First (14 page)

What I Wanted

Mira

A
loud beeping from the com
unit wakes me up. Scrubbing away the sleep gumming my eyelids and pressing a button, I see Will’s smiling face on the screen.

“Good morning?” I grumble.

“I thought you farmers rose before dawn?”

I mumble something my mother would smack me for. “What time is it?”

He chuckles. “It’s nearly noon. You must have been exhausted.”
On overload is more like it.
“Lunch will be ready shortly, then one of our assistants will come to get you ready for your interview.”

I sit up quickly and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Do I have to?”

He chuckles. “It isn’t what you think it is. Trust me. I’m sure you’ll find the experience… enlightening.” The screen goes black.

After a quick, sharp knock, the door opens, and a young blonde hurries in, carrying a tray of food. Right on her heels is a tiny bald man carrying a silver-topped platter and a black bag slung over his shoulder. He brushes past her, and she backs away after putting the tray of food on the end of the table. He shoves the tray aside with his dome-topped one.

“My name is Theodore Reynard, but you may call me Mr. Reynard.” He smiles widely as if I should recognize his name, and his face falls when I don’t.

He sighs, opens the black bag, pulls out a pale cream-colored tunic and slacks, and throws them on the bed. “Here, change.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I look down at myself.

“It’s wrinkled. Change. You need to look perfect for your interview.”

“Whatever.” I snatch the clothes off the bed and stalk to the bathroom where I quickly climb into the new clothes. When I come out, Mr. Reynard insists on tying a white sash around my waist, just as I did for Max. The memory flashes behind my eyes, and I tear up.

“None of that, now,” Mr. Reynard snaps. “It’ll be impossible to do your makeup if you have puffy, red eyes.” He pulls out a silver and gold etched box and opens it. Inside are needles and bottles of color, from creams to browns, reds to blues, white to black. Some kind of handheld device, similar to the silver gun used for the vaccine, sits in a special slot.

“What are those for?” I ask, eyeing them skeptically.

“It’s your makeup, of course. It’s only temporary, and the effects will only last a couple weeks, maybe a month at best. You young ones always seem to heal faster, dispersing the pigments.” Studying me for a moment, he picks up the gun, snaps in a needle, and runs his fingers over the bottles, before selecting a dark brown. “This will go nicely for your eyes.”

I stand up, quicker than I’ve ever stood up in my life. “You’re going to inject me with that?” I shake my head in disbelief.

“This?” He looks down at the gun and snaps the bottle into the back. “Why, yes. How else would I get the pigment into your skin? You can hardly expect me to just paint it on, can you?”

Backing away from him, I continue shaking my head. “You are not sticking that stuff in me.”

“But you have to,” he sputters. “Everyone does it. It’s expected of you.”

“No. Not going to happen.” I back up until I hit the door and fumble behind me until I find the handle. Twisting it open behind me, I practically fall into the hallway.

Bullfrog lurches to his feet. “What’s going on here?”

I spin toward him, an ugly angel in black fatigues with a laser gun strapped to his hip. “He… he’s trying to torture me!”

“It’s makeup!” Mr. Reynard exclaims, waving the black device around. “Tell her it’s harmless. Tell her she has to get it done.”

Bullfrog shrugs. “If she wants to look like crap on national television, let her. Don’t matter to me one way or the other. Why don’t you ask her First?”

Mr. Reynard pales. “I… I can’t bother him about something like this. He has more important things to do!”

“So…” Bullfrog pulls his chair to the other side of the hall and straddles it. “It’s not a big deal, then, is it? I don’t care what you do, but I say, let the girl look like an idiot.” With that, he pushes me back into the room, shoves Mr. Reynard after me, and shuts the door, chuckling all the while.

“Fine, have it your way,” Mr. Reynard snarls, ejecting the dye and slamming the gun back into its case before snapping the lid shut. “If you refuse to wear makeup, at least wear this.” He lifts the top of the tray with a flourish. “At least with this, you won’t look too terrible.” A brownish-blond hairy lump stares back at me, perched on a round metal ball.

“You brought me a dead cat?”

He wrinkles his nose, and mutters “idiot” under his breath. “Of course not.”

I reach out to poke the thing. Silky soft strands of hair run through my fingers like a dark golden rain. “Is that a wig?”
Seriously? He wants me to wear that?

“Of course.” He looks wounded. “It’s the perfect solution to…” He flicks his hand, still holding the domed silver top, at my head. “That.”

