Joan the Made

by Kristen Pham

  Ava and Fletch are waiting by my locker. I notice Ava’s pale face and the rings under her eyes, like she didn’t get much sleep.

  “Joan, I’m sorry,” Ava says, and I swallow hard. She hasn’t called me anything other than Joanie in twelve years. “It’s not your fault you’re a Throwback.”

  “We’re going to stand by you,” Fletch adds, standing a little taller.

  What a couple of heroes. I want to tell them where to shove their condescension and pity, but a cowardly part of me holds back, because I’m going to need their friendship more than ever to get through the next three months of school. I give them a nod and head to my first class, political science.

  Ms. Ingalls, the only Throwback teacher at our school, is the first person to notice my lavaliere. Her eyes meet mine, and I’m suddenly very embarrassed by how I’ve behaved in her class, though it’s hard to put my finger on why. Maybe it’s because even though I’ve been a pain in her ass the whole year, debating her on every topic she teaches, the sympathetic smile she gives me now holds no triumph at my fate.

  “Joan . . . your wrist!” a blonde girl whose name I’ve never bothered to learn says loudly.

  It’s begun. All of the attention in the class snaps to me, and the collective intake of breath is so dramatic that I’m tempted to laugh. It’s not like I’m the first surprise Throwback this year. Ethan was hiding the fact that he was cloned from Albert Einstein and adopted by Evolved physicist parents who wanted to leverage his intelligence for their research. When he showed up the day after his birthday with a lavaliere, Ethan was bombarded with questions about why he’d hid his status. Two weeks later, people moved on to new gossip. I hope I’ll be so lucky.

  “Who are you?” shouts a voice from the back of the room.

  “She’s Joan Fasces,” Ms. Ingalls says, ever calm.

  “No, I mean, who’re you cloned from?” the boy calls out, oblivious to the warning in Ms. Ingalls’s tone.

  “Joan of Arc, can you believe it? I heard it from Ava!” says Jillian, one of Ava’s friends from dance class.

  “She’s Joan Fasces,” Ms. Ingalls says, louder this time, and the class falls silent. “And anyone who wants to pass this class should begin taking notes on today’s discussion because you will be tested on it.”

  I’m not interesting enough to fail political science for, so everyone stops paying attention to me and logs into the tablets embedded in each desk. I glance to the back of the room and do a double-take when I see Justus staring at me.

  His eyes narrow when they meet mine, and I don’t know what to make of it. You’d think he’d be grateful to me for saving his ass the other night.

  “Justus, can you tell me the year that the Ocean Protection Act was passed?” Ms. Ingalls asks, and he rips his gaze from mine to answer her question.

  Halfway through class, when we’re doing an exercise on our tablets, Ms. Ingalls pauses by my desk. I feel her hand on my shoulder, and she gives it a gentle squeeze. The touch reminds me of Addie, and I bite my lip so that tears don’t fill my eyes. It hits me for the first time that though I’ve lost so much, I’ve gained membership into a new community, one that is bonded by our borrowed blood.

  The day becomes increasingly chaotic as word spreads of my Throwback status. Normally I’m energized by interactions with different people, but today every look of revulsion or glance of pity makes my head throb, and my headache returns full force. The other kids think that I owe them answers about why I kept my “true nature” to myself.

  I decide to lob back jokes to all of their comments, as if my new status amuses me, and hope that my laughter doesn’t sound as fake to them as it does to me. I should have stayed home and opted for ice cream.

  I’m totally distracted in my advanced chemistry class, crippled again by grief as I remember that I’ll never need this knowledge now. By the end of the day, I’m shaking from exhaustion and the pounding in my brain, which hasn’t eased as it usually does. To make matters worse, my car is late. I check my phone and discover that Mom and Dad reprogrammed it to take them to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting on the other side of town and forgot to send it back for me.

