I flip through the next few pages but find them all empty, the photographs removed. “There’s nothing else here.” My voice is wracked with disappointment.
“Keep looking,” says Seth. “You might still find something.”
Thankfully, I do. On the very last page, I find a picture of three people. Ms. Lydia, tired but smiling, her sister Lilith, her hair starting to gray, and a tiny baby, wrapped in a pink blanket.
I pull the picture from the album with trembling hands. Two thick tears roll down my cheeks. I trace the image of Ms. Lydia with my fingertips.
“My mother,” I whisper.
“My word,” says Cal, leaning down to get a closer look at the picture. “Is that you?”
But I don’t get the chance to answer.
The front door swings open, and half a dozen people invade the living room.
“Hold it!” says a gravelly voice. Agent Plunkett points her gun straight at me.
I feel no dread, only anger. I narrow my eyes at Agent Plunkett, whose boyish haircut looks freshly shorn. After nineteen years, I’ve finally seen a picture of my mother and me together, and now they want to rob me of this happiness.
“Secure the premises,” Agent Marlow growls to one of the officers.
I sense Seth stiffen next to me.
“What’s the meaning of this?” demands Cal.
“Dad,” Seth says with warning tone.
“It’s all clear,” barks an officer, returning from the kitchen.
“Stand down,” calls Agent Plunkett, and everyone lowers their guns. “What are you doing here, Blanca?”
“This is my mother’s house. I wanted to see it.” From the corner of my eye, I see Seth type with his finger-chips, his hands a frenetic blur.
“We’ve had this house under surveillance for months,” says Agent Marlow. “You’re guilty of tampering with evidence.”
Now Cal types on his chip-watch too.
But I’m ready to bite! “You knew my mother’s address and you didn’t tell me? I’m her daughter. I have a legal right to her estate.”
“Then why did you break in?” asks Agent Marlow. “We could have you all arrested.”
“Not ‘could,’” says Agent Plunkett. “Will.” She takes out handcuffs and reads our Miranda rights.
When we pull into the parking lot of the FBI building, Tiffany waits for us in a sleek green suit and dark brown heels. Unfortunately for me, Nancy is nowhere to be seen, and there’s a crowd of Viruses with thumb-cameras.
“Officers,” one of the paparazzi begins as soon as we step out of the car, “did you actually arrest Blanca for breaking into her own home?”
“I don’t discuss ongoing criminal investigations with the media,” snaps Agent Plunkett.
“Yes, they did.” Tiffany’s voice is low and sultry. She shakes her finger-chips and emits a document. “Here’s the official deed of the property in question which is now in Blanca’s name. The writ went through this morning.”
“Step aside!” Agent Marlow shoves paparazzi out of the way.
“And furthermore,” says Tiffany with a flip of her hair, “my colleague, Nancy Robinson, called me a few moments ago from the office of the U.S. Attorney in charge of the case against Barbelo Nemo to report that all Lydia Xavier’s property has been excluded from the warrant.”
“What?” Agent Plunkett jerks her head and stares at Tiffany.
“Check your messages.” Tiffany smiles a feline grin.
Agents Plunkett and Marlow hurriedly type their finger-chips. Color drains from Agent Marlow’s face, but Agent Plunkett turns beet red with rage. “Let’s discuss this inside,” she says.
“As you wish,” says Tiffany. “After you release my client and his friends and apologize.” She looks back over her shoulder and beams for the cameras. Then she passes that smile to Seth and Cal. But when she reaches me, Tiffany’s face freezes to stone.
Chapter Seventeen
“You told Tiffany about me?” It’s impossible not to screech. I pace around my room like a caged animal. I glimpse myself in the mirror and only see wild. I want to kick something, or claw somebody to shreds. I know the perfect person too. “I had to ride home in her car! Do you have any idea how horrible that was?”
“Well, yes, actually, I do. Angel.” Seth sprawls out in my desk chair, his feet up and his arms crossed.
