Seneca Rebel (The Seneca Society Book 1) (2 page)

***

I was so deep into re-living what had happened two days back, that I missed the BoomJet's initial descent. There was no time to prepare. With uncanny speed we plummeted towards the earth at forty-five degrees, and then made a hard turn, parallel with the off-white concrete runway. A hollow thump and we landed, doing at least two hundred miles-per-hour. I was nearly suffocated by the restraint of the belts. My breath accelerated. We made a fast and abrupt, but considerably smooth, stop. I could breathe again.

Like I said, I was a BoomJet virgin. It kind of hurt, it went by super quick and before I had a chance to really enjoy it, it was over. We'd taken off from Los Angeles and landed on the outskirts of the nation's capital in forty-eight minutes flat. Before I left, my mom said that the last time she'd flown to the east coast, it had taken nearly ten times as long. As I tried to imagine her reaction to the crazy-fast trip I'd just taken, I realized how much I missed her already.

2

A
MATTE
BLACK
SpaceFlex Passenger Flight Vehicle sat on the tarmac. What I wouldn't do for one of those. Ellen Malone stood up and smiled. "That's us."

"Awesome!" I thought, and followed Ellen off of the BoomJet without saying a word. I was dizzy and my legs buckled.

"Are you okay?"

"Amazing." I stood up straight. I didn't want her to see me weak, but that had been some intense G-Force. Ellen was fine, like she'd done this a million times. She straightened a crease in her blazer.

For the past three years the world had been crumbling all around me, but now it seemed someone was championing me. Ellen Malone. Although the jury was still out on her motivation, and the idea of reform school made me wince, I felt elevated here.

Next thing you know I was back in the air– this time, in a flighter amongst the affluent folk of metropolitan Washington, D.C. The airways just above the highways and roads had become transport paths for flighters after the federal government had approved the bill a few years back. Of course, it was made completely unaffordable to ninety-nine percent of the population, and since I didn't have a license and my mom had no idea I was a millionaire, the only time I had experienced flighting was when I’d hot-hacked a flighter with my best friend, Julie.
 

That had been one seriously ill-fated joyride on a sweltering day back in May. We’d cruised over the 10 Freeway, and I veered off to pull some tricks between a stretch of decrepit, old Mediterranean-style stucco buildings in overpopulated, underprivileged hoods, where no other flighters ever went. We were doing about fifty, level with the roofs. People saw us and were cheering out their windows. Julie was egging me on like crazy. We always instigated each other to push the limits. I dropped us towards the road, just above the first story of the buildings, and then gunned it straight towards one of them. "Waaahoo!" I shouted. No fear. Julie screamed, braced herself in her seat, and just as we almost smashed into the first floor, I pulled back and we jetted straight up the side and into the sky, where we were met by the flighter cops. Busted in a stolen flighter just two weeks before my sixteenth birthday. I did two weeks in juvie, three months of community service and my license was revoked until I turn twenty.

The upside was that while my classmates were inside being lectured on flighter technology, I was outside experiencing it firsthand. I still don't get what's so wrong with that. In any case, my mom did. She was pissed beyond belief. It was just another event in a long series of me getting in trouble. It was so worth it. My school counselor and administrators were convinced I was acting up because I had lost my dad. I maintain that it was because everyone around me was so boring, that I needed to be proactive and inventive in order to have any fun.
 

But this unpredictable excursion with Ellen Malone,
this
I would classify as fun. From the moment we touched down in Virginia, I had the feeling that life would never be the same. I’d never been east of The Rockies, let alone to the other side of the country. This was a whole new horizon. For starters, the landscape was a stark contrast to what I was used to. Los Angeles' glory days were long gone. My parents would tell me stories of a top-notch tourist destination that had slipped into an abyss of overpopulation and filth. Broken roads overridden with traffic around the clock. Baywatch waves covered in dudes and babes would be considered folklore if there weren't countless images to prove their existence. From Malibu to Hermosa, the ocean water was just too polluted to swim in now.