I touch my soft, short curly-ish, mostly unruly hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Look at it! This wig is made from the finest, most magnificent hair in the entire country.” When I still don’t immediately agree, he sighs. “It’s from the farms, girl. The best place to find pure, untreated hair.” Bile rises, sour and bitter in my throat. I think I’m going to be sick.
That could have been my sister’s hair if they’d cut it before she died. It could have been my hair.
My stomach roils, and I breathe, in and out, in and out, until the urge to hurl disappears. “I can’t wear that.”

“Why not? It’s perfectly safe. Thoroughly cleaned and disinfected.”

“But it’s… it’s
human
hair. What if it belonged to someone I know?”

“I highly doubt that. You’re far too old for any acquaintance of yours to have hair this beautiful.”

He sets the platter and lid on the desk and taps the top of the chair. “Sit, sit.”

In shock and still slightly nauseous, I do what he says. He gently picks up the wig and sets it on my head. With a wire brush from his pocket, he fluffs the strands, making them fall around my face in tousled curls.

“See? Much better.” He smiles. “With some makeup, you’ll almost pass for a free citizen.”

I glare at him, and gazing in the mirror, I reach up to touch the hot, heavy mass. “I still think it looks like I’m wearing a dead animal on my head.”

“Hmph!” He sniffs and bats my hand away. “It’s a million times better than the butcher job they did on your own head. I usually prefer to work with a person’s own locks. But in your case…”

“My hair’s not that bad.”

“No, of course it isn’t.” He smiles and pats me on the shoulder, as though I’m a young child who needs reassurance.

“Wow,” I whisper, reaching up to touch the hair.

“Don’t you dare! This is a masterpiece. I don’t have time to fix anything you destroy.”

I jerk my hand back into my lap.

He packs his supplies and leaves me gawking at my reflection.

“Mira?” Will’s voice is hushed as he approaches me from behind. He reaches out and fingers the long silky strands. “What happened to you?”

I laugh. “Yeah, I hate it, too.” I turn around and raise my hands to the wig. “It’s not me. It’s awful.”

He grabs my hands before I can do any damage. “You’re right. It’s not you, but you have to leave it alone.”

“It’s
human
hair.”

“So?” He quirks an eyebrow in confusion.

“It’s from one of the farms.”

“Where did you think it’d come from?”

“I don’t know.” I glare at him, frustrated. “It’s disgusting. I mean, look at it. It was some little kid’s hair before they entered the program.”

He shrugs. “I think it’s beautiful, but…” He grins. “I think I like your hair better.”

My stomach flip flops, and I bite my lip. Is that his way of calling me attractive?
Stop it, Mira. You don’t have time for this, either. Focus on what’s important.
I turn away from him, grumbling, “It’s not funny.” Will slides in front of me so I face him again.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is lower, more serious. “You’re right. It’s not funny at all. Sometimes I forget that you’re not from this world. Here, you’re expected to look a certain way, dress in the latest fashions, and adhere to approved social norms.”

I blow out a breath, making the hair in front of my eyes puff out. “But I’m not like the free citizens who come here all the time. I don’t want to be.”

“I know you don’t.” He puts a finger under my chin, lifting my face until I fall into his deep, dark eyes. “You’re nothing like them, and that’s what makes you amazing.”

I bite my lip as he lowers his head toward mine. Is he going to kiss me?
What am I doing? What would Tanner think?
I push the chair back and rise to my feet. “I… I think we should go.”

Will closes his eyes, and when he opens them, that mask of impassivity rests firmly on his face. “You’re right.” He walks toward the door. “We’d better go.”

This is what I wanted, right?
Frustration makes me grit my teeth.
Yes, exactly what I wanted.

Will leads me down the hall to the elevator, where we ride down one measly floor and stop at one of the plain wooden doors, Will scans his wrist, and the lock clicks as it unlocks. The room we walk into next is tiny, only about half the size of the room I’m staying in upstairs, and it’s nearly completely bright green with a plain wooden stool in the middle of it. Two men are there, one wearing a brown shirt, the other red, both in black pants. The one in red glances up as Will guides me toward the stool. Brownshirt stands in front of a screen that stretches the entire wall behind me while Red meddles with a tiny box perched on a thin tripod.

“Where are we?” I ask Will.

“This is the interview room.”

I turn to face him. “Umm, no it’s not. I’ve seen interviews in school for other Seconds, and none of them have been in rooms like this.”

He smiles thinly, the skin around his eyes tightening. “Remember what I said about appearances?”

Before I can respond, Red motions for me to sit on the stool, saying, “Right this way, miss.” After I’m seated, he positions my knees, asking me to shift to the left and then to the right. “Perfect.” He finally backs away. “I’m Mark, by the way, and the guy in the brown shirt is Nero.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. His easy smile immediately makes me feel comfortable.

“I’m Mira.”

