Contaminated (15 page)

“You said that you were going to be able to take care of me,” Opal says.

“Yeah, and what else?”

“You said we had to work extra hard to make sure we proved we could do this on our own, because …”

“Because why?” I prompt. I know she knows the answer. She’s just being stubborn, and really, I can’t blame her.

“Because we can’t give them any reason to take me away from you, or to treat us like kids who don’t have anyone. So they won’t make me go into a group home or something.”

“Right.” Because of the new laws, I’m considered an adult, no group home for me. But they could take Opal away, place her with a new family, even have her adopted. “If we want to stick together, we have to do stuff right. Not get into trouble at school.”

She sighs and scuffs at the floor. “I know. I just hate school! I hate it!”

“I’m sorry, school sucks. I know.” I’m sympathetic, but there’s nothing I can do. “But you have to go today.”

From Mom’s bedroom, I hear a low noise and leave off the conversation with Opal to go check. Mom’s fine, sitting up with one arm held awkwardly behind her because of the restraints. She’s tugging a little.

“Hold on, Mom, I’m sorry.” I unloose her. She gets up before I can stop her. She pushes me, not hard, but hard enough. She lurches past me and is through the doorway before I can do anything.

But it’s okay. My heart’s thudding, but she’s just going to the bathroom. Using the toilet, thank goodness. She breathes a sigh that sounds a lot like relief. I can’t say I blame her.

“She went to the bathroom all by herself!” Opal sounds proud.

“Yeah. Let’s give her some privacy.” I keep the bathroom door cracked open, though, in case she needs us.

“Velvet, why can’t we just go home?”

My mind’s whirling with everything that’s going on, but I fix on this. “To our house?”

“Yeah. It’s still our house, isn’t it?”

“I think so.” The freeze on accounts means the bank can’t repossess a mortgage until everyone whose names are on it have been legally determined to be dead or Contaminated. I don’t know enough about that sort of thing to understand it, just that some people are saying it’s good because it means they’re not losing their houses, and others are blaming the bad economy on the fact the banks aren’t being paid.

“It’s still there, isn’t it?” Opal looks hopeful.

“It should be.”

From the bathroom, we hear the toilet flush. Then the sink running. She’s washing her hands, and I peek in to check. Mom’s standing there with the water running, not doing much of anything, so I put the bar of soap in her hands and she finishes.

We haven’t been back to our house since the soldiers came to round us up. Not just us, everyone in the neighborhood, because of the high numbers of Connies in the woods. The military was supposed to come in and clean it up. They said they wanted us all out for our own safety, but I’m not so sure they didn’t have other reasons. Like not wanting witnesses.

“Just take the essentials,” the soldier had said. “Pack a bag for yourself and your sister. We’re taking you someplace safe.”

My mom had been gone for a few days by that time, but I knew she was out there. She’d been standing at the sink peeling a potato with a knife when she started twitching. The knife had clattered into the sink, like in slow motion—that’s how my mind had seen it. That’s how I remembered it. I remembered the way she’d gripped the edge of the sink with both hands, so tight, her knuckles turned white.

“Get your sister and go upstairs,” my mom had said in a low voice, nothing like her normal one. “Lock … lock … lock the door, Velvet. Go! Now!”

I don’t know what happened after that, because I’d done what she said. We listened to the sound of screaming, Opal and me, and crashing. Of things breaking. But she never came upstairs, and after a few hours, when the noises had stopped, we came down.

A few days later, the army came.

“Velvet?”

“Huh?” I shake myself, trying to keep myself together for Opal’s sake. And my mom’s.

“It’s still our house. I want to go home. Can’t we go home?”

It sounds like our only option. I know enough about paperwork by now to know that the only way to get approved for a new assisted-housing apartment is to fill out tons and tons of forms, and wait. Then wait some more.
I think all these places have waiting lists. We could find a shelter, probably, but only for a night or two.

And then of course, there’s Mom. If Mr. Garcia can throw us out, the chances of anyone else letting us in is pretty small. I’m not even sure a shelter would take her.

“You get ready for school. I’ll go to the house today. Check it out. If I think we can move back in—”

“Hooray!” Opal’s already squeezing me.

