Weeping Justice

by Jennifer Froelich

  “Cameras are everywhere,” she said brightly, as if this was a good thing. “And we can always hope the party gets moved to a more public venue. Try to steer people toward Tryptic if you’re asked. It’s a new club that’s supposed to be crawling with trendsetters, and if you recommend it—you’re one of them!”

  Trinidad did not make an appearance during the first hour, but several people pulled me into conversations. Some I knew, some I didn’t. I finally went to the bar and asked for a glass of water so people would stop trying to get me drinks. Now and then, I saw Kelan walk through the party. He nodded to me once, but then disappeared again.

  The music was thumping by the time Trinidad emerged, wearing a turquoise dress that flowed from her neckline to her ankles. I wanted to throttle Middlebrooks for talking me into this tiny dress when Trinidad’s was beautiful and concealing. I watched her from the veranda but saw no signs of drunkenness tonight. Eventually, she came outside and pulled me into a hug.

  “Xoey, girl! What are you doing out here in the dark?”

  I shrugged, setting my water on the banister. “I like it out here.”

  “Still getting used to Sand living, huh?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it.”

  “I’ve never been to the Dirt, but I had a friend…” A shadow crossed her eyes. “Someone who told me you’ve never seen the stars until you’ve seen them from the Dirt. There, he said, they look like diamonds scattered across a velvet skirt.”

  “Your friend was a poet,” I said. “Was he…is he the one you were upset about the other night?”

  Trinidad frowned at the city. Then she picked up my water and took a long drink. Her hand was shaking.

  “I shouldn’t have been drinking the other night, Xoey. I usually don’t. But anything I said…just don’t take it seriously, okay?”

  “Anything you said that night, or…”

  She set down my water and looked me in the eye. Hers were wide. Scared. “Anything I’ve ever said. Or done. Some things that seem important—things you get riled up about—there’s a cost, isn’t there? My bill came due, Xoey. And I found out I couldn’t pay it.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there. Trinidad squeezed my hand and went back inside to greet guests, dance toward the bar, then disappear into the kitchen. I turned around again to stare at the city skyline.

  “She trusts you.”

  I looked to my left and saw Kelan, sitting in the shadows.

  “I didn’t know you were there,” I said.

  He stood up and stepped into the light. “That’s kind of the point.”

  “Of what? Your job?”

  He smiled lightly. “My life.”

  I bit my lip and turned away.

  “You’re irritated,” Kelan said.

  “To be spied on? Yes.”

  Kelan’s smile broadened and he leaned close to me, whispering. “You decided to come back to the Sand, Xoey. What did you expect?”

  I eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to thank you for being someone Trinidad can trust. She’s had to make some…lifestyle adjustments lately and she’s not taking it well.”

  “What kind of adjustments?”

  His eyes met mine. “The kind that ensure her survival.”

  The wind picked up, swirling that heady fragrance around us while I studied him, wondering all kinds of things.

  “I want to go home now.”

  I said it without thinking, but even now I wonder what I meant. I thought of leaving the party, of course. It had been another disappointing night—a complete dead end when it came to learning anything about the Resistance’s operation in the Sand, Harvey’s whereabouts, or something new about Kino and Oliver. But in the bigger picture, I wanted to go home. To a place where I could relax and be surrounded by people I trust.

  The only problem is, that place just doesn’t exist.

  “I’ll order the transport.” Kelan tapped his tragus implant and walked away.

  If it had arrived just a few minutes earlier, I would have been safely on the road heading toward my father’s place when the police burst through the front door and began searching everyone for illegal drugs. I was annoyed by the delay, but not overly concerned, especially since I overheard a loud woman telling her date that vice squads acted on anonymous tips in that area all the time.

  “They’re probably looking for someone in particular,” she said. “They’ll arrest them, then the party will go on, just like before.”

  She was partially right. Except the person with drugs in her purse turned out to be Sadie. Since Kelan and I were in the transport that brought her to the party, we were arrested, as well.

  The trip to the police station was surreal. We were zip-tied and transported in the back of a police van with two armed officers as escorts. Sadie cried and talked the whole time, denying the drugs were hers, blaming me for putting them in her purse, then Kelan, then the police. Kelan looked at me and with the barest shake of his head, warned me to say nothing. I don’t know what happened to either of them after we got to the police station. We were split up and within half an hour, I was released to my father, who tried to shield me from the reporters outside the police station while simultaneously shoving me inside the transport. He lectured me all the way home, not stopping until our final blowout in the kitchen.

  I look up at the camera in my bedroom, for once reluctant to cover it up.

  Let them see, I think.

  But see what? The real me?

  I’m not sure she even exists anymore.

  I scoot across my bed and grab my tablet. For once, searching through the tabloids is not just a cover for communicating with my friends. I want to know if anything about tonight’s fiasco has hit the press yet.

  Of course it has. TMZ, People, and the National Enquirer have already posted articles about my arrest.