“Great. Now don’t take this the wrong way, but can you read?”

“Of course I can read. I’m not an idiot.”

“Sorry, you never know. Some Seconds can barely recite their names. Since you can, this’ll go a lot easier.” He turns to his partner. “Hey, Nero, are we good?”

Nero gives Mark a thumbs-up.

Mark gestures at the screen. “Now, you’ll see a series of sentences. I want you to read each one, smile as if you’re happy to be here, and pause at the end. When I motion with my hand like this—” He waves his hand. “—another prompt is going to flash on the screen, so you’ll have to be ready. Got it?”

“What’s this for?”

“They’re your interview answers.”

“But who’s going to ask the questions?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Those will all be added in later. Trust me. You won’t even recognize yourself. Now, are you ready?”

“Um…” I glance at Will, who nods. “Okay, I guess.”

“Great.” Mark backs away and hits a switch. The back wall dims to black, and words appear. “Ready in five… four… three… two… one.”

“Hi, I’m Mira,” I mumble, then remember I should be smiling.
This is ridiculous.

“Cut.” Mark stands up and walks over to crouch down in front of me. “I know this is strange, and you’ve never done anything like it before, but all you have to do is read the lines and smile. Okay? Do you think you can do that?” I nod. “Let’s start from the top again, all right?”

I take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

“Five… four… three… two… one.”

“Hi, I’m Mira.” This time my voice is louder, clearer, and I’m smiling even though it still feels wrong. Like I’m a fake and I’m lying to the whole universe.
Is this what Adrian did? Did he have to go through this for his interview?

I pause before smiling at the box. “No.”
That’s it?

Mark nods and gives me a thumbs up.

The screen flashes. “Just lovely.” Smile, pause. “Chesaning Farms.” Smile, pause. “Yes.” Smile, pause. “Before I was chosen, I worked with animals on the farm.”

“Yes, they’re thrilled.”
Who’s thrilled?

“I felt very excited and lucky!”
Is that really what the screen says?

“I want to make my family proud of me. I want to repay the debt of my people and show that I’m not like the Texans who rebelled two hundred years ago.”
Oh, geez! I sound so stupid and ridiculous.

“I feel betrayed and hurt. I can’t believe I trusted him.”
Wait, what? Are they talking about Tanner?
I glance at Will, but he’s standing by the door, arms behind his back, more like the bodyguard Bullfrog claimed him to be than a servant.

“I never want to see him again.” I feel a horrible sinking feeling. I don’t smile, but I guess it’s all right because Mark doesn’t stop me.

“Thank you.”

Someone to Talk to

Socrates

A
rriving in Washington only garners
Ellie the barest of receptions. I wait with a handful of servants in the central transport room, the one reserved for dignitaries and Firsts. Very few people are privileged enough to see the inside of one of these pods. The rest take airbuses, sitting in boxes separated from shipments of grain meant for the Smith, or clothing or precious metals that can’t be transported by pod. Some choose to pay extra at a transport station to take one of the older, less comfortable mass transport pods. Honestly, I prefer the buses, less worrying about whether or not the pod is going to malfunction. They don’t anymore, but I remember the old days. At least you have a chance at surviving if your airbus crashes.

When the door slides open, she smiles, and I extend my arm to help her from the pod. Only using me for the barest of leverage, she steps out. “Thank you.” The ache in my joints and in my stomach is worse today, and I can barely smile without grimacing.

“Of course. I’m glad I got out of my meeting in time to meet you here. I’ve been worrying about you.” She pats my arm and releases it. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to leave momentarily for a physics conference, but I wanted to be here when you arrived.”

“Then shouldn’t you have arrived before me?”

She shakes her head and reaches down to scratch Ben behind the ears.

A tall, young dark-eyed boy smiles and bows. “Welcome, sir. It is an honor to greet you. My name is Will, and it will be an honor to serve you.”

Ellie clasps his outstretched hand. “Thank you. It is an honor to be here.”

Will shakes hers gently but briskly, before releasing it and gesturing toward the wide-open exit about thirty yards ahead of us. “If you’re ready to go, I will show you to your room.” Ellie nods, and we set off. It is a testament to his intelligence and training that the boy doesn’t ask me if I want any help. Ellie isn’t so discreet and follows half a step behind, watching my every slow, labored step.

When I catch her reaching out a hand to help me, I murmur, “Stop shadowing me, woman. I can walk just fine.”

She makes a tsk tsking noise. “You can’t fool me, Socrates. I know you. I can tell when you’re in pain.” When I look back at her again, I see concern etching grooves next to her deep brown eyes. Her deep blue suit coat and cream top are impeccable, as always, but she clenches her fists and jams one in her pocket when she sees me noticing.

