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“What the hell did you do?” the medic demanded. “It looks like you cut yourself open with a kitchen knife.”

“Near as much. Had to swap fried chips.”

The medic looked horrified. “Out there? By yourself? With no sterilization or anesthesia? You’re insane!” Zie shook zir head. “You’re lucky you made it this long.”

Zie kept muttering about infection and poisoning as zie readied a tray of gleaming instruments.

“Lie down,” zie said. “On your stomach.”

Marmeg yelped as chilly fingers pushed around her incisions.

“Oh, please. It must’ve hurt a lot more when you made these incisions. I can see quite a bit of swelling here, but the wound is closed. We’re better off leaving it alone. I’m going to take some blood samples to check for infection.”

Marmeg craned her head and watched the medic draw a vial of blood. Zie placed a few drops into a row of cylinders the size of her thumb. After a minute, zie scanned each one with a handheld and frowned at the screen. Marmeg held her breath until the medic’s face relaxed.

“Lucky girl. Your blood is clear of sepsis. You do have a mild infection, which is hardly unexpected, but it’s nothing a course of antibiotics won’t clear up. I’m going to get them from the supply box outside. Stay put.”

Marmeg sat up. The world spun. She debated getting a few more stim pills from her backpack, but the medic returned before she’d moved. Zie carried a blister pack of antibiotics and a bottle of water.

“Take two now and another one every twelve hours until they’re all gone. And no more stimulants.” Had zie read her mind? “You need to let your body rest and recover. Get lots of sleep, drink plenty of water, and take it easy on the legs for at least a week. No exos! I recommend seeing a surgeon at that point to reopen your calves and check the capsule placement. They might be able to reduce the scarring, too. As it is now, you’re going to end up with some ugly ones.”

Marmeg sighed and took the first dose. The giant, bitter pills stuck in her throat, and she drank nearly half the bottle before she swallowed them.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about the race.”

“Same.”

She shouldered her pack and brought up her planned return route on her cuff. A free shuttle would get her to Mammoth Lakes. From there she could catch the bus to Los Angeles.

A winding cement path led to a rectangular building and the signpost for the shuttle. There was nowhere to sit while waiting, so Marmeg dropped her pack on the pavement and slumped beside it. Two journo drones had trailed her, but they lost interest once she stopped moving. She had thirty minutes until the next shuttle. In her sleep-deprived state, it felt like an eternity.

The bus pulled in with a squeal of brakes that woke her from a light doze. A couple and two young children got down, and Marmeg climbed on. She took up two seats, one for herself and another for the pack, but it didn’t matter. The bus was empty except for her.

She dozed off again, rousing only when the driver informed her that they’d arrived in town. She could smell toasted bread as she stepped off. Her stomach growled. Marmeg entered the bakery from which all the lovely, mouth-watering odors came, and ordered a bagel, toast with fried eggs, and a pitcher of orange juice. It would make a sizeable dent in the money Jer had given her.

She sat at a table in the back corner, though there was no one to hide from except the server. The food arrived steaming. It was the most delectable meal of Marmeg’s life, and she devoured it at a pace that barely allowed for chewing and swallowing.

“Glad you enjoyed your meal,” the server said as zie cleared the dishes away.

“Best ever.” Marmeg held up her cuff to pay.

“No charge.”

“What?”

The server smiled. “Most everyone here follows the race. A free breakfast is the least I can do.”

“Thanks.”

Win or lose, fame had its benefits. Marmeg made sure to bump the server’s and the bakery’s ratings on her way out.

The bus terminal in town was small, but it was enclosed and clean, and had padded seats. Marmeg slept until her cuff zapped her awake. Time to catch the bus. She blearily joined the handful of others getting on. The driver stopped her when she held her cuffed wrist to the credit scanner.

“Sorry, cash only today. Scanner’s broken.”

“Jokin’?”

The driver shook his head. “There’s a cash dispenser inside. I’ll wait for you.”

Marmeg kept her pack with her and limped back into the station. She swiped her cuff three times at the machine to no effect. Then she noticed the small card with
OUT OF O
RDER
scribbled in red and taped to the top.

“My God, why hast thou forsaken me?” she muttered, feeling a strong urge to kick the machine.

