“So you’re not sleeping with Avery or any of the other boys?” Her tone was still skeptical.
Instead of showing my anger at her continued questioning, I nicely said, “Actually Autumn was quite intrigued with how I had managed to gain and keep Avery’s rapt attention. She decided it was my chaste refusal of his advances that finally grabbed his notice. She theorizes if I keep it up I might just be able to get a proposal out of him. So I can assure you of the status of my virtue and I can assure you it’s in no danger of changing in the foreseeable future.” I felt a twisted satisfaction as I watched the worry and concern melt from her face.
“Well I’m relieved that my faith in you has not been misplaced, but I should caution you: while Autumn is a very powerful friend to have, she is twice as dangerous an enemy, so tread carefully around her.”
I wanted to snap back a, “Duh.” But instead I shook my head.
My conversation with Mrs. Glabough had zapped all of my remaining energy, so I dragged myself back to my apartment, pausing just long enough to open the door without tearing the garbage bag. Again I was glad I had taken that step. This time, instead of bright pink powder there was a jet black powder that bore a striking resemblance to the toner found in ink cartridges we used at my old school. I carefully closed the bag, but set it aside so I could see if it was a disappearing ink, or permanent like I suspected.
I taped a new bag by the door and grabbed my tablet to view the perpetrators. There was no need to hold onto the powder. The recording clearly showed Vera and Myra tapping the ink out of several cartridges and then using a blow-dryer to blow it under the crack in my door.
Not only were these girls complete and total idiots, but there was not a single creative bone in either of their bodies. If there was they would have thought of something new.
I put the tablet aside. I was too exhausted to do anything about it right now. I resolved to deal with it in the morning.
I set my alarm to wake up early the next day. After a weekend of overindulging, I needed to exercise. The school gym was closed until the rest of the fast-trackers arrived. So that meant a nice long run instead. My feet hit the pavement at five fifteen. The sun wasn’t due to rise for another fifteen minutes, so it was still pretty dark out. But the park was reputed to be one of the safest places in the city. So I began my run without fear. However, knowing no one was about to jump out of the shadows at me didn’t keep my mind from imagining it.
I was the only one running the park’s perimeter at this early hour and the quiet seclusion amplified every little noise I heard. On the plus side, it caused me to run faster than I usually would have. On the negative side it left me as nervous as a hare in the middle of a butcher’s shop.
So it was no surprise when I neared the college that the crash of a garbage can being emptied caused me to scream and jump. When I saw the back of a man in an orange jumper I chastised myself for being so silly and continued with my cool-down jog.
“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you there,” a voice nervously apologized.
The familiar quality of the voice stopped me in my tracks. I turned and saw the man had already collected his things and was quickly hurrying away toward the next can. This time I was dressed to pursue and quickly caught up to him. I finally understood how he was able to disappear so quietly and easily the other night. The large collection bin that held the garbage used a quiet hover technology instead of wheels and glided quickly and easily between bins.
I placed my hand on his arm and caused him to flinch. My breath caught when he turned around. I saw the heavily shadowed blue eyes of Byron staring back at me.
Despite all the things I wanted to tell him and ask of him, I was so overcome with emotions that I couldn’t talk. Instead I just stared at him while tears streamed down my face.
“I tried to get reassigned to a different area, but they wouldn’t allow it,” he said somberly. I couldn’t tell if he meant it as an apology or a complaint.
He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. He was covered head to toe in dirt and smelled horrible. But none of that bothered me as much as the sad defeated look I saw in his eyes. I knew his new life would be pretty miserable, but he had always been so strong that I never actually worried about how he would deal with it until now. I was suddenly scared for him. Automatically I reached out to comfort him.
“Don’t!” he warned and jumped back from me.
“Byron,” I pleaded. “Please let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help,” he growled back and started to walk away.
Quickly I darted back in front of him. “Why not?” I demanded. “I want to – and despite what you say, you obviously need it.” I immediately regretted my words: they came out much harsher than I intended.
“The only thing I need is make it through the next year. I need to wait until Camille has safely made it through assessment and been placed. Then I can fight to get my placement corrected.” His face had contorted into a scowl, but at least a spark had returned to his eyes even if it was an angry one.
I tried again to reason with him. “Then what harm is there in letting me help make that year easier on you?” I asked as I tried to place my hand back on his arm. The moment he caught sight of the motion he jerked back like my mere presence offended him.
“I already told you I don’t want help from the likes of you. So why don’t you go back and enjoy the pretty little life your dad’s ass-kissing bought you. I’ll go back to the one earned by my father standing up for people who can’t stand up for themselves.” He let out an angry huff and once again started to leave.
Meekly I called after him, “Wait, are you saying the only reason I was fast-tracked was to aide in the example made of your father compared to mine? Follow the rules and your family is rewarded, make waves and your child gets sunk?” Byron swung back around, and I searched his face frantically, desperately hoping for some sign that what I said was off-base.
But his face only confirmed what I was saying. “Something like that.” Then he shrugged and added, “At least my assignment wasn’t the result of unnecessary deaths.” Again he started to leave.