Unlike every single metropolis across the globe, the air was clean here in Virginia, the roads paved to perfection. Smooth and black. And as we cruised above the endless river of traffic that carved its way through the tall sea of deep green trees, I saw something we most definitely did not have in LA. An elevated, four-lane roadway built in translucent concrete. Ellen saw that I was fixated on it. "The Smart Road. It runs above Route 66 into downtown Washington, D.C., as well as down Highway 81 to Blacksburg, Virginia, where the technology was first researched, blueprinted and constructed for many years before stretching thousands of miles across the country," she explained. "Some of the session leaders you’ll be meeting were recruited out of the institutions that developed this sustainable transportation system. If we get a little closer, you'll see the law enforcement vehicles, traffic and weather collection devices, medical units and commercial freight trucks traveling on it in automated, unmanned vehicles."

"I've seen footage of it. In LA we'd be lucky to drive one block without hitting a pothole. It makes no sense. I mean, people in LA pay taxes too. Or at least, they did."

"Taxes have nothing to do with this. It's privatized. We have Flexer Technology Corporation to thank for this."

"Hmm." I pulled my little blue flexer from my ear and twirled it between my fingers, suddenly getting that its role was way more complex than simply providing me with personal computing functions. The Smart Road was fascinating. Optical fibers the size of pins composed the entire roadway, and let us see straight down through it to the road below.

I looked around at the areas beyond the road itself. It was the end of September in Virginia and fall was creeping in. I'd always heard of "seasons" and now I was starting to feel it. Even though I hadn't experienced the infamous hot and humid east coast summer that had just rolled out, I could taste autumn rolling in. A cool, thick dankness lingered in the air, penetrating straight to my bones. Made me want some warm apple cider. I wasn't in Los Angeles anymore.

The flighter exited into a wooded area and landed us in the driveway of an imposing colonial-style mansion. White pillars. Red brick. I was so excited I don't think I blinked. This was a highly secured girls' ambassador house, where tucked away behind a thick grove of leafy trees, I would be staying for my pre-orientation. Ellen and I got out of the flighter.

"Welcome to Great Falls." Ellen was genuinely pleased to see that I was in awe. How could I not be? This place was unbelievable. Pristine, manicured lawns surrounded the estate, engulfing it in unending wooded serenity. Tufts of puffy, water-colored clouds traveled slowly in the pale blue-gray sky. The noise of the 405 was replaced with what I guessed were the soothing tones of crickets and bullfrogs, though I'd never heard those sounds in real life. I'd only seen places like this in pictures and movies. We were less than fifteen miles from the nation's capital but it felt like I was in a dream, floating in a kind of peace I’d only imagined until now.

"Let's go inside and get you settled."

Ellen had a nice voice. Melodic and warm like she could have been a blues singer in another life. My heart raced as I followed her through a terra-cotta red front door that was hit smack in the center of this perfectly symmetrical home. But my guard was up. I thought I’d been sent here because of all the acting out I’d been doing, and yet I was getting the red carpet treatment. It didn't add up. But until I had a reason not to make the most of what looked like a pretty sweet situation, I would.

Thirty-foot ceilings. Cotton ball-colored walls. Crisp light. Dark cherry wood floors so pristinely polished it looked
 
like they'd never been walked on. A brass chandelier hung from the ceiling. Lights twinkled through its crystals, and just beyond it, a girl appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Jennifer, come down and meet our new guest."

I stared as a super sophisticated looking teenage girl descended from a grand staircase that wound down into the foyer. Textbook posture. Hair pulled back in a perfect French braid, impeccably fitted preppy clothes from head to toe and a striped silver silk scarf draped from her long neck. Not your typical reform school girl, I thought to myself. She slid her hand delicately down a solid wood railing that was as thick as a Boa constrictor.

"Hi. Jennifer Wallingsford. It's a pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand and waited a beat for my name. It hit me that this was the daughter of Congressman Frank Wallingsford.

"Hi." I was intimidated for the first time in longer than I could remember. "Dorothy." No idea why I said my whole first name. I never do that. Her dad was one of the most powerful men in the country, so that made her one of the most powerful daughters in the country. Actually– the entire world. I wondered what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into to end up here.

