At TJ’s, I knew everyone’s mind was on the NonCon broadcast, but no one dared talk about it. We ordered food, and the guys chattered on about verts and trannies. I just ignored them.
Supposedly there was so little to worry about in the world—at least according to the Governing Council. No hunger, no unemployment, a roof over everyone’s head… at least for anyone who wanted one. So why was my whole life was lived on constant high-anxiety alert?
For years, I’d tried to ignore the way Ginnie was abused, kept out of Ed’s way, and dreaded turning sixteen, and everything that entailed. I knew that I’d never get those images from Ed’s porn vids out of my head. Now I had to keep Dee safe, find my father… and I had to do it all without my mom. It was almost too much.
Maybe I was too sensitive to things. Most girls my age worried about unimportant stuff—what to wear, hanging out with the right tier, using the right slang, and guys. They didn’t think turning sixteen was something to worry about—not the way I did. Of course, everyone had their dread about the tattoos, although most girls I knew wouldn’t admit it. They said they were afraid of needles or that it would hurt. But they never said that they didn’t feel ready to have sex, or that it scared them to be so vulnerable to the advances from guys. Maybe they weren’t afraid, but it terrified me.
Then there was the whole FeLS application and the Choosing. At least with Ginnie having bought out my contract, I could cross that off my worry list. Still, Sandy was stressing to the edge of the universe about getting chosen. Her best chance to get out of low tiers was FeLS. I had art and my Creatives, but Sandy wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship and she certainly wasn’t interested in anything creative. There was the possibility that she’d meet some higher-tier guy, but every low-tier girl hoped for that. It didn’t mean it ever happened. Maybe I should be a better friend and call Ed—but how could I bring him into our lives when it was everything I could do to keep him away from Dee? Who knew what he’d want in return for a favor? I shuddered.
I’d resigned myself to either staying a low-tier, or maybe getting a scholarship. My grades were good, and with the Creative designation, I’d have a chance to get into the Art Institute. Creatives who came from lower tiers were usually serious about their art, whether it was music, painting, acting, or writing, and the GC left them alone, unless their work crossed some aribitrary line and became über-political. Those Creatives just disappeared. No one ever talked about what happened to them. I had no plans of being political, ever.
I was depressing myself by overthinking when Derek snapped me out of it. “You know, Sal’s cool. He likes music and his brother has all those great trannies. How’d you meet him anyway?”
“Actually…” Should I tell them how? So far only Sandy knew about the incident in the park. What could it hurt? They were my friends, too. And with all the noise in TJ’s I wasn’t too concerned that AS cops would pick up on a conversation that was some girl talking about some guy.
“Some ’letes in Lincoln Park were beating up on him. I, uh, told them to take off.”
“’Letes.” Derek made a face, shaking his head and shoulders.
“Shut up, man,” Mike hissed and nodded in the direction of a table full of guys wearing Chicago University letter jackets.
Derek shrugged. “Huh, so that’s how come Sal was all cut up and bruised.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They really did a number on him. Anyway, I kinda helped him. Made sure he was okay. You know…” They both nodded. “He was dressed homeless, and I still don’t understand why he was dressed that way. What’s up with that?”
“Girls,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Skivs! The guy’s lying there half dead and you’re worried about what he’s wearing?”
“Could be he’s into stuff he doesn’t want anyone to know about. Black-market parts? Big business there, soupin’ up trannies. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t had us over to his brother’s shop yet?” Derek’s eyes crinkled mischievously. “Or maybe he was playing around—like when you change your hair color or wear different clothes.”
“I don’t change my hair color,” I retorted, “and I wear the same clothes all the time.”
“I know.” He pinched his nose and made a face. “P-U.”
“Oh, what are you, five years old, Derek?” I gave him a little shove. He was sitting on the edge of the booth and he slid off, landing on his butt.
Mike howled; I laughed. The waitress scowled.
Derek stood up. Grinning, he brushed off the seat of his pants and sat back down. “Don’t know your own strength, eh? As far as Sal goes, why not just ask him?”
“Yeah. I’ll do that. But I think I’ll leave out the part that you think he and his brother are big-time gangsters.” I didn’t bother telling Derek I already had asked Sal about it, not to mention that Sal’s answer had been cryptic to say the least. “I wish Sandy were here. I miss her. I can’t wait to be back in school again and see everyone.”
“Well, we mith you, too,” Mike mumbled through the fries in his mouth.
“Uh-huh.” Derek looked at me with the same dreamy eyes as before. I fingered the horse charm around my neck.
Once again, the memory of what Ginnie and I had been going to talk about that night surfaced. I’d eventually figure out how to deal with Derek. But I didn’t have a clue how to deal with missing Ginnie.
XIV
On Monday morning, Dee and I stepped off the number 33 transit at the corner of Dickens and Clark and into our old neighborhood. I doubted she remembered it the way I did, since she’d just turned six when we moved.
We passed the ancient brownstone walk-ups and trendy little boutiques. Mike and Derek were waiting for us at the next corner. The four of us swished our way through the leaves toward Dee’s school. Halfway down the block we ran into her friend Maddie. They were so thrilled to see each other I had to tell Dee twice to wait for me by the trans stop after school. Seeing her PAV receiver clipped to her bag reminded me of Ed. I grabbed her arm. “Dee, be careful and don’t go anywhere with anyone else. Promise?”
“Skivs! What kind of idiot do you think I am? See ya!” She yanked her arm away and ran off with Maddie, instantly swallowed up in the crowd of elementary school kids surging toward Dickens.
Several blocks later, I was standing in front of Daley High, nerves jangling. Even though it had been four years since I’d seen them, I recognized a couple of girls. They remembered me, too, and said hi, and I calmed down some.
“Nina, meet us back here at lunch,” Mike said. “We’ll go to Mickey’s.”
Inside, we went our separate ways. I checked my receiver for my schedule; I’d downloaded it the night before. My first two classes were predictable and boring, then I got to homeroom. No sooner had the teacher pointed me to an empty desk than a petite Asian girl, with straight black hair that hung halfway down her back, danced into the room singing “One-way Flight to Venus” at the top of her lungs.
“Wei Jenkins,” the teacher commanded, “sit down and be quiet.”
She saluted him. “Yes, sir, Mr. Haldewick.” Marching to the desk across from mine, she flashed me a smile and plopped down.
Mr. Haldewick rolled his eyes and sighed. He sat down, too, and shuffled through some papers.
“I see we have a new student.” Peering over antique glasses that pinched his nose into a point (they had to be for show; no one wore glasses anymore, unless they were tier one and couldn’t afford the correction surgery), he pointed me out. “You there.” He motioned to me. “Come up front and introduce yourself.”
I’d been dreading this. None of the other teachers I’d had so far bothered with this part. Everyone stared as I made my way down the aisle. I recognized three kids, but that was cold comfort. My mouth felt like I’d been on the Martian desert for a year, and I was sure my lips were stuck fast to my teeth.