First Girl Page 2

  Gabi tugged off her bulky sweater and the plain T-shirt underneath and looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the outside of her closet door. Purple bruises were already beginning to form blotchy tattoos around her upper arms. They resembled pictures she’d seen of what used to be the Great Lakes, linked by the riverine veins tracking beneath her skin. On good days Gabi imagined that, against the backdrop of her underwater walls, she glowed like a slice of milky moonlight on the waves. On bad days she reminded herself of the slick blue fetus that had slid out from between the woman’s quaking, blood-smeared thighs in the video her health teacher made all the eleventh-grade girls watch. Facing her reflection was hard, but Gabi made herself do it every day, just to prove to herself that she wasn’t some sad ghost haunting the world of the living.

  Out in the world, she was an alien, someone whose very existence was improbable. The most natural things were a trial for her. Breathing. Speaking. Doing. She didn’t seem to fit or belong anywhere or with anyone, except maybe Gram. Gabi knew her father and Mathew loved her, but they lived in a world of hale bodies and hearty spirits that she could only dream of inhabiting. Yet somehow here, in the manufactured murk of her bedroom, she looked like she belonged. She looked, if nowhere close to strong or beautiful, at least a little more right, and she badly wanted to understand why this was so. Maybe if she could learn enough about the aquatic world that fascinated her, perhaps she could learn something about herself, like why the Will had determined that she live despite her total unsuitability for life. But nothing in the mountains of books she amassed brought her any closer to an answer.

  Gabi picked up a textbook from her bed and thumbed through it, as though some new insight might have magically appeared since she’d put it down that morning. But the thick bars were still there, blacking out more than half of every page. What little was left after Corrections had its way was the same thing she found in every text. Behavior, movement, feeding, and mating. Anything that could not withstand the scrutiny of correction had been concealed so as not to corrupt the fellowship.

  Old Science, Unitas declared, was the equivalent of guesses and fairy tales and had failed as a means of preventing catastrophe. What was behind the black ink in her books, Gabi’s teachers assured her, wasn’t worth knowing. Inside the front cover of each of her marine biology texts was the same quote from the Book of Revelation on an embossed sticker: “And the second angel poured out his vial upon the sea; and it became as the blood of a dead man: and every living soul died in the sea.”

  Whales were extinct, along with every other form of marine mammal. Their habitat had been rendered a hell of poisons, as predicted by the original doctrine. Revising every book with links to Old Science in all branches of Unitas was an arduous task, and until such time as new texts could be written, the corrected texts would have to suffice. This meant Gabi’s reports would continue to read like shallow blurbs, and whatever the oceans had to tell her about herself would remain a mystery. It made her want to punch someone.

  “Gabi. Pills,” her grandmother shouted from the kitchen. Gabi tossed the text onto her bed and opened her bedroom door, looking back at the towers of books. Suddenly the narrow towers looked like prison bars encircling the messy refuge of her bed. Was it possible that by surrounding herself with books filled with blanks and incomplete facts, she had erected a barrier between herself and the truth she sought? Gabi had seen a copy of one of the new texts her father brought home for review and stole a quick peek through its pages. It looked just like the old one, only much skinnier. Nothing beyond pieces of scripture had been added, and nearly two-thirds had been taken away.

  The only thing that ever made Gabi feel strong was what she learned from books. She may not have been able to do things, but she could know things, and every time she learned something new, she wasn’t at the mercy of anyone, even Bradley Fiske. Those heavy reference books, though their pages had been marred by the Correctors’ ink, at least held the promise of knowledge. The pamphlet was like a deflated balloon, a shapeless husk without substance, which was exactly how Gabi felt. But perhaps there was a way to learn the whole story. Maybe Old Science held the answers Gabi sought. She shut her bedroom door hard, heard a couple of the towers topple behind it, and smiled to herself. If her cove of useless books was a prison, it was one of her own making, and she would have to be the one to break herself out.