“Is that where you were today? And yesterday? With your skanky ex-girlfriend?”
“Whoa! That was totally uncalled for. Just because Tiffany doesn’t pretend to be all holy and pure doesn’t mean she’s a skank.”
“Holy and pure? What’s that supposed to mean? And you didn’t answer my question. Where were you?”
“I thought Vestals didn’t pry into other people’s business.”
“I thought you didn’t want me to be a Vestal.” I stop pacing and hold my ground, my feet solidly planted on the floor.
“Look, Blanca, I did some Veritas Rex business. Can we leave it at that? Not everything is about you all the time.”
“But I needed you. And you let me down!”
“Did I?” Seth asks. “Who disabled the security system?”
“And alerted the FBI!”
“That wasn’t my fault. You and my dad would have tipped them off anyway. At least I bought you some time.”
“Answer me this,” I say. “Were you with Tiffany?”
Seth shakes his head. “I’m not answering that because it’s entirely irrelevant.”
“It’s not irrelevant. You’re holding something back.”
“I’m holding something back? Well that’s rich. You hold things back all the time.”
“That’s not true! I tell you everything, and you still don’t trust me.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about finding the key?”
“Because you weren’t here!” I plop down on my bed. I’m so angry I shake.
Seth climbs out of the chair, then kneels on the floor in front of me. “Blanca, I can’t tell you where I was today. Not yet anyway, but it wasn’t anything bad. I promise. And for what it’s worth, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to sharing pertinent information.”
“What do you mean? I tell you everything now.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d slept with Keung.”
“You didn’t ask!”
Seth hops on the bed next to me. “What! I’m supposed to say, ‘Hey, Blanca, have you ever slept with some random foreign exchange student?’”
“It wasn’t like that.” My irritation boils.
“Well, what was it like?”
I wrinkle my face. “Details? You want details? Okay, let’s start with you. How was sex with Tiffany?”
“Whoa.” Seth springs up from the bed. “Maybe we should cool off and talk about this later.”
“Do you still sleep with her? Is that where you were today? Sleeping with your old girlfriend because I haven’t put out?”
“I can’t believe you’d even suggest that!” Seth shouts.
“And I can’t believe you’re such an ass.” I stomp to the corner of the room and grab my motorcycle helmet. “You know the way out. I’ve got someplace to go.” I pull the card Jeremy gave me out of my pocket and throw it onto the bed.
“Blanca!” Seth cries. “Wait!”
But I’m already running full speed down the hall.
The soundstage is eerily quiet. A lone spotlight shines down on the linoleum where a circle of aluminum chairs waits. I sit in one of them, my feet locked at the ankles, and smooth out the denim of my white jeans.
“It’ll be okay, Blanca,” whispers Jeremy. “Everyone is nervous their first time here.”
I look around the room and try to act causal. Some of the people I recognize as former classmates. A girl who was kicked out of Tabula Rasa in ninth grade for having too many freckles gives me a nod. I wave back. I think her name is Stella. The woman next to Stella was
in Trevor’s class. Ash blond hair frames her face like a cloud, and her skin is ghostly pale. But she offers me a faint smile.
The other Defectos are a lot less friendly. An older guy with a bald head and gray handlebar mustache narrows his eyes at me and frowns, and a woman with a pinched expression glares at me over the rim of her tortoise-shell glasses.
“Shall we begin?” Jeremy smiles hard at the audience, transmitting enthusiasm. From my vantage point, I get a better view of the tattoos on Jeremy’s neck. They look like Chinese characters, but I can’t decipher them.
“Can I lead the blessing?” asks Stella.
Jeremy nods. “That would be great.”
“Brothers and sisters,” Stella begins, “you have a hard road. In so many ways, it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it. You have everything you need to achieve happiness.”
“The Vestal blessing?” I blurt out. “You’re not supposed to say the blessing anymore. You got rejected.”
“We were released,” Jeremy says. “It was for our own good. That doesn’t mean we can’t partake in the blessing.”
