Damaged Goods

by Jennifer Bardsley

  “Now you sound as paranoid as me.”

  Nancy smiles and climbs into her car. “Sometimes a little paranoia is a good thing. It means you care about your safety.”

  I take a step back and watch her drive away. Own Tabula Rasa? If I really do own Tabula Rasa, then I’ll clean it up from the inside out.

  I head over to my motorcycle and think about justice. The sun finally warms me up. But when I get to my bike, I get the chills all over again.

  There, taped to my seat, is another piece of paper.

  The holiest night is coming. We are a sacred fire that will not burn out. We alone stand together.

  I crumple the paper loudly between both hands. The last time I heard those words was at my sealing, a few days after the Harvest. They’re what Ms. Lydia said to me before she trapped my wrist in platinum.

  Ms. Lydia is dead. I’ve relived her face exploding in front of me a million times. She can’t possibly be behind this. But what about Ms. Corina?

  No. It’s not Ms. Corina anymore; it’s Headmaster. She’s in charge of all Tabula Rasa. Maybe she’s cagier than I know and this is a creative way to bully me into helping with the graduation Harvest.

  Well, I’m done being bullied. She can’t make me support a system I no longer condone.

  It’s time to change the practice of Harvesting Vestals once and for all.

  As soon as I climb on my bike, I gun the engine.

  Chapter Seven

  When I see Seth waiting, I turn into a hot, sticky bundle of mess. He sits astride his motorcycle, scanning the road for me. His jacket is tossed on the ground, and his clean white T-shirt shows off muscles and tattoos. When Seth spots me, he smiles broadly, and the lion-headed cobra on the side of his face jumps to life.

  “How did it go?” he asks as I engage the kickstand.

  I take off my helmet and rake fingers through my hair. The fresh air hits my lungs and makes me gasp. I don’t realize I’m shaking until I throw myself in Seth’s arms and feel him wrap around me in a protective embrace.

  “That well, huh?” Seth hugs me tight.

  “It was okay.” My voice is muffled by deltoid. “Nancy and I made our point.”

  “Well, that was a big step.” Seth strokes my hair. “We could go home now. Call it a day. You don’t need to do this unless you want to. My dad will have an ulcer when he finds out.”

  If I’m not careful, my nose will drip straight onto Seth’s shirt. I pull back and reach into my jacket pocket for a tissue. Above me, I hear movement.

  Somebody is watching.

  “How long have they been up there?” I don’t turn to look.

  “The whole time,” Seth says. “Ever since I arrived. I can’t tell if they’re students or teachers.”

  “Teachers,” I answer immediately. “Students aren’t allowed near windows.”

  The two of us have parked our motorcycles across the street from Tabula Rasa. I don’t need to spin around and see it to know exactly what the edifice looks like. Twenty stories high with a stone-walled facade, my alma mater is half prison, half castle. When I was a young girl in history class and saw a picture of the Tower of London for the first time, I immediately noticed the resemblance. I had never been outside the compound, but I had seen the Tabula Rasa profile on our school seal.

  Lux in tenbris lucet. The light that shines in the darkness. That was our school motto.

  For the first eighteen years of my life, I thought Vestals were the answer. I thought we were a beacon of light in a dark world that had forgotten what was important. I believed when people looked at me, they wouldn’t only see a girl in white, but a reminder that people were more important than technology. I thought I had dedicated my life to a holy purpose.

  Now I realize I was a brainwashed indentured servant.

  I can’t allow that to happen to another class of graduates.

  “Did you bring the camera?” I ask Seth. “Not your finger-chips, but the best equipment you’ve got? I want this to be crystal clear.”

  Seth reaches into his saddlebag. “Don’t worry. I got your message.” He pulls out an enormous lens. “What’s your plan exactly?”

  I unzip my jacket and throw it on my bike. I’m wearing a tank top underneath and bare arms feel good in the heat. “I don’t have a plan. I’m going on instinct.”

  Damn it. I should have brought makeup. I bite my lips to make them darker and pinch both cheeks.

