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“Dee’s staying in here, too, for right now. She’s still really upset about Ginnie and it’s hard for her to get to sleep. Eventually she’ll move into her own room across the hall.”

“How are you?” Sal’s look was penetrating and the sympathy in his eyes was so obvious, A lump caught in my throat and I didn’t dare say a word; I would’ve lost it. He picked up a picture of Ginnie that was by Dee’s bed. “Is this your mom? She’s beautiful.”

I wanted to rip her picture out of his hands and scream at him to keep his hands off my mother’s picture. “Yes, that’s her, and I’m fine.” I reached for the frame, and grabbed Sal’s hand by accident. Our eyes met, and like a couple of kids playing stare-down, neither of us was willing to break the gaze. What started as a confrontation, however, morphed into a place I’d never been before. I wanted to look away, but something inside of me didn’t want to stop what was happening. Mike popped in.

“Holding hands?” He gave me a sly grin. “Gettin’ all loveydovey���”

“Ugh, no.” I dropped Sal’s hand like it was a river rat and seized the photo.

Derek frowned at me. I pressed the picture to my chest, wishing Ginnie’s wisdom about boys would flow out of it and into me. We’d never talked about guys. I’d always said I wasn’t ready to when she’d tried to bring it up. I hugged the picture closer.

“I almost forgot.” Mike pulled a Wolf Bar out of his pocket. “You guys want some? It’s the seventy-two percent kind.”

“Where’d you get credits to buy that?” Derek asked.

“Mom snuck some to me after Dad got paid for one of those experiments he does.”

Figured
, I thought. His dad would never be that nice to him. He used to smack Mike around but eventually quit when Mike got bigger than him.

We divvied up the chocolate and for a few minutes the only sound in the room was
mmmm.

“Let’s go to Jackson’s and check out new releases,” Derek said.

“I’ll be right there.” I motioned them out of the room. The baby book would have to wait. “Mom,” I whispered to her photo, “I miss you so much.” I kissed her smiling face and set the picture back in its place, swallowing the tears that were aching to come out. Finally, I found the spot inside, the one empty of emotions, and then I was ready to join my friends.

After we crossed the river, Derek and Mike immersed themselves in the verts. I should’ve, too, because the alternative was talking with Sal.

“Mike told me that your dad died a long time ago,” he said. “You never knew him?”

“No.” I hoped monosyllabic answers would stop any conversation. But I hadn’t factored in his tenacity, or the ridiculous urge I felt to hear to his voice.

“Gran and Pops are his parents or your mom’s?”

“His.”

“Mike told me about Pops’s leg. What happened to him?”

That question was going to take at least a couple of sentences to answer. I would be brief. “He was an engineer working on the Beyond Atmosphere space launch elevator at the Cape. During testing, there was an explosion; two guys got killed. Pops lost his leg. One of his friends lost both legs and an eye.”

“That’s awful.” I felt Sal shudder. I hadn’t realized we’d drifted that close to each other. I always tended to list toward whomever I was walking with; Ginnie did, too. I moved to the right, putting plenty of space between us. If Sal noticed, he didn’t say.

“What about bionic replacements? Those are pretty standard, aren’t they?”

“Pops was lucky to get what he’s got. The government wasn’t going to do anything at all for him or the other guy. There was enough blog rage that Media picked it up and turned the incident into a major news event. That put the pressure on. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the only time Media ever did anything worthwhile.” I sounded like Ginnie; that was exactly the sort of thing she would’ve said.

“They wouldn’t do anything like that now,” Sal said. “Instead they’d shut down the blogs, and probably the bloggers, too.” He gave me a sideways glance, almost as if he wanted to make sure I understood the danger and the enormity of his statement.

I did. The first thing that crossed my mind was surveillance, causing me to automatically look skyward.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Too many verts for them to make out what we’re talking about.”

Even though the sun was shining, goose bumps popped up on my arms. Wrapping my sweater tight about me, I stayed silent, not willing to be pulled into any arguments about the government. Certainly not with some guy who dressed like he was homeless and turned up in places he shouldn’t be—like my apartment—with people he shouldn’t be with—as in, my friends.

Still, part of me was curious about Sal Davis and the things he might have to say. Things that reminded me of Ginnie ... and ran dangerously close to NonCon and Resistance talk. I should have left him there, and gone to catch up with Mike and Derek. But I wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it scared me.

“I know all about the government and Media and what they do.” The bitterness in Sal’s voice surprised me. “My dad was a reporter for the
Global Times
. The Governing Council insisted he be the one to do an in-depth report on a suspected Resistance movement in the Outer Hebrides. Mom went with him because she’d never been to the Greater United Isles. The leviton taking them from the main island to the Hebrides crashed into the sea. Their bodies were never recovered, so the government refused to pay survivor benefits until the obligatory eight-year waiting period ends. Of course, by the time that happens, I’ll be too old to collect benefits.” He let out a hollow laugh. “The
Times
gave John and me a small pension to make themselves look good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Almost makes you want to do something about it ...”

