Weeping Justice

by Jennifer Froelich

  The bus lurches to a stop in front of a sports club where a professional tackle game plays on the full pixel windows. It’s been a long time since I played—or even thought about my players outside of the fake online league Sam set up for communication. I watch the most famous quarterback in the pros throw a long pass to the end zone. The receiver grabs it with one hand and tucks it under his arm while two defenders collide behind him.

  TOUCHDOWN!!! scrolls across the screen and I smile for the first time all day. If Oliver was here, we would be high fiving each other and talking trash about the other team.

  My smile drops away. Where is he?

  Familiar guilt settles into my chest. When I found out Xoey had returned to the Sand, I swear, I just wanted to throttle her. “What was she thinking?” I asked Riley about a dozen times. For a while, she just tried to explain Xoey’s desperation, but every time she got to the part where Kino baited her during a news broadcast, I usually lost it again.

  Riley finally lost it too. “Stop being an idiot and write to Xoey. Ask her yourself!”

  I did, as soon as Sam gave us new instructions for sending her messages. The only difference is we are supposed to use a second puzzle app for encryption. It’s called Squat and it makes us sound like fans. Sam wrote:

  Instant messages to X will be scrutinized by SS agents, so just post publicly on her Dally fan page. She’ll have to slog through a bunch of real fans, but hopefully she’ll recognize your names and be able to decrypt your message.

  Great, I thought. Here I am on my day off posting a message that says,

  Love you, Xoey! Can you give a shout out to my little sister? She’s sick, but a message from you would make her day.

  When Xoey decrypts it, she’ll only have ten seconds to read it before it disappears from her tablet, so I didn’t write much. Just:

  X, what were you thinking? I wish I had been there to talk you out of this. O would be upset too. Have you thought of what K is planning? Do you have any ideas for staying one step ahead? Please be safe. Don’t take risks. If it gets over your head, let me know. We’ll find a way to get you out of there. - R

  Now I’m biting my nails, regretting that final promise.

  We’ll get you out of there? Who do I think I am?

  Lexie is so close, and I still have no idea if I’ll be able to save her, much less figure out a way to get Xoey out of the Sand.

  Why do I keep messing up? And why am I too stupid to stop making promises I don’t know how to keep?

  The truth is, I have seen Lexie a lot during the last few days. Way more than I have admitted to Riley. I haven’t talked to her, but I’ve been close enough to take in more of her changes, to hear her talk to clients, and even to catch her eye once or twice. She still doesn’t seem to recognize me at all.

  More often than not, if Lexie stays in the salon until closing time, she ends up hiding in the same alcove, whispering with the piano player, whose name I’ve learned is Gabriel. At first, I thought they might be involved in a secret romance, but I don’t think so anymore.

  I have gotten good at listening to escort gossip when the girls leave the salon every night. Even better, I learned that if I volunteer to take out the trash, I can listen to a few minutes of conversation through the open window of their common room, so long as I slow down with the trash bin as I pass beneath it. Gabriel’s name has come up more than once, and I’ve pieced together a little of his story.

  Gabriel was brought to The Rose as an escort, one of only a few boys who are forced into this kind of work. “He couldn’t handle it,” I heard one of the escorts tell a new girl. “He kept throwing up his first week on the job.”

  I shuddered, listening in. Part of me wanted to just keep walking, to push my trash bin faster along the sidewalk and pretend I didn’t hear. Pretend this kind of stuff doesn’t happen to anyone. Not to Gabriel, not to Lexie—not to any of the girls who discuss it so casually, their voices hard as flint. I suppose you have to be hard to survive in this kind of world.

  Typically a boy who didn’t take to the escort life would be shipped to the frontlines. Anyone who serves at the front has a short life expectancy, but a boy sent as a “reject” from The Rose?

  “Other soldiers would have shunned him,” another escort said, “which meant a quick death sentence for sure.”

