Afterward, I lie on my bed with one arm flung over my forehead. My heart is racing. My friends come to check on me in the break between classes.
“How did you do it?” Pearl asks in naked admiration as she flops down on the edge of my bed. “Why aren’t you expelled?” No Are you okay? No How do you feel? I scoot over to give her more room.
“Yeah,” Lynx says. “I was sure we’d never see you again.” She smirks, and I smile back with dangerous sweetness.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Lynx?” My nausea and dizziness have passed, and I feel better now. No, not just better. Different. Stronger.
“So . . . spill!” Copper insists.
I start to tell my story, but almost right away Pearl starts to look bored. She even yawns. The second I’m done she says, “Well, that’s over now.” I can tell the attention has been on me for far too long. “Come on, break’s almost over. Ugh, Yarrow, you look horrible!” I run to the mirror, but I look the same as ever. Asymmetrically cut blond hair, strong jaw, high cheekbones, flat silvery eyes. I squint at my reflection. Do I look different? Maybe. I can’t tell how, though. Nothing outward has changed.
“Yeah, Yarrow,” Lynx sneers. “No more partying for you for a while. You look like a totally different person.”
“Hurry up,” Pearl says, going to the door. Expecting us to follow, as always. “We’re going to be late.”
I take one more look in the mirror, searching for any subtle difference, wrongness. No, I’m just me. Who else could I be? I smile confidently into the mirror. “I see you, Yarrow,” I whisper to my reflection, then trot obediently after Pearl.
PEARL IS THE kind of girl who needs a project. When she is in charge of Eden—as I’m sure she will be—she’ll be blissfully happy because there will always be huge, seemingly impossible projects for her to accomplish. In Oaks, though, she has to invent her own projects. Schoolwork is time-consuming but not exactly challenging. With a combination of intelligence and a network of people more than willing to help us on projects or even do our homework for us, the academic part of Oaks never really forces us to rise to the occasion.
So this beautiful bundle of energy and ambition is always searching for some new obstacle to overcome, some enemy to thwart. Sometimes her goals are risky, like when she talked us all into sneaking out last night. Other times they are frivolous, like when she lobbied to make high heels part of the mandatory dress code. But she is never happier than when she begins a campaign to make somebody’s life miserable. Like a pre-fail cat toying with a mouse, she chooses her victims for her own amusement, usually more on a whim than through any fault of their own.
Now, for whatever reason, she has taken a violent dislike to the new girl Lark. It is hate at first sight.
I have to admit, Lark has certainly sparked some extreme feelings in me, too.
“I asked around,” Pearl tells us at lunch, “and you’re never going to believe where she comes from. She’s an outer circle!”
“Everyone’s from the outer circles compared to us,” Copper says complacently as she picks at her noodles. Pearl gives her a lingering look of scorn, and I think that Copper isn’t going to be a member of our group for much longer.
“I don’t just mean the Third or Fourth Circle,” Pearl says. “I mean the actual slums. Her mother is some supplies manager, and her father!” she chortles, and we all lean forward, desperate to know. She makes us wait for a long moment before she finally says gleefully, “He works in the sewers!”
As it turns out, Lark’s father has actually risen through the ranks of wastewater management until becoming in charge of the entire water reclamation project for all of Eden. When you think about it, that’s an important job. Eden is a closed system. We have all of the untainted water left on the planet, and it has to last us for hundreds of years more, until the world has healed enough for us to return to it. Without men like Lark’s father getting filthy in underground pipes, Eden wouldn’t survive. So, not glamorous, but vital nonetheless.
Of course I don’t say this. I hardly even think it. All I can envision is a vast pool of sludge, and a deep feeling of revulsion at the thought of anyone having to dive into it. Ugh.
Lynx pounces on Pearl’s indignation, taking her side right away. “That’s disgusting!” she says, actually sliding closer to Pearl. The subtle dance of power. “Do you know, I thought she smelled weird. The stink of the family occupation must never wash off.” She leans into Pearl as they laugh together. Copper chuckles obediently, her mind clearly elsewhere.