  I sigh and summon the car, knowing that with traffic I’m stuck here for half an hour. I settle into a nook next to one of the remote exits of the school, hoping to escape any more attention. I rest my head against the brick wall and shut my eyes. I don’t want to be caught throwing up at school today; it will only make the gossip around me last longer if everyone knows how upset I am by my new status.

  I hear the sound of the door beside me jiggling, and I crack my eyes open. When I register who’s standing next to me, I automatically smooth my hair and stand up.

  “Enjoying your latest ‘adventure,’ Joan?” Justus asks. “I’m sure being a Throwback is a joke to you because you’re protected by your Evolved parents. Never mind what the rest of us endure.”

  “I was rude to you and Brie the other day, but not on purpose. Let me explain—” I begin, groping for words as my head pounds.

  “Brie thought she might get whipped by Mr. G or hauled in to jail by the police. It was terrifying, and you were her hero . . . until you turned into an Evolved princess who gets her thrills by patronizing Throwbacks with her attention. How do you think Brie felt?”

  “I’m sorry that happened but—” I try again. He ought to be thanking me!

  “Save it,” Justus hisses. “You may have Throwback blood, but you’re Evolved in every way that matters. I’m sure your parents will make sure that the silver spoon stays in your mouth.”

  “I helped you and your sister, and I’ve got the bruises to prove it! Try some gratitude.”

  “If you consider that a beating, you’re in for a wake-up call. That store manager took it easy on you, probably because he didn’t believe you were really a Throwback. Brie watched our mom get whipped by the police this month for refusing to pick up trash they threw on the ground! She can talk to you about what pain really is.”

  The conversation is slipping out of my control. I want to unravel it, to make him understand who I am, but my mind is moving in slow motion.

  The pain of his words hurts more than the pain in my head. Combined, I’m overcome, and I brace myself against the wall so I don’t fall down.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, and his voice sounds faraway.

  “Shut up, Justus. I get it; you want nothing to do with me. And after this conversation, the feeling is mutual.”

  I squint as a car pulls up to the curb and lunge toward it as soon as I recognize that it’s mine. Though my vision is blurred and the ringing in my ears is deafening, I think Justus is following me. I beat him to my car and get inside quickly so that I can hide my expression. I’m happy to be getting as far away from him as I can.

  Chapter 4

  Addie meets me at the door when I come home, and she can tell from one glance at my face what I need. She ushers me upstairs, where my room is dark and cool. I slide into bed, running my hands along the crisp sheets that she washed today.

  “Thank you,” I murmur.

  Addie sits in a chair next to me, like she did when I was little and couldn’t fall asleep at night. Her gentle fingers thread through my long hair, relaxing me. As the aching in my head recedes, the relief is so profound that I slip into sleep.

  I’m unsure how much time has passed when I awake, but Addie is still in the chair next to me, keeping watch. When she sees that I’m up, she turns on a low light and shifts my pillows so I can sit up. Then she puts a tray in front of me with the dinner she always makes from scratch when I’m sick—chicken soup. It’s never the same through the food and drink dispenser. After I eat, the pain in my head eases to a dull throb at the base of my skull.

  “Better?” Addie asks, speaking for the first time.

  “Much,” I reply, reaching for her hand and holding it in my lap.

  “Your parents looked in on you when they came home, but they’re in bed now,” she says.

 
; “You didn’t have to stay,” I say, but I’m glad she did. Her presence makes me feel safe and loved.

  Addie’s eyes crinkle as she smiles at me. “I have a birthday present for you.”

  I’m confused—this is the first time that Addie has given me a present. We’ve always gone on adventures to celebrate birthdays and holidays. Addie has no kids or husband, so she and I have always been our own little family.

  “Give me your phone,” she instructs, and I reach into my pocket and hand it to her.

  Addie takes it and swiftly presses a series of numbers into the keypad. A compartment in the back slides open. Addie opens a little box that is resting on my nightstand and takes out a tiny gold chip the size of my pinkie fingernail. My eyes widen as I watch her pop the chip in a corner of my open phone before sliding the compartment closed.

