She looked so grown up. And, she was right. But still, I didn’t want to burden her with the truth. Mom had taught both of us certain things, like how to think for ourselves, not to get caught up in Media hype, to respect our bodies, and to make our own decisions. She knew how to think as well as I did. And it wasn’t realistic to believe she wouldn’t see the dirty side of life eventually.
The triptych from the hospital. My hand shook as I uncovered it for Dee.
Dee stared at it for what seemed an eternity.
My insides clutched. I shouldn’t have showed her. It was too graphic, too real.
She gnawed her thumbnail. “That’s just like it happened.”
“Yeah.” I clenched my teeth.
“Why doesn’t Media talk about this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because if they did, they’d have to stop making girls believe that being sexy and attracting guys is the most important thing in the universe.”
“Have you drawn more of these kinds of pictures?”
“Yes. But I haven’t kept them. I was afraid if anyone saw them I’d get in trouble. These drawings are the way I can say what I don’t have words for.”
“You could be arrested for doing something like this?” She held it up, studying it more. “I guess it really makes the cops look bad.”
“They are bad, Dee.” I took it from her. “Well, maybe not bad, exactly. Just like most people, they can’t stand to see the truth—the real, raw, from-your-guts truth about what’s going on around us. So they stop anyone who makes too much noise about it. They should’ve been finding the boys who raped that woman’s daughter—not shutting her up. But to everyone, it’s not rape if she’s a sex-teen. And if no one sees or hears, no one questions the laws that allow this stuff to happen.”
“Please be careful, Nina. If you got caught…” Her face paled. “They’d take you away, like they did Pops. You can’t let them do that. Promise me.”
“Most I can promise is that I won’t do anything stupid.” I tucked the picture back in my drawing pad. “Now, let’s go make dinner.”
Neither one of us really felt like cooking, so we set the cook center to auto and let it spit out seitan burgers and tofu fries.
After dinner, Mr. Jenkins came down. “Nina, we should talk about your meeting at B.O.S.S. tomorrow.”
“It’s at nine,” I said. “In that building where I brought Pops his meds.”
“I know. I wish that Mrs. Jenkins or I were able to be there. I could probably find someone else to go with you.”
“No, I can do this.”
“I know you can. Still…” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “It should be nothing more than a formal presentation of the facts and the charges. Don’t give them any more information than they ask for. Yes and no answers are good. You needn’t elaborate on any points. And above all, deny that anyone else in the family knew what that scrambler was.”
The hairs on my neck stood up. “I will.”
He gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “You’ll do fine.”
I didn’t feel fine.
After a mostly sleepless night, I found myself awake and perusing the clothes in my closet. B.O.S.S. noticed everything; I figured it wouldn’t hurt to look a little bit older, more respectable. That wasn’t going to happen with my Sale-o-rama wardrobe. Shutting the door, I went down the hall to the room where we’d put Gran and Pops’s things. Not quite sure what I was looking for, I rummaged through the boxes, eventually coming to one marked GINNIE’S CLOTHES.
The first thing that hit me when I lifted the lid was the aroma of Mom. We’d boxed these things up the day after she died. In the rush to get out of the rented modular, there had been no time for doing laundry. The scent of her perfume mixed with her own personal body smell made me feel as if she was just around the corner. I buried my face in the box, tears streaming down my cheeks. I missed her so much.
It was a struggle, but I pulled myself together. Pushing aside the tearstained clothes, I retrieved a dress and sweater that I knew would fit. Mom and I were close to the same size, and I’d borrowed these same clothes for a school outing. When I was done dressing, I examined myself in the mirror. It would have to do. I didn’t look top tier, and the clothes were ridiculously out-of-date, but they were from when Ginnie was a tier-five assistant. Better than my tier-two wardrobe. I knew tiers shouldn’t matter, but in this case, I needed all the help I could get.
Dee was still sleeping when I slipped out the front door. If she’d hugged me and gotten a full whiff of Mom, it would have been disastrous.
Calling Wei from the trans, I asked her to check on Dee later.
“Not a problem. I could still come down there, meet you… I don’t have to tell Dad. Chris will drive me. He’s worried about you.”
“I appreciate everyone’s concern, but honestly, Wei, I have to learn to take care of myself. Wouldn’t sisters want each other to be strong and brave?” That was the most I dared say without giving the Sisterhood away.
“You’re right,” she said. “Absolutely. I’ll see you later.”
I thought about calling Sal, but he hadn’t mentioned how long the NonCon business would be. Since I hadn’t heard from him yet, I knew he was probably still wrapped up in that. Besides, he wouldn’t want me going to B.O.S.S. again by myself, and I’d meant what I’d said to Wei. I had to do this alone.
My PAV beeped, jarring me out of my thoughts.
“Hey, Nina, it’s Chris. You got out of here so fast I didn’t get a chance to tell you to knock ’em dead.” He chuckled. “Not literally, of course.”
“You are silly. Thanks, Chris.”
“Seriously, good luck. If you want me to pick you up afterward—”
“No.” I was too quick with the refusal. Chris’s unexpected compliment at Soma, and a few other little things he’d done—like going out of his way to be sure I was okay after Martinique’s stupid comments—had made me wonder if he was flirting with me. Don’t be silly, I told myself. I was definitely not his type. “I mean, I have a couple of things to do afterward. I’ll see you later. And… thanks for calling.”
“You bet.”
I clicked off. My finger slipped, and the blaring verts surrounded me. “Don’t miss the Holiday specials!” “Shop Sale-o-rama, where every deal is a good deal!” “All-weather jeans—” I quickly clicked off my PAV again.
Why couldn’t that call have been Sal? And why had Chris’s call made my heart beat a little faster? The transit pulled up in front of B.O.S.S. headquarters. Taking a deep breath, I exited the trans.
XVIII
Once I was inside, the same reception bot as before performed the obligatory weapons and ID scan. At least I knew it was coming this time. And they knew I was coming. No surprises.
The bot then directed me to a waiting room in the Yellow corridor. The room wasn’t much bigger than a closet with puke-yellow walls and a frosted-glass window on one end. In the center of the room, two metal chairs were bolted to the floor, their backs to the door. I felt way too vulnerable to sit there, so I stood. Except for a large wall clock and some errant cobwebs, abandoned by any sensible spiders, the room was bare. An ancient light fixture hummed mercilessly overhead.
At forty-five minutes after the appointed time of nine, the door opened. “Follow me,” a woman commanded.
Her heels tapped purposefully down the hall as we passed door after door. Each had a tiny frosted window with a number painted above it. We stopped at number 15.