Rebels (9 page)

“Feathers,” said another. That one looked soft. Everyone went “ooh” and “ahh,” but I knew they were just waiting for the chance to show off their own.

Pollen
.
Petals. Beetles.

“It used to be alive!” squealed the owner. “I mean, it actually walked around!”

Someone cleared their throat. Faces turned. The room went quiet.

Cassina held up her copy nonchalantly. Hers was shiny, with complicated patterns swirling into each other. “Reptilian,” she said smugly. “Snakeskin. Only one in all of Indra.”

I'm not sure if anyone else knew what a
snake
was, but they all looked impressed. You could observe an Archive full of snakes and immediately see how well Cassina belonged to their world.

“What about Lex's copy?” said Cassina. Everyone turned to stare at me.

I shrugged.

“You don't even have
The Book of Indra
?” she said. “If you don't have one, how do you prove your existence? I mean, like, even Hubbies have them!” She shot a look at three kids in the back of the class who never strayed far from one another, as misplaced as me, but at least they had standard-issue copies. Even if I had one of those, I'd probably be dismissed because the pages weren't real paper like those of the Islanders, instead of rice paper or some other substitute.

“Just be glad you're in the Academy, Lex, or you wouldn't have clothes either.”

Everyone laughed. Even the Hubbies! Who had never been aboveground or seen the City of Indra either!

That didn't keep them from laughing. Two of them, at least. Not the tiny one with shiny black hair. “How'd she even get in the Academy?” I'd heard people say. “She's so little she can hardly see a target.”

Her name was Vipsinia. Vippy for short. She was always staring at me. Watching me blast targets, following the route I took to class. Popping up when I least expected her. “She just thinks you're cool,” Kane said.

“Or she's gonna smother me in my sleep,” I said.

Vippy just lifted her own plain copy defiantly, flipped the pages. Held it in front of her like it was made of gold and glared defiantly at Cassina over the top.

Gutsy for someone you could snap in half.

What really mattered was that Hubber Vippy had her own book, and I had zip.

“
The Book of Indra
,” Kane explained later, “is made of real materials. No holo-anything. Real words on real paper.”

“
The Book of Indra
,” as the instructor put it, “contains the words by which we aspire to live.”

In the Orphanage, our only aspiration was to make it to twelve.

Vippy flipped a page forcefully. Everyone else stared at me like I had ration gravy on my face.

“Hey, Lex!” said a voice. “You can share mine.”

Kane. Rescuing me. No one would laugh at Kane. Cassina just stared at him, the mean melting off her pointy face. Then she looked at me. From dreamy-eyed to death stare.

I moved next to him. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

“Whatever,” he said. “It wasn't for you. I just don't wanna get crap about my book.”

I knew he was lying. Kane didn't care what anyone thought.

“Scrubber wimp,” I said. He grinned, knowing I didn't mean it.

For a second, I wanted to hold his hand. Reach under the desk and squeeze it.

That was the first time I ever wanted to touch someone.

We both looked at his book. There were no strange patterns. No feathers or leaves or skins.

Just colors, swirling into each other. Colors I'd never seen before or even imagined.

“I did it myself,” he said. “It's the sound of my breathing.”

When Etiquette Tutor demanded to know the foods we found most reprehensible, I told the truth. In retrospect, I should not have been so honest.

Etiquette Tutor watched as I lifted the spoon to my mouth, a blob of slimy kidney meat quivering before me.

“Leisure Skills,” according to Etiquette Tutor, “are our birthright and duty as females. A Proper Little Girl of Indra must be adept in showing delight, even while enduring the most disagreeable of experiences.”

The others whispered excitedly upon first seeing the dining table, cooing over the candelabra and polished silverware, giddily pointing out the delicate roses engraved on the fine china. We sat completely straight, as instructed, and daintily unfolded the linens edged in fine lace and placed them on our laps.

I knew this would not end well.

“The key to expressing delight is simple: you must always maintain a smile.”

