by H. A. Swain
“Endurance! Survival of the fittest!” she hollers and laughs with delight like a complete lunatic. Then she shoves the other pants at me. “Take these,” she says. “And meet me there.” She points to the very last register where the masses haven’t spread yet because it’s so damn far away, then she peels off from me.
“Wait!” I yell. But she is lightning quick and has already disappeared down another aisle under a Grocery sign. I hear her, though. She shouts, “Keep going! Don’t stop.” I look over my shoulder and see a scrum of people heading my way so I take a deep breath and run faster. By the time I get to the gates for the last register, Zimri is speeding out of an aisle perpendicular to me with two small boxes in her arms. “Go! Go!” she yells.
She pushes me through the gate ahead of the rush of people. We jog up to the automated register. “Scan it! Scan it!” Zimri says but I stand paralyzed, no clue what to do. The people surge through the gates and push toward us. Zimri grabs the pants and shirts from me and runs them across the scanner. The total comes up on the screen. “Money!” she demands.
“What?”
“Money! Cash!”
“Cash?” Frantically, I pat my pockets. “I left everything at your POD.”
“Seriously?” she yells but then she scans her boxes and two drinks and quickly feeds bills into the machine to pay for everything. She shoves the clothes back at me. “Now, we get the hell out!”
ZIMRI
When we come out of Black Friday, Aimery looks like he’s ready to drop.
“You okay?” I pat him on the back.
He puts his hands on his knees, still huffing and puffing. “I feel like I just ran for my life from a pack of wild animals.”
“But you got some nice pants, so it was totally worth it, right?” I say, only half joking.
He looks up at me skeptically. “Is that how you shop for everything?”
“Pretty much,” I say. “Come on. We’ll rest and eat something.” I take him by the hand and lead him across the street from the Black Friday parking lot and sit beneath a sprawling oak tree. “This used to be a school when my grandmother was little.” I point at the old redbrick building. Aimery falls like a rag doll beside me. “Brie and I used to sneak in there. There are still old paper books they used to teach kids to read and write and do math. Nonda says they even had art classes and music. And it was free. Can you imagine?”
“For free?” he says. “Why? How’d they make any money?”
“That was when the government paid for things,” I say. “But I guess it didn’t work because eventually Corp X came in with their SQEWL and it closed like almost everything else.”
“What’s that building?” Aimery asks, pointing at the Paramount Theater next to a dilapidated playground.
“It was a cinema,” I tell him. “And a theater for live plays and music concerts. One of my grandfathers played in a band. My mother told me the ceiling was painted to look like a starry sky.”
“It’s beautiful,” Aimery says. “Or it could be, at least. If someone cleaned it up.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “The whole town is like that, really.”
“Except Black Friday?” He turns and looks over his shoulder at the hulking building behind us and scowls, as if he’d been traumatized by what just happened. “I’ve never been inside a brick-and-mortar store before,” he admits. “I’ve never had to think about my size or fight for clothes that other people want. That was awful in there!”
I laugh. “Poor baby! Used to everything at the push of a button, huh? This is how the Plebes do it. Now we eat! Here, this is for you.” I hand him one of the lunch boxes I grabbed from the refrigerated section of the grocery aisle. “These are pretty good if you can snag one but they go fast.” I open mine. A mycoprotein chixen patty on a bun with reconstituted veggie strips and dip on the side. “What’d you get?”
He pulls out a smoked tofurky and facon sandwich with yogurt-covered freeze-dried berries and bananas.
“Yum!” I hand him a power drink from my pocket and open another for myself. He pops his open, chugs the whole thing, then digs into the food like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“You know, it’s funny,” he says between bites, “but when I was back at home, I never thought for a second about who was packing up my boxes of demands. I wanted socks. I ordered socks. I got socks. Everybody thinks that the old-time stores were so inefficient. Who has time to walk in someplace if you don’t know whether or not they have exactly what you want or need? The right color? The right size? What would be the odds of everything lining up in your favor? But, man, after a week of picking for people who know nothing but how to consume, I think, nobody needs eighty-five percent of the stuff they order! And we assume the whole system is automated. I never imagined actual people were running around a warehouse, getting things for me.”
“You won’t have to worry about that for long,” I tell him. “Ours is one of the last warehouses to use humans. They’ll automate it someday and we’ll be replaced by A.N.T.s.”
“But what will the workers do when that happens?”
“Same thing they’ve always done when jobs dry up,” I say with a shrug. “Nonda talks about how her parents and grandparents made cars in factories out here before that industry died. Some of those people had to move away, some found other jobs, and some of them never recovered.”
Aimery puts his sandwich down and says, “Sometimes when I’m picking in the warehouse, I wish I could see the names on the orders. I imagine that I might see one of my friend’s names. Wouldn’t it be strange if you actually knew the people you were picking for? Or if they knew us? Or what if we knew the people who built the stuff we used? What if I could meet the person who made these pants I just bought? Would it make a difference? Would people order less? Or more? Would they be less demanding and more forgiving if they knew it wasn’t just an algorithm and robot working for them but an actual person?”