  But Gabriel’s timing was good in one sense, at least. The same night he got thrown out of the escort dormitories, there was a different sort of drama unfolding on stage in the salon. Right in the middle of a performance, the Thorns’ piano player pitched sideways and fell off the stage, convulsing and choking on his own vomit. Within a few minutes he was dead from a drug overdose. Apparently, one of the bouncers was shoving Gabriel onto a transport headed for the front when Mr. Longino came outside and stopped them.

  “You have room for a corpse on that transport?” he asked.

  “You mean another one?” the bouncer joked.

  As soon as Gabriel figured out who died, he shouted at Mr. Longino. “I can play! Any instrument, sir! Any song! I can play!”

  It turned out to be true. Now Gabriel leads the Thorns, mostly playing piano, but filling in on drums, guitar, bass, and vocals whenever another fickle musician succumbs to some vice or another. He’s good—even I can tell that—and now he’s too valuable to lose, even though it sounds like Mr. Longino has to protect him from Mr. Bell from time to time.

  I heard all that in one night, but still didn’t know why Gabriel and Lexie were so close—not until I found out he suffers from panic attacks and that Lexie is the only one who can calm him down.

  This was a detail I did share with Riley. “It sounds as if she’s like you,” I said. “Someone who wants to help others as much as she can.”

  Most of the Thorns bus back and forth to work from Slick, just like I do every night, but when Gabriel took over the band, he wanted to be housed nearby. Mr. Bell wouldn’t allow him back in the dormitories, but Mr. Longino decided he was valuable enough to earn a bed above the maintenance garage. One of the escorts called it a rat-infested dump, but another soft-spoken girl named Pebble said Gabriel doesn’t care.

  “As long as he’s close to Lexie when the nightmares come, he said he’d sleep anywhere.”

  I have been so focused on getting Lexie away from The Rose, I never considered the other escorts. Other victims who we’ll be leaving behind, along with any new ones shipped here to take her place. But lately, I have been wishing for a way to save all of them. Sometimes when I listen to the escorts talk, their crude jokes, their stony attitudes about the work they do, I tell myself they wouldn’t come with me, even if I devised the most foolproof plan.

  But Gabriel?

  The thought of leaving him behind when we help Lexie escape makes my stomach twist in knots. But what can we do? The various ideas that Riley and I have come up with to break Lexie out of The Rose usually revolve around some type of smuggling—in a laundry bin, trash can, or delivery truck. It’s going to be hard enough to hide one person, much less two.

  If that wasn’t enough to worry about, Riley came bursting through our door just as I was getting ready for work. She had already said goodbye because she was picking up a shift at Mr. Chen’s, and hoping to have a few minutes to check her messages too.

  “It’s Paisley,” she said breathlessly.

  “What happened?”

  “She sent Sam a new Morse message. UDR forces are planning a secret attack on a Resistance base in the desert mountains. Her unit is moving there to join the attack.”

  “Putting her in even greater danger,” I said. “I was afraid of this.”

  Riley nodded. “General Kelly is warning the Resistance, of course, but also sending a team to help.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Adam and Bess are going, Reed. And Sam’s insisting on going too.”

  31

  Xoey

  “Whenever you’re ready, Xoey.”

  Jada nods encouragingly from the control room and taps her
purple hair, reminding me to put on my headphones. I take a deep breath and fit them over my ears. Every sound is blocked now. If I close my eyes, I am all alone.

  You need an audience to sing?

  No!

  Admit it. You’re a diva!

  I smile, remembering my conservation with Oliver in the tunnels under Windmill Bay. I step forward to the microphone. “Ready,” I say. The music starts and I begin to sing.

  The second hand stalls,

  The wind takes a beat,

  My tears will not fall,

  ‘Til my heart feels complete,

  For one moment in time.

  One Moment in Time,

  One breath held in place,

  Would it be a crime,

  To just see your face one more time?

  For one moment in time.

