Thumped (14 page)

I’M STILL REELING FROM THE REALIZATION THAT VENTURA
has a heart hidden underneath all that boobage.

And it’s broken.

All because of me.

Gah. She really
is
as persuasive speaker. She’ll make a phenomenal politician one day because she’s talked me into the unthinkable: I feel
bad
for her. I mean, it must not be easy for her, competing against a Hottie for Zen’s attention and affection. My presence at PDA is pretty inescapable. My image is all over this school, from the PregGo Bars in the vending machines to the National Association for Procreation posters on the walls. If
I’m
sick of seeing my face everywhere, I can’t even imagine how she must feel about it. It’s no wonder she negs so hard on me. It all makes sense now.

The door to the gym bangs open and I’m not thinking much about Ventura Vida’s feelings anymore. Zen races through the entrance faster than I’ve ever seen him run.

Ventura must have threatened to go public with her accusations. And Zen is wanking out about it because he doesn’t know any better not to. Zen’s got an overloaded brain cache, but he isn’t adequately versed in the ways of female scheming because he can’t get this kind of knowledge on the quikiwiki. No, it’s embedded in our XX chromosomes, like hemophilia and red-green colorblindness.

I know Ventura would
never
go to the MiNet with her gossip, not if she holds any hope of actually winning him away from me. Ventura is savvy enough to understand that betraying him—betraying
both
of us—would only bring Zen and me closer together, which is the last thing she wants right now. What
does
she hope to achieve by blackmailing us? That’s harder to figure out. I can’t underestimate Ventura’s ruthless intelligence. I’m positive that she’s already anticipating my response and plotting her counter-move. All this girl-on-girl hate is
exhausting
. Sometimes I wish we could dose on testosterone, punch each other in the face, and get it over with already.

Zen is running around in circles, swiveling his head all around, trying to find me among all the preggers sitting in the bleachers. I leap—well, I’m incapable of leaping—I lurch to my feet.

“Zen!”

It would be a very romantic moment if I wasn’t saddled with forty excess pounds of synthetic and possibly parasitic skinfeel. I wave my arms to get his attention, which is totally unnecessary because I’m not easy to miss. Zen cuts straight through the Quidditch match in progress and almost gets taken down by a Beater hurling a Nerf quaffle right at his machopartes, but he’s saved by the same lightning-quick reflexes that serve him so well in Ping-Pong.

By the time he gets to me, he’s practically staggering and can’t catch his breath.

“Jondoe [pant] . . . MiNet . . . [pant] . . .”

I help him out by doing the talking for him.

“I know! She told me! Ventura thinks you’re the donor!”

He’s slicing his hands through the air, shaking his head
nononononono
.

“The [pant] . . . truth [pant] . . .”

Zen really needs to do more cardio. He looks like he’s about to puke, but that’s not stopping him from yanking on my arm to make me follow him back down the bleachers.

“Ow!” I say, trying to shake him off. “Dose down, Zen. She doesn’t know the truth. No one knows the truth.”

“You’re not getting it!” he gasps. “The whole world knows now!”

And he shoves his MiVu Mini right under my nose with one hand while trying to drag me out of the gym with the other. “Now.”

I’m about to ask Zen how he hacked the campus MiNet blind
again
when seeing and hearing Jondoe takes
my
breath away.

“Harmony is in the operating room right now, making our deliveries. That’s right. Our deliveries. I’m here to make things right. I’m the father of Harmony’s twins, not Ram. I did not bump with Melody Mayflower. Not because I couldn’t—I’m as potent as ever and totally could have bumped it out on the first try if I wanted to—but I didn’t even try. After I met her sister, Harmony, I was thinking more with my heart than my . . .”

It’s just like Zen said. Jondoe. On the MiNet. Telling the world the truth.

Faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

—Hebrews 11:1

WE HAD NO TIME TO WASTE. WITHIN A MINUTE OF SEEING JONDOE
on the MiVu, I dashed out of the gym, across the campus, through the parking lot, and into the passenger side of Zen’s car. I didn’t think I was still capable of running at all, let alone sprinting, but it’s amazing what a terrified rush of adrenaline can do.

Zen and I didn’t speak until we had put at least a half mile between us and the school. This took literally, like, ten seconds. Only then did I realize that we weren’t in Zen’s VW Plug at all.

“Zen! Whose car is this? Gah!”

“Asif’s,” Zen said, checking the rearview.

“Zen! Aren’t we in enough trouble already?”

“The paparazzi know my car, Mel. They’re gonna be looking for it,” he says as he programs the autodrive. “We had to
borrow
Asif’s Aero if we had any chance of getting away before the media surrounded the school.”

“But did you have to steal a quarter-million-dollar sports car?”

“It’s hardly grand theft auto when the owner doesn’t bother to password-protect his keycode. And Asif will thank us for
borrowing
his car because he’s dying to get in the famegame, and this model Aero will ultimately become identified as a notorious part of our getaway and he’ll start trending just by association.” Zen’s eyes are wandering all around. He’s obviously MiNetting right in front of me. “And we needed something fast if we want to get to the birth center before . . .” His voice trails off. “Oh.” Then again. “Oh!”