  “Hey,” Seth protests. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I’m fine.” I bend over at the waist and shake out my hair.

  “Can I take a picture of this?” Seth slides his hand down the back pocket of my jeans.

  “Not funny.” But I stand up and twist toward him. Then I crush our lips together. I slide my hands behind Seth’s neck and play with his tongue, kissing him until we’re both out of breath.

  Let the teachers watch and seethe.

  “Are you ready?” I finally pull away.

  “What?” Seth stammers. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I need you to upload this straight to Veritas Rex and The Lighthouse.”

  Seth smirks. “You’re going to have to give me your password.”

  “Only for a couple of hours. Don’t get too excited.” I take a step closer and whisper it into his ear. “Demiurge32.”

  Seth raises his eyebrows. “Like a lion-headed cobra from mythology?”

  I grin. Then I notice Seth’s gaze lift. “Uh, Blanca,” he says. “We’ve got a visitor.”

  “What?” I turn to look and see Ms. Corina walk toward us. She wears ecru flannel trousers, a silk blouse, and her golden Vestal cuff.

  “Blanca!” she exclaims in her sickly sweet voice. “I’m so glad you came. I was worried you didn’t get my message.” She squints at Seth, as if she doesn’t want to acknowledge his existence. “But what’s this Virus doing here?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. I’m not here to help you. Or actually, I am, but you won’t see it that way. I think you’ll be happier if you go back inside.”

  “What do you mean you won’t help us? Blanca, the graduates need you. Everything is falling to pieces without Headmaster Russell. I—” Ms. Corina waves her hands around like she’s searching for words. Then she fiddles with the collar of her blouse. “Didn’t you get my message?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “All of them.”

  “What do you mean all of them?” she and Seth ask at the same time.

  “There’s no time to talk about that right now.” In my clearest voice I say, “Seth, please turn on your camera.”

  “No, wait!” Ms. Corina holds delicate fingers in front of her face like spiderwebs. “You were sealed for life. I don’t care what anyone else has told you.” Ms. Corina peeks her eyes out and indicates Seth. “You know you can’t trust a Virus. You’re one of us, Blanca. Forever. Please.”

  I look from Ms. Corina to Seth and see a red light on the camera blink.

  “I raised you,” Ms. Corina whimpers. “I watched over you every minute.”

  “Supervised me!” I snap. “You supervised me. You didn’t raise me. There’s a difference!” I think about Cal and Sophia and all the love and attention they poured into Seth’s upbringing.

  “I made sure you brushed your teeth. I tucked you in at night.” Ms. Corina’s voice is weepy.

  “You didn’t tuck me in. You paced up and down the aisles of a hundred metal bunk beds. That’s not the same thing.”

  “I did my best.” Ms. Corina sniffs loudly behind her tiny hands. “I watched over you. I kept you safe, like your mother wanted me to!”

  Ms. Corina pulls down her arms, and I see tears. It’s like a sucker punch to my intentions. I feel my resolve waiver.

  “She entrusted you to my care.” Ms. Corina stares up at me with watery eyes. “When Ms. Lydia left, she put you in my arms. I’m sorry my best wasn’t good enough, but please help me. Don’t let the graduates suffe
r because somebody convinced you it was all a bad idea.” She wipes away tears with a handkerchief.

  That’s when I remember. Cry on cue. Stop crying. Tears are a tool.

  “I’m the one who knows the Harvest is a bad idea,” I say plainly. “Nobody needs to convince me but myself.” I turn to Seth. “Are you filming this? Is this live?”

  He nods his head without moving the camera.

  “Good.” I face the lens squarely. “This is Blanca McNeal standing in front of Tabula Rasa. I have an important message for every person who is watching. Please share this across all social media networks.”

  “Blanca, no!” Ms. Corina cries out.

  But I ignore her. “The Tabula Rasa Harvest is under precarious circumstances. Our nation is waking up to the fact that it is wrong to auction off Vestals to the highest bidder. A twenty-five-year contract imposed on a young person is morally abhorrent and against the founding principles of our country.”

  Behind the camera lens I see Seth smile.

