Keep yourself private, and everything will be all right.
“Are you cold, Blanca?” Dr. Meredith looks at me across her coffee table. She has curly red hair tied back with a tortoise shell clip. “Would you like me to adjust the thermostat?”
I smile blandly, observing Dr. Meredith as much as she observes me. She keeps fiddling with her pearl necklace at the nape of her neck.
“I’m fine.” I fold my hands in my lap and straighten my spine like Ms. Corina taught me back at Tabula Rasa. You’re placid, Blanca. Perfectly placid, she’d say.
Dr. Meredith’s office is lined with wall-to-wall bookshelves. The occasional houseplant creates trailing lines of green leaves. There are more places to conceal a camera here than I can count. Dr. Meredith could be hiding anything.
“Would you like a glass of water or a cup of tea?” Dr. Meredith asks.
“No, thank you.” She’s trying to put me off guard by offering me a favor—making me feel indebted to her. But I’m smarter than that.
“I’m really happy you’re here, Blanca. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time. I want you to know that this is a safe place.”
I don’t believe that for a second. This woman’s life work is prying into people’s secrets. Cal and Seth might be charmed, but I’m not fooled. Dr. Meredith is devious. I know because she keeps saying my name over and over again. That’s Mind Control 101.
All you need to do is make somebody feel important, Barbelo Nemo wrote. A little appreciation goes a long way. People love to talk about themselves. Speak their name softly, melodically. Say their name whenever possible.
“I’m perfectly comfortable.” Without taking my eyes off Dr. Meredith, I look behind her toward the windows. That’s where I would hide the camera.
“Blanca,” she continues, “I want you to see this room as your sanctuary. You can tell me anything you want here and I will keep it entirely confidential.”
What a liar. Only Vestals understand confidence. Dr. Meredith will probably upload all her notes the moment I leave.
I know what I have to do to get out of this office unscathed. I plan to tell Dr. Meredith exactly what she wants to hear.
“It sounds like you are a good listener, Dr. Meredith.”
She doesn’t know who she’s dealing with.
“I am pleased to hear you say that.” Dr. Meredith smiles. “Your … friends, Cal and Seth, they’ve referred you to me because they believe you have trust issues. What do you think about that?”
I nod my head in complete agreement. “Yes. You’re correct. Cal and Seth both believe I have trust issues.”
“Would you like to talk more about that?”
“Yes, I would be happy to talk more about that.”
Dr. Meredith stares at me with raised eyebrows. Finally, after a long silence, she prods. “What would you like to say?”
“About Seth and Cal believing I have trust issues?” Clarifying questions are my friends.
“No, I mean … ” Dr. Meredith shifts in her seat. “Do you think you have trust issues?”
“Dr. Meredith, I am an excellent judge of character. That’s why I so appreciate you fitting me in your schedule. I know you must be incredibly busy.” A little appreciation goes a long way.
“I always make room for clients.” Dr. Meredith sits back in her seat and eyes me closely. “Let’s talk about your mother.”
“How conventional.” I sit back in my chair too.
Dr. Meredith grimaces. “I understand from the news reports that you witnessed your father murder her in Nevada.”
In spite of myself, I picture Ms. Lydia’s head exploding for the millionth time.
“Well?” Dr. Meredith probes.
“The news reports were correct.” I stretch up my spine.
“And how do you feel you are coping?”
Follow your Vestal training. Keep yourself private, and everything will be all right.
“I have a very hard road, Dr. Meredith. In so many ways, it’s difficult being me. But I know that I can do it. I have everything I need to achieve happiness.”
Dr. Meredith smiles. “Thank you for sharing, Blanca. You’re doing good work today.”
I smile back broadly. The Vestal blessing always works.
Tell people what they want to hear.
