by Carol Riggs
I meet the gaze of his sharp gray eyes. “I’m surprised you remember that.”
“That’s partly why I chose you to be a Reducer. You’re selfless, hard working, and you want to make something of your life. I had personal goals when I was young, and I continue to have them. Are you familiar with the history of ghettos or slums?”
Random change of subject, but I’ll humor him. “Ghettos or slums were miserable places with gangs. Poverty. Drugs, street fights, and starvation.”
“Exactly. I grew up in a neighborhood the locals called the White Slash District. I was fourteen when my best friend got killed in a knife fight.” He pauses for a moment, jaw muscles tight. “At that point I knew I had to change my life. I saw my chance to get ahead by joining National Health Care. After years of rigorous work, here I am, director at a branch of a prominent, government-backed institution.”
“That’s amazing,” I say. I can’t fathom what it’d be like to lose a friend in a stabbing. All at once his determination, his drive, and the precision of his business suits take on a new meaning. He’s gone from the violent streets of the slums to the high-tech, sleek office of upper management. That’s inspirational. It makes him sound a lot less scary and ruthless.
At the autodoor to a room marked Private Guests, Leo rests a hand on my shoulder and slows me to a halt. “Don’t be discouraged by this attack, Morgan. You’re tough and adaptable. I encourage you to do whatever it takes to reach your goals, as I have. Make sacrifices. Work long and hard. You’re the one in control of your future.”
Behind the shrewdness, there’s a glimmer of sincere pleading in his eyes. He really wants me to do a good job as a Reducer. Not only for myself, but for him. For his Institute.
“Thanks, Leo,” I say. “I’ll do that.”
Exuberance flares through me as I walk through the autodoor. Yes, I am in control of my future. By deciding to continue this assignment and stay in this body, I’m making sacrifices to get where I want to be in life. Where I want Granddad and my family to be in life—debt free. My struggles will be worth it in the end.
I have dreams. I have important goals.
Chapter 15
The metallic whir of motorized gears enters my ears, and I sense what must be the motion of the Kowalczyks’ vehicle easing through the autodoors of their garage. I open my eyes, surprised to find I’ve dozed off during the ride home. The painkiller the nurse gave me must’ve been more potent than I thought.
“Stop. Turn off,” Dr. K. commands the car. He whisks out, opens my door before I finish unbuckling my seat belt, and offers me his arm. Mrs. K. hovers by my other side.
“I’m okay. Just an ugly bump on my head.” I pause. “Or Jodine’s head.”
Mrs. K. makes an indignant sound. “If those protesters had severely injured you, they would’ve had a lawsuit on their hands. I’m tempted to call a lawyer as it is. I don’t know how the WHA can claim to protect citizens’ rights while they run around harming people.”
“I’ve never liked that Walter Herry,” Dr. K. says. “Not even before he resorted to violence to make his points. He’s getting desperate and ruining a perfectly useful organization.”
The house door opens to reveal Nettie standing with her hands clasped into a tight ball. “I’ve saved dinner, if you’re hungry. Morgan, how are you?”
“Not as bad as everyone thinks, but it hurts some.”
Nettie gives a motherly cluck of her tongue. I let Dr. K. seat me at the dining table while Nettie scoots off to the kitchen. In a few minutes, the servbot appears with plates of broiled halibut, brown rice, and broccoli. As I listen to conversation about the attack and how the world is filled with violence, a shivery sensation crawls over me like a mess of spiderbots.
The protesters could’ve seriously injured me today. Not just a simple twisted ankle that would set me back weeks or months and stop me from getting my assignment done in time. I could’ve ended up with an intensive-care-unit type of injury. Worse, would the burly guy have stopped beating me once I was unconscious, or would he have killed me?
A bite of fish catches in my throat, and I grab my water glass to wash it down. How awful to think that Jodine’s body could’ve died, and I could’ve died a painful death without really dying. I shudder. Dying isn’t something I want to do more than once. Those protesters believe in their cause a little too heartily.
Stop body swapping. That’s what they were shouting. While it’s true being in Jodine’s body is causing me a swarm of problems, and this job is more bizarre than I thought it would be, it’s not worth killing anyone over.
