PODs (21 page)

“Oh. I gave it to Tiffany. I wanted her to have something of mine. That’s probably stupid. What does she want with some guy’s used jewelry?”

“It’s not stupid, George, and you weren’t just some guy to her.”

“I hope not. She wasn’t just any girl to me.”

We fell silent. I bounced up and down in the bus seat every time the wheels hit a pothole. My back and head hurt from the jostling. I tried to brace myself for the bumps, but that made my arms and shoulders ache. I gave up and let the bus throw me here and there with every pothole it ran over.

Why am I angry at Tiffany? I love Tiffany. I’m not angry…I’m jealous. She got something—something of George’s to keep, to touch, to hold
.

“I wish I had something of his,” I whispered.

“What?” George asked.

“Of David’s. I wish I had something of his. I wish I would’ve given him something of mine. We had to say goodbye so fast…I just didn’t think.”

“David did give you something. Look in the front pocket of your bag.”

I scrambled to grab my duffel, cursing when it rolled across the floor out of reach. I slid out of my seat and got on all fours reaching for the bag. My finger locked around the strap and I jerked it to me. I didn’t bother getting off the floor before unzipping the pocket and looking inside.

I found a piece of paper folded in half. I took it out and unfolded it with careful movements, since the bus was crashing over the potholes so hard I was afraid I’d rip it. It was a miniature version of the last painting he’d made on the POD wall. The red and black “David loves Eva” jumped off the page, dancing in front of my tear-filled eyes. I got off the floor and sat next to George, looking at the drawing, tracing the letters with my fingers.

“You dropped this.” A boy behind me said, handing me a small square piece of paper.

“Thank you,” I murmured, turning the card over in my hand. A small cry escaped my lips when I saw his smiling face looking at me. It was a photo of David with his sisters.

“I told him you’d like it.”

I smiled at George.
I love it
. “It’s too bad we didn’t have a camera so everyone could have a photo.” I felt bad sitting next to George with a photo of David in my hand when he didn’t get one of Tiffany.

“That would’ve been nice,” he said, “but luckily for me David is a great artist.” He pulled out a drawing of Tiffany holding Faith. “David said it wasn’t his best work, but I think it’s great.”

“It looks just like them.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna miss them, Eva.”

“I know. Me, too.”

I
jolted upright in bed. I looked around the room, disoriented. When the fog of sleep cleared, memories slammed into me. I wasn’t in the POD anymore. George and I had arrived in Area 23, Sector 2—otherwise known as the Village of Rosewood, Tennessee—three weeks ago. I felt my stomach clench and chest tighten. David was gone, and I didn’t know where he was.

The sun peeked through the slats of the window blinds, shining in my eyes. I groaned, flopping backward on the bed. I threw the quilt over my head and turned from the window.

Go away
.

Sunday. I hated the weekends. I couldn’t wait until Monday when I could go to work and be around people again. At least work distracted me. I could think of something other than the man I’d left behind.

But until Monday I was on my own. David wasn’t here, and I didn’t know how to contact George. There was no village communication system in place.

The house was too quiet and left me too much time with my ache for David…and with things that reminded me of life before the POD.

Knowing I wouldn’t go back to sleep, I climbed out of bed with a sigh. I changed and pulled on my running shoes. David and I had run together on the treadmills every day in the POD. The thought pierced through my heart like a dagger—even exercising wasn’t free of memories of him. I ran hard, pushing myself harder than usual, trying to push through the memories that haunted me.

Finally, Monday morning. Rainy, it was gray and overcast and I wanted to snuggle down in my bed and wrap myself in my soft quilt. But it was a workday, and I welcomed the chance to get out of my quiet house. I showered and dressed, grabbed an apple for breakfast and walked across the street to meet Nona.

The rain was slanted, the kind that slapped us in the face and soaked our clothes and hair even though we had umbrellas.

“A white shirt wasn’t my best decision.” I looked down at my shirt already plastered to my skin. Nona laughed.

“We have time. Run and change.”

Nona was my neighbor across the street. We walked to and from work together every day. By the time she and I got to work, we were both soaked. My clothes, wet and wrinkled, stuck to my skin. My shoes made squishing noises when I walked.

Since moving to Rosewood, I’d been given a house and a job. When I’d arrived the first day, after a horrible ten-hour bus ride, I reported to intake—a converted office in the old high school. Making my way to the dust-covered counter, I waited while the person ahead of me was given his information.