  The ocean stands still,

  My heart aches for you,

  To have you I will find

  A way to break through.

  One moment in time.

  One Moment in Time,

  One breath held in place,

  Would it be a crime,

  To just see your face one more time?

  One Moment in Time.

  Would it be a crime,

  To just see your face one last time?

  One Moment in Time.

  “Is that my Xoey?”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  I smile brightly and follow him to the kitchen while he tells me about his day.

  “How did the recording go?” he finally asks.

  I shrug and accept a glass of water from Portia. “Okay, I guess. It did not take as long as I thought it would.”

  “Did you ask Jada what she thought of our idea? A father-daughter duet?”

  I take a long sip of water. Our idea?

  “She didn’t really give me a chance, but I’ll ask next time. Middlebrooks has visions of an entire album.”

  My father frowns but Portia intercedes before he can press his point.

  “Come sit down. Dinner is ready.” She turns to the kitchen command center: “Luna, ask Nox and Electra to join us for dinner.”

  My father begins describing our meal—a chicken curry he has been perfecting all week. “I think you’ll like it,” he says.

  “Hi, Electra. Hi, Nox.”

  Electra offers me the briefest smile and drops into a chair on the other side of the table. Nox’s smile lasts longer. She sits next to me and asks about my day at the recording studio. “Jada’s a legend,” she says, wide-eyed. “Every song she produces shoots straight to the top of the charts. You’re so lucky!”

  I smile. “Yes, I am. Do you want to go with me next time?”

  “Really?” Nox bounces in her seat.

  “You can come too, Electra. If you want.”

  She shrugs while Portia claps her hands. “How wonderful!” she says. “Electra, Nox—thank your sister.”

  I smile. “I am happy to have them along.”

  My father controls our dinner conversation every night, steering us toward topics that will make him sound intelligent, funny, or compassionate. I hear him discussing it with the Life with Sean producer whenever the cameras are off. All the rest of us have to do is play along, with the goal of making him look as good as possible.

  I wait for a break in the conversation before disrupting his plans.

  “Daddy,” I begin, setting down my fork. “I have a favor to ask. A big one.”

  My father is instantly wary. For one thing, I never called him Daddy. Even “Dad” is a struggle for me and we both know it. He squints his eyes and presses his lips together, looking to all the world like he’s just focusing on me with concern. Only I know this look is the beginning of anger. Well, Portia must know too. She has begun to flutter about the kitchen, picking up dirty dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. Her hands tremble and I feel guilty, understanding what I didn’t before: She has already seen the dark side of my father’s anger. A quick glance between Electra and Nox tell me they’re suddenly wary too. Electra’s eyes catch mine, narrowing as she shakes her head.

  Don’t do it, she warns me.

  “What is it, Xoey?” My father leans forward on the table. “You can ask me anything. You know that.”

  My stomach responds to his subtle signs of fury as it always has, by twisting in on itself. It is a struggle to keep my expression soft and trusting, as if he is the loving father he wants everyone to believe in.

  “I want to see Mom,” I tell him. “I need to confront her about the things I was taught.”

  Confront. That is the word Bess and I settled on. The one most likely to get me what I want. Still, it tastes like betrayal in my mouth. I think about the other members of our secret church, if there are any left. If they watch this episode, they will be heartbroken. I bite my lip and push those thoughts away.

  My father’s eyes lock with mine. For a split second I think he has forgotten about the cameras, because he’s staring me down and hating me for what I’ve asked. The moment passes. He sets down his napkin and sighs, leaning against the table. “I don’t know, Xoey. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  I nod and stare at my food, like I’m considering his question. “I trust your advice, Dad. But I’m not sure I can move on until I resolve some things with Mom. Face to face.”

  “What do you think, Portia?”

  Portia turns toward us, shock on her face before she tamps it down. I doubt he has ever asked for her input. Maybe he only does it now to stall for time while he comes up with a plan.

