Razor Girl (2 page)

“I wouldn’t go out with Chris Griffin if he were the last man on Earth!”

Fifteen-year-old Molly Anderson tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and smoothed down the pleats of her cheerleading skirt as she watched the gawky sophomore dribble the basketball down the court. He turned and caught her looking and gave a goofy grin. She rolled her eyes and looked away. God, it was tough being a sophomore in 2030, especially when the biggest geek in the school had a crush on you.

“How many times has he asked you out now?” Erin, Molly’s best friend, asked. She turned and stretched against the closed bleachers, smoothing down her own cheerleading outfit. When the holographic scoreboard above them blinked—someone from the opposite team had stolen the ball from Chris and scored—she effortlessly launched into a triple backflip, ending with a twist, then cheered their team on. She was never dismayed by little setbacks and was eternally optimistic, which was one of the reasons why she was so good at this. And maybe that’s why she and Molly were friends: in some ways they were completely opposite. Of course, they came from completely different backgrounds, and Erin didn’t have a father always spouting words of doom at her. “Six?” she asked after she was done.

“Try sixteen. Maybe sixty, if you count first grade when he moved down the street and first started stalking me.”

“Aww. That’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?”

“Kind of sick is more like it. What do you think he’s doing here? You think Basketball Dayz is a natural sim for him? If it was like the old days and you had to try out for a team, there’s no way he would have made it.” She laughed. “I’m sure he’s better at other things, though—like that Knights of the Living Dead VR all the nerds are in love with. That seems more his style.”

“Swapping sims just for you? You gotta admit, that’s some dedication,” Erin declared. “He’s like your Ducky!” The two girls had been on a 1980s movie kick lately, downloading the old stuff their grandparents had grown up with, 2-D stuff that you didn’t even need VR goggles to watch. Crazy! The John Hughes films, including
Pretty in Pink
, were undoubtedly their favorites. The cheesy, poufy 80s outfits alone were worth hours of cracking up.

“Where’s my Andrew McCarthy?” Molly moaned, leaning back against the bleachers and staring at the ceiling. “I at least deserve an Andrew McCarthy if I’m stuck with Ducky the dork.”

“Please. You’ve got Drew. And Drew totally trumps Andrew McCarthy.”

Of course Erin would say that. She was dating his twin brother, Todd, and had set the two of them up to begin with. And in some ways, Molly saw her point. Popular, hot, and ridiculously rich, Drew was the envy of every guy in the school and the heartthrob of every girl. He’d done wonders for her status. Still, she couldn’t very well say the relationship itself was stellar. For one thing, Drew was shallow as hell, unlike Erin’s dreamboat, who evidently had scored all the humility genes in the womb. At seventeen Drew had already had three plastic surgeries, whereas most guys his age only got the one. (Yes, penis enlargement. Did you really have to ask?) Truth be told, he wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe Todd got all the brain cells as well. Whenever she tried to talk to Drew about real things—stuff that was bothering her, stuff that her dad was always citing, like the economy and ongoing famine
and seemingly never-ending war—he’d always laugh her off and change the subject back to sports, virtual or otherwise. She’d wanted a popular boyfriend to draw her out of the social black hole her family’s oddity had bequeathed her, but was Drew the right choice?

Still, it was better than dating a pathetic geek like Chris Griffin. She was sure of that.

Chris waved to her from the court again then tripped over his feet and went sprawling to the ground. The crowd went wild. Molly groaned. You wouldn’t think they’d allow that sort of incompetence in here. Wasn’t that the whole point of sims and why they’d gotten popular?

“I’m exiting,” she declared. “I can’t stand him staring at me for a second longer.” She blinked her eyes twice.

The signal to exit worked. A moment later the gym disappeared and she was back in Erin’s basement. Molly pulled off her VR goggles and leaned over to switch off her deck plug-in. She watched her friend do the same in the armchair across from her.

“I gained a level with that last flip,” Erin said, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “Unlocked the NCAA courts!”

