Jason Luthor - Floor 21

I get home from school per the usual, and my mind’s already whacked out from having to study biology all day. It’s not what you’d call fun, since I’m constantly thinking about how it can apply to the Creep. What’s its cell structure like? How does it keep growing? So half the class I’m distracted, and Mrs. Bloom goes off on me about how I need to pay more attention. Like, sure, she might be right, but don’t call me out in front of the class. That’s just tacky.

Anyway, I walk through the door to the apartment, and all the lights are out. Not even the windows are open. At first I think nobody’s home because, I mean, why would you turn out all the lights? Then I hear… something. It’s soft, but I can tell it’s coming from my parents’ room. I sling my backpack to the floor and start to inch along to the door, waiting at the entrance like a thief. My eyes cut into the room, but everything’s dark there, too. Still, I can hear her in there. She’s not quite crying, but… is the word sobbing? She’s sobbing.

“Mom?” I call, pushing the door open a bit so I can see what’s going on. She’s folded up like a pile of laundry on the bed, with a blanket so tight around her it might as well be a shell. “Mom, are you okay? You’re not having a freak-out, are you?”

She doesn’t respond at first. In the darkness the top of her head looks like a bush, her kinky curls spreading out like branches. Mom never liked flattening it, for the same reason I don’t: too many chemicals we don’t have enough of, and too much time. Anyway, it takes her a minute to turn around even slightly, and when she does, she barely whispers, “Jacko?”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me,” I say as I brave the distance to the bed. “Is it, uh, is it okay if I sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” she says as she turns back around, tightening up into her ball. I can’t tell what’s wrong, so I just slide into the space beside her. The bed doesn’t have much support, and years of sleeping in it have left a depression in the mattress from Dad’s body. As tough as things have been the last few years, it scares me to think of life without him. Mom would lose it completely. Can you imagine how hard it would be sleeping in a bed that still has your husband’s shape pressed into it? That’s a memory you can’t forget, and it bothers me being in his imprint.

“So, Mom, was everything okay today?”

“You know it was. Everything’s okay every day.”

“Right. Everything’s always okay. I completely get that, but you’re… crying, you know?”

Her lips turn halfway upward as her eyes roll over to me. “Am I? I must be having an emotional day. Didn’t even notice.”

“Didn’t even notice? Mom…”

“I’ll be okay, Jacko. I just… just need time.”

That’s about the extent of our conversation. What else was I supposed to say? So I just… I just laid there. You know, it’s really painful lying down next to a person that looks like the one that raised you but acts like someone completely different. Mom used to be so happy, especially when me, her, and Dad would head down to the baseball field. She always had my uniform cleaned and ready. Whenever he wasn’t around, she’d take me to the lounge and pop in an educational video. You know, those terrible ones where a cartoon mascot tries to teach you. “Edutainment,” I think they call it. But even if it sucked, Mom acted like she cared.

I mean, she still does, I think. She shows it sometimes, especially around important dates, but lots of the time she… I dunno. A lot of the times she’s like this, or she’s clocked out like she’s barely conscious. I just wish she was… normal. Whatever that means, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be this.

None of that was the point, though, and seriously, talking about Mom makes me depressed. My point was that my parents always told me that because I’m pretty smart, I’m supposed to end up working a smart job, too. The reason why is if you land a low job, like Security or Cleanup, they can move you down a floor. Or several. It doesn’t happen too often, but you hear about it once in a while. Allison’s family would’ve moved down if not for her Mom, ’cause that lady’s a Morale officer. Once in a while, she gives the Reception instead of Receiver Garry. Eh, she’s pretty good at it. Anyway, yeah, if I landed a low job, I’d have to get used to a smaller apartment and less food. So, Science is the department for me.

I do think about scavenging, though. A lot. Like, badly. I want it so hard the little vein over my eyebrow pops when I think about it. But, whatever. People from Floor 4 and higher don’t get to scavenge.

Actually, I take that back. There’s actually one guy that scavenges that was born on Floor 2. So, naturally, you’d think the guy would’ve been a Morale officer, right? Maybe a Receiver? But no, instead, he gets to scavenge, and he gets to keep his apartment on Floor 2. Sweet gig. Guy’s name is Judas Abbott, and as cool as it is that he’s a Scavenger from a high floor, the dude’s a total toolbox. I mean, I know he’s smart and strong and all that, but who cares if you’re just gonna walk around acting like you’re better than everyone else? Scavengers are supposed to inspire people. Not like Abbott has to, since it’s not like Floor 2 comes out to support the games or anything. Bunch of posers. Whatever. I guess that’s why Abbott doesn’t care about being friendly or inspiring. He’s just trying to hold onto his apartment. I said hello to him the other day, and you want to know what he said to me?

“Felicitous greetings, citizen.”

What the hell?

Like I said.

Toolbox.

The worst part is that he’s a commander . He’s been doing this for years, doesn’t care about his score, and is an all-around prat. Whenever they announce his name at the games, the whole room gets depressed, as if you’ve just told everyone they’ve got three days to live. People get quiet for just as long as it takes to get Abbott’s name out of the way, then everyone immediately gets back to screaming as soon as the next Scavenger’s up.

I hate Judas Abbott.

You know who everyone really loves? Talk about a real commander. Vick McGill. Everyone loves Vick. Dude’s a few inches over six feet tall, actually not that built, but, you know, still pretty fit, plus it’s nice to find a guy that knows how to rock the bald look. He’s a little darker than me, but we’ve both got the same type of eyes. You know what I mean. Dark, like chocolate. Speaking of which, you know what’d be real nice of them to find on the next Scavenging? Some colored contact lenses.

God. Yes, please.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Vick. Now that’s a guy you want to scavenge with. I mean, right? Guy’s a hero. Nah, I take that back. Guy’s a legend . So get this. He was born on Floor 16. Sixteen . That’s, like, totally unbelievable. I mean, what? First of all, by that deep in the Tower, you’re pretty much ankle-deep in the Creep. That’s when you start getting daily hallucinations, so people that live that far down have to get used to seeing shadow men and Demons. Vick’s family was a tough bunch, though. All of them were Security members that made weekly rounds cleaning up the Creep, so even when he was young, Vick was used to being around that stuff.

Which is why everyone says he’s mentally a tough egg. Word is that Vick doesn’t crack. He never panics and doesn’t hallucinate since he’s been raised in one of the most infested parts of the Tower. Since he couldn’t get a decent education, obviously, since all the classrooms are in the upper floors, he taught himself using whatever books and videos he could find. Tower Authority doesn’t give out as many treats to the lower levels, so even when he was young, Vick was scavenging to find stuff to educate himself with. Books, videos, whatever, if he could find a way to use it, he would. Life was hard for him, but he made a way. Living in the Creep, without enough food and not much to entertain himself with, I mean, of course, he wanted to become a Scavenger.