Behind his hard gaze, I glimpsed a huge sadness. At least the Infinity machine had given me a chance to say good-bye to Ginnie. I instinctively reached for his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped walking, stared first at my hand and then at me. Maybe, like me, he didn’t deal well with sympathy. I drew back my hand, and ventured a tiny smile. When he smiled back, a rush of warmth, like hot chocolate in December, ran through me. I wasn’t used to this—I needed something familiar, and fast. Where were Derek and Mike? I spotted them outside an electronics store down the street listening to an old music player, and hurried over with Sal following behind me.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” Mike said. “It’s great!”

I recognized the tune. “Hey, I know this song. You play this, don’t you, Derek?”

“Yup, it’s Van Morrison. Pretty cool, huh?” He turned to Sal. “My older brother, Riley, has a bunch of his tunes. He studies early music at the University, specializing in mid-1900s. I’m gonna do the same thing when I graduate. I applied for a scholarship, too. Though they accept tier four and up, so I would get in anyway.”

“Smart-ass.” Mike grinned at Derek. “You know you’re getting that scholarship anyway. Hey, anyone hungry?” Mike asked. “These credits Mom gave me are dying to turn into food.”

“Are you kidding? Even if I’d just stuffed myself on Unity Feast Day, I’d say yes,” Derek said. “I can’t remember the last time you bought.”

“TJ’s?” I suggested. It felt nice—normal even—being around friends.

Sal glanced up at a nearby time/temp sign, then directed a look at me. There was something about him that made my knees turn to jelly. “Sounds great, but I can’t. A couple of wrecks came in late yesterday, so I’ve gotta work today. See you guys at school.”

I watched his reflection in the store window as he crossed the street. He moved effortlessly, like a cat. He glanced up the street, his hair obscuring his face, but when he turned the other way, his jaw was clenched and he was frowning. I felt bad that our conversation had turned to his parents’ death, but I had wanted him to leave, hadn’t I? A yearning to follow him and say something, anything, to help surged through me. I crossed my arms, grabbing my shoulders, and holding that feeling inside.

Sal hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when it happened. This time there was no silence, and no trannies crashed. Just a broadcast:

As abruptly as it started, it stopped. People, who had instinctively clustered together when the transmission started, shook off the anxiety caused by their close proximity and proceeded along their way. The air fairly crackled with tension. Several people cast furtive glances over their shoulders, and no one made eye contact with anyone else—as if fearing their private thoughts would be discovered.

“NonCons. Wow! And that was the Eliminator.” Admiration coated Derek’s words like chocolate. “I think—”

“Derek��not now.” I gripped his arm, pointing upward. It was certain that the audio surveillance cops would be monitoring downtown following that broadcast. It was definitely not a good time for Derek to voice any pro-Resistance views, which I hadn’t been aware he’d had. We were lucky the Governing Council hadn’t perfected thought surveillance. Although there were rumors about B.O.S.S. testing prototypes in New York and Los Angeles.

I’d heard about the Eliminator, but I never actually heard one of his broadcasts. I didn’t know much about him, just what I’d heard from Media reports. He was the main NonCon leader of the Resistance, and Ginnie’d thought of him as a hero, though she could never say as much out loud.

“I wonder if Sal heard it?” Derek said.

I thought of Sal’s sudden departure. Unbidden, my brain drew a line from the homeless guy sneaking down the alley after the vert interruption the day Ginnie’d been killed. I shook it off. It was coincidence, that was all.

At TJ’s, I knew everyone’s mind was on the NonCon broadcast, but no one dared talk about it. We ordered food, and the guys chattered on about verts and trannies. I just ignored them.

Supposedly there was so little to worry about in the world—at least according to the Governing Council. No hunger, no unemployment, a roof over everyone’s head ... at least for anyone who wanted one. So why was my whole life was lived on constant high-anxiety alert?

For years, I’d tried to ignore the way Ginnie was abused, kept out of Ed’s way, and dreaded turning sixteen, and everything that entailed. I knew that I’d never get those images from Ed’s porn vids out of my head. Now I had to keep Dee safe, find my father ... and I had to do it all without my mom. It was almost too much.

Maybe I was too sensitive to things. Most girls my age worried about unimportant stuff—what to wear, hanging out with the right tier, using the right slang, and guys. They didn’t think turning sixteen was something to worry about—not the way I did. Of course, everyone had their dread about the tattoos, although most girls I knew wouldn’t admit it. They said they were afraid of needles or that it would hurt. But they never said that they didn’t feel ready to have sex, or that it scared them to be so vulnerable to the advances from guys. Maybe they weren’t afraid, but it terrified me.