She walked back out and asked the driver if he knew of any other machines nearby. He didn’t. When was the next bus? Not for two more days. His face crinkled with pity.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Show me the credit balance on your cuff. If it’s enough, I’ll give you a ride. You can get me some cash at the next station.”

“Deal,” Marmeg agreed.

She sat and put the pack vertically next to herself. She leaned against it like an old friend and fell into a deep sleep. In her dreams, towering trees tangled with walls of granite. Rocks crashed through them, creating an avalanche of roots and soil and mangled, screaming bodies.

“Hey,” said a gentle voice. “Got to wake up here and get your bus fare.”

Marmeg awoke disoriented and stared at the owner of the voice: a graying man with asphalt-colored skin. Right. She was on a bus, nearly out of money, and going home a cheat and a failure.
You’re wrong, Ma. God doesn’t love me.

Every muscle ached and every joint protested when she stood and pulled on the pack. The first four steps along the bus aisle were pure agony. Then blood pulsed its way to the right places, including her brain. She wondered where they were until she saw the sign proclaiming
RIDGECREST
in faded green lettering. The cash machine looked even worse. At least it dispensed.

Marmeg was tempted by the smell of coffee but decided it would be smarter to sleep. She thought of all the messages on her cuff. At the very least, she owed a note to Jeffy that she’d made it onto the bus in one piece. Then again, if the race news kept topping the feeds, he would know enough.

“Hoy. You Mary Guinto, right? Graf me?” said a voice from behind her.

She turned and saw two kids, probably thirteen or fourteen years old. One had her screen thrust out at Marmeg. Her face had a shy, nervous expression that felt all too familiar.

“Lost the race.”

“Won it, squares!” said the kid fiercely. “They gone it ’cause of who you be, but we all know you done first.”

Marmeg smiled at her defenders. “Okay. I’ll graf.”

She scribbled a message next to her signature:
TO MY FIRST FANS
. Her pack felt a little lighter on her way back to the bus.

Marmeg’s cuff bleated as she took her seat. She flicked it on. The backlog had grown. One after another, messages scrolled by. The earliest were congratulatory. They became supportive, then outraged. Petitions against Minerva’s race committee were filed. Many protested that it was blatant discrimination against a postnatal licensee. Others were appalled by Minerva’s inhumanity.

Hours’ worth of drama played out in the space of a few minutes. Her ratings had soared, dipped, risen, and dipped again. They had acquired a life of their own.

She set her cuff not to wake her until the bus arrived in Los Angeles. Of the rest of the journey, she remembered nothing, not even her dreams.

* * *

Marmeg felt more like herself when she stepped off the bus at the dingy LA station. A gentle mist fell from a cement-colored sky. The sun had set, painting the west an angry orange.

She walked past the lot full of two-seater pods and older electric cars, intending to foot it to the nearest train station. The sight of her family’s rusty electric minivan caught her off guard. Dirty beads of water trickled down its side windows. Marmeg peered in and saw with a sinking heart that her mother sat at the wheel. The window glass retracted jerkily into the door.

“Come in out of the rain, mahal.”

Marmeg slung her pack into the middle row and climbed into the passenger seat.

“How’d you know?”

“Oh, honey, you are all over the feeds. I made Jeffy tell me how you were planning to get home, so I’ve been waiting here. I’m off today.”

“Ma, that’s . . . real nice of you. Thanks.”

Amihan patted Marmeg’s left hand. “Least I could do for my girl after all she’s put herself through.”

“No stink?”

“No stink. I’m not mad at you. Everybody makes mistakes. Lord knows, I get that better than most, eh?” Amihan laughed. “Sometimes, we have to learn the hard way, us women, especially in our family.”

The wiper blades squeaked, and the scent of stale tobacco filled the car. Marmeg’s comfort at being home warred with her mother’s unexpected sympathy. When added to everything else that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, the whole world felt off-kilter.

She stared through the window at a city turned upside down by a hundred perfect water drops. She was a snowflake poised on a warm tongue, awaiting its inevitable death and cherishing the memory of its brief, spectacular life.

Reality crashed in: familiar shop fronts with peeling paint and screen signs with half their pixels gone. This part of the neighborhood was etched into Marmeg’s memory as clearly as traces on a circuit board.