  “How did you do that?” I ask, and she smiles. “You’re going to have to teach me.”

  “Of course, Curious Joan,” she says, using her old nickname for me. “But first, open your gift.”

  Addie hands me the phone, and on the screen are two little icons of presents, one purple and one gold. I touch the purple one, and a one-way ticket to Paris unfolds on the screen. The date is for August twenty-first.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. Throwbacks can only leave the country with a special visa.

  “Open the other one,” Addie says.

  I tap the gold present, and a passport with my picture and details fills the screen.

  “Check the Status,” Addie prods.

  I scroll down and swallow when I see that my Status is listed as “Evolved.”

  “What does this mean?” I ask, my mind whirring as I sift through the possibilities of Addie’s gift.

  “Do you know why I never started a family?” Addie asks me, instead of answering my question. I shake my head, and she continues. “I never wanted to see a child of mine endure the existence of being a Throwback in this country. It’s soul-crushing; a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I knew that decision might make me miserable, but it wouldn’t compare to the anguish of watching my child forced into a life with no choices.”

  I’d always wondered why Addie was so alone, and I grip her hand even tighter when I reply. “It hurts my heart that you can’t have the life you deserve.”

  Addie shakes her head. “I’ve had a wonderful life. I haven’t been lonely because I had you as the daughter of my heart. I still remember the day you stood up to that policeman who had forced me onto the ground because my identification wasn’t in order. You were only seven, and you still had a little lisp,” she says.

  I remember that day. I’d been terrified of the giant policeman with his angry scowl as he’d fingered the laser whip he carried on his belt, but I couldn’t let him take away the one person in my life I could always count on.

  I grin at the memory of the shock on his face when I’d stomped my little foot and gotten in his face. “I thought he was going to put me over his knee and spank me silly when I started lecturing him and all the neighbors came out and stared.”

  “If you hadn’t done that, he would have taken me to jail,” Addie says.

  “After that day, I hoped I’d always be able to protect you, like you had always protected me,” I say, and Addie touches my cheek to wipe away a tear.

  “I planned to watch you be a doctor, save lives. Not perform for hundreds of pampered Evolved,” she says, and her voice cracks.

  “Me too.”

  Addie straightens her back, and she stares me down. “You’re still going to have that future. That passport will withstand any security testing it encounters when you leave the country. You can start over in France. You’re not a common clone type; you can cover up your lavaliere and pass for Evolved. Or if you don’t want to live in secrecy, you can go to a country like Japan where the clone laws are more reasonable.”

  “Are you coming with me?” I ask, and my voice sounds like it did when I was little and afraid.

  Addie shakes her head. “You know the answer. I’m a clone type that is too recognizable, and my presence would always be a risk to you. Strand will scour the Earth for you, and with me at your side, they would eventually track you down.”

  Strand doesn’t let any of its investments get away without a fight. Whether I pose as Evolved or live as a Throwback, I’ll have to hide for the rest of my life. But won’t it be worth it if I’m able to live on my own terms?

  I launch myself into Addie’s arms, gripping her in a fierce hug. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, my child, my daughter,” Addie says, and now she’s crying as hard as I am. “So run away and never look back.”

  The next day my headache recedes to a manageable level. I’d hoped that the novelty of my Status would begin to wear off at school, but I’m subject to at least as many curious stares and muttered comments as the day before.

  At lunch, I’m relieved to find Ava sitting apart from our usual crew. She frantically taps away on her phone. When I approach, she looks up, and I see tears in her eyes.

  “What is it, Ava? Do I need to slash Fletch’s tires?” I ask, only half joking.

  “It isn’t Fletch,” she says, sliding her phone into her pocket. “Have you read the school blog today?”

  I can imagine the kinds of comments that await me if I decide to check. They’ll be even harder on me than they were on Ethan, since I’m already everyone’s least-favorite class loudmouth.