I say nothing at first.
I didn’t smell anything bad when Lark was squeezed into my Egg beside me. She smelled like a warm field of sweet clover.
Pearl snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Well? Don’t you agree?”
Lost in my reverie, I’ve missed some important part of the conversation. “Of course,” I say, wondering what I’ve just agreed to.
“Then it’s settled,” Pearl says. “We’re getting that sewer rat out of Oaks and back into the outer circles where she belongs.”
“How?” I ask.
“Time will tell,” Pearl says. “Maybe we get her expelled. Maybe we make her so miserable she begs to leave.” She chuckles. “Maybe we make her go the way of Cinnamon.”
I suck in my breath. Cinnamon was before my time, but of course I’ve heard about her. She was a senior when Pearl first came to Oaks as a freshman. Cinnamon was the queen of the school, the Pearl of her generation. I don’t know exactly what happened. Maybe she insulted Pearl. Maybe Pearl hated her just for existing, for being in a spot she coveted. Whatever the reason, Pearl wasn’t there a month before Cinnamon hurled herself off the roof of the science lab. Sure, it was only two stories, but she smashed her legs and had to be in traction for a year. She never came back to Oaks. Never did much of anything after that, according to rumor. No one knows what Pearl did to her, but everyone knows she made it happen.
All because Pearl took a dislike to her.
Now it is Lark’s turn.
“We need to find out more about her,” Pearl says as she lays out her plans. “Get into her heart and soul, find out what her dreams are . . . so we can crush them!” She splays her fingers and then tightens them suddenly into a vicious fist. It looks like a parody of the holy Sign of the Seed. Instead of new life sprouting, she’s destroying it.
“So I’ve decided,” she declares in her imperial manner, “that one of us will have to befriend her. Not me, of course.” She gives a disdainful laugh. “Now, who shall it be?”
She appraises us one at a time. “Not you, Copper. You’re so soft you’d probably wind up actually liking that outer circle piece of trash.” She turns to Lynx. “You have an uncanny knack for insinuating yourself into groups.” Lynx beams . . . until she catches what Pearl really means. She stiffens as Pearl goes on. “You’ll say absolutely anything to make the person in charge like you, won’t you, little Lynxie?” She gives Lynx an I-see-right-through-you smile. Pearl likes having followers, but she wants them to know she’s aware of their fawning tricks. I’m glad Lynx doesn’t have her fooled.
Finally, Pearl turns to me. “Yarrow,” she says, and lets my name hang there.
In my head I fill in everything she could say about me. I adore her, I would follow her on any of her adventures, do anything she asked. She knows this, and also knows that I analyze this trait in myself, question it, am always tempted to resist it, but can’t. Lynx is easy to figure out. She sees a hierarchy and wants to be as high as possible on it. In me, though, Pearl doesn’t see ambition. What, then? A minion she might not always be able to control? A tool that could at any moment become a weapon? I don’t think she quite knows what she sees.
Sometimes, when I look at myself, neither do I.
“Lynx should definitely do it,” I say. Lynx looks at me suspiciously, wondering why I’d lay something good in her lap.
“Lark and I didn’t exactly get off to a good start. I don’t think she’ll buy it if I’m suddenly nice to her.”
I really don’t want to do it, even for Pearl. I keep remembering the roaring in my ears, a sound from within that seemed to drown out all thought. Just picturing Lark’s face makes me feel nauseous again.
But then I remember how I felt right after the sickness passed. Stronger, clearer, as if something unnecessary had been stripped away.
And that warm meadow smell of her . . .
“No, it should be you, Yarrow. Find her in the next class, apologize, and ask her to share your Egg. You’ll see. A girl like that will be so desperate for friends and acceptance that she’ll forget all about how you treated her and latch right on. You’ll have her eating out of your hand.”
What choice do I have but to agree?
