Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (31 page)

I collapse into bed, scrubs still on, staring across the room at Dad’s picture.

Hours later, Mom shakes me awake. “Hurry up, Silvia. We haven’t got much time to get ready.”

I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. “For what?”

“Dinner at Liam’s.”

Oh, yeah. I sit up in a flash.

Without thinking much about it, I change out of my scrubs and slip on jeans and a long-sleeved green T-shirt. I don’t want Linda to see my scars. She dislikes me enough as it is. Or, at least, it sure seems that way.

“Let me fix your hair.” Mom pushes me into the bathroom and positions me in front of the mirror. She pulls out my ponytail, rubs in some styling cream, and brushes my long black hair down over my shoulders.

As I face my reflection, I realize I’m wearing the same outfit I wore on my birthday. I hope that’s not a bad omen.

“There. You’re perfect.” Mom smiles at me in the mirror.

“You always could work my hair better than I could,” I answer.

She pats my shoulder. “Time to go.”

We rush downstairs and into the street. Masses of people trot along with us. I try to keep my eyes averted so I won’t see anyone with red hair, but it doesn’t work. A tall man with short red hair hovers at my right side.

“Why are you so jumpy tonight?” asks Mom. “Pre-race jitters?”

My stomach is clenched, my back is stiff, and my legs are sore. I’m doomed. But it’s not the race that bothers me. The red haired man matches my footsteps, his arms swinging back and forth. I slow my pace in hopes he’ll pass by.

“Come on, Silvia,” Mom urges. “We don’t want to be late.”

I don’t lose sight of the red haired stranger until we make the last turn to Liam’s apartment building. My hands tremble, but at least he’s gone now.

Mom and I enter the complex. She fidgets as we wait in the hallway outside Liam’s apartment door. Why is she so nervous tonight?

Linda opens the door, an unreadable expression on her face. “Yoshe Wood. I’ve heard you play. You’re a magnificent violinist. Please, come in.”

Mom enters ahead of me. Nobody seems to notice that I don’t receive the same warm welcome. Liam sits on the floor of the small living room, both of his younger sisters vying for his attention. Lydia is nine, and Lucy is eleven. I’ll bet neither of them really remembers their father.

A comforting fragrance of tomato and basil fills the air. Franco stands next to the stove, stirring the pot. He says something I can’t hear over the wild living room banter, so I step closer.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.

He smiles. “I was merely informing you there aren’t any gelatin-based protein cubes on the menu this evening.”

“Thank goodness.” I grimace. “I hate those things.”

His smile grows. “Yes, I remember.”

“Experimental alternative sources of protein, then?”

“Perhaps.” He chuckles and gestures toward his cousin. “You might be interested to know that Liam over there has already assured us of your double victory tomorrow.”

“Oh, has he?” I glance at the three siblings, laughing together. They seem so happy.

“That is… unless
you
can convince him not to race.” Franco’s tone is jovial, but forced. “He won’t listen to me, of course.”

I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I don’t think I can help you. He’s pretty determined.”

“I know, but it was worth a try.” Franco sighs. “So, how are
you
feeling about the big race?”

I shrug. “I’m not so sure, I guess.” Instead of focusing on the race plan Liam and I devised weeks ago, I’m obsessed with the death of Amelia Brown. I can’t escape her red hair and pale skin. The image of her cold body lying on the mortuary table blends with the portrait hanging in my room of my father. Back and forth, the pictures flicker and fuse until the two become one. It’s not like they’re the only people in the Panopticus with red hair, but their deaths have bonded them together in my mind.

I’m starting to hate red hair.

Franco tests a noodle with a fork and announces, “I hope you all are hungry because it’s time to eat.”

We gather around the table, the two younger girls chattering non-stop on either side of Liam. Franco serves, Linda bustles around, handing out plates and drinks, and my mom keeps asking if she can help.

“No, you’re the guest of honor,” Linda assures her.

So, Mom is the guest of honor, not me. How nice.

“I propose a toast,” announces Liam.

Franco clamps his mouth shut but picks up his glass after Linda glares at him.

Liam stands and pushes back his chair. “First, I’d like to thank Mom and Franco for this wonderful dinner.”

“You’re very welcome.” Linda’s face transforms when she smiles at her only son. She almost looks like a nice person, for once.