  Chapter TWO

  GRAMMY LOW was not a typical Minder, Gabi thought for the hundredth time as her grandmother tottered into the Care Center with her coworkers before services on Saturday. Minders never attended temple on Saturdays. They were needed to see to the Returned, who would be watching on the big screen in the main lounge of the Care Center.

  Minders were big, strapping types with stern faces and thick necks. They had biceps the size of Gabi’s waist. Minders also knew what you needed before you did, as Gabi learned during a visit to the Center when she was five. She’d tucked herself behind a column in the main lounge, waiting for Grammy Low to finish for the day, when a massive man wearing a Minder badge approached on silent feet and offered her a handkerchief. He waited patiently until the sneeze she didn’t feel coming overtook her, helped her blow her nose, slipped the hanky into a biohazard baggie, and offered her a chewable Vitamin C. By the time Gabi unwrapped the chalky orange tablet, he had already moved off to escort an elderly gentleman to the bathroom before the patient knew his bladder was full.

  Gram explained it all to Gabi when she asked her grandmother why Minders needed to be so big. “People do things when they’re sick, Gabriela. They can hurt themselves or others without really meaning to. The Minders are there to keep everyone safe while they heal.” Gabi’s father had only agreed to appoint Gram as a Minder because he knew that the other Minders would keep Gram safe. Though she was sometimes grumpy and tired after her shifts, Sam understood that Grammy Low would be happier making herself useful as a Minder than dwelling on all she’d lost.

  As Gram disappeared into the Care Center with a backward wave, Gabi picked up the familiar scent of mown hay and lemon rind. “Don’t even think about it,” she said as she turned to find her brother Mathew lurking behind her.

  “Impossible,” Mathew protested. “I’m downwind, the sun’s casting your shadow behind you—wait, did my shoes squeak? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Gabi giggled, arching an eyebrow at Mathew’s blazing white basketball sneakers. “No, but the glare is rather loud.”

  Mathew draped an arm around his sister’s neck and rubbed his broad palm across the top of her head. He was the only one who didn’t treat Gabi as if she were made of tissue paper, not counting Bradley and his gang. For this she adored her big brother, even when he was being a pain in the butt.

  “Seriously, tell me how you do it. It’s not fair that you’re hogging all the superpowers in the family,” Mathew said as he continued to make a mess of her curls and dragged her toward the temple.

  “Quit it,” Gabi complained.

  “Hey, did you see Grammy Low kick up her heels back there?” Mathew asked.

  Gabi squirmed out from under his arm and attempted to restore order to her hair. “She did not.”

  “Oh, please. Half the reason she hounded Dad to get her in with the Minders was so she wouldn’t have to go to services. I’m telling you, Gram couldn’t give two farts about the fellowship, no matter what she says in front of everyone else.”

  Gabi elbowed Mathew in the ribs. “Shhh! What’s wrong with you?” she hissed, craning her neck to see if anyone funneling into the massive temple around them had overheard.

  “What?” Mathew shrugged, batting Gabi’s elbow away. “Nobody’s listening, and even if they were, they’re not going to do anything about it. Gram’s old guard, the last of a generation. She’s allowed to be eccentric.”

  Eccentric? Gabi had never thought of her grandmother in those terms. Stubborn, certainly, and more than a little skeptical when it came to the Unitas doctrine, but eccentric implied th
at she was somehow off-kilter. Grammy Low was the most centered person Gabi knew. She had the ability to pare a thing down to its most essential parts, the way she sliced an apple until the core disappeared and nothing but a few shiny brown seeds were left. Just that morning, while the two of them were conducting their morning pill-taking ritual, Gram placed her mottled hand over Gabi’s just as Gabi was about to take her medicine.

  “Gabriela, how do you feel when you don’t take your pills on time?” Her voice was low and quiet. “Last evening, when you came into the kitchen….”

  “What? What is it?” Gabi prodded.

