Fast-Tracked (7 page)

“Oh,” I breathed. Not as dramatic as I was expecting, but just what was I hoping for? It’s not like there actually was anything my father or anyone else could do that would affect Byron’s standing in the assessment testing.

I forced myself to eat some food before returning to the darkness of my room.

On Wednesday, my mother insisted that I get out of bed, shower, and dress. After listening to a long and drawn-out speech about how sulking wouldn’t do either Byron or me any good, I headed outside.

I had never felt so lonely and lost as I did at that moment staring at my neighborhood. It still looked the same as it did when I was a child. Somehow that surprised me. I half expected it to reflect the bleakness I felt inside. But nothing, not a blade of grass, looked different.

There was still a long row of rectangular houses to my left and another to my right – all of them identical.
The same slate gray brick, the same black shutters, and even the same blue carpeting throughout each home.
The dark blue front door of each house led to a small entryway. Immediately to the left was the living room. Behind that at the end of the hall was the kitchen, and tucked under the stairs was a small powder room. Upstairs there were two bedrooms and a full-sized bathroom.

Byron had always complained about having to share his room with his sister. Once he had even joked that it was his main motivation in school. He wanted the three bedroom home of a purple level so he’d never have to force his son and daughter to share the same space.

In between the two rows of houses was a thin lane of grass and flowers. I stood in the worn, beaten path that divided the center of it. It was the path that everyone took to get to the trams. No one had a backyard, because right behind our row of houses was another row of houses laid out in the exact same format.

But that didn’t mean we didn’t have an area to play. The far end of our street was bordered by a grassy field of wildflowers. Byron would sometimes pick flowers for me there. Beyond the field were the woods we had recently started disappearing into just to get a little privacy.

The end closest to my house led to the tram. Trams came regularly and frequently; every few minutes or so. Each was covered in solar panels. Even now that I’m considered an adult, I couldn’t help but think they resembled giant black caterpillars. Trams were how everyone got just about everywhere. The only exceptions were for long distance journeys – that was when an air-tram was used.

The city’s grid pattern made getting anywhere a lot quicker and easier. You just calculated how many stops north or south you had to go, and then transferred to an east-west tram and counted the stops in that direction.

Our school had been two stops south and one
stop
east. Our favorite pizza joint was one north. It also happened to be where the grocery store and mall was. Occasionally, I had dragged Byron there to window shop, but he never complained.

Besides two trips to Boston, the farthest I had ever really traveled was to my dad’s plant – it was five stops north and eight stops west. I had led a very sheltered life over a very small area, but I had never needed to travel. Byron, Camille and my parents were my world. I never needed or wanted any more than them. But now that Byron was gone and Camille refused to even look at me, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was or who I was supposed to be. I didn’t even know if I wanted to even bother trying to be anyone anymore –
what was the point?

Not knowing what else to do with myself, I wandered my way onto the tram. I had no specific destination in mind. So I just kept riding it as I stared out the window. After about the eighth stop, I noticed the mix of people had changed. I was passing through a working class living area now. I couldn’t see much of their housing from the window – it was just rows of large buildings. So I started people watching. If it wasn’t for their ID badges it would have been hard to tell the difference between the blue-class and red-class workers. They all dressed similarly, and each sported the same pleasant, polite expression. But as I entered areas with even lower level classes, the differences were striking. Their faces were gaunter and their eyes were sadder. They didn’t laugh or chat, but sat in their seats looking utterly exhausted.

As a green worker walked by me, I realized that I had never in my life seen anyone lower than brown class, and that had only been in my dad’s plant. They were our society’s dirty little secret. We lived separately, and worked separately, so the upper-class never had to lay their eyes upon their hardships and despair. I felt disgusted with myself as I spent the rest of the day riding the tram all the way to its north end and back.

I don’t know if it was because of me scaring her by disappearing for the day, or because it was our last day together, but my mom had the entire day planned out for me on Thursday. First she woke me up early and had me shower and dress in one of my nicest outfits. Then she brought me to Claire’s for an overpriced breakfast. I still had no real appetite for food, but I forced myself to clean my plate. It was one thing leaving leftovers at home, but to waste my mother’s hard earned income credits on something that would go into the garbage – I couldn’t do that. Besides, many people would never get to eat this extravagant a meal ever again in their life.

Gulp. Okay, I need to change my train of thought before the waterworks start up again.

Next my mother brought me to the salon to get my hair styled and my nails manicured. Two things I never had done, or cared to have done, but I grinned and endured it for my mother’s sake.

“So what kind of hairdo did you have in mind?” the hairdresser asked. I just shrugged in response.

“Something elegant, but not too delicate; she needs to be able to sleep in it. My daughter’s been fast-tracked and I want her to look her best tomorrow.” Pride radiated from my mom as she bragged.

“
Mooooom
,” I whined and tried to shrink into my chair and hide.

Because of Byron, I felt horrible about my good fortune. The last thing I wanted was to have my mom bragging about it, but it was too late. The moment the words were out of her mouth, I had half the salon doting on me. They all had their own suggestions on what I should do with my hair, nails – they even wanted to do my make-up.

“I’m not sleeping in make-up and no one is cutting,
perming
or dyeing my hair. Beyond that I really don’t care what anyone does,” I shouted over the chaos.

In the end they settled on an intricate pattern of braids. It left my head a little sore with all the hands pulling at it, but I had to admit it looked really pretty. Plus so many people working on it at once made the work go by quickly.