I decide to be straightforward, and for the most part tell the truth. At the last class of the day I make a beeline for Lark and look her straight in the eyes with a big smile. “I’m sorry, you caught me on a bad day. I would have snapped at my best friend earlier, sick as I felt. But now I’ve gotten it all out of my system.” I mime vomiting, deciding that being gross will make me more accessible. Lark gives a nervous laugh. “Anyway, please forgive me. I feel better now, and if you want to share my Egg for this class I promise I won’t shove you out . . . or throw up on you!”
I hold out my hand, and though I see her own twitch toward it, she hesitates.
“Do you . . . remember me?” she whispers.
I search her eyes. Is she serious? While the primary qualification for Oaks is money and family, they also have reasonably high academic standards and they wouldn’t let in someone who is absolutely feebleminded. “Uh, yeah? We met before lunch. I’m Yarrow.”
She sighs gently, and finally holds out her hand. “Just checking,” she says with a quirky little half smile that makes me think of a small, hopeful animal. I take her hand . . . and electricity jolts up my arm. At least, that’s the way it seems. I let go quickly, gasping, and look down at my hand. For a terrible disjointed moment I don’t recognize my own skin. I know it like the back of my hand, people say, but whose hand is this? My palm tingles where Lark touched it. I hear the roaring again, quietly this time, a distant background ocean noise. A hint of nausea returns, but it doesn’t seem to originate in my stomach. It seems to be in my head. I feel a throbbing behind my eyes, pulsing painfully in time to my heartbeat.
“Are you okay?” Lark asks.
I shake my head, more to clear it than to say no, and try to force a smile. It must look ghastly, because Lark says, “Don’t worry. I won’t hold you to that promise not to throw up on me.” She slides into the Egg, and though part of me wants to flee to my room again, I follow her.
“Where did we leave off yesterday, class?” our Earth Stewardship instructor says. “Ah yes, hydraulic fracturing, known as fracking. Humans used to think that earthquakes were caused by the gods wielding lightning bolts and magic hammers and whatnot.” He gives a chuckle at mankind’s ignorance. “Later, they learned that earthquakes were natural phenomena. Science prevailed. And then . . . science went too far. To extract the riches of the Earth they injected liquid deep underground. Not only did this result in contamination of the water supply, it also did what once only gods or nature could accomplish: it made earthquakes. Imagine—man-made earthquakes! Humans became so powerful they could change the Earth itself. He settles back for a snooze and lets our Eggs take over. We watch—experience—the equipment that sent pressurized liquid into the planet’s very heart. We see streams turn black, plants die. And finally, we feel the Earth tremble up as if it were attempting to shrug humans off its very crust.
The Egg starts to vibrate, and projects loud cracking sounds like snapping bone. A foul sulfur smell fills my nostrils. I can hear students in other Eggs exclaiming in quick fear, followed by laughter when they remember this is just virtual reality. Suddenly Lark grabs my hand. “It’s starting,” she says under her breath. “I can feel it . . .”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, squeezing her fingers. “It’s not real. A real earthquake doesn’t feel at all like this.”
“It’s not that,” she gasps, her eyes wild and desperate. “It’s . . .” The juddering stops, the Egg is still. Lark exhales in a deep sigh. “I have a condition. Epilepsy. When the Egg started shaking I thought it was starting. We didn’t have Eggs at my last school.”
“Why did you change schools?” I ask, curious even beyond Pearl’s assignment.
“I . . . My father got transferred to the Center, and I begged to be allowed to come here. My family didn’t think it was worth the money, but I got them to agree to one semester, as a trial.”
“But why?” I press.
“Well, doesn’t everyone want to go to Oaks?” She shrugs as if it is obvious.
“I wouldn’t think so,” I say. “I’d think someone like you might have a hard time fitting in, making friends.” I say it without malice, straightforwardly.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she says, I think with more confidence than she actually feels. “I can fit in anywhere. And I don’t need friends, plural. If I get out of Oaks with just one friend, I’ll be happy.” Her gaze is so intense that I have to look away.