“Yes, it does.” I push back my sleeves. “I don’t give the blessing anymore. Not since my cuff is gone. It’s a bunch of garbage anyway.”
“No, Blanca,” says Stella. “It’s not garbage. Every word is true. You have a hard road. It’s very difficult being you.”
I roll my eyes and look away. It was stupid to think these people could help. As soon as it’s polite to leave, I’m out of here.
“Okay, friends,” says Jeremy, “let’s give Blanca her space and move on to new business. Who would like to share what they experienced this week?”
The burly man with the handlebar mustache raises his hand.
“Gregor,” Jeremy says, “thank you for sharing.”
“Well, uh, I want to say that like the rest of you I’ve followed the news about Headmaster Russell.” Gregor rubs the back of his thick neck. “It brought back a lot of memories. Some of you know this, but Russ and I were in the same class. Only he made it and I got the axe when I was thirteen.” Gregor pauses for a moment and looks at the audience with a twinkle in his eye. “After I discovered girls.” A smattering of laughter rises from the group. “Anyhow, I know all you young people saw Russell as an evil guy who beat you and made you go through Discipline Hour, but to me, he was a friend. And a lot of what Russ became probably had to do with how he was raised.”
At this Gregor looks straight at me. I automatically clench my fists.
“When I was at Tabula Rasa, Barbelo Nemo was still running the place. If you’ll excuse me for saying, Blanca, your father was a sick piece of work. For some reason, he always took a special interest in Russ and tapped him to be his apprentice.”
“Did you know my mother?” The words leak like water.
“Generally we don’t interrupt,” Jeremy says. “But you’re new here, Blanca, so it’s okay.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Gregor says. “Yes, I did know your mother. Ms. Lydia was a few years older than Russ and me. We didn’t see her much after her Harvest.”
I look at my white nail beds and slowly uncurl my fingertips.
“So I guess what I’m saying,” Gregor continues, “is that there are multiple sides to every story. And a lot of things about a person—even somebody you hate—you have no idea about.”
“Bullshit,” says a Defecto a few chairs over. He’s a pudgy guy with tattooed kittens on each arm.
“Victor.” Jeremy speaks with a warning tone. “Please. No judgment in this room.”
“I’m sorry, Gregor, but that’s bullshit. No way do I feel sympathy for that sadistic bastard. Russell made my life hell. I don’t care about his sob story.”
Gregor leans forward and rests both elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. He looks at Victor and nods. “You don’t need to feel anything you don’t want to feel, buddy.”
“Would anyone else like to share?” Jeremy asks.
“I would,” says Stella. She colors and her freckles stick out like dot to dots. “I’ve got this nephew—some of you have met him. Anyhow, I love him to pieces. But the other day I was at my sister’s house babysitting and all the kid wanted to do was sit in his room and play his new finger-chip game. I was like, ‘You’re eight years old, kid! You don’t need to be staring at your palm all the time. Go outside. Get some sunshine. Let’s throw the ball around.’”
I look around the circle and see nods of understanding.
“And it made me think about my life when I was eight years old.” At this, Stella nods in my direction. I look behind me, but I don’t see anything. “When Blanca and I were eight, we were stuck indoors too. We never had the privilege of playing outside. But at least we had books to read and friends to talk with, you know? I tried to explain my concerns to my sister when she got home, and she didn’t get it. She said, ‘You’re still so messed up from that place you can hardly see it.’ And maybe that’s true. But part of me still thinks that not all of Tabula Rasa was bad.”
Some people nod at this, but most people don’t. Victor practically bounces up and down in his chair as he waves his arm around.
“Victor,” says Jeremy, “go for it. I think you’ll probably share what I would say too.”