Nettie scoots a bowl toward me. “More broccoli?”
“No, thanks.” As I set my glass down, my phone announces an incoming text from home. “Excuse me. My mom’s messaging.”
A chorus of understanding assents follows me as I leave. I speak a return text.
Are you still there, Mom?
Honey, did you hear about the protester riot at the Institute?
I take a steadying breath. Here go the lies.
Yeah. Good thing I’m way out here in the Green Zone. Leo—Mr. Behr—says not only are they posting more security from now on, but I won’t even have to go to the Clinic anymore. The health checks can be done here at my Loaner parents’ house.
Oh, what a huge relief! This time your father was going to put his foot down and say you were finished, no matter how much you objected. I—I don’t know what we’d do if something happened to you, baby. You’re my Cupcake. My little girl.
Her tender mood is catching, even though I can’t hear her voice. I slip into the quiet of Jodine’s room and sit on the bed, knees weak.
It’ll be okay now, Mom. Just concentrate on how great it’ll be to wipe out our debt.
I shift the conversation to a non-Reducer subject, and we talk for another ten minutes before signing off. The room seems barren without Mom’s caring words. I hate lying to her. If Leo’s willing to lie to get what he wants in this situation, what else could he be lying about, to me or anyone else? It’s not a thought that settles well in my mind. I glance over at the stuffed animals on the window seat. Their return stares are accusing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell them. “It’s for a good cause. The quality of the rest of my life—my whole family’s life—depends on this.”
They gaze back at me, silent. I groan and stretch out on the bed.
I know it’s really me I’m trying to convince.
I settle myself onto an MT seat and squint against the mid-morning sun that slants through the windows. October is almost over. The tender lump on my head is nearly gone. Today’s weigh-in at the Clinic went well; I’ve met a tremendous goal. Even so, a sense of desolation presses upon me, as if I’ve finished a big race and discovered there’s nothing on the other side of the finish line. I pull out my phone and speak a message to Mom, Dad, and Granddad. The accompanying text scrolls up as ghoulish lettering in honor of the holiday.
Happy Halloween! One month down. Lost 22 pounds. Eat some chocolate for me. Miss ya.
I send another message to Blair and Krista.
You dressing up for the party at the Flash Point? Don’t have too much fun without me, okay?
I sign off. I’m not happy about missing the club’s annual costume party. Last year I dressed up as a cyborg with a horned cap, metallic-green miniskirt, and flashing arm bands. I racked up major Health Points with Blair, Krista, and a trio of more extroverted Catalyst Club guys. We stuck to a cheery geek theme, dancing like robots and drinking fruit punch that we dubbed “battery acid.” This year I want to hang around friends like that, to get out and do something fun.
This is one of those moments when, as Granddad says, “money” isn’t everything.
I stare down at my green sweats, which fit looser than ten days ago. It really doesn’t seem important right now how much weight I’ve lost. My options tonight involve doing things like playing HoloSports bowling or Masters of the Cyberverse. Vonn plans to
hunker down on his couch with a tray of celery sticks and have a Zombie-Cyborg vs. Alien movie marathon. He suggested I fake an activity for my log and join him, but I had to tell him my Loaner’s parents probably wouldn’t allow me to go anywhere alone at night. Especially after the riot attack last week.
I won’t be able to hang with Nettie, either, since she took the day off to visit her brother in the Red Zone. She prepared plates of leftovers for dinner and won’t be back until tomorrow. Unbelievable. Even the house chef has more exciting plans than I do.
It’s too bad Superguy hasn’t answered me about having a long texting session tonight.
I check my TeenDom account again. Aha! There’s one message there now. My heart speeds up. Maybe I can do something epic tonight after all.
@superguy: hey 007, howzit? haven’t heard much from u lately. i’ve been busy getting used to a new job & i’m amping up for some scary Halloween stuff tonight. how about u? can u do much at the clinic?
