“Without Ms. Lydia, you’ve lost all control,” Alberto adds. He glances at me softly. “Your mother could multitask like nobody’s business.”
“I’ve got my team on it,” insists Jeremy. “This will turn out great.” He motions to his Reject stage crew. “Reset the scene and take it from the top.”
A loud pop of burned-out lights startles us all.
“For crying out loud!” Jeremy scratches his neck along the tattoos. “Take ten, people.”
“Come on, girls.” Pilar tosses her hair. “Let’s rest in the dressing room.”
I take off my shoes and follow on bare feet. Fatima and Pilar don’t bother. Their calves must be permanently stretched from their commitment to high heels.
Still, pregnancy is taking its toll on my best friend. As soon as we get to the dressing room, Fatima lies down on the cracked pleather couch and elevates her feet.
“Be careful not to mess up your hairdo.” Pilar pulls Fatima’s hair back and arranges it neatly.
“I know, Mami.” Fatima closes her eyes like she’s about to doze off.
Maybe now’s my chance.
“Pilar? That was really nice what Alberto said about Ms. Lydia back there.”
Pilar gives me a patronizing smile. “Your mother was an excellent leader.” She gestures to the door leading to the soundsstage. “This place is a circus without her.”
“Do you know, by any chance, where Ms. Lydia went after she was done working?”
Pilar blinks rapidly. “What do you mean?”
I put my hand in the tiny pocket of my pants that shelters the silver key. But I don’t remove it. “Where did Ms. Lydia live?”
“Why would I know that?”
“You never asked her?”
“Of course not,” Pilar answers. “Vestals don’t pry into one another’s private business.” She narrows her eyes.
Her words might not have said it, but Pilar’s tone is implicit. If I were still a real Vestal, I wouldn’t poke around into Ms. Lydia’s personal details.
“Look, if Ms. Lydia were alive I’d never ask. But …” I let my words hang in the air. Then I glance at Fatima, who now snores on the couch. “If something happened to your daughter, wouldn’t you want her to have a little comfort? Please, Pilar. I know nothing about Ms. Lydia. Everything I thought to be true was false. Can’t you tell me a little bit about what she was really like?”
Pilar sighs deeply and then sits down in the chair in front of her mirror. “What do you want to know?”
The words come forth, small and desperate. “Did she ever talk about me?”
“No,” Pilar answers. But briefly, ever so briefly, she nods her head yes.
That’s the only bit of useful information she doesn’t say. The rest of our conversation
is painfully futile. Pilar tells me Ms. Lydia always insisted on fresh crudités at every commercial shoot and that for special occasions she would stock the craft table with smoked salmon. But other than those tidbits of useless information, Pilar reveals nothing. So I go back to the soundstage and find out what’s taking so long.
Some of the Vestals sit on the staircase and chat with friends. A few of them wave to me when I pass, but many turn away and block me from their conversations. I don’t stop walking until I find Jeremy, engaged in a heated discussion with his Reject crew.
“Fix it,” Jeremy says. “I don’t care what you have to do.” He rubs his hands through his curly brown hair.
Jeremy definitely has an adorable vibe going on. I can see why he made it all the way to his junior year without being eliminated. But I’ll never understand why he dropped out so close to graduation.
“Oh. Hi, Blanca. I didn’t see you there.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was wondering if you needed any help.”
“Nah, I think we’ll be all set in a few minutes. Alberto’s right. Things are still a little rough without your mom. It feels weird doing these shoots without her.”
“It feels weird hearing you call Ms. Lydia my mom.” I look up at Jeremy’s face and see his eyes open wide. I could kick myself for the thoughtless release of private information.
“Hey, look,” Jeremy says. “I want to tell you how much I admire you for that video you did in front of Tabula Rasa where you spoke up against the Harvest. That was really brave.”
“Thank you.” I cross my arms in front of me. The halter top I wear doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I should have thrown on a sweater.
“But you didn’t go far enough,” Jeremy continues.
“What?” I freeze.
“Mutual selection is better than an auction but barely. Tabula Rasa needs to be shut down forever.”
“Forever? That seems a bit drastic.”
“Not when you consider how those kids are tortured.”
“But they’re not being tortured anymore. Headmaster Russell is gone.” Dead, probably. “And Ms. Corina isn’t like that. Don’t you think Tabula Rasa still has a role to play as a school that focuses on important things?”
“What important things? Poetry?” Jeremy chuckles. “Look around this place. Does poetry make this happen? Could any of the Vestals shoot a commercial without the Defectos? Could they operate a camera or change a light bulb?”
“Maybe,” I say. “With a little training.”
Jeremy shakes his head. “They’re useless. All Vestals are good for is looking pretty.”
“That’s not true!” I say it too loudly. Some of the Rejects hear and form a little crowd.
“It is true.” Jeremy’s face turns red. “Vestals aren’t equipped for the real world.”
“They don’t have to be in the real world. That’s the whole point!”
“I can’t believe you’re taking their side. I thought you were different.”
“I am different.” I hold up my forearm and show him my chip-watch. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand back and let you say bad things about the Brethren.” With the corner of my eye, I see Trevor and Alberto walk up with a small group of Vestals.
