima.
“I thought this was supposed to be our party,” Beau says. “Our private celebration.”
“It is!” Fatima argues.
“Then why all these photographers?” Beau asks. “Jeremy and the rest of the Rejects?”
“What do you mean? There’re only three or four.” Fatima looks over to where Trevor poses with Alberto and Pilar on the dance floor. “This is good PR for everyone.”
“But I don’t want more PR!” Beau’s face is blotchy.
Seth takes a step closer to me, his hands still stuffed in his pockets.
“After Nevada I thought we would leave this behind.” Beau turns to look at me. “Like Blanca did.”
“You know we couldn’t do that.” Fatima glances sideways to make sure nobody outside our little group can hear. “How would we get jobs? What would we do? How could we take care of our baby by ourselves?”
“We’d figure it out,” Beau insists.
“I’d help you,” I rush to say. “You could come live at the manor with Cal and me. I’m sure he’d say yes.” I look at Seth, who shrugs.
“But this is so much easier,” Fatima protests. “It’s only some pictures. We’re set for life.”
“At the expense of what?” Beau places his hand on Fatima’s belly. “Our family?”
“The happy couple!” A photographer invades our circle. “Let’s get a picture with you two and Blanca.” The Reject does a double take when he sees Seth. “And Veritas Rex. What an opportunity!”
“Forget about it,” Seth grumbles. “I’m going to find my dad.”
I pose for the photograph and rush to follow him.
I spot the McNeals on th
e far side of the room talking to Trevor’s father, Richard, and two tall burly guys who must be Beau’s brothers, Ryan and Zach. I recognize them from their truck commercials but have never officially met. They were a lot older than me when we were at Tabula Rasa together.
I swerve around party guests and make my way through the crowd. Some of the Vestals say hello, but most eye me with suspicion. I reach Seth when the lights flicker and the whole room goes quiet. I turn to see Agents Plunkett and Marlow at the entrance to the room, holding up FBI badges.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Agent Marlow’s deep voice blasts, “Headmaster Russell has escaped from the federal penitentiary. We hope someone here knows his whereabouts.”
The crowd parts as Alberto stalks across the room. “What is the meaning of this? You’re interrupting my daughter’s engagement party.” Alberto walks straight up to the agents and inspects their badges.
“I’m sorry, sir,” says Agent Plunkett. “Your cooperation will be noted. Your companies requested you answer our questions.”
In the madness that follows, I don’t feel a hand enter my space. I don’t spot the unknown messenger who stuffs a torn page from the Vestal Code of Ethics into the side pocket of my dress.
It’s only later, back at home, that I find the mysterious note in my bedroom. I step out of my white dress. As I lay it out on the velvet ottoman, I see the crumpled paper stick out of the pocket.
Keep yourself private, and everything will be all right.
The words are underlined in red.
Chapter Four
My lace bra feels scratchy, especially compared to the soft angora of my white sweater. I cross my leather boots at the ankles and pull my feet under the chair. I relax my shoulders and smooth my expression of anything that might tell what I’m feeling. It’s been over a week since Fatima and Beau’s engagement party, and the authorities still haven’t located Headmaster Russell. But I don’t show one ounce of fear. Dr. Meredith’s office is chilly, and I resist the urge to rub my hands against my arms to warm myself up. The slip of paper in my pocket reminds me to be careful.
Damaged Goods Page 3