  “It doesn’t matter what colors I wear. It doesn’t matter if I have my cuff or a chip-watch.” I hold up my wrist to the camera. “I will always love and support my Vestal Brethren. That’s why it’s imperative for me to advocate for their well-being.

  “I still believe the Harvest can continue but in a different format. Instead of an auction, I propose a mutual selection process where Vestal graduates have a say in which company they join.”

  The next part I say straight from the heart.

  “Tabula Rasa students still have valuable contributions to offer. They are the last examples of private living our country knows. But they deserve to make their own decisions. If they choose to commit themselves to a major corporation, fine. But if a Vestal graduate would rather be independent, then Tabula Rasa should offer a compensation package to help each individual begin life on his or her own.”

  I look straight at the camera, directly at Seth. “My adoptive father, Cal McNeal, paid thirty-two million dollars for my freedom. There should be plenty of money to help every graduate start a new life whatever way they choose.

  “Lux in tenbris lucet. Vestals are the light that shines in the darkness. Please help me keep their flames burning for the whole world to see.”

  With a nod to Seth he cuts the feed.

  And Ms. Corina tries to throttle me.

  Immediately I shield my face, but not in time to protect my hair, which Ms. Corina attempts to rip out with her bare hands.

  The hundreds of hours doing Kenpō with Ms. Lydia fail me. I can’t bear to kick Ms. Corina in the knees like she deserves.

  “How could you?” Ms. Corina screams.

  Seth pulls her off me and her limbs flail wildly in the air. “Get on your bike, Blanca,” Seth yells.

  I thrust my helmet on as the Tabula Rasa security guards rush out. Seth throws Ms. Corina to the side and mounts his motorcycle too.

  The last thing I hear as we drive off is Ms. Corina’s histrionic sobs.

  McNeal Manor’s behemoth mahogany doors are designed to look stately and imposing, but they’ve never appeared as welcoming to me as they do now. As soon as my feet hit the doormat, I feel a sense of peace. Seth puts his arm around my waist, and we walk across the threshold into the great hall.

  Tapestries hang on every wall, and ornately carved molding rims the ceiling. The enormous hearth is still today, and coolness emanates from the marble floor.

  “You’re home now, Blanca. And all that crazy Tabula Rasa shit can’t touch you.” Seth pulls me in for a kiss.

  “Did somebody say Tabula Rasa?” calls a silky voice from the corner.

  I pull myself from Seth and look across the room to a velvet sofa where two figures recline.

  “Fatima!” I say. “And Beau!” I tug Seth’s hand, and we sit on the opposing couch. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Neither did we.” Fatima leans forward, her palms on her enormous belly. “A little lower,” she says to Beau.

  “Here?” Beau rubs her back with gentle hands, and Fatima moans with pain.

  “Yes. There.” Fatima looks at me with squinted eyes. “Blanca, don’t ever get pregnant. It’s nothing but misery.”

  My voice is quiet. “That won’t be a problem.” It makes me remember a question I’ve wondered for a long time. “Did your obstetrician figure out how you got pregnant?”

  “You mean you don’t know?” Beau wags a finger between Seth and me. “But I thought …”

  I feel my face go hot.

  Next to me, Seth’s pulse beats extra loud against his skin.

  “No. I mean, of course I know how,” I say. “What I mean is why did the operation on Fatima when she was fourteen not work?”

  “It was called a tubal ligation.” Fatima settles back into the couch. “Two percent of them fail.”

  “And they can be reversed.” Seth scoots closer, and his breath scorches my neck.

  Seth has researched this? Is my sterilization a problem for him? I’ve never stopped to think about Seth someday wanting to be a father. That’s not a future he could have with me.

  “Why are you here anyway?” Without meaning for it to, my question comes across as rude.

  “A last-minute dinner invitation.” Fatima smiles when she mentions food. “But I think we’re actually an excuse.”

  Seth puts his arm around my shoulder. “An excuse for what?”

  “For Pilar to come visit Cal,” says Beau. “Apparently their date last night went really well.”