  “Has Good Girl Xoey Gone Bad?” TMZ asks in bold letters. The accompanying video of my father escorting me out of the police station makes a compelling argument, especially since they get almost nothing right. The article makes no mention of Sadie or Kelan, which makes it seem like I was the one caught with drugs in my purse.

  The National Enquirer includes Kelan in their report, though they don’t name him and speculate wildly about our relationship. They also include a low-quality photo from the alley behind Club Nuño, which shows Kelan and me returning to the transport with his jacket and arm around my shoulders. We both look horrible, which I know is because we were leaving a boy to die alone by a garbage can, but the reporter suggests we were strung out on drugs and maybe even meeting a dealer in the dark alley.

  I am surprised to find that I cannot bear to check my fan pages. As far as I knew, I did not care what people in the Sand think of me, but apparently, I do. And what if my real friends hear the news? Will they believe it too?

  What would I believe if my public persona was all I had to go on lately?

  I don’t know, and I am too tired to figure it out tonight. I should probably message Riley and Adam—let them know the truth—but I need to wait. Middlebrooks called my father while we were on the way home from the police station and advised me to keep a low profile for a few days. “No public appearances, no discussion with fans on social media. Let’s give it a few days to die down. In the meantime, we can come up with a recovery plan.”

  I toss my tablet to the side of my bed and tell Luna to turn off the lights. I do not bother to wash my face or change out of my dress. Sleep. That is what I need most. It is the only thing I can think of to make it all go away.

  “Xoey, wake up.”

  Luna’s voice is gentle, accompanied by classical music that gradually gets louder until I say, “Luna, I’m awake.”

  “Xoey, your father wants to see you in the kitchen,” Luna replies.

  I push back the covers and rub my eyes. My hands come
away smudged in black and I remember that I went to bed without washing my face.

  Then I remember why.

  I sigh deeply and stumble out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom where I take my time in the shower, comb through my wet hair, and change into an oversized shirt and exercise pants.

  Let the cameras get a nice long look at the real me, I think. Then I head into the kitchen.

  “There you are.” My father puts down his tablet and frowns at me. “How are you feeling this morning, Sunshine? Any better?”

  I just shrug and head to the refrigerator. He follows me, leaning against the counter.

  “I owe you an apology,” he says.

  I pour a glass of orange juice.

  “I…” He sighs deeply. “I was upset last night. No. Scared, actually. Scared for you. You’ve been through so much and you’re vulnerable—susceptible to influences in a way others are not.”

  I set down my glass and cross my arms over my chest. “How is that?”

  He blinks at me. “Well, you’ve been taken advantage of, Xoey. First, by your mother, then by those…crazy kids who kidnapped you. I just don’t want anyone else to take advantage of you, Xoey. So I overreacted.”

  I bow my head, looking at my toes. I’m so angry, I want to scream. This was all a mistake, I realize. Coming back to the Sand, trying to use this relationship as a cover to figure out where Oliver is—none of it is working. I’ve been here for weeks, trying to gain some traction somewhere. My only progress came from Trinidad, when she drew the flag on my hand. That was my most hopeful day. I felt sure if I could just talk with her for a few minutes she could tell me something…something about Kino or Oliver, or even something to report to General Kelly about Harvey or General Northcote. Instead, something has scared her off. And I don’t know why. All I have learned is what everyone else can easily read in the news: Mariscal and Haak have been found guilty of treason. Their execution dates have been set.

  These thoughts travel like electricity through my head, going nowhere, solving nothing while it looks to my father—to all the world watching—like I am just a spoiled brat, ignoring his heartfelt apology. With no other option but to keep playing along, I take a deep breath and look up.

  “I didn’t have drugs in my purse, Dad. I have not taken drugs—ever. Not even the legal ones.”

  “I know.” My father presses his lips together. “Your tox screen came back negative, Xoey. President Amaron is instructing the police force to drop all charges.”

  I laugh and carry my orange juice to the table. “And do you think that will be enough to undo the ‘Bad Girl’ label that’s been thrown at me during the past twelve hours all over the Internet?”

  “No it’s not. But that’s not the worst of it, Xoey.” He leans close as if he’s telling me a secret, but still manages to angle himself perfectly for the cameras. “The president’s personal Secret Service team has reason to believe you were targeted by agents of the Resistance. They must have planted the drugs, then called the police. They are still trying to sift through the evidence, but it probably won’t stop here. We’re targets now, Xoey. You and me. As long as we’re doing our part to support our president and our nation’s tenants of fairness and tolerance, there will be people who mean to tear us down.”

  I frown. I know the Resistance is not trying to frame me for drug use, but I can hardy explain that to my father.

  “The Secret Service will get to the bottom of it, Xoey. Secretary Middlebrooks will keep me in the loop. She has assured me the president has full faith in you. His team will not rest until they vindicate you from this vicious attack.”

  41

  Riley

  “Who are you messaging?”