“What is it? Did something happen to Harmony?”

The thought of Harmony in the stirrups brings tears to my eyes, which mucks up my MiNet. I wink-right-left-right-blink-blink-double-wink but I can’t log on.

“She delivered the twins!” Zen cheers.

“She did? When? I knew she wasn’t telling me the truth last night! Arrrrgh! I can’t get on!” I try to rub the moisture out of my eyes. “Why is my MiNet so janked right now? Tell me what’s happening!”

“There’s nothing to see! She’s not on camera. She’s still recovering. According to medical professionals at the Keystone Emergency Birthcenter, twin girls were delivered via C-section. . . .”

I tell myself that this is normal. I personally know dozens of girls who have been sliced open, not to mention millions of anonymous girls all around the world. But this is different. This is my
sister
being cut in half.

“The twins were breech and this was the optimal choice for delivery.”

I can’t even hear what he’s saying now because my ears are ringing with the roar of my stifled tears.

“Mel, what’s wrong? Harmony’s fine. . . .”

And that’s when I start bawling.

“They just cut her open!” I yell. “How is that fine?”

“It was the optimal choice for delivery. . . .” he repeats.

I wipe my eyes with my sleeve, desperate to see for myself what’s happening to my sister.

“This is all my fault.”

“How is this possibly your fault?”

“THIS. IS. ALL. MY. FAULT.”

I’m inconsolable because it’s true.

“You
didn’t get her pregnant. She got herself pregnant when she decided to have sex with Jondoe. It was her choice. Not yours.”

“I should have never let her come here. I should have sent her back to Goodside when I had the chance.”

“She came here to escape her oppressive life in Goodside, Mel. She didn’t want to be married to Ram. She came here . . .” His eyes are darting back and forth faster than I ever thought possible. “Oh! Sweet Darwin!”

“What! What?”

“Your parents are doing a Q&A . . .”

“My parents know that I’m not pregging?”

“Why don’t you understand this?
Everyone
on the MiNet knows.”

I’m bruising my eyeballs, I’m winking and blinking so hard.

“Why can’t I log on?”

“Yeah. About that.” He smiles sheepishly. “I took the liberty of preemptively taking you off the grid.”

“You! The anti-censorship crusader! Who has never NOT hacked into a MiNet blind! You! Have taken
me!
Off the grid! Gahhhh!”

Yelling nonsensically isn’t working, so I reel back and punch him as hard as I can in his Ping-Pong serving arm.

“Owwwww! I did it for your own good!”

“Put me back on right now! I need to know what’s going on!”

“Trust me, Mel, you don’t need to know any more about what’s happening than what I’m telling you. You don’t want to see what the haters are saying about you right now.”

I can only imagine what the MiNet reaction is to Jondoe’s confession. I’m counterfeit. A renegger. A janky famegamer who didn’t deserve to get breedy with the likes of a perfect specimen like Jondoe in the first place. But I really don’t care about a plunge in my popularity rankings right now. In truth, I’d welcome it.

“YOU’RE NOT TELLING ME ANYTHING. TELL ME WHAT MY PARENTS ARE SAYING RIGHT NOW.”

Zen sticks his finger in his ear and adjusts his earbud.

“I can’t hear anything if you keep screaming into my ear.”

I clamp my mouth shut and watch Zen as he watches my parents on the MiNet. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but his mouth is all twitchy. After a few seconds of silence his jaw goes slack. “Ooooooooooh.”

“What?”

“Yeah . . . um . . . Your parents are . . .”

“WHAT?”

Disowning me. Unadopting me. Arranging a return on damaged merchandise with Good Shepherd Family Placement Services.

“Defending you.”

“What?” I hit him again. “What do you mean? What are they saying
specifically
?”

“Well,” his eyes flit back and forth. “They’re saying that no way could any daughter of theirs have done something like this because they didn’t raise you that way.”

They didn’t raise me at all. They outsourced to a team of experts.

He tilts his head as if to get a better listen. “You are a young woman of honor and integrity, who has never disappointed them or anyone you’ve ever made a promise to.”

I’m stunned. I’ve never heard my parents say anything like this about me before. Honor and integrity are not quantifiable high-revenue qualities that promise a solid return on the parental unit’s investment.

This doesn’t sound like Ash and Ty. At all.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m just reporting what they’re saying . . .”

“Which you wouldn’t even have to do if you weren’t such a MiNet-blinding hackass . . .”

He shushes me. “Ash and Ty are saying that you have always taken your reproductive responsibilities very seriously and . . .” He looks at me. “You sure you want to hear this?”

I nod.

“They’re accusing Jondoe of pulling this stunt to grab attention for his flaccid brand; you know, because he hasn’t officially bumped anyone since The Hotties went public. They’re saying you have too much compassion for the Jaydens to participate in such a scummy scam.”

Compassion. Another low-value trait I was never encouraged to develop. Do my parents really believe what they’re saying? Or are they following a PR script?

