Regenerate Read online

  “Mix things around?” I say. Pairing up? She means like for life. Are we really that old already? I feel my heart rate starting to pulse a little faster, but I try to appear calm. My eyes dart over to Raxtin, but he’s busy scowling in Lander’s direction. “Does that mean GAPs from here will get transferred out?” I ask.

  Zeph’s attention has drifted back to Lander and his story, but she still answers, albeit distractedly. “I don’t know. I guess it would make sense. Especially if they don’t have a Grand and aren’t paired off with anyone.”

  My nose stings like someone slapped me across my face. That’s me. Would they really transfer me out? A hard knot grips my throat and I can’t swallow any more food. I think the room is getting smaller and the gossiping voices louder. Everyone’s probably taking note of who’s alone and slated to be shipped out, and my name will be at the top of the list. I feel nauseous. I’ve got to get out of here.

  Chapter Four

  I robotically rise to my feet, trying to stay composed so I don’t betray my anxiety. “I gotta go,” I say to Zeph, even though I know she’s not listening to me anymore. “I’ll see you in final unit.”

  I slide away from the table and head for the doors. Hopefully everyone is too distracted to notice. Just before I reach the exit, I trip over the leg of a misplaced chair but catch myself. I straighten my shoulder pack and can feel at least one pair of eyes watching from behind.

  I don’t turn around, just keep heading for the door. If the person watching me hasn’t already noticed, I don’t want them to see my nose and eyes rimmed with the red of threatening tears.

  I swear under my breath when Lander strolls into my social studies unit. I’ve been very content with the only vacant seat in the room being the one next to mine. Until now.

  “Welcome, young Mister Finch,” says the projected instructor, Mrs. Krete. She looks young for being a Grand, and she moderates all the social studies units in the country simultaneously via Face Chat. She continues. “Let’s see, you are in the Arizona colony. Perfect. My chart shows there is a vacant seat at the back of the room, next to Ms. Gouch.”

  I duck my head and try to hide behind my hair as the small room of GAPs turn in my direction. Yep, vacant seat right here. Loser, party of one!

  “Lucky,” I hear the sassy blonde, Pollina, mutter like a curse.

  “What a waste,” whispers her freckle-nosed bestie, Ronilynn.

  Lander brushes his wavy blond hair out of his face and gives them both a pleased smirk and a nod of acknowledgment as he passes by. The moment he’s past, they turn to each other and whisper vigorously.

  Subtle, girls. Very subtle.

  As he slides into the seat next to me, I hide behind my hand and let my hair fall like a brown curtain between us. Then I doodle on my e-paper.

  Lander leans back and stretches with a sigh. “Think I just found my new favorite unit out of both days.”

  I try to inconspicuously peek at him through a break in my hair, but he catches me.

  He ducks close and whispers, “Good to see you again, Shrieker.” Then he winks so I can see it.

  I set my jaw and furiously scribble one stick figure strangling the daylights out of another. I punch in his seat location and hit send.

  From the corner of my eye, I see his paper light up. He glances down at it and chuckles, then writes something back.

  PLING goes the message alert in my earpiece.

  His retort pops up in the upper right corner of my e-paper. “Fighting works for me as long as we make up afterwards.” It’s accentuated with little kissy-face emoji.

  I glare. First at the emojis, then over at him. He twitches his eyebrow at me. The subtle smile on his lips makes me angry, partly because it’s really attractive.

  I turn back to my e-paper, considering what to write in response. Suddenly both our e-papers light up red with bold black font as a harsh alert beep sounds in our earpieces. The passing of notes during units is prohibited. Please finish all personal business at the conclusion of the unit or after school.

  I’m glad we’re at the back so there’s no one behind us to see the bright disciplinary red on our e-papers. I exit the message and click back to the textbook, turning to the correct page with my stylus.

  Great, it’s on the social collapse of the modern world and why the need for Grands. Really? Again? How many times must we hash over the fact that our parents’ generation—the Lost Generation—let themselves, most natural offspring they had, and society as a whole die? And all because they wouldn’t shut off, get off, or set down their devices—ever. I glare towards the teacher’s image. More than anyone, we GAPs have a firm grasp on this concept. Why make us wallow in it over and over?

