“Let me warm them up. What kind of work did your father do?” Sal concentrated on rubbing my frozen fingers.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “He died the night I was born. Gran said he was on the debate team in high school and then in college. But after that… no one ever told me what he did.”
“Do you know anything about his debates?”
“Just that they were pro-citizen, anti-Media. We never really talked about him. I guess it was too much for Ginnie.” My ignorance about my father’s life made me uncomfortable. Ginnie hadn’t talked much about him and Gran and Pops focused on his childhood when they told me about things he’d done.
“Do you have any of his writings or any of his notes?”
“No.” I cocked my head. “Why do you want to know?” Why did he care so much about my father in the first place?
“Just wondered.” He raised his eyes—his face close to mine. I didn’t want to talk about my father. I wanted Sal to kiss me. He didn’t. Instead, he said, “You know that Wei’s dad knew him? And mine did, too.”
I dropped my gaze, embarrassed that I’d been hoping for a kiss. “She told me.”
“Warmer?”
I nodded and he let go of my hands, putting his arm around me instead. “Do you ever wonder if your father’s really dead?”
I stiffened. That was not a random question. Extricating myself from his grasp, I stood up, pulled out my gloves, and put them on while Sal watched.
Finally, I trusted myself to speak. “Why are you asking me all these questions? You seem to know more about my father than I do.” I searched his eyes—they were as unreadable as the murky water below. “I want to know what’s going on, Sal.”
“I can’t exactly say.” He was hedging; I could tell. “I don’t know much.”
“Much? How do you know anything?” Then what Pops had said that morning hit me: things aren’t always what they seem. “Are you only interested in me because of my dad? Is that it?” I took a step backward.
“Of course not.” He reached for my hand, but I evaded him.
I felt so stupid. He was using me. I’d been craving a kiss, when all Sal wanted was information about my father. Why was Sal asking about whether or not he was dead? I hadn’t said anything about what Ginnie said that night she died. Why did he—or even Wei—want to know anything about my father? Sal’s parents were dead—it wasn’t like he talked to them the night before about this girl he knew who was Alan Oberon’s daughter. A couple strolling along the path stopped right behind us.
“Come here.” Sal took my arm, but I pulled away. “I don’t want other people to hear us,” he whispered. “Come on.”
I wanted to pull away, to run home, away from him. But I also needed answers. I followed him closer to the river.
“When my mom and dad died they were on assignment for the Media, following up on a lead about your father. Alan Oberon was the leader of the NonCons in the Americas. Rumor was that he hadn’t drowned that night. He supposedly found out his family—you, Nina—was in danger and faked his own death. He’d been seen in the Hebrides off the Greater United Isles. There are supposedly a lot of NonCons hiding out there. They put my dad on that assignment because he knew Alan.”
“What are you talking about?” My head was spinning. “NonCons? You’re saying my father is a criminal—no, the leader of the criminals!”
“NonCons aren’t criminals.” He looked at me with disbelief. “Don’t you read history?”
“I’m not stupid,” I huffed. “I know history.”
“You know Media’s version. The GC controls the Media, and shapes people’s perception of what goes on. They’ve been doing it for at least two centuries. Your father spoke out against their manipulation and the GC’s interference.”
“But… but things are good,” I said, more out of anger than true belief. I thought back to my conversation with Gran. “Life used to be awful—wars, incurable diseases, hunger, homelessness. Now everything is the way it should be.”
Sal stared at me, his eyes opened wide. “You believe that?”
A voice in the back of my head, that sounded a whole lot like Ginnie, whispered, You’re lying. You know better. I ignored it. I didn’t care if it was true or not. I’d been stupid to let myself think Sal cared about me, that he was my boyfriend. My heart was breaking in two; he didn’t want me. He wanted my father; he wanted information.
I glared back at him. “What else should I believe? Look around.”
“I am looking around. And what I see is that the GC and Media tell you where to live, what to wear, what to want, when to grow up, how to act, and who to be. The government tags you with a GPS and then brands you like you’re nothing more than property. Doesn’t that make you mad, Nina?” He raised his eyebrows and stared at me. “GPSs don’t keep girls safe—a GPS is called, knowing where everyone is all the time. A tattoo doesn’t make you an adult. And no tattoo is going to save you in some dark alley; just the opposite, you’d be considered fair game. The only information anyone gets is from Media. Haven’t you ever wondered what goes on in places when Media cameras aren’t there? Do you think life really is as great as the Governing Council says it is?”
I couldn’t stand the way Sal was looking at me like I was an idiot.
“Maybe I don’t know everything you know.” My voice was shaking, and I could feel the tears crowding to get out. “But I know who I am.” It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about the tattoo as a brand, a visual vert proclaiming “legal sex here.” The vision of those ’letes in the park flashed through my brain. But my emotions had taken over and I wasn’t about to back down.
“Media tells you who you’re supposed to be, but is that who you really are? What about the you that exists outside of their parameters? I never would’ve thought Alan Oberon’s daughter would be satisfied with Media’s status quo.”
A hot spike of anger rose up inside me. I was tired of Sal telling me what to do, what to think. I took a step toward him and jabbed my finger in his chest. “You listen to me, Sal Davis. The GC may not be perfect, but things are a hell of a lot better than they were during the Religion Wars and Gang Rule and even when Fems were in power. And who are you to tell me what to think?” I planted my feet and jammed my fists onto my hips.
“Whatever you say.” He held up his hands and backed off.
I wasn’t done. “And don’t you dare talk to me about my father. If you knew all you claim to know about him, you wouldn’t be asking me all these questions about him. I have friends of my own, friends that don’t care whose daughter I am. I’m sorry your mom and dad got killed chasing some story about my father, but you know what? That wasn’t my fault.”
I’d turned to go when he said, “What about Dee?” I spun around. His jaw was set—his eyes flashing. I couldn’t believe I’d trusted him—I thought he’d liked me for me. I was wrong.
“What about her?” I shot back.
“Ed, her father. What do you know about him?”
“What do you care?” I knew plenty. He was a cheater, an abuser, an exgovernment agent who was now a Chooser, a skiv who’d rather watch sixteens have sex on vids than turn them into FeLS, and a jerk of a father who wanted to turn my little sister into a Cinderella girl. But I wasn’t about to tell Sal any of that. “I know that he made Ginnie’s life miserable,” was all I said.
“How’d she meet him?”
“At her work.”
“How long did she—”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I snapped. “You can quit with the questions. My life is not your business. It wasn’t your business two weeks ago, it isn’t your business now. If you want to know about Alan Oberon, you can put on your homeless disguise and go find out on your own.”