I giggle and lean in close. “Sometimes,” I tell him, “when no one’s looking, I take out a marker I keep inside my pocket and I write Nobody from Nowhere on the packages.”
Aimery gasps.
“Oh, come on,” I say and shove his shoulder. “It’s not that bad.”
“No, Zimri.” He grabs my knee. “I’ve gotten one of your packages!”
“Shut up!” I say.
“I’m serious. I knew I’d heard or seen Nobody from Nowhere before, but I just couldn’t place it. Now I remember.” He throws his head back and laughs. “It was on some disposable umbrellas.”
“It’s like we were destined to meet!” I tease.
But Aimery’s face is serious. “I think so, too.”
“You’re a Plute, aren’t you?” I ask.
He looks down at the ground and nods. “Does that make you think less of me?”
I consider this for a moment. “If I didn’t know you, I might think less of you, but the way you describe life in the City, it sounds awful.”
He shrugs. “Like anything, there’s an upside and a downside.”
“And an upside down?” I say and do a backward roll to crack the somber mood because I don’t want to spend my only day off talking about everything that’s wrong in the world.
“How’d you do that?” Aimery says with an astonished laugh. “I want to do it!” He flings himself backward and tries to get his legs over his head, but he gets stuck midroll with his butt up in the air. “Help! Help!” he yells, legs waggling like an upturned bug.
“You’re caught now!” I smack his rear.
“Hey, stop. Come on.” He laughs and writhes around until I grab his ankles and flip him over so that he lands on his knees. He sits up with dried leaves and little twigs in his hair. I pull two handfuls of grass from the ground and toss them on his head.
“Aw, man!” he says, brushing them away. “Now I’m going to need another shower.”
“Payback!” I yell, and throw more grass at him.
“Payback?” he says, laughing and
swatting at the storm I’m making. “For what?”
“For beating me with that pillow!”
“Oh, yeah?” He flings grass at me. “Two can play that game.”
I duck and roll then scurry behind the tree. “You have to be quicker than that!” I tease, popping out long enough to toss dried leaves at him, then hiding again before he can mount his defense. He hops up and chases me around and around the tree. We both run, hollering and laughing at each other like we’re little kids again, until on the fifth time around he stops, spins on his heel to go the other way and I slam right into him.
“Ha!” He grabs me tight around the waist. “I got you.”
“No way, sucker!” I turn away and dig my feet in the ground and he steps forward, trying to stop me, but we get tangled up and fall, face first, him on top of me. He keeps hold of my body and we roll, my legs kicking up in the air, both of us laughing and out of breath. I like the way my body fits snugly against his, like we’re two parts of one machine. Then we both stop and lie there on our sides, each with a shoulder pressed into the ground. His knees are tucked up against the backs of mine as if we’ve just woken from a long nap in the sun. We both breathe, his exhale hot on my neck.
“Do you surrender?” he says into my ear.
“Zimri Robinson never gives up!” I proclaim, but I don’t try to get away.
“Then you have met your match,” he says like a movie voice-over. “Because Orpheus always wins.”
“Orpheus?” I wriggle and he lets go. “Who’s Orpheus?”
He flops onto his back, tosses one arm over his face, and groans. “Oh, hell.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, trying to puzzle through what’s going on. “Is that your name?”
“I was going to tell you in your POD this morning!” he says. “But then you jumped up and said we were going to Black Friday and … and … now I’ve ruined everything.”
“No, you haven’t.” I reach out to touch his knee. “I understand. You ran away. You needed to hide. We all hide a part of ourselves sometimes.”
“Says the girl in the black mask?” he asks and peeks out at me.
“Says the boy who outed her and almost got her arrested,” I say back.
“Sorry,” he says, grimacing.
“So. Orpheus, huh?” I ask, trying to get used to his real name. “Wasn’t he the guy in Greek myths who went to the underworld to save his wife?”
He nods. “He was the father of songs.”
“Quite a name to live up to!” I tease.
“You have no idea,” he says. “And, there’s something else I want to tell you.” He looks at me from the corner of his eye then takes a deep breath and blurts out, “I’m the one who paid your grandmother’s MediPlex bill.”
“What? Why?” I sit up on my knees, my heart beating in my ears.
He exhales, sharply. “Because I’m the one who found her that night on the road and when you said you didn’t have the money to keep her in the MediPlex I realized that I did.”
“But I put on the concert. I took everybody’s cash.”
“I didn’t know about the concert until after I’d already paid the bill.” He shrinks back like he’s afraid I’m going to punch him.
“That’s so Plutey of you,” I say, arms crossed. “Thinking you have to come in here and help us poor dumb Plebes.”
“I don’t think you’re dumb. I never have,” he says.
“The only reason someone like me would need the help of someone like you is because people like you took everything away from people like me.” I pause and let that sink into his dumb Plute brain. “And I’m paying you back. You know that, right?”
“I don’t want your money,” he says.
“It’s not my money. It’s the money from the concert.”
“No,” he says seriously. “I won’t take it. I would have put the same amount in the box at the concert.”
“What?” I ask.
“I mean it. What I paid for your grandmother is what your concert is worth to me.”