  “And so test-tube children, the Artificial Generation, were created in an attempt to fill in this generation gap,” Mrs. Krete continues.

  Yeah, a completely failed attempt. I slide down into my chair, rubbing my temples. Just tell me when it’s over.

  She keeps droning on. Even with her power-point pictures it’s still boring. “Since the majority of Artificials did not have sufficiently functioning brains to make them useful, the project was soon scrapped and the Organizers initiated the GAP program.”

  I hate being talked about as a program. Nope, don’t refer to us as people; we GAPs are just an initiative. Glad they didn’t decide to scrap us too. Where is she going with this? Does she even have a point?

  Beside me, Lander clears his throat and shifts a little. “Doesn’t it make you wonder?” whispers Lander.

  I glance sideways at him. “What?”

  He points up to the teacher’s projection. “Why they even bother leaving us with the Lost Generation. I mean, why not just herd the Lost together and let Grands take care of us on their own? It’d be less complicated.”

  My entire body tenses and I have to carefully control both my tone and volume. “That’s an awful idea.”

  Lander rolls his stylus between his fingertips, watching the movement. “No it’s not. I think the Lost would even be happy. They could veg out to oblivion and the rest of us can get on with living without all that dead weight hanging around.”

  It’s like boiling water rushes up my neck and fills my face. “They’re our parents!” My whisper hisses past my teeth. “Lost or not. You don’t off a whole generation because they don’t turn out the way you think they should.”

  Lander’s entire essence shifts for a fleeting moment. His almond-shaped eyes widen, the sharp angles of his face seem to soften, and he looks completely disarmed. What about my words caused that reaction?

  He clears his throat with a small head toss, and just like that, all the vulnerability is suddenly gone again. He smirks, leans back in his chair, and cocks his head, watching me. “I didn’t say to ‘off’ them,” he corrects. “I said leave them to their devices.”

  I scowl and study him.

  His eyes pinch tight with a probing gaze that is both a challenge and, I think, a test. As he waits for me to offer a comeback, he pushes his tongue into his bottom lip, and I wonder what he thinks I’ll say.

  “You know as well as I do, that’s pretty much the same thing,” I answer.

  He tilts his head back and bites the inside of his cheek. “Maybe.”

  His cold logic and demeanor send a shiver down my spine. How can he be so level and sincere saying all that? Didn’t he care about his bio-parents at all?

  I curl forward and pretend to scroll the pages of my e-textbook. “Easy for you to say; you’ve got a relative taking care of you. Some of us don’t have that luxury anymore.” If they ever did what he’s suggesting, I’d be on my own. My chest feels like a belt is being cinched around it, and my breathing is more labored than it should be.

  His volume drops and his voice softens. “No. I don’t have anyone caring for me either.”

  Hearing him say that out loud—the “either” part—tears at the empty hole in my heart left behind when Gran died. As I try to inhale, a wheeze rattles in my l
ungs, making me cough.

  He puts a fist to his chin and watches me. “You all right?”

  I can’t draw a good breath. Each one feels more ragged than the last. Oh no, it’s my sixteenth birthday party all over again. At least the whole village isn’t watching right now. I grip the sides of my ribcage and shut my eyes. I focus on my breathing, just like the physician told me to do if this ever happened again.

  “Averi, are you all right?” Lander’s voice is firmer now, despite the distant quality to it.

  I shake my head but don’t try to verbally answer.

  The voice of a Sim nurse picks up in my earpiece and a Face Chat window pops up on my e-paper. “Averielle, one of your unit-mates signaled you are in distress. Are you well?”

  I don’t want to make a scene by trying to say anything out loud, so again I just shake my head.

  “Understood. A health assistant will arrive in three minutes and take you to the medical office,” the Sim nurse says.

  So much for not making a scene. My chest constricts tighter. Now everyone will be messaging that the White Coats were rushed in for Averielle Gouch, again. Breathe in, breathe out. I press my fingers like splayed claws over my chest.

  A warm arm slides around my shoulders with a gentle pressure, and Lander’s voice picks up beside me. “Never mind the assistant, I’ll get her there,” he says.