“Name?” The girl behind the counter asked when it was my turn.

“Evangelina Evans.” I wrung my hands, the knuckles cracking painfully.

The girl shuffled through some pages before producing a large manila envelope with my name printed across the front. My stomach churned.

Stop being a baby, Eva. Take a big breath and pull on your big girl panties
.

“You’ll find your address in the envelope. It also contains your employment information. You’ve been assigned a teaching position. Looks like English and creative writing. Your schedule and first weeks’ lesson plans are in the envelope. Go out this door,” she pointed to a small door on the left. “Your transport to your residence is waiting.”

“Thank you.” I started to walk away, clutching the envelope so tightly my fingers ached.

“Wait! You’ll need these.” She held out a key ring with two keys hanging from it. “You don’t want to be locked out.”

I smiled and took the keys, my fingers trembling. I walked slowly to the door, pushing it slightly. It glided open. A security officer waited outside. He asked my name, took my envelope, and pulled out a pink slip of paper.

“This is your address. Don’t lose this paper. It’s your proof of ownership.”

“Ownership?” I asked.

“Of your house,” he answered. “Put it somewhere safe. Give your street address to the driver.”

I own a house?

I walked across the parking lot to the waiting car. “Um, I guess I’m supposed to tell you my address. It’s 12 Maple Brook Lane,” I said, reading it off the paperwork I was given.

He opened the car door for me and smiled. “I know just where that is. We call it the teachers’ district. It’s over by the elementary school, you see. I bet that’s where you’ll be working. Your house is close enough for you to walk to work.”

He drove while he talked. By the time he’d finished telling me about the school, we’d reached my house.

My house. I own a home…they just
gave
it to me
.

It seemed unreal. Of course, there were plenty of houses to go around, and with no banking system in place it’d be hard to keep up on mortgages. So they gave us all homes.

I was a homeowner. It was a beautiful house—yellow with white shutters and a big front porch. But it felt empty. For the last fifteen months I’d lived with nine other people. My house felt too big and too quiet without them, especially David.

Walking home after my first day at work I told Nona, “I never thought I’d be a teacher. In fact, I was sure I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, how’d the day turn out?”

“Really, really good.”

“That’s great, Eva.”

As the days passed, I found that I enjoyed my job more and more. In the evenings, I read every book I could on teaching. I looked forward to school days. I taught English to the younger residents. The raffle had chosen people beginning at age twelve, so I taught kids thirteen through sixteen proper English, writing and oral communication. I also taught a creative writing course.

The work and the kids kept me busy.

Work was my escape.

Four weeks went by without word from George. Nona told me the “M” next to George’s sector number meant that he lived in the Medical District—the “E” next to mine meant Education District. Since I knew he had still been in school when the virus hit, I looked for him in the medical training classes, but he was never there. With no way to find his address, I’d given up. I mourned his absence like I did for everyone else from sub-POD twenty-nine.

Early on the Monday of my fifth week in the village, a short rap against my classroom’s door caused every head in the room to turn. The old wooden desk chair squeaked when I stood. Pulling open the door, I let out a squeal.

“Keep working on your papers, everyone,” I told my class before stepping into the hall and hugging George.

He hugged me tightly, lifting me off the ground. “I’ve been looking for you since the day we got here. You know they don’t have any kind of directory? It’s crazy.”

“How did you find me? I checked the medical classes for you.”

He set me down and I studied his face, now free of metal. Small marks showed where the piercings had been, and the tattoo on his neck peeked out of his shirt collar. “Yeah, I work one month at the clinic and come to school for a month. I started my first day of classes today. Your friend Nona saw my name on the roster and asked if I knew you. When I said I did, she told me where to find you.”

“Here.” I grabbed a pen out of my pocket and reached for his hand, scrawling on his palm. “This is my address. Come by when you can. I have to go back in there and make sure the students aren’t strangling each other. It’s so good to see you, George.” I kissed him quickly on the cheek before I turned to the classroom door. He grabbed my hand.

“It’s good to see you too. Eva, I need to talk to you. I’ll come by on Saturday if that’s okay. It’ll give us more time to talk.”

“Saturday is great. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Don’t worry, I’ll see you Saturday.” He gave my hand a squeeze before letting go. He turned, his shoes squeaking against the floor. I watched him walk away, wondering what bad news would meet me Saturday.