  “You were a little pink.” Gabi recalled the surge of excitement she’d felt at that squiggle of an idea, the notion to see what answers might be hiding behind all that Correctors’ ink. Gram placed a hand to Gabi’s cheek, the triple furrow between her eyebrows deepening with concern. “There. There’s that color again. Have you picked up something at school, or maybe…? I’m wondering if you might try holding off on your next dose a little longer if the pills are—”

  Gabi flapped her hands and shook her head. “It’s nothing, Gram, I just came down the hall too fast yesterday, that’s all. I was worried to be so late taking my pill.”

  Grammy Low opened her mouth to say something more, but Sam strode in with his necktie in a hopeless tangle, begging for her help. The older woman gave Gabi one last long look, then turned to the mess Gabi’s father had made of his service attire. Gabi slipped out of the kitchen, happy to be away from her grandmother’s scrutiny and feeling guilty even though she hadn’t done anything… yet.

  “Grammy Low’s sharper than you give her credit for,” Gabi said as they searched for their father in the temple interior. “My super sense had to come from somewhere.”

  “What?” Mathew yelled above the din of people laughing, hugging, and talking as they found their seats in the concentric circles where chairs were arranged forty deep.

  “Nothing,” Gabi said, glad her last words had been lost in the noise. It was disconcerting enough that Gram had sensed Gabi’s excitement over the possibility of an adventure. No need to put Mathew on alert as well. As much as she loved her big brother, Gabi was determined to accomplish something on her own for once.

  She found a seat four rows back from the center of the circle where her father sat in a place of honor with Messenger Nystrom and the other executive councilmembers. Messenger Nystrom’s exceptionally long nose hairs fluttered out with every exhale, then back in. Out. In. Out. The phenomenon reminded her of a book she’d once read about limpets, how the tiny, flat-bottomed shells housed multiarmed creatures that cemented themselves to various surfaces and waved their arms through a hole in the top to catch plankton drifting by. Despite his reverence for all things Unitas and his dream of joining the executive council one day, even Mathew called the old man Messenger Nostrils.

  As for Gabi, she’d always felt like a piece of flotsam herself, just barely eluding Messenger Nystrom’s grasp. He was getting older, and though anyone could receive a message from the One God or be called to translate, it was widely assumed by both council and congregation that, after several years of training and refinement of her abilities, Gabi would receive a call to replace him. Who better than she to pair with her father and, eventually, her brother? Nystrom’s eyes were sharp with an unspoken question when they met hers. He had the habit of hooking her chin with one finger and turning her head side to side like a produce inspector sizing up a bruised apple.

  “Head up, girl,” he’d admonish. “Your God is in heaven, not under your feet.”

  In the temple, her father caught Gabi’s eye and frowned. Sam didn’t like it when she hid farther back among the crowd. She was supposed to be observing Messenger Nystrom and the other councilmembers at work. It was important to demonstrate an interest in receiving so that when she got her calling, her fellows would be ready to accept her as a Messenger. Mathew sat in the innermost ring of chairs closest to their father. Her brother’s gift as a Translator first manifested during a service when he was still in middle school, years before he was eligible to attend the annual Consecration Camp, where most fellows received their calling.

  During a weekday study service, young Mathew had been drawn to the side of Messenger Wilkes, who was shivering in her chair. As he approached, the transported woman grabbed hold of his arm, pulled the boy close, and unleashed a stream of words in his ear. Sam shoved a pen and paper into Mathew’s hands, encouraging his son to relax and record everything as well as he could. When Mathew showed his father his notes, Sam saw that the words spelled out basic Unitas doctrine, which was typical of the content delivered to those in the early years of their calling. Still, it was an extraordinary achievement for one so young.

  “Were you scared?” Gabi asked a shaken Mathew when he and Sam had returned home from the study service that day.

  “At first,” Mathew admitted. “It was like doing a writing assignment for school, except you don’t have much time to think about it. You have to try to remember what you’ve studied so you can make everything make sense. It felt like running a race, only I couldn’t see the finish line.”