Next we hit the mall and all of its most expensive stores to find just the right outfit for me. I tried to protest that it wasn’t necessary and reminded my mom that all of my clothes would be provided for me. But she wouldn’t hear of it. So I tried to change strategies and gushed over the cheapest outfits I could find. She wasn’t falling for it. Instead, once again, she announced that I had been fast-tracked. Immediately, I had the entire women’s department surrounding me with clothes. They even brought in a tailor so that any needed adjustments could be made while I waited.

The whole thing made me feel like a celebrity and I decided right then and there I would never become an actress. They seemed determined to show my mother and me every outfit in the store before allowing me to pick one. Every time I said that I liked one, they put it aside in a consideration pile and shoved another outfit at me. In the end, my mom and I decided on a pale pink suit that had a skirt and matching flats. I refused to wear heels.

My mom tried to grab a late lunch while we waited for the alterations to be completed, but I convinced her to just get a smoothie. I still had no appetite for food and wanted to save her the credits.

“I hate seeing you so sad,” my mom sighed as I slurped on my straw. “I wish there was something I could do about it.” She reached over and grabbed my hand.

“After grandma died you were sad for months, weren’t you?” I asked in an attempt to have her understand how I was feeling.

“Well, yes. But no one has died. It’s just that things are different for you and Byron now.” She patted my hand. Still trying to fix me and cheer me up.

“Mom, different is a gross understatement. I’ll never see him or talk to him again. Do you know how painful that is? I almost think it would be easier if he
had
died. At least then I would be allowed to properly mourn him and I’d know he was at peace in Heaven. But to know he’s still out there, but out of my reach and miserable… right now I’m just trying to get through the day. Maybe over time the pain will fade, but I doubt it will ever completely go away. And I don’t really want it to.” I pleaded with my eyes for her to understand and just allow me to wallow.

“You know there will be other boys, honey.” She smiled encouragingly at me.

God.
Sometimes she could be so infuriating. “Byron wasn’t… isn’t just a boy. He was my best friend growing up, and that friendship turned into love. It’s more than a silly schoolgirl crush, so don’t you dare treat it like one!” I fumed at her. Needing to get away from the conversation, I stood up, returned my half empty cup, and marched back toward the store.
They better be done with the alteration by now; I can’t take much more of this.

“Alexandria, wait,” my mom called after me as she hurried to catch up. “I’m not trying to trivialize what you feel. I just want you to know that there’s hope. One day you just might find love again.” She put her arm around me and hugged.

“Okay, fine. I get it. But right now I need you to allow me to be sad,” I demanded as I hugged her back.

The alterations were done, so once more they had me try on the suit, nylons and all. It fit like a glove and I had to admit it looked great on me. I went to take it off, but my mom insisted I keep it on until we got home. My dad wouldn’t get to see it tomorrow morning, and she wanted to enjoy seeing me so stunning for a little bit longer.

I agreed to keep it on, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she had an ulterior motive.

Sometimes I hated being right. I stepped off the tram to see Mrs. White dart back down our row. She had always been a nosy body, but even for her that was strange behavior. I turned the corner and groaned. The entire neighborhood was throwing me a celebration, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a news camera crew in the center of them.

The very thought of a celebration was distasteful. Had everyone in the neighborhood forgotten what today was? Or had they already forgotten about Byron, so it didn’t matter to them that today
was
his birthday?

My mom gave me a look that asked me to at least act like I was happy. So, for her sake, I did. I acted surprised and overwhelmed by the outpouring of love shown by our fellow neighbors. I humbly gushed to the reporter about how surprised I was by all of this. How I never dared even dreamed of being fast-tracked. The only time I stumbled was when the reporter asked me if there was anyone I wanted to send a message to. I got choked up. I wanted to tell Byron that I would never forget him, but all I could get out was his name.

Luckily my mom was nearby and jumped in explaining that my best friend had already left for his training and couldn’t be here today, but our thoughts were with him.

I disappeared from the party the first chance I had. Unfortunately, that chance didn’t come until it was late at night. I said goodnight to my parents and headed up to my room to pack the few personal items I was allowed. I looked at my small carry-on full of mementos. It was hard to believe the sum of all my memories fit into such a small, sad bag.

Chapter 5

Thanks to a sleeping pill from my mother I had a restful, dreamless sleep and was ready to go early the next morning. Breakfast was painfully quiet. No one knew exactly what to say. I could tell my parents wanted to be excited and thrilled for me. But my vacant expression told them everything they needed to know: that I was too filled with pain to even feign excitement. I scraped most of my cereal into the disposal and said a quick goodbye to my dad. He wished me luck and hurried to the tram. He had stayed later than normal just so he could see me off. Soon after, I headed to the tram with my mom.

She rode with me all the way to the air-tram station, putting on a brave show instead of a sappy, tear-filled one that would have more accurately reflected how she was really feeling. She said her goodbye to me at the gate. I tried to smile for her, but the rest of my face betrayed my sadness. I promised to call often, and headed to the air-tram.

Leaving home had been made easy for me. Sure, I’d miss my mom and dad, but they really didn’t understand what I was going through. It was easier for them to think that my feelings were no more than a crush, because at lease then I had a chance of rebounding.

Everything at home reminded me of Byron, from the worn green couch where my mom first caught us kissing, to the rock that jutted out of the grass next to our porch steps. When I was little I tripped and fell on that rock, slicing a deep cut in my chin. Byron sent Camille to get my mom while he used his sweatshirt to stop the blood. The entire time he held my hand and told me over and over again that it would be okay. If you looked closely you could still see a faint scar along my jaw line.