Our instructor is engaging us now that our Eggs have stopped their show. “Now that you’ve experienced an earthquake for yourself, can you imagine the magnitude of what our ancestors must have been doing, to induce such a dramatic . . .”
Without thinking, I interrupt him. “But that didn’t feel at all like an earthquake,” I say, leaning out of my Egg. “The last one didn’t quiver like that. The whole ground lifted up, like the Earth was taking a giant breath. And it was quiet. Like all of Eden was waiting to see what would happen next. At least, it was quiet until things started falling.”
I see almost every head lean out of its Egg and turn to look at me.
The professor looks confused. “The last earthquake? You mean, the last one you learned about in an Egg?”
“No,” I say impatiently. “The last earthquake. The one that happened . . .” I break off. How long ago was it? For a moment I remembered it so clearly, the way the ground lurched up, knocking my legs out from under me. The way the very air seemed to cleave in two.
“My dear,” he says. “There has never been an earthquake in your lifetime, or mine. Not in the whole history of Eden. The last earthquake felt by a human was before the Ecofail.”
“But . . . ,” I begin. I narrow my eyes, looking inward, searching memories that are dimmer than ever. I remember the way it felt. I remember the terror. I remember . . . trees falling. Trees? How can that be? There are no trees left on Earth.
Everyone is looking at me so strangely, like I’ve just lost my mind. Everyone except Pearl, who seems to be analyzing me, no doubt thinking this is some weird ploy to get into Lark’s confidence.
If it was, I couldn’t have planned it better. I duck back into my Egg, my cheeks flushed pink, my mind in confused turmoil. That’s when Lark whispers ticklishly into my ear, “I remember the earthquake, too. You’re not crazy.”
I refuse to look at her. I’m breathing so hard I feel like my chest will explode. Then she adds something that makes me feel weak and strong all at once.
“You’re not alone, Ro.”
“WHY DID YOU call me that?” I’m trembling, and I think it must be with rage. What else could it be?
“It’s your name,” she says simply.
“My name is Yarrow,” I insist. In the pre-fail days when there were billions of people, humans had last names. They had big families and worried about succession. Now, with only one child per couple and few family connections, we only have first names, which seems to make them more precious, more personal. I don’t want someone corrupting the only name I have.
“Sure, and Ro is a pretty nickname. Can I
call you that?”
“No,” I snap, but I want to hear that name on her tongue again, a thousand times. It feels like a caress. “Stop talking to me. You’re going to get us in trouble.” I stare straight ahead for the rest of class, but when we rise I catch Pearl’s eye and she gives a meaningful jut of her chin that means I better implement the rest of our plan: get Lark outside of Oaks tonight.
I don’t want to do it. Without having any idea what Pearl’s actual plan is, I know it is going to be something bad. Humiliating at the very least, and at the worst . . . I think of those rumors about Cinnamon.
But then it occurs to me, an inspiration. I can ask Lark out somewhere tonight, and then keep her to myself. I don’t have to let Pearl do whatever she’s planning.
It feels like a revelation. Ever since the first moment of meeting Pearl, when she almost instantly co-opted me, I’ve felt a visceral urge to please her. I feel twinges of that same sensation for the headmaster, Brother Birch, and also for the professors to a lesser extent. When I visit her, I feel it for my mom. It is a desire, a yearning, a hunger, to make these people happy. Perhaps for the first time, I question it. What did they do to deserve to be made happy by me? What is it about gratifying their whims that gives me pleasure?
Now, warring with that impulse, is a sudden mad desire to please myself. (But you have been happy, a little voice whispers in my head. You’ve had everything you’ve ever wanted, all your life. Why make waves?)
“Lark,” I say suddenly, too loudly.
“Yes, Yarrow,” she answers in her gentle voice.
“Come out with me tonight.” I phrase it like a command, and hope she finds she can’t refuse. “With us, I mean. We all have passes from our parents. Can you get one?”