Franco only grunts in response, a storm brewing in his eyes.

Liam turns to me. “And, secondly, I’d like to thank Silvia for training with me, teaching me about yoga—“

Franco laughs, and the storm clouds disperse.

“Shut up, Franco.” Liam makes a face. “And, finally, I’d like to pre-thank Silvia for racing with me as Team Win tomorrow. I know we can do it.” He lifts his glass.

I’m not as confident as Liam but lift my glass in return. “And thank you for getting me off the treadmills. How will we ever go back?”

While everyone else drinks, I realize this is the end. No more limited, government-issued freedom. No more extra passes, increased food portions, and special attention. And, quite likely, there will be no more time with Franco.

I turn to him as he settles into the chair next to me. My mother and Linda sit next to each other, bending their heads together in conversation. Franco focuses on his food, and I try to do the same but find it hard to eat. I want to sit still and do nothing. I remain silent and hide my thoughts in the company of others.

Franco is as quiet as I am, but Liam glows with excitement, bantering back and forth with his sisters. My mind is too numb to follow their conversation.

My mom laughs and smiles. She seems so happy. Is it a show or for real? I can’t tell anymore.

And then there’s Linda. I watch the woman who, simply because she had a fight with her husband, caused me to try to kill myself. Twice. When she returns my gaze briefly, I wonder if she’s thinking similar things about me. I tug at my sleeves to cover my wrists. I don’t want her to see my scars.

At the end of the meal, Linda stands. “And now, Liam, I have a small gift for you hidden in my room. But first, let’s clear the table.”

Everyone carries their own plates to the sink except for Lydia and Lucy, who fight over the honor of waiting on Liam.

Linda eyes me as she clears my mostly untouched plate. “Don’t you like spaghetti?”

At my side, Mom hurries to make excuses. “So sorry, Linda. The meal was delicious. I’m afraid my daughter has a nervous stomach.”

“Yes,” I agree to appease everyone. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I could eat anything tonight.” I walk away.

Dinner plates clink in the sink. Voices bubble around me. I wander over to the couch and pick up a cushion. It’s red. I want to rip it apart, throw it on the floor, and jump on it until it’s destroyed. I feel so sad and angry at the same time and can’t make any sense of it.

My stomach convulses, and I glance around for signs of a bathroom. There’s a dark hallway past the living room. I rush toward it. There are four doors in the hallway, and all of them are shut. I’ll have to guess which one’s the bathroom. I reach for a doorknob.

Muffled voices freeze my hand in mid-air.

“She knows.” Linda’s tense voice whispers from behind a closed door. “I tell you she knows. I can see it in her eyes.”

“She doesn’t know,” Franco murmurs.

“Well, she at least suspects.”

“She’s smart, Linda. She can tell you’re edgy around her. Maybe you should try to act normal for a change.”

“I want you to stay away from her,” Linda pleads. “We have to be safe. They’re still watching us. They’re always watching, waiting for us to screw up.”

“We
are
safe. I’ve spent my life making sure of that. But if you want to be invisible, you never should’ve let Liam sign up for that race.”

“Are you going to stay away from her or not? I see the way you look at the girl.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I wait through a long pause in the conversation.

Franco clears his throat. “I’m just keeping an eye on her. I feel bad about things. Have you seen her wrists? That’s because of
us.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Linda sighs. “At least Liam and the girls had you. That poor child had no one. No wonder she hurt herself. Everyone else hurt her, too.”

“Silvia?” Mom calls from the living room. “Where are—”

I bolt out of the dimly-lit hallway.

“There you are.”

“We should go.” I interrupt her, heading for the front door.

“What’s wrong?” She narrows her eyes. “Oh, dear. You look sick. And you hardly ate anything for supper. No, it couldn’t be… You’re not—”

I turn away and head for the door, Mom close behind me.

She grabs my arm and pulls me close to whisper in my ear. “Silvia,
please
tell me you’re not pregnant.”

“
Are you kidding me?
” I roll my eyes. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.” I wave at my running partner, eager to get far, far away from his family. “Bye, Liam.”

“Where are you going?” he asks. “The party’s just getting started.”

“Pre-race jitters or whatever. Sorry.” I return my attention to my mother. “Let’s go.” I open the door, but Mom doesn’t move. “Please can we go? I don’t feel well, and I want to go home
now.”