“What we doing here?”

Amihan kept her gaze fixed on the wet, shiny blackness of the road.

“Ma? Talk to me!”

Her mother pulled into a cracked, weed-choked driveway alongside an industrial-looking building.
CASA FRANCISCA WOMEN’S SHELTER
: the sign hung on the wall in dull metal letters. Amihan turned off the car’s engine.

“Tell me the truth. Did you register and pay for the nursing home program?”

“No.”

“Did you spend that money on the race?”

“It’s my money.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for being honest. Tonight, I’m going to take you home. Your brothers have planned a little party, and I don’t want to disappoint them. Tomorrow morning, you can come here on your own, or I’ll drop you off on the way to work. You will not be welcome at home again until you figure out how to fix this mess.”

“Fix it your way?”

“Seems better than yours.”

“I won the race!”

“And they took it away from you, like I knew they would. You think because you’re smart, you can engineer your way into their life, but you’ll never be one of them. They don’t want people like us messing up their perfect circles.”

Marmeg crossed her arms, restrained herself against the urge to smash something. Anything.

Amihan reached out a tentative hand. “Take your hardships with grace, Mary Margaret. God is testing you! This is your chance to earn His forgiveness.”

“And yours?”

“Mine comes through His grace. I’m your mother, so I’ll always love you, but I won’t sit by and watch my daughter destroy her life. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Amihan backed out of the driveway. They drove to the apartment in silence and left the van parked between a two-seater and an ancient gas-burner. The mist had turned to actual falling drops of rain. They hurried inside, where they were surprised by two boys in handmade party hats. A sign reading
WELCOME HOME SISSY
was written in wiggly lettering.

“Surprise!” shouted Lee and Felix, jumping up and down with giant grins plastered on their faces.

Marmeg forced a smile. She dropped her pack near the door and scooped her little brothers into a tight hug. Felix’s sweet curls tickled her chin.

“Best brothers in the world,” she exclaimed, fighting tears.

“Hey, what about me?” Jeffy said, walking into the apartment.

Marmeg turned and gave Jeffy the next hug. His stubbly cheeks were cold and damp, and he held a bottle in each hand.

“Wine, Jeffy?” Amihan spoke in an appraising tone. She took the bottles from him and peered at the labels. “This one’s not bad,” she said. She walked to the kitchen and grabbed the corkscrew that lay on the countertop. The surface was so littered with pans and dishes that Marmeg could barely see the yellowing, cracked tiles underneath.

Amihan poured the wine into plastic cups and handed one each to Marmeg and Jeffy. She grabbed cans of soda from the fridge for Lee and Felix. Little eyes went wide.

“I get a whole can?” Felix squeaked.

“Sure, baby. We’re celebrating!” Amihan said.

“We are? I got the wine to make Marm feel better for losing the race.”

“Jeffy! No, we’re celebrating that Mary is coming to her senses and quitting this embed nonsense.”

Jeffy and Felix simultaneously said, “She is?”

Jeffy looked at Marmeg for confirmation, and she shrugged. His face darkened.

“No way, Ma. We can’t let her quit. She won! Do you know how hard that is?”

“But she didn’t keep the win, and she threw away her future in the process.”

“Are you saying she should’ve let that person die?”

“Of course not, Jeffy. What do you take me for?”

“Enough! Too tired to fight this tonight,” Marmeg said. “Sort it in daylight, brud, okay?” She raised her cup toward Jeffy, who glowered but raised his as well. “To new beginnings.”

The first sip of wine left Marmeg’s tongue coated in acid. The next slurp was as cool and sweet as a mountain stream. Whether or not she had deserved any of it—Ardha’s sabotage, the Mikes’ help, the disqualification—it didn’t matter anymore. Nobody in real life got what they deserved. At least Marmeg had been spared the self-loathing she would’ve felt for winning by cheating.

Who was she kidding? She desperately wanted all of that success. She wanted to be out there, under the trees and the shadow of mountains, getting interviewed by journos and fending off sponsors and rabid fan requests. Instead, she stuffed some basics into her pack while the boys jumped away their soda high. Jeffy and their mother were too drunk to notice.