My lean body glistens in the afternoon sun, taut in a white spandex catsuit. My brown hair falls, a silky rope down my front, and caresses my breasts. One hand holds the orange extension cord, with the other placed smartly on my hip, my fingertips brushing my pelvis. I look at the camera with green eyes and a knowing smile. Behind me, a spinning globe glows with fire. The headline reads: mcneal solar heats things up.
No matter how often I see myself on a billboard, I still feel electrified. On the ride home from Dr. Meredith’s office, I stare out the window and try to spot every one. But most of all, I look for other Vestal billboards, because seeing my friends offers comfort. Fatima modeling the latest designer purse. Trevor selling body spray. His dad Richard showing off razors.
Then we pass a newsboard and my stomach lurches. hunt for russell, it says. abuser on the run.
I look down at my chip-watch and wonder if the authorities have released new information. Since the limo is cloistered, I can’t access the Internet.
“Alan,” I say, sliding open the privacy divider, “would you please stop the car for a moment so I can check my messages?”
“Sure thing, Miss Blanca. Oh, and I almost forgot. Somebody delivered this for you while you were gone.” With one firm hand on the wheel, Alan passes a small envelope to me in the backseat.
I see the red and blue markings of the USPS and shudder. Nobody uses the postal service but government officials and VIPs anymore. It’s the primary way Vestals deliver important information.
“Thank you, Alan.” I carefully slice open the seal. Inside is a piece of thick cardstock. In the middle of the paper, written in beautiful calligraphy, is another direction from the Vestal Code of Ethics. As soon as I see it, my skin goes clammy.
Vestals avenge all wrongs, especially when our honor is at stake.
The limo lurches to a stop.
“What’s wrong?” My voice shakes.
Alan looks back at me. “You asked me to stop the car. Are you okay?”
“What? Yes. Of course.” I try to clear my thoughts as Alan parks. When he opens the door for me, I step out onto the sidewalk and look out across a busy intersection. “I’ll only be a moment.”
“Whatever you say, Miss Blanca.” Alan heads back to the driver’s seat.
As soon as the door is shut, I activate my chip-watch. “Call Seth.” I speak clearly, but Seth doesn’t pick up. “Veritas Rex!” I try again. The lion-headed cobra springs up in silvery gray. The big bold headline reads: you can run, russell, but you can’t hide.
What is Seth getting himself into? How can he not understand who he’s dealing with?
My worries are interrupted by a call from Cal. His small image stands in the great hall of McNeal Manor. “Blanca,” he says, “I thought you’d be back from Dr. Meredith’s by now. Where are you?”
“Nowhere. Alan stopped the car for a moment so I could check my messages.”
“Oh.” On the tiny image, I see Cal’s forehead furrow. “Do you think you’re safe out and about with Headmaster Russell on the loose?”
No! my insides scream. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you think. I know you make good decisions. But listen, your tutor will be here any minute.”
“I’m on my way.”
I click off the chip-watch. The sooner I’m home, the better.
Cal waits in the library with Irene Page. She’s an intern at McNeal Solar who tutors me several times a week. Calculus, physics, chemistry; I have a lot to catch up on before I can pass the qualifying interview at Stanford.
“How’d
it go with Dr. Meredith?” Cal asks.
I glare at him. No way do I want Irene to know I see a therapist.
“Sorry.” Cal flinches. “We can talk about it later.”
Or never, as far as I’m concerned. I glance at Irene and try to discover what she’s thinking. She’s Asian American with short black hair and a wispy figure. Irene usually doesn’t wear any makeup, but today her lips are covered in gloss. Her torso faces me, but the rest of her body points away.
Interesting. That’s how people welcome you when they don’t mean it.
I walk a few feet closer, and Irene steps back.
“Yes, Cal. We’ll talk later,” I say. “Irene and I better get started.”
Irene forces a smile. “Blanca and I have a lot to cover.”
“Excellent.” Cal kisses me on the cheek. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Tonight you’re going to Seth’s house for dinner, right?”
“Yes. He’s making lasagna.”