From behind us, I hear a soft chuff, not laughter, but something else. My mom’s looking at us both, her expression still blank. But I know I heard her make that noise. I think it means she wants to go home, too.

“I’ll pick you up after school and we’ll figure out what we’re doing, okay? You need to go pack your stuff and hurry up, the bus will be here soon!”

Opal’s already begun dancing. “Hooray, hooray! Woohooooooo!”

She fist-pumps the air and disappears into our room. I turn to look at Mom. She’s not paying attention to me; she’s going to sit at the table. Her steps are shuffling and slow. She can’t go very fast and she surely can’t carry very much.

Our house is almost four miles out of town off the highway that the bus line doesn’t service. I don’t have a car, or any way to get there. But I know someone who does.

I dial quickly, praying he answers the phone, that his mother’s already gone to work, and for once things work out the way I want them to. “Tony,” I say. “I need you to help me.”

TONY LOOKS SHIFTY EYED AND NERVOUS when he steps through the doorway. He also looks way too cute. Hair combed back, jeans hanging just right. He’s wearing sneakers I’ve never seen before, and his coat is new, too.

I want to kiss him. I want to smack him. Mostly, I want to hug him for coming here when I know it means he’s skipping school and risking getting into trouble. Not that he’s never skipped before, just that since we broke up and I know what his mom thinks about me, I didn’t really think he’d do it for me.

“Thanks for coming,” I tell him as I close the door behind him. “Tony, thank you so much—”

When he kisses me, I’m too surprised to do anything but kiss him back. It feels like forever since we broke up, even if it’s only been a week or so. His mouth is familiar. I taste his toothpaste, the same brand he’s always used. I have time to pray I don’t smell or taste like garlic from the frozen pizza
pocket I had for breakfast. Then I remember Tony’s a guy—the taste of pizza probably makes him want to kiss me more.

He pulls back. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I’m not sure where this is going. We broke up for a reason. I don’t know if he thinks I should forgive him, or even if he wants to get back together. Maybe he thinks he can come over and make out with me … just because.

Tony strokes a hand over my hair. “You look different.”

“Lack of sleep.” I shrug, wishing I could melt into his hug like it would save me from everything else. The fact is, I might still love Tony a little, in that secret place in my heart that will always belong to him because he was first. But I don’t trust him.

“No, no. You look … harder.” He studies my face. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“I’m not sure how you could mean that in a good way.” I let him kiss me again, but when he tries to get all handsy and turn this from a hello kiss into a full-on make-out session right there at the front door, I pull away. “Not now.”

“Aw, c’mon, Velveeta. Are you still mad at me?” Tony has a cute pout that used to make me giggle.

Now I’m just annoyed. “Why would I be mad? Because you cheated on me? Huh, imagine that.”

He winces. “I’m sorry. I’m not going out with her anymore, if that makes it better.”

“You know what, Tony, it doesn’t. Not really. And besides, I know your mom hates me, so it’s not really going
to change things between us.” I push a hand between us to hold him off when he tries to kiss me this time.

Tony looks confused. Still cute, but not so smart. “So … what did you want? Why did you call me?”

“I need you to drive me home. I wouldn’t be asking if I had any other way.” I’ve thought about how to approach this, but it was so easy to get him here, I think it’ll be a piece of cake to get him to agree to the drive.

“Oh.” Tony frowns. He looks around. “What do you mean, home? I mean, this is your home.”

“No. Home, to my house. The one I lived in with my parents. Before.” I shake my head. “We’re moving back there.”

“You are? Cool.” Tony grins. He has no idea about anything.

I realize that if I hadn’t broken up with him after catching him with that skank, I’d probably break up with him right at this moment. Not because I don’t love him or want to be with him. Not even because his mother despises me. But because there is no possible future for me with a boy who has no idea of what I’ve gone through.

Tony lived through the Contamination by watching it on the television or hearing it on the radio. Neither of his parents got sick. So far as he’s ever said, he was kept inside during the worst of it. Nobody attacked their house. Their life has only changed in the grand picture, the way the whole country’s has. The small, normal details of his life have stayed the same.