  I feel Seth’s arm jerk. “What?” he asks.

  Fatima shrugs. “I have no clue where they are now. My mom asked for a tour, but I needed to get off my feet.”

  Beau looks up at the painted wood ceiling. “This place is gigantic.”

  Seth clicks on his finger-chips. “Locate Dad,” he says. We all pause and wait a few seconds, but the silvery screen is blank. “That’s funny. Either his chip-watch is turned off or he’s—”

  “In a place with a lead-lined room,” Beau finishes.

  “Ugh!” Fatima scrunches up her nose. “Hopefully not your room, Blanca.”

  “No, of course not. Ms. Lydia had Cal’s rooms converted to a cloister when she …”

  But I can’t finish the sentence. When what? When she seduced Cal to be near me? When Cal seduced her to milk information on the Vestal order? There are too many memories, and they all hurt.

  Seth scowls at his finger-chips. “Since when does Pilar like my dad?”

  “Ever since our engagement party.” Fatima readjusts her couch cushions. “Alberto’s thrilled.”

  “Huh?” Seth looks up.

  Fatima squirms. “My dad’s been trying to find my mom true love for years.”

  “Or lust.” Beau grins.

  Fatima lightly slaps Beau’s shoulder.

  “You mean Pilar and Alberto aren’t …?” I let my question dangle in the air.

  “They’re just friends,” says Fatima. “It was a corporate match that never went anywhere.”

  “Cal’s the perfect find.” Beau wiggles his eyebrows. “He’s discrete, knows all about what makes Vestals tick, and he doesn’t have finger-chips.”

  “I can’t believe you’re talking about my dad like he’s a man whore.” Seth turns off his finger-chips with an angry flick of his wrist.

  Beau chuckles. “Dude, we should all be so lucky.”

  I try to change the subject. “So we wait for dinner?”

  Fatima and Beau both shrug.

  “I don’t want to crash their date.” I wrinkle my nose.

  “Can we please stop talking about my dad’s love life?” says Seth. “Why don’t we go out?”

  “In public?” Fatima’s jaw drops. “Are you crazy?”

  But Beau pounds his fist in the air. “That would be awesome! We could wear disguises.”

  “No way.” Fatima shakes her head so forcefully I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself. “I’m luc
ky my company lets me come here as it is. They think McNeal Manor’s a safe place.”

  “Why do you still care about what your company thinks?” I ask. “I thought you were the rebel who wore color?”

  “The fashion house believes me wearing color is a great idea. They’ve begged Pilar to drop the white forever.”

  “Doesn’t Pilar do whatever her purchasers tell her to?” I ask.

  Fatima scoffs. “Don’t be naïve. Nobody tells my mom what to do, especially this close to her contract completion.”

  “Why don’t we go to my place?” Beau suggests. “Ryan and Zach are making fish tacos.”

  “But then Seth couldn’t come,” I say. “He’d never be allowed in Vestal quarters.”

  “What about the lead-lined gloves?” asks Fatima.

  “No!” Seth declares. “Never again.”

  “We could swim,” I suggest.

  “You have a pool?” Fatima rubs her belly.

  “I knew we should have gone on the tour,” grumbles Beau. “Is it indoors?”

  “Yeah,” Seth says. “I’m not sure if there are security cameras out there or not.”

  “They’re deactivated,” I say. “At least that’s what your dad told me.”

  “Swimming could be nice,” Fatima says. “My doctor says that—”

  “Blanca!” Cal rushes into the great hall. “And Seth. I didn’t know you two were home.”

  Pilar is a few steps behind him in satin ballet flats. Even without the heels, she’s several inches taller than Cal. “Your father showed me his collection of old-fashioned books in the library,” she says. “It’s stunning.”

  I look at Cal closely and see a gap in his shirt where he skipped a button.

  “Where were you two?” Cal asks, his face flushed.

  “I gave an impromptu press conference,” I answer.

  “What?” Fatima screeches.

  “In front of Tabula Rasa,” I admit. Seth and I explain what happened. “But what I still don’t understand is how Ms. Corina left all those notes for me.”