This is getting out of control fast. I need to fix this. But how?
Get someone to agree with you by starting with a “Yes-Yes.” Make them think that what you want, is what they want. And that it was their idea in the first place.
The old instructions whisper in my psyche.
When all else fails, smile.
“Jeremy.” My voice is sweet. “Everything you’ve done with the Reje— I mean with the Defectos, I admire it so much. I hear you’re organizing now?”
“Yes.” Jeremy’s back is stiff.
“That’s amazing leadership on your part. And incredible foresight. Where’d you get the idea to do that?”
“From history,” Jeremy says. “There used to be these things called unions.”
“And the world has forgotten about unions, right?”
“Yeah. For the most part. I think some old people remember.”
I nod my head in agreement. “And Vestals. Vestals remember because they study history.”
Jeremy expels a quick burst of air in derision.
“Look. I totally agree with you, Jeremy. Dramatic change needs to happen at Tabula Rasa. But that doesn’t mean Vestals are useless or what they stand for isn’t essential.”
“What do we stand for?” asks Trevor.
I spin around to look at him. His clear face has drained of color.
“Yes,” says the Vestal next to Trevor. “What now that Barbelo Nemo is gone?”
“You are a beacon in a dark world,” I recite on instinct. “You are examples of purity in a world that has forgotten what is important.”
“Bullshit,” says Jeremy.
“No. It’s not.” I look at the Rejects, clustered around their leader. “Defectos remember what’s important too—one another! Not the people you know online but the friends who will show up for you when you really need help. That’s what Vest
als stand for too.” I turn around slowly and look at all of them. “My father was messed up.” Saying the word father cuts me like a knife, but I’m going for impact. “Headmaster Russell was a psychopath. But that doesn’t mean that the whole concept of Tabula Rasa is evil. That doesn’t mean we should shut it down. We need reform, not abandonment.”
Alberto nods his head with me in agreement. Trevor has relaxed his fists and smiles at me with encouragement.
“And how would you reform it?” Jeremy sneers.
“I’d keep Tabula Rasa as a safe place where kids could learn. A school that wasn’t only science, technology, engineering, and math but the humanities too. And maybe it wouldn’t be a boarding school anymore. Maybe kids would go home and see their parents every night.”
“So how’s that different from a normal school?” a Reject asks.
“Because of the cloister.” I stand tall in my boots. “Lead-lined walls. Eight hours every day where students don’t have to worry about what’s happening online. Where they can hang out with their real-life, in-person friends and focus on education.”
I look at Jeremy’s face and see that it is softening.
“Lots of things are messed up,” I say, “but Vestals remind humanity that the people in front of you are what matter the most.”
Jeremy’s eyes cloud with fury again. “If people matter so much to Vestals, why do they cut kids down like grass to cull the class to ten graduates? That’s sick.”
“I agree. That—” But I don’t have the chance to finish my sentence.
“Why not eleven graduates. Or twelve?” Jeremy spits out his questions like nails.
“Because …” I stare into the crowd and scramble for an answer. The truth is that Barbelo was obsessed with purity. He whittled down the class to ten graduates so they would be of the highest intelligence, beauty, and marketability. But surely there were a lot of borderline cases. Rejects who could have been Vestals—or Vestals who could have become Rejects. “If there are too many graduates, then there might not be enough contracts.”
Jeremy snorts. “Then they shouldn’t start off with two hundred kids to begin with. Do you know what that does to the graduation rate?”
I nod my head, trying to block away the numbers.
“Five percent,” somebody shouts. “Only five percent of Tabula Rasa students graduate.”
“That needs to change,” I answer. “And maybe the Defectos can play a part in that. Offer suggestions for how to make it better.”
Jeremy squares his shoulders. “We don’t want anything to do with Tabula Rasa.”
“Then why are you organizing?” I ask.
“For lots of reasons, Blanca. To show that we have a voice. To help each other find jobs and build lives. And for healing.”
The Rejects clap, and I hear a few cheers.
“That’s great.” I look around the Reject audience. Scruffy beards, tattoos, fists clenched together; I see pain in their eyes.
“Okay, guys,” Jeremy says to our group of onlookers. “Show’s over. We film again in five minutes.” He steps closer to me as the perilous crowd disperses. “You have a voice too, Blanca. A powerful one.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“People listen to you. All the time on The Lighthouse and a few moments ago, in that spontaneous soapbox speech or whatever.”
“Maybe.” I’m not sure where Jeremy is going with this. I thought I had ticked him off.
“But you need healing too. Your impact will be even stronger when you get the past sorted out.”
“What are you talking about? Did Cal put you up to this?”
“Cal? You mean Mr. McNeal? No.” Jeremy pulls a card out of his back pocket. “I was thinking you should come to our support group.”
“What?”
“Of Defectos. We meet every week to talk about stuff and figure things out.”
“Why would I want to share the private details of my life with perfect strangers?”
“Because they’re not perfect strangers, Blanca. They’re people you knew. Some of them are your former classmates. Others are older and knew your parents.”
“I didn’t have parents.”