"Doro is here from LA for a pre-orientation. We hope to have her join us this fall."

"Nice. Well, make yourself at home. I'm headed to my parents' house for dinner, but let me give you my contact info in case you need anything. Please, don't hesitate to flex me."

"Cool– great, that's cool. Thanks." I whipped my flexer out and pressed it against hers to swap contacts. Was this really happening? Her flexer was a flat, palm-sized red reflective mirror. Mine was currently set as a blue tune-plug since I’d been mellowing out to Bob Marley while waiting for the BoomJet to lift off, and hadn't morphed it since then.
 

Ellen was cool, calm and collected. I tried to emulate her vibe. She spoke to Jennifer with the ease of an old family friend.

"Thanks, Jennifer. Please tell your dad I'll see him first thing tomorrow to debrief him on my LA trip."

Was she using the word "debrief" in reference to me? She must have been.

Jennifer's eyes seemed sincere as they gently locked on mine before she headed out. "There are some spritzers and peaches I just put in the fridge, cacao in the pantry. Help yourself." She spoke with a confidence that was completely devoid of the notorious Capitol Hill arrogance. It completely blew me away.
 

I was feeling pretty darn important at this point and couldn't wait to get my hands on that cacao, though I've never heard someone my age use the term "spritzer." Just go with it, I told myself, not sure just how much cooler things could get. Man, was I in for something else.

3

T
HE
CRICKETS
AND
frogs sounded like they were amplified onto loud speakers that faced my room. It helped soothe my nerves, as I lay awake in bed all that night. I couldn't get a second of shuteye, anticipating the next day's itinerary. This was all happening BoomJet fast.

One of the rules of coming on this pre-orientation trip was that I was not allowed to call anyone from back home, including my mom. I missed her and Killer so much. We had not been apart like this ever before. Julie just wasn’t going to believe any of this, but I had to wait until I went back home for a visit before I could tell them all about it.

Despite only one good hour of sleep, I was considerably wired first thing in the morning. I could hear stirring in the house, but compared to the noise of the rat race I was used to, it all sounded peaceful. Hair dryers, showers, forks clinking on plates... usual sounds in an unusual place. Still, I didn't see a soul as I peeked my head out the bedroom door. I made my way to the bathroom Ellen had shown me the night before.

An hour later I was downstairs with twelve other teenage girls. They were all dressed in blue uniforms and were totally in the groove of getting up and out the door. Jennifer was there with another girl. My gaze lingered on her for a moment. I still couldn't believe I was living in the dorm where Jennifer Wallingsford stayed. She looked just as put together as she had the night before. She turned her head in my direction and as our eyes met, I quickly looked away.

"Dorothy."

Holy crap, she remembered my name.

"How was your first night?"

"Great. Slept like a baby." I don't know why I lied. I wanted her to think I was comfortable here. I mean, I was, but people generally equate lack of sleep to anxiety and all the things that come with that. Just like my dad though, I didn't need much sleep. My mind was naturally caffeinated and it just carried my body along for the ride. Especially here in absurdly gorgeous Great Falls.

Ellen had instructed me to take the flighter bus with the rest of the girls, where I would be met by a student representative whom I would shadow for the day. I found myself moving through the front doors of the mansion with the pack of girls in blue. I was in my Nirvana tank. It was a bit chillier than tank top weather but I just had to rock it. No doubt I stood out. I hadn’t had time to wash it before I’d come on this trip, but it was sort of like my security blanket. It still smelled like coffee, too, which was both a comfort and a major tease because I needed one bad.

"Wasn't Kurt Cobain that singer who shot himself in the head?" Jennifer's friend inquired with a scowl hidden beneath a sour smirk.

I looked down at my shirt, "He was."

Jennifer's sour friend gave me a look as if it was
me
, not Kurt, who’d shot myself in the head– right in front of them.

"McKayla, this is Dorothy Campbell. She just got here from LA."

I didn't want to know McKayla, but if she was a friend of Jennifer Wallingsford, I wasn't going to oppose.