I sit there, speechless, my heart fluttering like a bird in flight.
“In fact, you deserve more than that!” he adds. “Do you know how much tickets cost to see a live show at an arena in the City? Your show was a bargain and better than any Plute performance.”
My whole body feels liquid and warm. Slowly a smile spreads over my face. I crawl toward him as he yammers on but I’m not really listening to his words, only to the sound of his voice, which is a melody I want to sing. I am overwhelmed by his kindness and by his belief in me. Despite feeling badly that I’ve hurt Dorian, my feelings for him don’t compare to how drawn I feel to this other boy, whoever he might be. It’s as if Aimery/Orpheus and I have tiny magnets in our bellies pulling us together. He stops talking, mid-sentence, something about confessing more. Then he blinks at me with eyes wide and uncertain as I loom up into his face. I find the notes. I sing his song then press my lips against his and we both hum, our voices in perfect harmony.
ORPHEUS
I don’t know how long we sing-kiss beneath the tree. Our voices blend and balance note after note as we climb up and down the scale. It could have been for one second or forever. Like any good song, it’s timeless and stays stuck in my head long after it’s over.
“Whoa.” I blink when she pulls away.
“Was that okay?” she asks and bites her lip.
“Uh, yeah. More than okay.” I lean forward for another round but she shies away and moves beside me so we’re sitting shoulder to shoulder in the grass. Two dragonflies zoom by in tandem. This time I don’t freak out. Instead, I watch them soar up and get lost among the leaves.
“I think I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she says.
“Me, too,” I admit, then I lean close to her. “Want to do it some more?”
She bumps me playfully. “Yes, but not here.” She points to Black Friday where people are still streaming out of the doors with their arms full of purchases. “Too many eyes.”
“Are you worried that Dorian will find out?”
She thinks this over then says, “Yes, I guess I am. I don’t want to hurt his feelings any more than I already have, but that doesn’t change this.” She points from herself to me and back at herself again.
“And what exactly is this?” I make the same gesture back and forth between us.
“I have no idea. I don’t even know what I should call you now. Orpheus? Aimery? Which is it?”
I reorient myself so we’re facing each other then I reach out and put my hands on Zimri’s knees. I feel light-headed but I know if I want this to last, I need to come clean right now. “There’s something else you need to know.”
“Okay,” she says and leans forward, ready to listen.
“My full name,” I tell her, then I stop to take a breath, “is Orpheus Chanson.”
“Chanson?” Zimri says and scoots backward. “Orpheus Chanson? As in Chanson Industries? That kind of Chanson?”
I nod and wait. Zimri sits there, stunned. My entire body feels as if it will melt into the ground, seep into the roots of the tree, and disappear if she rejects me. “I know I should have told you sooner.…”
“Good thing you didn’t,” Zimri whispers.
“Why?” I ask, my stomach dropping. “Do you like me less now?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I’m trying to decide.”
“Listen, Zimri.” My hands hover in front of her because I’m not sure I’m allowed to touch her anymore. “I know this is a lot to take in and I haven’t been completely honest but you should know there’s one thing that’s one hundred percent true.”
“Which is…?”
“This.” I point from her to me like she did only moments before. “Whatever this is, it’s the most honest feeling I’ve ever had for anyone. That’s the truth. And nothing will change that.”
Zimri laughs, surprising herself as much as me, then she shakes her head and I can see her fighting not to smile.
“Do you forgive me?” I ask.
“That depends,” she says.
“On what?” I plead.
“On how this kiss feels,” she says and leans in.
I dive forward, nearly knocking her down. When my mouth touches hers, when my hands find her shoulders, when I breathe her in, it’s the way I’ve imagined every kiss should ever feel—but didn’t.
When we pull apart, she sighs deeply and nods. “Okay,” she says simply. “I forgive you, Orpheus Chanson.” Then she stands up and holds out her hands to me. “Now let’s get out of here.”
“And go where?” I ask as she pulls me to my feet.
“Well,” she says, taking a deep breath. “You should go to the housing office to find a POD. You’re paying rent already, you know. It comes right out of your COYN. And I need to visit Nonda. And after that we’ll figure out the rest.”
ZIMRI
I don’t stop smiling for the next hour. Not on my way to visit Nonda. Not as I sit beside her bed and listen to her berate me for keeping her in the MediPlex. “You’re getting stronger and better every day,” I remind her, but she just sniffs as if insulted. I pat her hand and grin and keep on grinning until I walk outside again and see Orpheus waiting for me on the portico. I run to him and let him catch me in a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a surprise for you!” he says. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the weird glove I saw him wearing on the river path once before. “Tati fixed my car.”
I clap my hands. “I knew she could!”
Orpheus lifts his gloved hand to his mouth and commands, “Pick up.” From the AutoTram lot, his car, still banged up but purring instead of clunking, glides toward us. “Open,” he commands, and the topside doors lift up like wings. “After you.” He bows like some old-fashioned gentleman.
Laughing, I climb inside and ogle the WindScreens all around that are lit up with maps, scrolling headlines from the Buzz, and video feeds from the City.
“Where to?” the car asks.