“Neither did we,” says Jeremy. “That’s why we need each other. Together we can become stronger and rebuild our lives.” He reaches for my hand and places the card on my palm. “Here’s my contact info. Call me any time. We’d love to have you at our next meeting.” He hurries away to the shoot.
“No, thank you,” I answer, a bitter taste in my mouth.
But Jeremy is already gone.
Chapter Fifteen
I cannot possibly stand in these stilettos one more second, which is fine, because I don’t have to. Filming is finally over, so I slip into fluffy white boots and a cashmere pullover. The halter still cinches, cutting off my breath. But at least I’m warm. When I see Cal enter through the security gate, I smile. It’s time to go back home to the manor.
Cal lightly pecks me on the cheek. “Blanca, we’ve got a situation.”
“What situation?” Pilar asks. She stands next to me with Fatima.
“Oh! Hello.” Cal’s voice suddenly becomes deep.
Is it my imagination, or did he stand up straighter?
“What’s going on?” I ask. “I thought Seth was coming with you.”
“Change of plans.” Cal wrinkles his forehead. “Headmaster Russell’s remains have been found. Somebody has broken the news that the Guardians are being called in for questioning.”
“Seth?” I ask, panic in my voice. “Was Seth responsible for the leak?” Never trust a Virus. Never.
“I don’t know.” Cal clears his throat. “I haven’t been able to reach him all day.”
“Where is he?” Fatima frowns.
But there isn’t time for Cal to explain because we hear what sounds like thunder from outside.
“Is it raining?” Pilar pats her hairstyle protectively.
“No,” Cal answers. “A mob of reporters. I was barely able to make it through.”
“We need to warn Jeremy,” I say. “Immediately. How will the Vestals get out?”
“Mami!” Fatima grabs her baby bump.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Blanca, wait,” Cal says, as we rush across the stage. “There’s one more thing I didn’t explain.”
“What?”
“You,” Cal says. “Your name is being mentioned too. That’s why I don’t think—why I know—Seth didn’t leak the information.”
“No.” The small hairs on the back of my neck lift up. “Of course not.”
When we reach Jeremy, he and Alberto are talking to the security guards. “You’ve heard?” Jeremy asks us.
Cal and I nod.
My voice quakes. “How will the Vestals escape?” I have chills beneath my cashmere sweater.
“My crew can help hold back a crowd,” says Jeremy, “but we can’t keep them from taking pictures. We don’t have that type of manpower. Our security detail isn’t set up for mob control.”
“But Pilar,” Alberto protests, “Fatima. They can’t have their pictures taken by strangers.”
“They won’t,” I say. “I’ll protect them.”
“You?” Alberto asks. “How?”
“Yeah, how?” Jeremy wants to know.
“I don’t mind having my picture taken.” I stick my chin up. “I’ll be a decoy.”
“Blanca, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Cal cautions.
But Jeremy nods his head. “It could work. Blanca could create a diversion up front while the rest of the Vestals slip out the back door.”
Cal shakes his head. “That sounds dangerous.”
“Nobody will hurt me with the whole world watching.”
“You don’t understand crowds,” Cal says. “They can be deadly.”
“I know all about danger,” I say. “I’m a su
rvivor, remember? I’ve got good instincts.”
“For goodness sake, Blanca! I never should have taught you to think for yourself.” Cal scowls, but a half second later, he puts his arm around my shoulder for a hug. “Well, you won’t have to go alone. I’ll come with you.”
“Me too,” offers Jeremy. “Give me a few minutes to arrange things.” He darts off.
“I’ll come as well,” Alberto offers.
“No,” says Cal. “You should stay with Pilar and Fatima.”
The two men stare at each other. Alberto towers over Cal, who is only of average height. But after a moment, Alberto nods at Cal with respect. “We go with our daughters.” Alberto holds his hand out to shake.
“Blanca,” Cal whispers when Alberto is gone, “you need to be careful when you’re in front of those cameras not to inadvertently make a statement that would incriminate you.”
I search Cal’s face. “Do you think I have something to hide?”
“I know you.” Cal’s eyes flash back at me. “You always have something to hide.”
“Well then you should also realize that I know how to keep a secret.”
My eyes are blinded by the flashing lights of hundreds of thumb-cameras. The crowd is hungry, their mood ravenous. Viral bloggers or random curiosity seekers; it’s difficult to tell who I’m dealing with. I wish Seth was here to help identify my audience. But instead I have to settle for Cal, Jeremy, and a small flank of Reject security guards.
“Blanca,” someone calls out, “what do you know about the death of Headmaster Russell?”
I make strong eye contact with the audience. “I am as anxious to find out the details as you. Next?”
“Were you involved in his disappearance?”
I erase all signs of emotion from my expression. “I make it a point to stay as far away from Headmaster Russell as possible.”
“Can you tell us about the Guardians?” someone asks. “Do you think they’re responsible for Russell’s death?”
“I try not to form conclusions until I know all the facts,” I say. “I eagerly await the results of the FBI’s investigation into this matter.”
Jeremy stands next to me with his finger-chips cupped around his ears. Then he leans down and whispers, “You’re good to go. It’s all clear.”
Damaged Goods Page 10