I purse my lips. I’m probably not allowed to tell him I’m living offsite, but I guess it doesn’t matter. He obviously has better things to do than a texting session. Not one teensy mention of me asking him to do a longer chat. Honestly, I’m not sure why he bothers to keep messaging. Even if he’s waiting until I’m done being a Reducer before we meet up and get more serious, it’s discouraging he doesn’t want to text more meanwhile. Do I want to get together with him in April, now that I’ve been hanging with Vonn every day and holding Vonn’s hand? That’s the zillion-dollar question.
Superguy may be as hot as all-blazing haze, and he writes sweet and flirty texts, but he’s keeping me at a distance for some reason. There’s no substitute for positive, mutual, real-life male contact.
I’ll leave my options open, I guess. We did have an amazing connection that day in Leo’s waiting room. So hypnotic and electric. I hate to toss that potential away like a pile of unrecyclables. I type a quick response.
@geektastic007: i can’t go out = a BO-ring night. still working hard on my weight loss tho. good luck with ur new job & have a super week!
There. That’s somewhere in between wild encouragement and a complete brush-off.
I lean back in my seat and ride for a while. Three young teen boys in costume sit diagonally across from me, erupting in steady outbursts of laughter, belches, and pseudo-spooky noises. Their unimaginative outfits consist of a vampire, a red devil, and an oval-eyed alien. They heckle a quiet girl sitting near them who looks about thirteen, until she sidles away to another seat.
The vampire scans the other passengers and zeroes in on me. “Dudes, check it out. This chick’s already dressed up.” His voice cracks with fluctuating hormones.
“She could go partying as a giant pickle,” the devil says, chuckling devilishly.
“Or a green circus tent.” The alien gives a raucous laugh.
I roll my eyes and mouth “help me” at the security camera. Dude. I am so not in the mood for this.
“How about a green whale?” the devil says.
“The Mediterranean Sea!” The vampire barely gets the words out between cackles of laughter.
“Good one, Marco.” The alien scoots closer to me, his eyes darting like underground bugs behind his oval-eyed mask. “Or maybe she could go as a megacomplex.”
“A sonic boom,” the vampire suggests, cracking himself up.
I blow out a forceful sigh. Oh, ha ha ha. Good one, Marco. My fuse is growing shorter and shorter. “How about you guys could go as parasites?” I say. “A three-pack.”
The vampire’s eyes widen, then narrow to battle slits. “Bloated toad.”
“Lobotomized frogs,” I shoot back.
The alien hoots. “Hot air balloon!”
“Rotten eggs,” I snap, barely taking note of the MT slowing and announcing the next stop. “Malignant tumors.”
“Nuked countryside.” The devil’s contribution.
I glare. “Obstinate warts. Unstable molecules. Burned-out circuits.”
The trio gets up to leave as the MT comes to a standstill.
“Want more?” I ask. “Pus-pimples on society, belligerent biowaste—”
Sending catcalls and belches over their shoulders, the boys hop off the MT.
I sink against the back of the seat and close my eyes. Little freaking snots. I know some people think overweight people are second-class citizens, but that doesn’t mean those boys have to poke at me like litterbots at a pile of trash. Do they think I’m less of a person because I weigh more?
By the time I get off the MT, my battle with the boys begins to bother me in another way. Uneasy twinges needle my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have given those boys such a hard time. I’m as bad as they are—I stooped to their level.
Would Jodine want her body used to do something like that?
I don’t think so. I’m not liking the person I’m turning into while I’m in this body. Nibbling on my nails, arguing with rude boys, and sneaking fatty foods in the dead of night. Looking like Jodine must bring out the worst in me.
I snort. Or maybe that’s a thin excuse for caving under pressure, letting myself be weak and mean and snarky. I should be able to control myself better than that.
When I arrive at the Kowalczyks’ house, I wander into the dim, unoccupied kitchen, my stomach making loud protests at its own emptiness.
“Lights on,” I order, and assemble myself a sandwich for lunch. I’m stalled when I run out of mustard. Muttering, I trudge downstairs to the superstore-room and comb the aisles. I discover rice, noodles, and flour. Boxed and jarred food. I turn a corner, and halt as if flash frozen.
Incredible. A small section of popcorn, nuts, candy bars, and chips.