“Hold on,” I called after him. He couldn’t drop a bomb like that and just walk away. “You can’t just say… I mean, it’s not…”
Barely turning to face me, he answered, “Look, it’s just the way it is. Don’t go and do anything stupid and rash over it. Hurting your status will only hurt you. It won’t do me a darn bit of good, so don’t bother. Just get on with your silly little life and stop bothering me,” he snarled coldly at me.
I felt my heart snap in two. I realized even if I was able to fix this mess he was in, I couldn’t fix us. In such a short amount of time the Byron I knew and loved had completely disappeared and had been replaced by a cold, hardened man who was determined to hate me for my father’s actions.
“Hey! What’s going on over there?” a passing jogger suddenly yelled as he ran over to me. “Is this worker bothering you?” he demanded.
“No, I’m fine,” I insisted. I pressed at my red eyes to dry them.
“You don’t look fine. Look, if that scum did anything…”
“I said I’m fine!” I looked up and realized Byron had already disappeared. Seeing the jogger wasn’t anywhere close to convinced, I explained, “Look, I’m just upset. I once knew that guy and it’s disturbing to see him fallen so low.”
The jogger suddenly appeared very uncomfortable and nervous. “As long as you’re okay,” he said and then quickly jogged away.
I sprinted the entire way back to my apartment, throwing the door open so hard that it shredded the garbage bag behind it. Grabbing my tablet I quickly punched in my home number.
My mom answered. “Hi, honey, I was hoping to hear from you soon,” she chirped.
“Where’s Dad?” I barked.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
My response was flat: “Just get Dad.”
“Uh, okay.” She disappeared from the
screen.
She must have warned my dad, because before his face was even visible in the screen he was asking, “Alexandria, what’s wrong?” His alarmed tone only fueled my anger.
“Did you have something to do with my fast-tracker status?” I demanded.
“Whoa, calm down and take a breath, honey. What’s going on?” His tone sounded patronizing.
“Just answer the question for me.”
“I most certainly will not! You need to calm down and remember just who you’re talking to, young lady. I’m still your father and I won’t tell you a thing until you show me some respect and explain just what has you in such a tizzy.” But though he looked angry, there was something else in his eyes: fear. He was hiding something.
“Alright, you want to know what has me in such a tizzy?” I snapped back. “I asked you about what happened at work and you gave me a sugar coated non-answer. Now I find out it involved people’s deaths and possibly my fast-tracker ranking.” I made a disgusted noise and waited for him to tell me I was wrong.
“Who’s telling you all this nonsense?”
“Byron.” I watched my dad’s eyes eyebrows disappear into his hairline.
“Oh god, Alexandria. Please tell me you didn’t track him down. I know you’re still upset, but to risk your ranking over it….”
“No, Dad. It’s nothing that nefarious. Byron’s been assigned garbage duty in the park. I stumbled into him this morning and he wants absolutely nothing to do with me. He hates me for what you did. I think I’m at least owed an explanation of what that was – especially if you did somehow manipulate my ranking.” I swallowed hard to hold back the hot tears I felt building in me.
My dad’s shoulders dropped and his face relaxed. “First let me start by saying I had no direct involvement with your ranking. But I have no idea whether or not others manipulated it to make examples out of me and Mr. Levenson.”
I nodded to indicate I had heard what he said. Then he told me everything.
It had all started a few weeks ago. The metal detector on belt eight was on the fritz. So Mr. Levenson decided to shut the belt down for the day. On any other day, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But of course, that day the owner Mr. Huntington and several politicians were visiting. Mr. Felpz, the plant manager, ordered Mr. Levenson to start the belt up. He refused. He thought it was too much of a hazard to run a belt without a metal detector. Mr. Felpz disagreed. By the time materials arrived at belt eight they had already gone through two magnets designed to catch any lingering scrap metal.
Mr. Felpz and Mr. Levenson got into a bit of a heated argument. Mr. Levenson felt Mr. Felpz had been taking too many risks with health and safety. He had a point; my dad had noticed it too over the last several months. But now was not the time or place to argue about it. My dad thought Mr. Levenson was getting himself into serious trouble over a very minor safety risk. If he wanted to make a stand, he should have picked a more serious danger.
So to save Mr. Levenson from himself, my dad offered to take responsibility for the belt that day. It was on the edge of the belts he managed anyway. Mr. Felpz happily agreed and had belt eight’s supervisor report to my dad.
Everything processed throughout the day as usual. The garbage came down the belt and the workers sorted it like they always did. My dad gave himself a mental pat on the back as all the big wigs walked through. Mr. Felpz even called him over to talk to them. It’s not the reason why my father took the extra belt, but it was still an honor. My dad was shaking everyone’s hands when a large boom vibrated through the building.
Everyone ran to see what happened. A hole had been blasted through the ceiling, and several catwalks hung disjointedly. Beneath it, all the workers that had stood on the catwalks just moments ago, sorting the larger items onto their proper belts, now laid scattered and broken.