Irene colors when she hears Seth’s name. Normally she is an exacting teacher, but whenever Seth appears, she turns into pudding.
“Will you be okay on your own?” I ask Cal.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “In fact, I have a date.” Cal grins at both of us and then closes the door behind him.
“A date?” I ask Irene. “With who?”
“Mr. McNeal’s personal life is none of my business.” Irene spreads out tablets and clicks up screens. “But your Stanford interview in two months is.”
“Do you think I’ll be prepared?”
“Perhaps.” Irene pulls a strand of black hair behind her ear. “But maybe you should set your sights lower.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond.
“There’re lots of colleges that would be a better fit for you.”
I squeeze my toes inside my boots. “Yes. You’re probably right.” My ego floods with discouragement after hearing my own tutor doesn’t think I can do this.
“I don’t believe in sugarcoating things. There’s no point.” Irene slides over the tablet with my calculus lesson. “Let’s begin.”
The hours move like molasses. The library windows look into my private courtyard, but the shutters are closed. Daylight offers no reprieve. It’s Irene, artificial light, and me.
When numbers flash through my brain so fast that there’s no room for words, Seth arrives. He wears jeans and a black T-shirt, and smells like shampoo. His dark hair, usually so wild, is slicked back neatly.
“School’s out for the day, ladies.” Seth throws himself down on the green leather couch and puts his boots up on the armrest. He grins at Irene. “How’s your favorite pupil doing?”
“Gorgeous. I mean—beautiful. Blanca is doing great.”
“Of course she is.” Seth leans over and looks straight at Irene. “How could Blanca be anything less than spectacular with you as her teacher?”
Irene turns beet red.
I glare at Seth, and he smiles wickedly.
“Be a love, Blanca.” Seth holds out his hand. “Help me off the couch and take me home.”
The technology in Seth’s apartment creeps me out, even after all these months. At least the place doesn’t smell anymore. Ever since we started dating, Seth hired a regular maid, so dirty socks no longer contaminate the floor.
He waves his finger-chips and turns off the tech screens before we cross the threshold, but I know they’re still there. Seth can watch ten different things while brushing his teeth. He has special servers for hacking into places he doesn’t belong.
But as crazy as it sounds, Seth’s apartment offers privacy. It’s not that I dislike living at McNeal Manor, but with Cal around, PDA with Seth is awkward.
As soon as the door closes behind us, I leap into Seth’s arms and wrap my legs around his waist. His hands grab a firm hold of my butt and pull me tight. We lose each other in kisses, the delicious feeling of not knowing where one of us ends and the other begins. My heart pounds as I slide my hands around Seth’s neck, clinging to his shoulders with both arms. Seth takes a few steps back, and we tumble over onto the couch.
“Blanca,” Seth moans, his hands creeping up my sweater. His touch feels hot against my bare skin.
“Yes,” I gasp. My breaths are ragged. I roll onto my back and feel the pressure of Seth’s whole body leaning into mine.
We’ve officially been together for three months.
I’m nineteen years old now.
Maybe this is the moment.
I kiss Seth down his neck and help pull off his shirt. His collage of tattoos melts into me like liquid ink. When I see the one that says “Tiffany,” I think about scratching it away.
“Blanca. Wait. I have to—”
At that precise moment, I hear a loud electronic beep. It shocks me back into clarity.
“What the hell is that?” I push him away and scramble off the couch. “I thought you turned everything off!”
“I did,” he says, reaching for me. I swat his hands away and he groans. “It’s the oven timer. The lasagna’s ready.”
“Oh. I thought—” But I don’t finish my sentence. The beeping calls again.
Seth frowns. “I sincerely hope Dr. Meredith helps you deal with your trust issues.” He pulls his shirt back on and goes to the kitchen.
“I don’t have trust issues,” I declare, following him. I take a seat at the table in the corner of the room. Seth’s kitchen has tall windows that look out into Silicon Valley. When I stare through the glass, my chest aches. I see an advertisement for the tech company my friend Ethan modeled for. The last time I saw Ethan, he introduced me to the Internet. I thought he could help me find Ms. Lydia, who was missing.