I begin drooling like Pavlov’s dogs, as if a deeply buried fountain has sprung a leak. What’s Halloween without chips and maybe some chocolate? It can’t hurt to have a bit of comfort junk food. I’ll exercise hard later to make up for it. After all, my Halloween is shaping up to be pretty dismal. I tuck a bag of Doritos under my arm and a candy bar in my sweatshirt pocket. Finding the mustard on the next aisle, I also grab that.
Smuggler-style, I bounce up the stairs and stash my treasure in Jodine’s room. I add my finished sandwich and a glass of milk.
Food at last. I chew, eyes half closed. Hooray for Jodine’s wondrous taste buds. I savor crisp lettuce, smoked turkey, and tangy mustard. The sweet chocolatiness of the candy bar greets my tongue after that, and when that’s gone, I open the Doritos bag and inhale. Ah! Salty, cheesy crunchiness, how I’ve missed it. Not that I ate a lot of chips and candy while in my own body, since they’re highly taxed, but once in a while I indulged at Blair’s apartment.
The chip bag accompanies me to the deskscreen, where I surf and chat with another player in Masters of the Cyberverse about the best places to mine ore in the Gorgonlands. Virtual connections are better than nothing, especially since Blair and Krista aren’t in-game, and Superguy is off doing some fabulously cool Halloween thing. Like maybe club dancing as a dimpled goblin king or cultivating mega-chills at a haunted house.
When I sign off, I glance down at my Doritos bag and gasp. No way. I’ve eaten more than half of the chips while fooling around online.
Bad Morgan. Very bad Morgan.
I crumple the bag closed and glance around as if the walls have built-in security cameras. An imaginary graph line of my Health Points takes a major nosedive. I should toss the rest of the bag, but the Kowalczyks might catch me incinerating it in the kitchen. I’d better hide it here in Jodine’s room somewhere.
Pawing through the window seat drawers, I can’t find a large enough place to conceal the bag. In the closet, boxes line the top shelves, so I nudge a stepstool over and peek inside some of them. Careful. This is borderline nosey. My contract specifies not to snoop. I take down a large white box and throw a furtive look out the closet door. I’m sure the Kowalczyks won’t enter unless I voice-open the bedroom door, but I check to see if all is clear anyway.
I slip off the
lid, remove a red sweater that’s much too small to wear, and stare goggle-eyed at what lies inside.
Chapter 16
Hypertension, sugar-rush, and cholesterol, oh my!
Bags of chips. Cartons of hard candies, caramels, and chocolate bars. Packages of nuts and slim pepperoni sticks. PlasmaWave popcorn.
If Jodine stockpiles this stuff, no wonder she can’t lose weight. I glance at my own chips bag, and guilt sloshes over me. Yeah, just like I’d been trying to do. With a hiss, I toss the bag and the red sweater inside the box.
A button on the sweater goes chink! against something metallic. I frown. What was that? I push the sweater aside to uncover a silver case four inches thick, about e-reader-size. There’s a square bio-lock on top. I shake the case. It doesn’t rattle. A strange, pleased warmth grows in my chest, making my fingers curl around the silvery edges. I’m not sure where the happy vibe is coming from. This is just a silver case, plain and functional.
I stare at the bio-lock, fingers twitching. My mouth turns into a giddy smile.
Oh, my gosh! I adore this case—or at least, the secrets inside this case.
I hiss in a breath to clear my head and yank myself back to reality. No. This case is Jodine’s. I’m snooping, big time. I shouldn’t even be messing with this white box. I reach out to shove the red sweater back over the case.
No one knows what’s in here, not Mom or Dad, not Nettie. Not even Helena, and she’s my best friend. Am I a bad person for hiding this from Helena? For wanting this all to myself?
My right index finger swoops down and presses, de-activating the bio-lock. A password prompt and virtual keypad appear on the screen. Letters form in my mind. But I don’t type anything. I don’t have to. I already know exactly what’s in the case: a dried red rose and a lined spiral booklet written inside with an old-fashioned ballpoint pen.
It’s Jodine’s diary. Her small, loopy handwriting materializes across my mind’s eye.
