Gifted (16 page)

“Are you a mole?” I blurt out.

“A mole?” he asks, confused. “Is that like a squimonk?” He tucks his bottom lip under top teeth and pretends to nibble on a nut.

“No!” I laugh. “I mean a corporate spy. Sent here by Corp X to check up on the warehouse.”

This time, Aimery laughs long and hard. His voice echoes across the riverbank and back. “What would make you think that?”

“That's what Jude thinks,” I tell him and kick at rocks on the path.

“That makes sense,” he says sarcastically. “Because he's an idiot and that's idiotic.”

“Are you a rabble-rouser?”

“A what-the-whatter?”

“You know, one of those people who infiltrates and tries to get warehouse workers to band together? What did they used to call it? Unionizing or something?”

“I didn't know that was a thing.”

I fold up the soft cloth he gave me. “Do you want this back?” I ask. “I'm not sure I can get the bloodstains out.”

“Gross, no,” he says. “It's disposable. Throw it away.”

“Something this nice?” I say. “I'll wash it.” I put it in my pocket. “So, if you're not a mole or a rabble-rouser, what are you doing here?”

“Working,” he says. “Like everybody else.”

I scoff. “You're hardly like everybody else.”

“Neither are you,” he says and I start to protest but he cuts me off. “I mean that as a compliment.”

Butterflies stir in my stomach.

“So your grandmother,” he asks suddenly. “Is she okay? The other day the security officer came and you seemed worried and then today you were hurrying off and…”

“It's not a great situation,” I admit.

“I'm sorry,” he says and steps closer. The sun is beginning to wane and shadow-trees creep across the path toward us. “I know what it's like to worry about someone you love when they're not well.”

“You do?”

“My sister's been in a MediPlex since I was really young.”

“At the MediPlex here?” I reach out to comfort him but then I stop because that might seem weird. Like nearly everyone in the warehouse, I feel drawn to Aimery. I've seen what happens when he goes down the aisles. People stop and stare because he's somehow inexplicably fabulous. He doesn't look like us or talk like us or even walk like us. There's something about him that makes everyone want to watch him. But the weird thing is, sometimes I find him watching me.

“No, not here,” he says. “MediPlex has facilities all over the place. She's in one where I grew up.”

Before I can ask where that is, he says, “So your grandmother, is she going to be okay?”

“Truthfully, I don't know,” I tell him, surprised by how easy it is to be honest just then.

He moves in closer. The temperature seems to drop and I get goose bumps on my arms. “How not okay is she?”

I hesitate, unsure whether it's okay to confide in him, but there's a part of me that's ready to burst from keeping all the worry inside. For three days I've gotten up, gone to work, done my job, rushed to see her, and gotten home in time to shove down some food and fall in bed. And the only good part of those days has been Aimery. Every morning when I see him in the warehouse, I find myself smiling, glad to work near him again, even if he is horrible at his job. And he seems equally happy to see me. For the first time since Brie was switched to nights, my tenners have been fun again because I go outside with Aimery. We joke around and talk about all kinds of silly things like which snacks are better (Krispy Krab and Bakon Crickers or SalsaGhetti Squidoos) and what songs on the Buzz make us want to barf. I can make him belly laugh by imitating Ios's butt-shaking “(Quark) Charmed, I'm Sure” song. The truth is, I feel a strange and intense comfort with Aimery that I don't feel with anyone else but Brie, and before I know it, the words are spilling out as I pace back and forth, kicking up dust around my feet.

“I don't know. It's bad. She's old and her memory is slipping and she wandered away and then someone found her and to make a long story short, they're going to kick her out of the MediPlex tomorrow unless I come up with a boatload of cash that I don't have.”

His mouth falls open. He looks horrified. “Where was she? Who found her?” His voice is urgent, like a little kid who needs to know the end of a story.

“We don't know,” I tell him. “That's the weird part. As best anyone can figure, some Plute was driving by the river and found her wandering in the road a few miles from here. She's incredibly lucky. She could have been hit, or picked up by a maniac, or attacked by a coyolf, or fallen into the river.” I visibly shudder at the thousands of ways the story could have ended badly. I look out over the water to the other side of the river, then back at Aimery. “It's probably the first time in history a Plute has ever done anything nice for a Plebe out here.”