Instead, Ms. Lydia found Ethan—and killed him for corrupting himself with finger-chips.
“Saying you don’t have trust issues doesn’t make it true.” Seth opens the oven and reaches inside. “Damn! That’s hot.”
“Are you okay?” I look over to see Seth sucking his finger.
“I’m fine. Only I’ve never made lasagna before. I’m not much of a cook.”
I don’t cook either, but at least I know enough not to reach into a hot stove with bare hands. I walk over to the counter and deftly reach for oven mitts. “Here. These might help.”
“Thanks. Dinner will be ready in a second.”
I wander back to my place at the table by the window. I squint out the glass and stare down at the sidewalk. I don’t think Keung is spying on us, but I can’t be sure.
A few minutes later, Seth brings over two plates of gooey, red lasagna with Caesar salad on the side. It looks like more calories than I would have eaten all week at Tabula Rasa where our diet was prudently limited to fish, vegetables, and the occasional gluten-free carbohydrate.
I’ve only had lasagna once before, when I turned nineteen last month. The McNeals took me out to an Italian restaurant.
“Wow, Seth. This looks delicious.”
He smiles. “You are worth the effort.” He hands me my silverware, and we take the first few bites, enjoying the meal in silence. The herb and cheese flavors explode in my mouth. Ms. Lydia would be horrified at the decadence.
“Have you heard the news?” Seth asks.
“About Headmaster Russell? Have they found him?”
“No, about the Defectos. They’re organizing themselves.”
“What are you talking about? Who are the Defectos?”
Seth wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I thought you knew. That guy at Fatima’s party. Jeremy? The one taking the pictures?”
“You mean the Rejects?”
“The Rejects! Who calls them that? Vestals?”
I reluctantly nod.
“Well, that’s not what they call themselves.” Seth flicks his hand and types something with his finger-chips. A picture pulls up above his palm. “Here. Look at this.”
I hold Seth’s hand steady so I can stare at the screen.
&
nbsp; defectos want harvest stopped, the headline says. Seth scrolls down so I can read more.
human rights infringements! vestal order must be disbanded.
“So?” Seth asks after a moment. “What do you think?”
“Probably a lot of what they say is true.” It’s tough for me to admit that. I’ve been trained my entire life to think of Rejects as unworthy of anything but scorn. But I’m not a Vestal now, and I need to analyze things for myself. I reach my hand into my pocket and feel the two messages I received. The ones with the Vestal Code of Ethics on them. I’ve meant to tell Seth about the first one for days.
But right when I’m about to reveal all, Seth stabs his fork into his lasagna and accidentally splatters marinara sauce. It goes flying across his plate and splashes my white sweater.
“Uh-oh. I better clean this off before it stains.” Eating messy food is one of the most difficult parts of my white wardrobe.
“Why wear a shirt at all? Clothing is overrated.” Seth raises his eyebrows. “Especially on you.”
And I consider it. I could strip off my sweater and show my lace bra. Peel off my jeans and wear nothing but boots and panties. Forget dinner and every last thing that happened today. Lead Seth into his bedroom.
It’s not like I could get pregnant. Tabula Rasa took care of that five years ago. There will never be a tiny baby with my clear skin and Seth’s unruly hair. Seth will never stand next to me, like Beau with Fatima, intent on protecting his family. Add that future to the list of everything my parents stole from me.
But they can’t stop me from living.
Seth and I have been together for three months now. What am I waiting for?
I don’t know. A sign maybe? I’m still new at this making good decisions thing.
“Blanca. Hello? You look like you were lost in space.” Seth hands me a napkin.
“Oh, sorry. I better blot this with water.”
When I get to the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. My virginal white reflection overtakes the whole room.
And it taunts me.
Chapter Five
Damaged Goods Page 4