It’s his mother, I think, watching his pretty face twist in confusion at what must be my strange reaction. She protected him. And I envy him that, there’s no denying it. “What’s wrong?” Tony asks. “Nothing. Will you give us a ride?” His car is big enough to fit me and my mom and a few bags. We won’t be taking the furniture or anything like that. I just hope everything’s still left in our house, that it hasn’t been looted and ruined.

“Yeah. I guess so.” He grabs for my wrist and pulls me closer. “Opal’s at school?”

“Yeah.” I’m already calculating what else needs to be packed up, what can stay.

“So … we’re alone.” His eyes gleam. I recognize that look. It’s the one he always gave me when he said those words. “Not exactly … Tony … c’mon.”

“C’mon, Velvet.” He pulls me a step closer. “I came all the way over here for you. I thought maybe we could, you know. Talk.”

I have to laugh. He’s so transparent. “Yeah, somehow I think talking’s so not what you want to do with those lips.”

He grins. “Yeah, well, didn’t someone say kisses are the language of love?”

Whoever did wasn’t a seventeen-year-old boy who wanted to make out with his girlfriend. Or maybe it was. All I know is that I want so much to be back in the days when all I could think about was what would it be like if
Tony Batistelli kissed me. Two years ago and the girl I was back then seems like so long ago, like a dream.

For the first time, life does behave like a movie would. Tony takes me in his arms. He kisses me. I feel protected and cherished and beautiful and loved.

For about three minutes, and then he’s shoving me away with a look of horror on his face. His back slams up against the front door hard enough to set the broken chain lock swinging. His eyes are wide, his mouth is open. He gives a single, high-pitched squeak.

I know before I turn around what he’s afraid of. “It’s just my mom, Tony!”

I’m so tired of saying this over and over, with nobody listening. I turn. My mom’s not even doing anything weird, just standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She’s wearing normal clothes, she’s clean. She’s not frothing at the mouth or coming at him with fists clenched. She doesn’t smell bad, she’s not making any of those weird noises.

“It’s my mom,” I tell him. “You’ve seen her, like, a thousand times. It’s how she is.”

Tony tries to pretend he didn’t act like a little girl, by shaking himself and putting on a brave face. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I told you I’d found her and brought her home,” I say, as nicely as I can. I don’t want to make him mad. I need him, and not for kissing. “Mom, you remember Tony.”

I feel stupid, acting like I’m giving introductions at a tea
party, but I act like I don’t know this is pretty ridiculous. Tony doesn’t say hi, but he can’t stop staring at her. My mom, on the other hand, ignores him and makes her way to the couch, where she sits in front of the TV. She doesn’t turn it on. “It’s just my mom, see? Nothing to be scared of.”

“I’m not scared.” Tony sounds so scornful, I wish I’d said it a different way.

Boys can be such a pain sometimes. “Mr. Garcia says she can’t stay here,” I start to tell him, but he interrupts.

“So, you’re going to send her back, right? You can do that? Don’t they have places for you to put … them? Her?”

At least he didn’t call her
it
. I think of the long rows of cages, the sour smell, the darkness. “I’m not sending her back. She’s home with us now. I’m going to take care of her.”

“She’s got the whattayacallit, right? The collar? I saw it on the news.” He moves a step or two closer but still looks as though at the first wrong move from her, he’ll be jumping through the front window to get away.

“Yeah. She’s neutralized. She’s fine. And, Tony, everything they say about them … about how they can’t really act normal. It’s not true.” I’m talking faster, trying to get my point through to him as though he’s cutting me off again, but Tony’s not saying a word. “She has a little trouble with some stuff, but she’s getting better. Even in the couple of days she’s been home, I can see an improvement. I think she just needed to be with us.”

“Trouble? Like what?”

There’s no way I’m going to tell him about what happened with Jerry. “Like …”

I don’t really want to tell him the rest, either. It’s private. It’s embarrassing. I wouldn’t want anyone saying it about me. “Like what?” Tony asks. He looks fascinated. “Getting dressed. Eating. Umm, bathroom stuff. Like that sort of thing.”

He swivels his head to stare at me. “Like, you mean she can’t go to the bathroom herself and stuff? You have to help her?”

“Yeah.” I lift my chin. “It’s not so bad. She’s better off than a lot of the people I see in the home.”