He laughs, weird and nervous. “There are plenty of nice Plutes in the world!” he says loudly. “Maybe it wasn't even a Plute that found her!”

I scoff. “He was definitely a Plute. The MediPlex people saw his car.”

“They did?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah, but it was dark so they couldn't say what kind it was.”

A little dragonfly zooms up between us and Aimery jumps. “Oh, no!” he yells and hides his face behind his arm.

“Take it easy!” I shoo the bug away. “It won't hurt you. Dragonflies don't sting like wasps and bees.”

“Oh wow, that was … it was…” He watches it fly off. “Real, wasn't it?” He looks at me, amazed.

“As opposed to a fake dragonfly?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Ha, right, yeah. Forget it. I'm a little weirded out by bugs.”

“There are no bugs where you're from?” I tease him.

“Not like that,” he says. Then he points to my bike. “Hey look, your handlebars are crooked.”

“Dang it!” I pick it up and work to straighten them. “Dorian just gave me this bike.”

“Is that the big tall dude with the arms?” He pretends to flex. “If I'd known it was your birthday—”

“My birthday?”

“I just figured since your boyfriend got you a present—”

“My boyfriend?” I squint at him. “Dorian is just a friend, an old friend,” I say, but a flush crawls up my chest and into my face. Friend doesn't feel like the right word, but I can't call him a boyfriend after just one quick kiss. “And what's my birthday got to do with it?” I snarl, embarrassed by the conversation. “Are we five years old?”

Aimery blinks at me. “You mean, you haven't gotten a birthday present since you were five?”

“Nobody does,” I tell him.

“Nobody?” he says and laughs. “From Nowhere?” Then he starts to hum.

A thrill hits me in the belly and I nearly drop the bike again. “Why are you singing that song? How do you know it?”

“There's this thing.” He leans close and touches me on the shoulder, sending a ripple down my back. “Called radio. If you have a receiver, which is like a special box you buy on the black market, you can hear it. And sometimes people set up pirate stations.”

“I know what pirate radio is! But when did you hear that song?”

“I've heard it a few times,” he tells me. “A couple of days ago late at night. Then last night DJ HiJax played it.”

“DJ HiJax!” I blink at him, disbelieving.

“He's been playing it a lot. If you want, I'll show you my receiver.” He wiggles his eyebrows, but I just stare at him, speechless. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I tell him slowly, trying to puzzle through what's going on, but it makes no sense. “It's been a weird day, that's all. I should get going. I have somewhere I need to be. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” he asks, confused.

“Work,” I say. “Remember? That job you have in the warehouse, just like everybody else?”

“Oh, that,” he says, but looks uncertain.

“You're not thinking of ditching, are you? Because Ajax will put you on nights if you miss a shift. And if you think working days sucks…”

He looks everywhere but at me. “I … um … yeah … we'll see,” he mutters.

I figure that's the best answer I'll get out of him and I shouldn't be surprised. People come and go all the time around here. But I'm glad the light is waning because my face burns bright at the thought of not seeing him. I sling my leg over the seat and say, “See you around.”

“Good-bye,” he calls after me as I head off toward the PODPlex in search of Brie, wondering what Aimery's not telling me.

 

ORPHEUS

After Zimri slams
into me with her bike, then zooms around the curve in the river, disappearing beneath the trees, I stay in the middle of the path. Stuck. I was all set to get the hell out of here. This afternoon in the warehouse when Rude Jude was harassing Zimri, I knew my experiment in Plebeland needed to be over. It was all fun and games when I first got here, but I can go home if I want an asshole to yell at me and tell me what to do. Plus, my father pays better.

Then she knocked me over, literally, and I'm all confused. Part of my brain thinks,
Might not be so bad to stay
. Which is insane! I can't stay at a Complex for a girl. Especially not a Plebe girl. What am I going to do? Settle down in a POD with Zimri and work on the warehouse floor until I die? As if!