It took a while to figure out exactly what had happened, but eventually they pieced everything together. Despite my dad’s directions, Mr. Bittrich, the belt supervisor, never told his workers that the metal detector was out. He didn’t want to chance them giving him a hard time about it. So, when there was a jam on the belt, no one bothered to check it with a hand-held metal detector. Mr. Bittrich was too busy flirting with a girl one belt over to notice when several of the workers climbed up on the belt. They hacked at the mound with the usual metal hooks and a sledge hammer.
It was the perfect storm of bad timing and bad luck. The odds of an old gas container making its way onto the sorting belts was rare, let alone a full size helium tank. But the magnets weren’t strong enough to pull something that large out. No one noticed it sooner, because it was completely covered in a garbage mound. If the sledgehammer had hit anywhere else on the tank canister first, they would have realized there was metal in the mound, but the first part of the tank it made contact with was the nozzle.
The moment the sledgehammer made contact with the nozzle, the tank turned into a rocket. It zoomed out of the mound and knocked the two closest workers to the ground. Then it crashed through the intersection of four catwalks, causing them all to fall apart. Finally it crashed into the ceiling and tore a hole through it.
My dad was furious with himself as well as Mr. Bittrich. The owner saw it entirely as Mr. Bittrich’s fault. He started to chew him out in front of the entire plant. Before my dad could step in and share his part of the blame, Mr. Levenson jumped in and started verbally attacking Mr. Huntington.
“If Charles… Mr. Levenson, had just kept his mouth closed after the accident, everything might have been fine. But he felt guilt-ridden over the dead employees, and made it his personal crusade to improve working conditions in the plant.” My father shook his head and let out a long, strained sigh. “I tried to talk sense into Charles, but he blamed me too, and I could hardly argue with that. The dead workers still haunt me. I tried to tell him he needed to think about his family. I tried to tell him there were better ways to cause changes instead of running at everything full steam like an angry bull, but he wouldn’t listen.” My dad looked like he was about to cry. “I’d never seen a man look more broken than Charles did after Byron got his assessment letter.”
I wanted to comfort my dad. I knew he felt guilty over the accident and I knew it pained him to see his longtime friend suffering, but I couldn’t get past my own anger. “So it’s all true? Mr. Levenson pissed off the wrong people and to punish him they tampered with Byron’s results?” My dad slowly nodded his head as if its weight was too much for him to lift.
“I need you to promise me you won’t do anything rash. I spoke to Charles; both he and Byron agree that, for now, it’s best to do nothing. Once Camille is safely assessed and placed, then Byron will try to appeal. Camille knows nothing on this part, so I need you to promise you’ll respect Byron’s wishes and do nothing and say nothing to her.” My dad sat back, crossed his arms and waited for my agreement.
After a few moments, I said, “Alright. I promise.” I threw my hands up in the air in frustration. “I just wish you would have told me all this the first time I asked.” Already my anger was dissipating. I could practically feel my face crumble, which meant tears would soon follow.
“I know, but you were dealing with so much already and I didn’t want to burden you with more – especially when there’s nothing to be done about it. My only comfort in all of this is knowing that as a fast-tracker nothing like this will ever happen to you or your children.” Then my dad’s face crumpled too, and I knew he was holding back tears of his own.
We said our goodbyes and tapped off before our tears started to fall.
Chapter 11
Being a newbie, my classes started at eight o’clock with Mrs. Glabough until she deemed us caught up in basic fast-tracker knowledge. The first topic of today was traversing the social gap between new and established fast-trackers. I stifled a giggle as Mrs. Glabough reviewed some of the simple ways to start a conversation and the taboos that should definitely be avoided. I had committed several already.
Then the lesson shifted focus onto our career decisions. Mrs. Glabough explained that technically as fast-trackers any career was available to us. But that was only technically: in reality, without being established, certain careers would be out of our grasp. The two examples she used were a business owner and a politician.
Mrs. Glabough went around the room asking everyone what their current ambition was. I found the other girls’ answers uninspiring or unrealistic. Haddie and Trisha both wanted to be stay-at-home moms but when Mrs. Glabough asked them how they expected to get an established fast-tracker to propose to them when they brought no inheritance or income to the table, they were both at a loss for words.
Nola had always wanted to be a botanist and was sticking with that choice. Myra just wanted to own a big house and have a lot of servants and didn’t care what job she needed to get it.
Vera was the only one who seemed to have any planning behind her choice. She wanted to be a campaign manager. While she knew it wasn’t the highest career choice available to her, she knew it would give her an instant in with the other fast-trackers and it was her best bet for meeting an eligible established fast-tracker to marry.
When Mrs. Glabough finally got to me I was still searching for the right words to tell her my choices. “Well…”
My slight hesitation was enough for her. “Oh, Zandria, please don’t tell me business owner or politician,” she warned.
“Okay, I won’t. I’d like to be trained as a CEO. That way if the first step in my career path doesn’t pan out I have a solid back-up plan.” I looked up at her hoping she’d understand that I had put both time and thought into my decision.
Mrs. Glabough gave a hearty laugh and said, “Well, it seems Miss Zandria has beaten us to the next part of my lesson. If you’re going to overstretch yourself in your ambitions, always have a back-up option available to you.”
Fast-Tracked Page 12
