Julia Karr - XVI

“Of course.” She always depended on me to explain books to her, and I didn’t mind. It wasn’t like she couldn’t or didn’t read, she just didn’t get the deeper meanings. I don’t always either, but Ginnie talks with me a lot about what I read and helps me work through it.

“So. Are you going to take the FeLS prep?”

“Sandy, you promised.” I half glared at her.

“Sorry, I forgot Ginnie won’t let you.” She tickled me. “Come on, don’t be mad.”

I couldn’t help laughing, and I didn’t want to stay angry with her—so I didn’t.

“Are we going to your gran’s first, before we meet up with Mike?” she asked.

I nodded.

“You know your grandfather freaks me out.” She dug into her pocket, retrieving a small bag. “Want one?”

I stuck the frosted lemon drop into my mouth, rolling it around on my tongue until the rough sugar smoothed into puckery sourness. I sucked on the candy. “Yeah, Pops is a little strange. But I’d think you’d be used to him by now.”

Sandy put several drops in her mouth and the bag back in her pocket. “No way,” she mumbled, arranging the pieces with her tongue so she could talk. “I don’t get a lot of what he says, and it creeps me out when he takes his leg off.”

“I’ll try to keep him under control,” I promised, chuckling to myself. As if anyone could control Pops. “Maybe we should go to the zoo. It’s probably the only way we’ll get Mike away from all the new verts downtown.”

“We are going to Gran’s before we meet up with him, right?”

I laughed. We both knew that if Mike came with us, he’d talk Pops into taking his leg off. Mike was fascinated by the prosthesis. “Sandy, it’s just an old GI leg.”

“GI-wha?”

“For the billionth time, microbrain…” I tapped her head. “Government issue. Remember back in the 2000s the soldiers were called GIs because everything they had was issued to them by the government? That’s where Pops got his leg after the accident, from the government. He says that’s why it doesn’t work right. It’s cheap. Like something from Megaworld or Sale-o-rama.”

“Hey, come on! These jeans are from Sale.”

“I meant that when rich people get body parts, they get the good stuff, bionic, acts like the real thing.” We both shopped the discount stores, like everyone else who was lower tier. “And,” I added, “I love those jeans.”

Sandy smiled and ran her hands around her waist. “Thanks,” she said. “They fit good, don’t they?”

Her clothes fit her a lot better than mine fit me. As Gran would say, “She’s built like an MK lunar pod.” Which I’m sure is why her stepdad looks at her the way he does.

The men I knew were either crazy, like Pops; half creepy and weird, like Sandy’s stepdad; or mean cheaters, like Ed. He’s Ginnie’s married boyfriend, who also happens to be my little sister Dee’s dad. I had no idea what it was like to have a father, real or otherwise, since mine died the day I was born. All I had was an old photo chip and the stories Gran used to tell me about him. Sandy pulled a mirror out of her purse and fluffed her hair, pouting at her reflection.

“Do I need more lipstick? Mascara?”

“Come on, Sandy, we’re just meeting Mike and Derek—you know, friends.” That’s how I preferred guys, as friends. Any other way freaked me out. Sometimes I wondered if I was some kind of freak myself. Most every girl my age was getting primed for turning sex-teen. I had my reasons for never wanting to have sex. I just didn’t have anyone to talk about my reasons with. Especially not Sandy or Ginnie.

Sandy sighed and put her mirror back. “You never know who might be looking at you.” She gazed longingly across the aisle.

The guy who’d noticed her earlier glanced at me, quickly taking in all the important details. He cocked one eyebrow and licked his lips. I held my breath, scared he was going to speak, but the other guys drew his attention back into their huddle. I exhaled. At least for a few more months I was fifteen—and safe.

It was late September, blue sky, crisp air—not at all typical fall weather in Chicago. I wondered if this was how the country felt, clean and fresh. Sealed up in the express from Cementville to the city, you couldn’t experience it. I glanced at Sandy, doubting she ever gave the weather a thought, unless it mussed her hair or forced her to wear a coat over some new outfit.

“Let’s walk.” I took off down the street, Sandy next to me.

On State Street, the verts were so constant and annoying they bombarded us from every store. “Get the latest Personal Audio/ Video, virtually invisible in your ear, compatible with any omni-PAV receiver, only $29.95… Visit the Dark Side—moon shuttle special—buy one ticket and a companion travels free, Sunday through Thursday… Mars burgers, for a taste that’s out of this world.”

Sandy and I talked via our PAVs so we could hear ourselves over the verts. We were plotting out the day’s events when there was a loud bang, followed by two more. Three trannies had slammed into each other right in the middle of the street. All the other traffic stopped. We clicked off our PAVs. Not one vert was blaring. There was total silence. Which was more jarring than the crash of the accident.

Sandy stared at me, her eyes grew huge. For a moment, I thought she was going to cry. Instead, she whispered, “NonCons.“

Panic clutched at my throat; I glanced around, looking for anyone out of the ordinary, but everyone appeared normal—except for their confused looks. The homeless guy slipping into the alley behind the Media station barely registered in my brain.

A man’s voice spoke through the vert system. “This moment of silence has been brought to you by the Resistance. In quietness, people can think for themselves. Which is just what the Governing—”

A loud electronic screeching cut off the words, causing half of the people on the street, Sandy and me included, to slap their hands over their ears. A dual trannie squealed up and two men armed with tool kits jumped out and rushed over to the Media station.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take the piercing tone any longer, there was a crackle, and then, “… the End-of-Wars extravaganza sale ends at midnight tonight. Don’t battle for bargains, shop Sale-o-rama, where every deal is a good deal.”

Several police had arrived on the scene. Some were conferring with the Media repairmen while others questioned the drivers involved in the accident. I overheard one of them say, “ Officer, I don’t know what to do. It was so quiet, all of a sudden like. I figured it was some kind of emergency. So, I hit the brakes… ”

Traffic picked back up and Sandy and I clicked our PAVs back on. Passing by the cops, I dipped my head down. Pretending to examine a spot on my jeans, I glanced down the alley where the homeless guy had disappeared. It was empty.

“Two weeks ago, when Mom and I came into town, the same thing happened. Not the accident, but the silence,” Sandy said. “It freaked me out then, too. Mom says it’s happening more often.” She frowned. “Damn NonCons. How dare they say that people don’t think for themselves?”

I wasn’t about to say that I liked the silence, NonCons or not. The constant bombardment of verts really didn’t give anyone a chance to think. Ginnie always taught us that thinking for yourself is the most important thing. When I see how Sandy blindly follows whatever the latest Media-induced frenzy is—I know my mom is right. But it’s hard being the only person who thinks like me. Sometimes I wish I could just be like everyone else my age and not think at all.