“Thanks,” Victor mumbles. He holds his hands up, and I get a better view of his cat tattoos. One of the kittens is playing with a ball of yarn. Its innocence is a sharp contrast to the vitriol in Victor’s voice. “I’m sorry, Stella. I don’t mean to disrespect you or your story, but your sister’s spot-on. You are messed up. There’s a whole lot of ways to have a happy childhood without being ripped away from your family and tortured. That’s why stopping the Harvest isn’t enough.” Victor looks in my direction. “Tabula Rasa must be shut down by any means it takes.”
“No,” Gregor says. “That’s not what this meeting is about. We’re here to support each other, not plot revenge.”
“Gregor’s right,” says the woman with ash blond hair. Her voice is as pallid as her face. “I want to talk about other things, like jobs.”
“Go ahead, Kate,” says Jeremy.
Kate pushes a strand of wispy hair behind her ear and continues. “I left Tabula Rasa in tenth grade, and I’ve struggled ever since.” When she looks around the circle and sees nods of understanding, her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. “At first, I tried to finish my diploma at a normal high school, but I was hopelessly lost. It wasn’t only the math and science. I didn’t know how to talk to other kids my age or find people to sit with at the cafeteria.” Kate looks at her feet. “And I had no idea how to handle boys. I’d spent my whole life being told a boyfriend would be chosen for me when I became a Vestal.”
I think about my mother saying Trevor and I would be the perfect match.
And then I think about Cal doing everything he can to prepare me for college. How he’s hired me a special tutor and making me see Dr. Meredith for help. If not for Cal, I’d probably be exactly like this Defecto.
Kate looks back up at the audience. “I never got my official diploma. And working for Jeremy’s soundstage crew isn’t my thing. So I babysit and clean houses. I can’t scrape enough money together to move out of my parents’ apartment. And it’s awful because I know they don’t want me there.”
“You can live with me,” interjects Victor. “Maybe?”
Kate’s face freezes. “Uh, thanks for the offer, Victor, but I’m allergic to cats.”
“Anyone else?” Jeremy asks. “Blanca? Do you want to share?”
For some reason, Kate’s story makes me brave. I think about Fatima, fearful for her family. “Tabula Rasa could do a better job at teaching career skills,” I concede. “Harvested Tabula Rasa students aren’t prepared to live independently either.”
“Exactly,” says Victor. “Vestals are totally useless.”
“No. They aren’t!” I cut a glance at Jere
my to see if he’ll chastise Victor for interrupting, but Jeremy doesn’t move a muscle. “All of us—Vestals and Defectos—have skills that aren’t being taught in the outside world that are really useful.”
“Like what?” asks Kate.
I search my brain for answers. “We know how to memorize,” I say, grateful that I thought of something. “We can sit still and not fidget. And we have beautiful handwriting.”
At this, Jeremy chuckles. “Well, there you have it people. Thank you, Tabula Rasa, for my fine penmanship.”
I didn’t try to be funny. I am dead serious. But merriment overtakes the room like wildfire. It’s so infectious, and this day has been so horrible, that I can’t fight it.
For half a second, I smile.
The meeting ends, and the chairs are put away. I slip into my jacket and reach for my helmet when Jeremy stops me.
“Wait, Blanca. There’s one more Reject I want you to hear from.”
“I thought you called yourself Defectos?”
“We do, but this guy isn’t one of us.”
I hear a loud bang as the door to the soundstage closes. I look and see that the last support group member has left. Jeremy and I stand alone in the cavernous silence.
“Okay.” My muscles twitch. “Who do you want me to meet?”
Jeremy points off to the side of the building lined with dressing rooms. “He’s waiting for you in there.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Hello, tiānshĭ. Did you receive my messages?” Keung sits in front of the dressing-room mirror and stares back at me through the reflection. His tailored suit makes him look ten years older, but when I look into his eyes, I see the teenager I kissed a few years ago. Beside him on the table is a book of old-fashioned stationery and a ballpoint pen.
“You sent the messages?” I take a small step into the dressing room, but leave the door wide open. “I thought they were from Ms. Corina or maybe Headmaster Russell.”
Keung smiles and turns to face me. “No, they were from me.”
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