I heard the gasps before I even lifted the domed lid of my serving
tray. Claudia took Etiquette Tutor's words to heart. Within moments, she retched violently through a smile.

My spoon was poised yet unmoving, the shiny lump gleaming in the candlelight. My hand appeared to be frozen.

Now, Livia
, I told myself.
Just open your mouth
.
These dishes are not made from real animals
.

Real animals had been extinct for centuries, except for Veda. This meat was synthesized by bioengineers in sky labs. The vegetables were grown in the Aero-Crown, perched in the atmosphere even higher than the Islands.

In the City of Indra, the food was more functional: protein cubes, dehydrated vegetables, powdered vitamin supplements. Here, we were given re-creations of former earth's delicacies. Eating such fine replications was considered an honor.

I didn't care to be honored. I just cared to be excused.

When Etiquette Tutor asked our least favorite food, the majority of us were quick to please, each naming a dish more horrendous than the last. Staring down at the kidney, I believed myself to have been most successful.

“Consume the kidney, Livia,” said Etiquette Tutor, and I knew there would be no more stalling.

I closed my eyes and, for barely an instant, brought forth Marius's voice in my head. I often did this during etiquette lessons that caused me distress, meaning nearly every single one.

You must be a very sweet, good girl. Even when you do not feel that way.

I shoved the blob into my mouth.

“Not so fast. You must appear to savor your meal. And your smile must be believed.”

I took another bite, this time slower. The glutinous kidney was cold on my tongue, and its bitter juice pooled at the back of my throat.

“Smile,” barked Etiquette Tutor.

Do not vomit
. I forced a swallow, my lips pulled upward.

Across from me, Mica took dainty bites of her banana soufflé. She simply hated dessert. It was so fattening and sugary.

Etiquette Tutor watched me swallow, shook her head, and nodded to my plate. “Again, Livia. Your countenance should say, ‘This kidney is divine. More kidney.
More kidney
.' ”

Bite after bite, smiling till the corners of my lips ached. And yet, Etiquette Tutor deemed my performance unsatisfactory, even more so than that of Bettina, who, after vomiting pig trotters across the floor, was simply told to wipe up and begin with a fresh pair of feet.

“Perhaps, Livia, you have never experienced delight. Or even an emotion that would lead you to keep your mouth closed when you chew, for I do not care to see what you are digesting.”

I finished the kidney, worried that I would now be forced to lick the plate clean as well. I gulped down a glass of water and took a deep breath and gave my first real smile.

◊  ◊  ◊

It was worth every horrendous moment—Mica's requirement, kidney, Etiquette Tutor—for Marius's support.

“Today we learned Reliance on Others to Affirm Our Femininity,” I told her. “And Etiquette Tutor had us affect the state of one who has become incapacitated due to physical injury and must remain fetching while awaiting a Proper Young Gentleman to rescue her.”

In actuality, I was fully aware I could rescue myself, though had long ago given up questioning the need for our lessons. Need, I had come to realize, was beside the point.

“Ah, yes. Indeed, I remember the exercise well,” Marius said.

“And I kept my wits about me under duress, just as instructed.”

Of course, the reality had been quite different. Etiquette Tutor had assigned Claudia an arm injury, strapping it to her side and telling
her to pretend it had been broken. Emilia was asked to elevate her leg due to a splinter. Both waited patiently for help, not seeming put out in the slightest.

I had been restrained, blindfolded, and told to silently wait for relief. “You have suffered a great shock and fainted,” Etiquette Tutor said.

My relief was a long time coming.

“And it was terribly easy. And Etiquette Tutor was very pleased with me, I could tell. Told the others I had shown ‘serenity under pressure.' ”

If serenity entails withstanding uncontrollable shaking in complete darkness
.

Marius gave me a strange look.
I mustn't go so far
, I told myself.

“Though it was a tad bit scary,” I said.