“Have Lib or the Jaydens gone public yet?”

Zen shakes his head. “No, they’re conspicuously absent from the media frenzy. They’re probably headed to the birthcenter right now, just like us.”

He pauses, then looks at me in a way that lets me know that I’ve got his full attention. At least for the moment.

“Do you know what you’re going to say when we get to the birthcenter? By the time we get there, the place will be surrounded.”

“I have no idea what I’m going to say to the Jaydens,” I reply, my mind spinning with inadequate apologies. “What can I possibly say?”

“Um.” Zen sucks on his teeth. “I meant your official statement to the media. The one we’ve been working on. Because the time is now.”

I glare at him with equal measures of disgust and disbelief.

“I know this isn’t how we thought it would happen— Jondoe kind of stole our moment—but that doesn’t mean that you can’t take it back from him. All eyes will be on you, Mel, and when you reveal that fake belly, you are representing all the girls who have been victims of preggsploitation!”

It’s almost impossible to make Zen listen when he’s going manifesto, but I try anyway.

“The Mission is not topping my to-do list. My first priority is making sure Harmony is safe. My second priority is making things right with the Jaydens. . . .”

Zen isn’t hearing a word I’m saying.

“And when you make a pro-prophylactic statement about the freedom to have sex without getting pregnant, the whole world will be listening—”

“I don’t want to be a pro-prophylactic icon!” I shout over him. “I never did!”

This shuts him up. “What are you talking about?

“I’m not against condoms as, like, a concept. I think they
should
be made available to teens who want them.”

“So what’s the problem? Say
that
!”

I shake my head. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of telling other girls how to run their sex lives. I never was.”

“You earned seven figures in endorsement deals telling other girls exactly how to run their sex lives!”

“I know! I’m a hypocrite!” I bury my face in my hands. “And I deserve to rot in Harmony’s version of Hell.”

“But we used to brainstorm solutions for the Virus all the time.”

“That was just talk to pass the downtime.”

But I always knew it was so much more than “just talk” to Zen. The whole time he was laying the groundwork for something bigger. Much bigger. He had a vision for a group of reproductive freedom fighters called Contra/Ception, who would change history by pulling pranks, not triggers. Like, we would distribute candy birth-control pills on Halloween. Or hack all the digital billboards in New York City, London, Tokyo, Mumbai, and Beijing to display slogans like
TO BREED OR NOT TO BREED? THAT SHOULD
BE THE QUESTION!

My mission? Zen wants me to hold a press conference right after Harmony delivers. I’ll lift my shirt to reveal Zen’s Contra/Ception logo tattooed across the B$B. I’ll apply the serum and make an impassioned speech about passing pro-prophylactic legislation as my fake pregg melts away in front of billions of MiNet viewers. . . .

I was never quite as convinced as he was.

“Then why did you agree to support the Mission if you didn’t want to?” he asks.

There’s no point in holding back anymore.

“For
you,
you big jerk. Because the Mission was important to you. And I wanted to be important to you too.”

His face softens. “But . . . Mel . . . You already . . .” His face startles. “Whoa.”

“What?”

“It’s Ram. Wow. He cut off his beard. And he’s with some other Goodsider dude with a huge Adam’s Apple.”

“Zeke?”

“Who’s Zeke? Anyway . . . Ram’s . . . ohhhh . . . whoooooa.”

That’s it. I’m taking matters into my own hands. I lunge for the MiVuMini I hope is in his pocket. “Gimme it! I want it! Now!”

“As much as I’ve always wanted you to so aggressively try to get into my pants,” Zen says, laughing nervously, “I’m afraid I can’t let you have the goods.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer!” I put all my extra weight into wrestling the MiVuMini out of Zen’s jeans. I plunge my hand into his pocket and pull it out triumphantly.

“I feel so violated,” Zen says, half joking.

“I so don’t care. Not even ish,” I say, searching for Ram’s feed. When I find it, I can’t quite believe my eyes. “He cut off his beard! And he’s dressed like a normal person!”

I’ve never seen Ram in anything other than his Goodside suit. This slim T-shirt and snug jeans leave far less to the imagination. I hate to say it, but Ram is actually kinda hot. Unfortunately for Zeke, his Otherside makeover isn’t quite as effective. Just as Ram opens his mouth to speak, Zeke boldly and unapologetically takes his hand.

“Did he . . . ?” Zen asks, eyes flashing.

“He did!”

“Is he . . . ?”

I’m afraid to say what I know both of us are thinking.

“Shhh. Just listen.”

“Jondoe is telling the truth. The twins are his, not mine,” Ram is saying. “But ya’ll must understand that Harmony is not an adulteress. She did not cheat on me because we were never married in the eyes of God.”

“Remember when he said that last spring?” Zen asks.

I shush him again because I have a feeling that I’m about to find out if my instincts are right.

“I am a gay American!” he cries out exultantly, holding up his and Zeke’s interlocked hands. “We are gay Americans for God!”

“Well,” Zen says, nonplussed. “That’s the only part of this whole mess that actually makes sense.”