  “What will it solve, honey?” Portia eventually asks me, her eyes darting to his for reassurance. “Your mom is clearly unstable. I’m afraid it would do more damage than good.”

  “Thank you, Portia,” I say. “It’s just that I feel all this…anger. It comes out at the strangest times and when I think back, I know it stems from my childhood. From the way I was treated.”

  I raise my eyes to my father’s and watch him process what I’ve said. My heart is pounding now, and so is my head. I have at least upset his perfect dinner scene. At worst, I have incited some kind of subtle punishment that will eventually result in something far worse.

  “I need to be careful, even with the cameras rolling,” I told Bess when we were planning this conversation.

  “Won’t he calm down over time?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “My mom got sick once and could not attend a guild party with him. Three years later, when she was turning forty, he told her he would throw her a big birthday bash. We were both surprised, but Mom was so happy…until he cancelled it at the last minute. ‘How does it feel?’ he asked her.”

  That’s why tonight, cameras or not, I cannot press this further. What I have done scares me, but he scares me more, even after all this time. I smile tightly. “Just think about it, Dad. I’ll only go if you agree.”

  I get up on shaky legs and carry my uneaten food to the kitchen.

  “Let me throw that out,” Portia says, reaching for my bowl.

  “No, let me clean up the kitchen,” I say. “You’ve already worked so hard tonight.”

  “You’re such a treasure, cleaning up after dinner every night.”

  She smiles gratefully and leaves me in the kitchen where I quickly transfer the untouched leftovers into individual containers. When everyone is asleep, I have been taking food across the street to a building less affluent than ours. There are several families there that don’t have enough to eat. One of them has agreed to distribute the food anonymously.

  “You’re so kind, Xoey,” she said. “You should take credit for what you do.”

  I just shook my head. “It’s nothing. I just feel guilty, throwing perfectly good food away while your little girls go hungry.”

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I pause in the living room. “I have a headache and think maybe I should lie down.”

  “Of course, honey.” Portia smiles and guilt washes over me. She seems like a good person and I’m lying
to her. I’m lying to everyone.

  As I head toward my bedroom, I notice Electra and Nox quickly leaving the living room too. They’ve been sharing a room since I returned, which adds to my guilt, but my father insisted. I pause in the hallway long enough to hear him start in on a new monologue about his sleepless nights while I was away. “I’m afraid for her, Portia,” he says. “What if Carly tries to draw her back into her religious fantasies?”

  He should be thanking me for bringing Mom into the conversation, I think. But that’s not how his mind works. And it doesn’t make me feel any better about what I have done.

  I click my door shut, cover the camera in the corner, and sit down on the edge of my bed so I can take off another pair of uncomfortable shoes. Now that no one is watching me, I can also take off this heavy wig Middlebrooks is making me wear.

  “Just for a while,” she says. “People fell in love with your long hair from the fiftieth anniversary celebration.”

  “It wasn’t even my real hair,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, well…” Her eyes wandered off. “In a few weeks, we’ll get rid of the wig and reveal your new, shorter haircut. Maybe we’ll have it styled into something edgy. I’ll do some market research to see what will trend.”

  After changing into soft pajamas and climbing into my soft bed, the guilt of my comfortable living situation overwhelms me. I bury my face in my hands and try to pray. I don’t get far before I give up and get up, grabbing the fancy tablet my father gave me when I moved in. “It’s the same one we bought for Nox and Electra,” Portia told me. “We want you to feel like a complete member of the family.”

  Every time I power it on, I think about how diligently I am being monitored by the Secret Service. Middlebrooks arranged it so my intake interview after the ‘rescue’ was brief but warned me not to let my guard down. “This only works if you believe the story we’re creating,” she said. “I’ll sell it, but you have to live it.”

  She was only the last in a long line of people warning me about the scrutiny I would face. “They’ll watch your every keystroke,” Gwen said. “Give Sam and me a good two weeks to hack your system and make some modifications.”