“Okay.” Mom sighs and turns to Liam. “Please make our excuses to your Mom. I’m sure it’s just a case of the nerves. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liam grabs me into a hug I don’t want, especially not right now. “Come on, Silvia. You know you’re going to be awesome. There’s no reason to be nervous. See ya tomorrow.”

I break away and flee down the hall. Mom hurries after me.

I punch the buttons for the elevator. “I can’t believe you think I’m pregnant. You, of all people.” I spin around to face her. “What is everyone’s obsession with that topic lately? I swear I’ve taken more pregnancy tests—”

“What?” Her eyes fly open wide. “Why are you taking pregnancy tests?”

“Every frigging time I go to that stupid Citizen Family Planning Center, they force me to pee in a cup.”

Mom pauses. “Okay, calm down. That’s probably standard procedure at your age.”

I point to my upper arm. “But they’ve already injected me with their government-issued birth control. So what’s their problem?”

Mom lowers her voice. “Well, there
have
been rumors.”

My hands begin to shake. “Really? What rumors? About me?”

“No.” She covers her mouth with a hand, so no one watching the cameras can read her lips. “About girls getting pregnant. At first, there was talk that the New Order would lower the birth control mandate to fifteen, but then I heard that the girls who’d gotten pregnant had already been injected. So, then the rumor was that some of the capsules were faulty.”

My eyes widen. “I know. Sometimes they’re empty when I remove them.”

“Really?” Mom grimaces like she does any time I mention dead bodies.

I nod. We step into the elevator and remain silent until we get back in the relative safety of the noisy outdoor traffic.

“I suppose no system is perfect,” Mom says once we’re on the street. “No vaccine is a hundred percent effective. No chemotherapy works for all cancer patients. This is the same thing. Maybe some people’s bodies absorb the hormones too fast, rendering them ineffective.”

“Maybe. I suppose that’s possible.” That’s a reasonable explanation, but it doesn’t explain the discrepancy in dates between the deaths of Amelia and her child. I shiver despite the summer night heat. “But why would that kill them?”

“What are you talking about?” Mom leans in close to whisper in the midst of the street traffic.

“Well…” I check for overhead cameras. “When you heard these rumors, did all the pregnant girls die?”

“Of course not. The babies did, but we’re used to that.” Mom gives me a little hug. “You don’t know how discouraged your father and I felt after all those miscarriages. Then came you, our lucky charm.”

I frown. “I don’t feel so lucky tonight.”

Mom rubs my shoulder. “I’m worried you’re coming down with something. You know you don’t have to race tomorrow if you don’t want to.”

“No, I have to.” I flinch as a red-headed woman passes by, walking in the other direction. “I just need to take a bath and go to bed.”

Mom bites her lip. “I know you’re used to getting extra treats because of this race, but you shouldn’t get in the habit of being wasteful.”

“Come on, Mom. The last time I took a bath was six months ago when I had a cold. Otherwise, I never use more than my allotted five minute shower a day.”

We reach our building. Mom opens the front door, and I head for the stairs.

Mom takes my arm. “Let’s take the elevator this time. You look exhausted.”

Up we travel. I trudge down the hall to our home and lean against the wall as Mom unlocks the door.

She frowns. “Why don’t you use my water allotment for today? You need it more than I do.”

I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

Once inside the apartment, I run a bath, holding my hand in the stream of scalding water without flinching, forcing myself to become numb. It’s safer that way. Must not feel too much.

Inside the bathroom cupboard, I find a lavender satchel and drop it into the steaming bath. I climb in, welcoming the heat, willing it to dissolve the chill inside. Sighing, I lean my cheek against the smooth white tile. My sore, overused muscles relax in the warmth, but my mind races.

What is Linda so scared of? Why does she hate the very thought of me? And she doesn’t have to worry about Franco. It’s obvious he just feels sorry for me. There’s nothing I hate more than that. I don’t want people’s sympathy. I want their respect.

That’s why I’m running tomorrow. To prove I’m tough. To show there’s more to me than what those doctors said. Despite their doomsday predictions, I will survive. I’ve figured out that hurting myself doesn’t harm them. More likely, it’s exactly what they want. When the New Order put a suicidal patient to work in Mortuary Services, their intentions became obvious.