  Reed looks up, a guilty expression on his face. “Oh, uh…”

  I step back from the booth. “You don’t have to tell me. I can—”

  “No, sit. Please.” He scoots over.

  Still, I hesitate. “Reed…”

  “It’s my mom,” he finally says.

  “Oh.” I sit down. “How long have you been in contact?”

  “A while. Almost since we got to Slick.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want to…I don’t know, brag, I guess. Shove it in your face.”

  I smile. “Reed, I’m glad you can talk to your mom. Really.”

  “I wish you could talk to yours too.”

  I shake my head, shaking down the pain to a place where it can’t interfere with what I need to do to survive. “Where is your mom? How is she?”

  “She’s good.” He lowers his voice. “Since the Rebellion broke her out of prison, she’s been working with a humanitarian group that finds UDR work camps. They ambush them when they can, freeing everyone. When that’s not possible, they do targeted extractions, pulling out people who are valuable to the cause.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” I say.

  Reed pushes aside the tablet and studies his hands. “It is, but she says she loves it. That it’s the work God meant her to do.”

  “She sounds like Xoey.”

  “Yeah, she kind of does. But I’m glad she’s…happy. Is happy the right word? I’ve asked her about your folks, Riley. Told her everything I know and asked her to keep an eye open, her ear to the ground. Adam’s mom too.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. “Reed! I didn’t know…”

  He brushes hair from my face. “When I promised that you would watch fireworks with your family someday…I meant it. There’s not much in this world that’s more important to me than fulfilling that vow.”

  Reed is going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.

  This has been my mantra for the past hour—the hour since he left for work, the hour since I left right after him and headed straight for the place he expressly said he didn’t want me to go.

  I walk fast, sticking to the middle of an abandoned street, avoiding dark corners and alleys. When something clatters to my left, I jump about six feet, ready to run or fight. Then I see it’s only a mangy cat, knocking over some trash before skirting across the road.

  Reed can’t kill you if you’re already dead, I tell myself.

  Then I tell myself to shut up.

  I wouldn’t have been able to do this at all if not for the full moon, which lights my path, but I’m also fueled by need. I sent a message to Sam about Zoya and Ridhaan and the description they gave of their independent network of rebels, but of course, he has no time to make any inquiries. Instead, he sent this:

  R, This war is horrible. Even from the rear where we handle comm and tech, I can hear everything, smell everything. Every day that A and his team survive seems like a miracle. We need help from other battalions, but it’s slow in coming. In the meantime, I pick up chatter about escape plots in the Dirt, or rescue plots in the Sand. We are too fragmented. I’ve read so much in my comic books about leagues, justice societies, and superhero squads that did more together than they ever could apart. That’s what we need. So I’m staying up late, working on something new—another way to take advantage of a Cit-Track weakness, just like you and I did in the beginning at WB. It might be the only way to save P. It might be the only way to save us all. Gotta go –S

  Reed had already gone up to get ready for work, so I sat there, alone in Chen’s Tea Shop, so overwhelmed by Sam’s bravery, I began to cry. All my friends are risking their lives, while I cower in a rented room. And I can’t do it anymore, no matter how scared I am—how scared Reed is for me. But I also don’t want to weigh him down with worry. So I waited for him to leave, wrote him a note on the edge of our wrapping paper map of The Rose, said a quick prayer, and came out here, looking for answers. Looking for help.

  I flex my hands and run my fingers over the tips of my self-defense rings. The pepper spray is in my pocket, ready to fire.

  I make my final turn and stop when I see a rusting sign dangling on one hinge, riddled with bullet holes. “Garden” is the only legible word. Okay, I’m here. I take a deep breath and walk in
to the abandoned amusement park.

  It looks different tonight. Smaller, darker. Every shadow jumps at me and I imagine eyes behind every corner. I flex my fingers again and pass through the open ticket gate, then circle a brick planter overrun with bushes and vines. I imagine families stopping here to take photos. Wind rustles through the leaves, an echo of their laughter.

  I don’t know where I’m going, but I keep walking. Past ancient gift shops with broken windows and rotting shelves, past rusting lockers and a lost-and-found booth, then down a row of game buildings that have all but caved in. The bright colors that once covered the wood façade are mostly chipped away, but a few traces are left: garish pink, electric blue, milky orange. I follow what seems like the clearest path until something blocks my way—rusted metal overrun with vines. I decide it must be an ancient ride that fell over and was left to rot.

  I’m still trying to decide how to circumvent it when I hear someone whistle. Seconds later, another whistle responds to the first. A signal. I stay put, my heart racing. A twig snaps behind me and I spin around again. Without realizing it, I’ve pulled the pepper spray from my pocket and have my finger on the trigger. Ridhaan steps from the shadows, takes in my defensive stance, and stifles a laugh.

  “Whoa!” He throws up his hands. “You want to put that away?”

  My cheeks burn. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

  I fumble it back into my pocket while he just stands there, eating something with a spoon and watching me. Finally, I get annoyed.