“I knew you would shine, my love.” Marius reached out and took my hand. Just as Governess had ceased smiling, Marius no longer embraced me. I knew not to question, just hold tight to the most minuscule slivers of affection: an appreciative smile, a hand in mine. These must keep me going.

◊  ◊  ◊

“Grace is about maintaining your dignity,” said Etiquette Tutor. “Stand with purpose and you will not fall.”

We all stared at the small circular platform sixty feet above us.

“The key to Maintaining Grace under Difficult Circumstances is to not appear under duress. Act the part, and you will succeed. Your elegance will be your safety.”

Luckily, there was also a massive inflatable cushion below to serve the same purpose.

My training with Master had improved my flexibility and endurance. While the other girls spent their childhoods avoiding stained frocks, I'd grown up racing through gardens and riding Veda and scaling synth-trees that towered higher than that platform.

This was my chance to show Etiquette Tutor she had underestimated my abilities and impress her. She wouldn't say so, of course, and still wouldn't like me, but she would respect me.

I was still a child, I suppose. I believed in make-believe, even my own.

Cybele was the first to step aboard the lift and be raised to the platform. I could feel her fear surge, the expectation for failure tangible. Plummeting to the ground, in front of her peers? Even if the fall was cushioned, the humiliation would not be.

“Begin!” said Etiquette Tutor, and Cybele lifted her chin and forced a pleasant smile. With that, Etiquette Tutor raised the small black remote in her hand and pressed a button with her long, thin finger.

Immediately, the platform began to rotate, spinning slowly at first and gaining speed with each revolution. Cybele attempted to find her footing, only to stumble.

Below, Etiquette Tutor clicked away, her face utterly devoid of emotion.

Cybele never quite found her balance, though she lasted immeasurably longer than we thought in the moment. She fell, but she wasn't alone in her failure.

For some, this trial lasted quite a while as Etiquette Tutor taunted them with her controller. She spun them one way and then the other, going from slow to fast to frenzied in an instant. For others, she began full force, watching them stumble and fall within a few seconds of stepping onto the platform. Bodies tumbled through the air, bloomers on display and limbs splayed at angles not befitting Proper Young Girls. We watched as each girl sat up awkwardly, her equilibrium destabilized, rising red-faced and dress askew. Often the girl would stumble a few steps before regaining her balance.

More than one hurried away, knowing it improper to become
sick in front of the others. This lack of control, as Etiquette Tutor often reminded us, was highly disagreeable and outright disgusting in nature.

Immediately, the trials would continue.

Click. Click. Click.

When it came time for Mica, there was a palpable sigh of relief. She would set a glowing example for us all.

Mica smiled pleasantly to herself on the way up. Once she reached the top, she gave a tiny sigh, as though the task were simply another banana soufflé.

Her body held tall, she took her place on the platform. A dainty smile played on her bottom lip as she began to spin very, very slowly.

She fell almost immediately.

The girls sucked in their breath, a few even squealing. The fall seemed to take an eternity. When she landed, dress over her head and undergarments on display, the girls fought the urge to look away. Of course, that would have been against the rules. According to Etiquette Tutor, we must learn from the mistakes of others by fully observing their failures. I drank hers in.

Even Etiquette Tutor seemed taken aback, signaled by a momentary flicker of her left eyebrow. Mica pulled herself together, unharmed but shaken. She glided back to her seat in graceful strides, just as we had all been taught, instantly regaining her self-satisfied smile and regal manner.

I could sense her utter humiliation. Even more, her powerful fury.

Etiquette Tutor opened her mouth to speak, and we sucked in our breath in preparation. Even Mica was not above critique, we were sure of that, though the theory had yet to be proven.

Perhaps this was her destined moment.

“Next up will be Livia Cosmo.”

◊  ◊  ◊

Focus, Livia.

The spin began slow and steady, the pace increasing in gradual increments that allowed me to adjust.

Nimble, Livia.

Steady, Livia.

Beneath me, I heard Etiquette Tutor click the device, careful not to tense in anticipation of a change in speed. It could go slower, but it never did.