But then she came around the curve and made my heart rev. There's something about her that draws me in and makes it impossible to look away. She has all the raw material every PromoTeam hopes for when a kid wakes up from an ASA: charisma, charm, an interesting kind of beauty, natural confidence, and compassion. Only no one in the City would ever expect that kind of thing from a Plebe like Zim.

And so, there's a dumb little part of my brain that keeps saying,
If things were different … if she wasn't a Plebe and I wasn't a Plute.
But no, it's stupid. She's the wrong girl. The wrong kind. A Plebe girl. A beautiful, interesting, funny, fascinating Plebe girl who I can't stop thinking about when the workday's done.

I shake myself to snap out of it. I can't go back to that god-forsaken warehouse again. Especially when I have a life back home. “This is just a hiatus,” I say aloud. “A chance to make my parents fret.”

I force myself to picture Arabella, lovely Arabella. I was so mad at her a few nights ago when she wouldn't leave a dumb party to talk to me when I needed her, but that was silly. She was just doing her job. I can't be mad at her for that. It's what her brain is wired to do now and everything else is secondary. I try to conjure up her face, but her image is cloudy. It's hard to remember who she used to be beneath the bigger eyes and complicated braids and body paint. Then Zimri crowds my mind again. I try to imagine her dressed up like a Plute girl and I laugh. She'd never go for it. Zim's the kind of person who'd tell a PromoTeam to shove it and then do her own thing. Like my mom.

My mouth falls open and I look up into the darkening sky. It's become a deep rich blue I've never seen beneath the light pollution of the City, but I'm more astounded by the realization that Zimri reminds me of my mother. Not the mother who raised me but Libellule the superstar. And not in the skeevy way Ios tried to flirt with me by imitating my mom in her prime, which was gross. Like my mom, Zimri has a fierce confidence and independent streak even though she doesn't come from money or power. There's no good reason for either my mother or Zimri to strut around commandeering so much attention, except for the fact that Zimri, like my mom, is more awesome than everyone around her. But unlike my mother, Zimri has no idea of her effect on people. Which is partly what makes her so charming.

I walk quickly along the path with thoughts fluttering in my head like all the little chickadees and bluebirds feasting on bright red bushberries. I think of Arabella again. I stop and close my eyes to relive our last kiss in Nahmad Gallery. So quick and fleeting. Every time we fooled around before her surgery, we never got it right. We were always interrupted or one of us just stopped. Then there was that split second in my kitchen when we both slumped over the counter, laughing. I thought that would be our moment but she jumped away. What would have happened if our lips had found one another? Our tongues entangled? In my mind, the kiss is wonderful. We find a rhythm with our mouths and it's perfect and amazing and when I pull away to look into her face, my eyes pop open because the person I'm picturing in my mind's eye isn't Arabella.

“Oh, hell!” I say out loud, then I'm striding up the path again.

I can't deny that I feel something for Zimri. And sometimes, I think she might feel the same way about me. If she had an ExoScreen, I'm certain our carapaces would be a perfect match. But the whole thing is impractical. I start muttering out loud to the birds and bugs buzzing all around.

I only planned to be gone until my money ran out. Just long enough to make my parents sweat. Then I'd go home. They'd feel guilty and let me have a say in what to do with my life.

I come to the giant willow tree along the shore and duck beneath the low ropy branches into the cool underbelly where my car is hidden. In the dusky light I can barely make out how messed up it is, but I know the whole passenger side door is scraped and dented where I ran into the rail that stopped me from plunging into the river. The back right tire has gone flat. I have a RoboJack but I don't know how to use it and I'm not sure it would do much good anyway. The last time I drove it, from the MediPlex to here, it hissed and banged like something inside the engine was messed up, too. Finally, I pulled over and pushed it beneath this tree, sure I'd never make it back to the City.

Now I don't know if I want to go back and I'm not even sure why. Guilt, maybe? Guilt that I can leave and Zimri can't even though she's smart and hardworking and just as deserving of a good life as I am.