“Stellar,” Molly muttered. “I’m thrilled for you.”

Her friend looked a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, well, you’d be just as high if you had your own copy and didn’t always have to play at my house. I get a lot of late-night practice once my parents go to bed. That’s when the real action on the court happens anyway.” She winked.

Molly sighed. “Yeah, well, that’ll never happen. Not as long as I live at home.”

“You know, the fact that you don’t have your own sim deck in this day and age is almost criminal. Someone should report your dad for child abuse, denying his kid virtual reality.”

Molly sighed. Never mind the sim deck—the virtual reality video game system that every three-year-old kid was given by his or her parents—at her house they didn’t even have a Smart TV. There was just a small, thirteen-inch black-and-white television sitting on a stand in one corner of their living room. It
was the kind of TV they’d made last century, when television was first invented. It was almost as bad as having no TV at all. It got thirteen stations from bent, rabbit-ears antennae her dad had jury-rigged from a coat hanger. And none of the thirteen ever had anything worth watching, just crackpot broadcasts by old technology enthusiasts and something called “I Love the Aughts” reruns by a station called VH1.

When she was younger, she’d begged her dad for a Smart TV like all her friends had hanging in their living rooms, the ones where you could inject yourself into the show, become a character. But time and again her dad had explained that those kinds of televisions were dangerous. After all, there was no way to tell what programs the government had put inside of them, what the interactive devices were doing to your brain. Weren’t the higher-ups involved enough in their lives? he would ask her. Molly supposed he was right.

“I’ve got to kick you out,” Erin said apologetically. “Gotta hit the doctor’s office this afternoon. I’m…I’m getting my LTF! Can you believe my parents finally said yes? How rocking is that?”

“Lucky you,” Molly said.

An LTF. A License to Fuck. It wasn’t the official name, of course, but that’s what all the kids—and, Molly knew, quite a few adults—called the Copulation Conditional. Kind of a stupid name, but what did the government expect when they started legislating people who could have sex and requiring you get a license?

The AIDS vaccine had been the biggest scientific breakthrough of the 21st century, if also the most controversial, especially after the United Nations exerted their newfound global legislative powers and made it mandatory for everyone in their majority. It made sense, after Africa was decimated by the disease’s resurgence in the early twenties. The virus had mutated, rendering the formerly effective drug cocktails useless. And now, from the richest Upper East Sider in New York to the poorest bushman in Australia, everyone over eighteen was required to be vaccinated. Not that anyone sane
would want to have sex with a partner who might be infected. Everyone knew how virulent the disease was, and how gruesome its effects. How could they not know with those UN Biological Division advertisements playing 24/7 on every media outlet? Even if you didn’t agree with the laws against unlicensed fornication, it was safer to stick to those partners who had their CCs.

The vaccine was available for those younger than eighteen, too, but because of certain complications with children in early tests—as well as moral objections across the more religious sectors—it eventually had been left up to the parents to decide about inoculating their families. And Molly’s dad had said “no way” without even offering a reason why. Not that Molly had argued with him over it much.

“Does Drew have
his
license?” Erin asked.

“Yup. And he’s not happy about me having to wait, let me tell you.” Molly slid her VR goggles into their protective case and handed them back to her friend. “He thinks we should just hook up anyway.”

“You mean, break the law?” Erin asked.

It wasn’t too likely they’d get caught. Molly knew that there’d been problems like this through the ages for youngsters in love and ready to do the nasty. It wasn’t exactly like the sex police were going to come and get her, though the penalty for people caught having sex without a license was pretty severe: extended quarantine to make sure you didn’t have a disease or unauthorized pregnancy, and exposure through the media for ridicule and contempt. But that wasn’t her biggest issue. She just wasn’t in love.

Erin shook her head. “What’s your dad’s deal, anyway? I mean, he’s a doctor of some sort, right? He should be all for vaccinations and stuff.”