  In the temple Gabi slouched in her chair as the singing started up. Incense hung in a fragrant cloud over the heads of the crowd, which had risen and begun to sway, hands raised toward the Unitas banner that hung from the rafters. “Lo, this is our God” the banner read. “We have waited for him, and he will save us—Isaiah 25:9.” Gabi welcomed the cover of bodies and the clamor of rattles, drums, and guitars. She would be invisible once her fellows got swept up in divine union and the messages began to flow. No one would notice her leave.

  Gabi liked the singing part and usually participated as much as she could given her meager lung capacity. She never received a message, though, or felt that she understood the strange utterances of the people around her who did. Her father claimed Gabi’s heightened senses, which had always made her feel like a freak, were God-given so that she might serve the Word. He assured her that it was important to perceive on many different levels in order to identify true message. Gabi strained to open herself to a message without success. Instead of assurances that man was given dominion over the earth, that disasters and conflict were God’s strategy for bringing divided religions back together, Gabi heard only noise.

  Over the shoulder of a stout Asian man in front of her, whose body convulsed with spiritual ecstasy and gave off the smell of burned rubber, she saw Bradley Fiske. He claimed to have gotten his calling early too. The blessed event, Bradley swore, had happened last year during a prayer service. His claim had yet to be verified, since no consecrated adults had been present to confirm it. Bradley would still be expected to attend Consecration Camp with the rest of his age group in a few weeks’ time. The ambiguity surrounding his calling did not deter Bradley from performing his duties as a Messenger, however, and this Saturday was no exception. The boy’s head was thrown back as oily sweat poured down his acne-scarred cheeks and drenched the collar of his shirt. His lips flapped and stretched, revealing his yellowed teeth. Sister Herndon stood close by his side with her pad and pencil, scribbling furiously as Bradley twitched and moaned.

  Her father knelt beside Messenger Nystrom’s chair, recording the rapid-fire murmurings of the older man rocking in his seat. The two of them could remain that way for hours. Though all Saturday messages would go into the weekly Unitas bulletin, the results of Sam Lowell and Ben Nystrom’s collaborations were always printed and bound separately as appendices of the new doctrine. There were truths, and then there were Truths. Mathew watched them as though attempting to burn every detail into his memory.

  Gabi had found her moment. She rose into a crouch and edged past the hundreds of hot, rapt bodies, back through the outer rings of the circle until she reached the massive doors that gave out onto the temple vestibule. Opening one of the heavy doors once they’d been closed for the service was impossible for her, a fact Gabi had failed to consider when she hatched her ha
sty scheme. The din behind her increased as more of her fellows were taken into union and the invisible scarf tightened around her neck. She braced her hands on the concrete wall of the sanctuary and pressed her forehead to its cool surface. In less than twenty-four hours, her small escapade had become a light at the end of the long, featureless tunnel, and the thought of turning back dragged at her like muck. Before pessimism became defeat, Gabi moved, groping her way along the wall in search of a way out, or in her case, in.

  After a dozen yards, Gabi stopped to look around. Though the nearest person was only a weak pebble toss away, no one took notice of her. She took a moment to steady herself, letting her eyes wander over the intricate tapestry hanging on the wall in front of her. A depiction of the Gathering In worked in shades of crimson, emerald, and umber showed a population embattled by the Great Strain abandoning the empty promises of Old Science to unite under the Tree of Life. Concentric circles of people joined hands around the monumental tree, forming the Unitas symbol of peace, unity, and protection.

  At the edges of the tableau, a poisonous ocean encroached as Tribes succumbed to the toxic waves. Above the Tribesmen was embroidered a passage from Mark 7:7. “In vain do they worship me, teaching for doctrine the commandments of men.” Their emaciated bodies were a stark contrast to the full, shining figures of the Unitas fellows, some of whom were leading the Tribesmen inland toward the sanctuary of the tree. Under the feet of the fellows, the Bible was splayed open on its spine, bearing the words “And I heard another voice from heaven, saying, ‘Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues. For her sins have reached unto heaven, and God hath remembered her iniquities.’ Revelation 18: 2,4,5.”