  “It’s okay, Ava. I don’t care,” I say, and I almost believe it. In a few months, I’ll be on a plane to Paris, and I’ll never see any of these people again.

  Ava is still sniffling. “It makes me furious that people are saying such horrible things about you, Joanie.”

  I smile because she’s calling me Joanie again. Fletch joins us, and his face is so serious that I know that he must have read the school blog as well. I sigh.

  “Fine, tell me. I’d rather hear what they’re saying from you than read it myself.”

  Neither Ava nor Fletch will meet my eyes. Finally, Ava grabs my hand and turns it so the symbol on my wrist is visible. She touches it and shudders.

  “I’m sad for you because everyone says that a Throwback in the entertainment industry is really code for being a prostitute,” Ava says, whispering the last word.

  I yank my hand back. “You’re wrong!”

  Even as I say the words, I wonder if I really know the truth about my planned future if I stay in Seattle.

  Fletch rubs Ava’s back as he meets my eyes. “I know some creepy Evolved guys my dad plays poker with who brag about spending the night with a Marilyn Monroe or a Marie Antoinette clone. Everyone’s saying that some guys would pay a lot of money to be the one to pop Joan of Arc’s cherry.”

  I choke on my sandwich. What Fletch is saying is impossible. Strand Corporation injects every Throwback with a dormant virus at birth that only becomes live from prolonged contact with an Evolved involving saliva, blood, or other bodily fluids. It’s another measure put in place to keep distance between Throwbacks and Evolved. Sex, or even making out a few times, would activate that virus, and the Throwback would suffer a painful death in a matter of weeks.

  “We’d have heard about Throwback prostitutes having sex with Evolved men if it were true. That kind of contact between a Throwback and an Evolved would be fatal.”

  “For the Throwback, it would be fatal,” Ava clarifies, her voice tiny.

  In the silence that follows I think about what she said. Throwbacks are disposable to Evolved, replaceable servants here to do the jobs that the Evolved are too good for.

  I shake my head. Even for Evolved, there are laws. As children, all Throwbacks are supposed to be treated like Evolved until they receive their lavaliere, including being entitled to a free public education. When Throwbacks are adults, they still have some rights. It’s against the law for Evolved to kill Throwbacks without just cause.

  “I’m sure there are exceptions, but the idea that most Throwba
cks in acting programs are prostitutes is ridiculous. We see clones of Marilyn Monroe and Harry Styles and all kinds of Throwbacks in vids every day.”

  Ava relaxes a little, and Fletch releases a relieved breath.

  “Stupid gossips,” Ava says, taking out her phone and tapping again, this time with no tears.

  Our talk turns to more mundane topics, but our usual easy banter is gone. I’m relieved when lunch ends and I head to class. Now that I’ve heard about the blog, I notice girls shooting me sympathetic glances and guys letting their eyes linger on my boobs longer than usual.

  My impulse is to cross my arms over my chest, but instead I grab a crumpled flyer someone tossed on the ground and turn it to the back, which is blank. I write the letter A on it with my eyeliner, like Hester Prynne in The Scarlet Letter, and then stick my hacked-together sign to my chest. It makes people laugh, and the guys can’t get a good view of my boobs.

  I shove my minis in my ears. They are so tiny they almost disappear as I crank up the volume of my current favorite anthem, which is upbeat and defiant, perfect for my mood.

  But it’s against the rules to listen to music in class, and the other students hiss comments at me. I clench my jaw shut so hard that it begins to ache. There are only so many synonyms for “trash,” and by the end of the day, I’ve heard them all.

  My initiation into life as a Throwback has officially begun.

  Chapter 5

  By the end of the day, my control begins to fray. The next person who tries to touch my ass is losing a hand.

  I say a silent prayer of thanks when I see that my car is waiting for me today, so I don’t have to endure these assholes for another minute.

  I slide into the car and take my first deep breath of the day. I turn to the nav to confirm the destination, but the car starts to move before I’m even logged in. I touch the screen a few times, but it remains blank.