Molly shrugged. Her dad was a medical researcher/scientist whose early claim to fame was the invention of special cybernetic implants used to turn a platoon of human soldiers into robotic murder machines. The implants had made them stronger, faster, and better at killing. Which they’d proceeded
to do for three years, he’d told her. Deployed by the government to sweep into conflicted territories and murder men, women, and children without effort or remorse, they’d killed and killed and killed until finally those opposing governments waved their white flags and gave in to all demands. They’d been used in the Middle East and Africa, mostly. Wherever they went, things changed. Mission accomplished.

Ian Anderson hadn’t taken this quietly, of course. Learning of some of the shadier situations his soldiers had developed, about the devastation his inventions caused, he’d quit his job and joined a militia group, rallying against the government for which he’d once worked. It hadn’t helped when the platoon of soldiers went mad and killed each other, either. Breaking into his former labs, he’d destroyed all of the prototypes and plans and then set fire to the building itself in order to ensure these creatures could never be built again.

“What had he expected?” one prosecutor had asked at his trial, as well as a number of newspaper reporters. What had he thought would be the use of super-powered soldiers? He hadn’t answered, but Molly knew that her father had expected the creations to protect the people. He’d been trying to help, and the government had turned his inventions against him. He still muttered about it while he was working.

His years in prison hadn’t helped his anger, either. Molly was embarrassed to admit it, but her father’s cellmate had convinced him that the end of the world was near. Ian talked about it often, and had decided he needed to start making arrangements. Armageddon was on its way, and the Andersons would be ready. Not even his wife had been able to dissuade him from preparing. Molly was torn between admiring her father’s genius and horror at what the rest of her school would think if they knew him. She never brought up that her father’s lawyers had used his mental instability to eventually have him released back into the world. He’d been going to the court-appointed therapy, even if he never talked about it.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Erin said, patting her friend’s shoulder. “It will suck not to fuck.” She cracked up at her accidental rhyme.

Molly rolled her eyes, having one of those moments where her friend seemed like a character out of one of the old movies they watched—and not one of the “good” kids. But she knew better. Erin
was
good, and she was the odd one. Everyone wanted to have sex these days, and there wasn’t much reason not to, as long as you were safe; it was one of the few physical outlets people enjoyed. Erin was a good friend. Molly didn’t know what she’d do if they didn’t have each other.

“Meh. No biggie,” she said with a sigh. “Drew and I will manage. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything. Talk to you later.”

“Later, girlie.”

Molly tried not to think about Drew pressuring her for sex as she headed up the basement stairs and into the main house—and then she tried not to think of the differences between her family and everyone else’s. Erin’s family wasn’t rich by any stretch, but they had all the latest gadgets: the refrigerator that reminded you which groceries you needed, the music system that sensed who was in the living room and adjusted its music accordingly. Of course, Molly didn’t have an iChip like everyone else and so it remained on “Sounds of the Twenties” classic electronica that had been all the rage in Erin’s parents’ generation as she passed through. It had no idea of her secret love for music from the 1980s…which was perhaps for the best. Hearing “I Want Your Sex” would have just depressed her.

Walking out the front door, she squinted into the bright afternoon light and gazed around Monroeville, their suburban South Carolina subdivision. The sun was high in the sky and a slight breeze was the only relief from its heat. Still, life could be worse and she knew it. She had friends and a boyfriend. She was liked at school. Her grades were good. There were people much worse off than her, and all she had to do was look in the news to see them. She should be thanking her lucky stars every day.

She headed down the street, passing Chris Griffin’s house
and wondering if he was still playing virtual basketball in that sim or if he’d quit when she exited the game. His silly crush was getting very annoying. She’d have to talk IRL to him sometime soon. In Real Life talks were important.
Everything
in real life was important, her dad was always reminding her, which was another of the reasons he was so down on sims. She knew he was right. She would have to face Chris eventually. He just wasn’t getting the hint, kept insisting they were meant to be together. But they weren’t. After all, she had Drew. He was just going to have to accept it.

She arrived home to find her mother sitting at the table looking through some mail.

“Hey, Ashley,” she said with a wink. “What’s going on?”