The walk to our room from the transport room is so long that my knees ache in protest. Maybe I should have had those replaced. It’s an easy enough procedure nowadays, in and out in the same day, not like it was during my first life.

A couple guards stroll through the halls, not stopping to look at anyone, merely making their presence known. That’s enough, usually, to quell most rebellions. When we reach our room, two attendants are already inside, unloading her clothes into the bureau on the opposite wall. The vase, Veronica’s gift, sits untouched on top. “Where’s your Second staying?” Ellie asks.

I shrug, and she glances at Will. A myriad of emotions flash behind the boy’s eyes, quickly masked by that calm indifference, and never reach the rest of his face. “She’s in three-twelve, sir. Would you like to see her?”

“Yes. After everything that’s happened, I would like to make sure for myself that she is all right.”

“Didn’t you see her at the prison?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “No. She was being questioned. Who told you she was at Fullbright?”

He shifts from side to side, uncomfortable. “No one, sir. Just rumors.” He flashes me a panicked smile. “You know how those are.”

“Hmph. What else did you hear?”

“Ahhh.” He struggles to find the right words. “Not much, just that she was arrested trying to escape her farm.”

I shrug. “Do you blame her? Given the circumstances and the propaganda the Lifers have been feeding her, I’d likely do the same, if I were in her shoes.”

Looking shocked, the boy lets his mouth hang open. “Ummm, sir?”

I shuffle over to the chair next to the desk and, groaning, lower myself into it. Ben follows me and sits obediently at my side. I rub the scruff of his neck. Something about his unease piques my interest. “Did she mention anything about it to you?”

He shakes his head. “No, not a word.” He’s lying. I can feel it. But why? Does he think he’s protecting her? “She seemed shaken up, but I figured that might be from her experiences and getting sent to prison.”

I stop petting Ben, and he looks up at me, a low whine in the base of his throat. “My thoughts exactly,” I murmur. Will looks at me, confused. I wave him off. “Don’t worry about it, boy. If you don’t mind, though, I would rather not have any further rumors spread about my Second. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He spins around and leaves quickly, before I can change my mind.

“Well, my love.” Eliot takes my arm, and I face her. “I know I just got here, but I need to leave, as well.”

“Where are you going?” I beetle my eyebrows into furry caterpillars.
Did she tell me?

“The physics conference, remember?”

“Oh.” The haze covering my mind clears a bit. “Right. Is it at the Smith?”

She nods. “The Air and Space Museum. You know—” She looks me up and down. “I don’t have to go. I’m sure they’d understand…”

“Nonsense.” I shake her off. “You’re probably the guest speaker. Am I right?” She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. “Then that settles it. You have to go.”

“If you’re sure…” Her voice trails off. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me, which I find ridiculous.

“Come now, Ellie. I’m not dead yet.”

She rolls her eyes. A low chuckle escapes from her lips. “Very true. And even then I’m sure you’d still stick around to give me hell.”

After Ellie leaves, I decide to take a quick nap, and as I climb onto the bed, Ben hops up after me, curling in a tight ball at my feet. A couple minutes later, his quiet snoring makes my own eyes feel heavy, and I drift off.

In my dream, I’m standing in a large open stadium with seating all around me. I’m looking up at a stage, and Edward stands in front of me. He wears the same style of uniform Mira wore for her choosing, and he points at me.

“It’s your fault,” he shouts. His face contorts in rage and disgust. “You’re more of a traitor than I ever was. It’s you who should be up here, not me.”

“What are you talking about?” I scream up at him, but he doesn’t act as if he hears my voice. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You killed them,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken at all. “You killed all of them.”

He jabs his finger behind me, and when I turn around, I see a sea of children of various ages, all standing, stiff as boards, pale, and wearing their Second uniforms. Their eyes are blank, and even from this far away, I can tell they’re dead. “Oh God!” I turn back to him, but he’s not there anymore.

Now Mira takes the stage, and she has the saddest look I’ve ever seen in my life on her face.
She feels sorry for you. She pities you.
“Mira?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m Alyxander and Milissa, Stephen and Donovan, Rachel and Adam. I’m all of them, and we’re all dead because of you.”

“No,” I whisper, backing up. Then I remember the dead children behind me, spin around, and wake up, heart pounding.

Sitting up, I notice a blue glossy quarter-sized sheet of paper, folded in half so it can stand like a little tent. On it, ornate hand-stamped lettering reads:

Are you feeling lost? Alone? Unsure of your place in the world? Do you need someone to talk to? Our counselors are available 24 hours a day. Just dial 599 on your in room com unit and ask for Dr. James Scoffield.