  “Averielle, will that be sufficient?” asks the nurse.

  Lander or the White Coats? A humiliating scene or owing someone who already calls me Shrieker. I bite my lip and nod briskly.

  His hand slips under my elbow and he helps me to my feet. I drop my hand from my chest, trying to draw less attention, but I can feel the panic of suffocation on my face. I can hardly think straight as he guides me out door.

  The halls, turns, and air lift to the office are a blur to me.

  “Deep breaths, Averi. Not too fast,” he says.

  Panic is making things really cloudy. “But I can’t—get—enough—air.” I gasp between each word.

  Lander’s voice is even and reassuring. “We’re almost there. Just another minute or two. Keep breathing slow and steady.”

  Hard to do when my lungs are closing off and the good-looking new guy in school has his arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

  My legs knock against the side of the exam table as I swing my feet out and back like a five-year-old. I hate being in the medical office. But the shot the medical bot gave me allowing me to breathe again is enough to get me to brave this place.

  The voice of the virtual doctor is both kind and patronizing at the same time. “Are your symptoms diminishing yet?”

  I fill my lungs and then slowly let out the air. Wow, that’s a nice feeling. “Yes, I feel much better. Thanks.”

  “Your vitals scan shows you are otherwise in good physical health. Do you know what brought on your symptoms?”

  Other than feeling stupid around the cute new guy who’s taken issue with keeping our bio-parents around? The beeping of my heart rate monitor spikes, and I glance towards the wall at the thin, squiggly line.

  “Nope,” I say.

  There’s a long pause. Maybe whoever is analyzing my responses doesn’t buy my answer.

  “This is the third anxiety-induced asthma attack you’ve had in less than two years. Averielle, how are you coping with the loss of your grandmother, Ann?”

  I stare down at my kicking feet and don’t bother looking up. “Fine.” I shrug my shoulders. What else am I supposed to say? She’s dead, I’m not. End of story.

  “Averielle, the rest of today’s social studies unit may prove a difficult topic for you. We don’t wish to jeopardize your health by putting you in further distress.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. No way will I go hang out in the tubers’ training hall till school gets done. I’d rather have another asthma attack. I might be a loser, but I’m not a brain-dead life form.

  “Fine or not, we’ve decided it best to send you home early today.”

  I exhale a heavy breath. Now that I’ll take. “Oh, I guess that would be good.”

  “Excellent. We’ve arranged for an escort to take you home.”

  Aaaand then there’s that. Really? Why can’t they let me save face and sneak home by myself? That’s right, ’cause we GAPs need vigilant “protection.”

  “A health assistant escort really isn’t necessary,” I say.

  “We agree. We’ve arranged for one of your unit-mates to walk with you.”

  This day is just pure awesomeness. Hopefully they’ll drag one of my friends out of their lessons for this.

  “We’ve arranged for Mr. Finch to see you home safely. He’ll be waiting in the foyer.”

  Lander. Of course.

  “Do you have any health questions?”

  I draw a long breath, trying to think of something to stall the inevitable. I got nothing. “No. I have no questions.”

  “Very well then. Have, have, haaaaave—” the bot’s voice glitches with a buzzing sound, then recovers—“a good day.”

  Weird. Guess I’m not the only spaz around here. And if I could manage to stop embarrassing myself, I’d have a great day.

  When I exit the exam room and enter the waiting area, a neon-rainbow-haired girl named Tish is flirting it up with Lander. She’s probably in here trying to get another prescription for Opallien. Her florescent, fluffy mini-skirt and thigh-high leg warmers scream “easy.” Gag!

  Lander is tilted lazily against the far wall, his long wavy hair framing the nice angles of his jaw. His wide, white smile flashes while Tish babbles on about something in a flighty tone.

  As I enter the room, his eyes pull away from Tish and over to me. His smile fades slightly and he straightens.

  Tish tosses her technicolored locks, turning to see what’s distracted her fresh meat. Her powder-blue-rimmed eyes narrow when she sees it’s me.

  He keeps his gaze trained on me and brushes past her, giving her arm a pat. “It was nice meeting you.”

  I divert my gaze and adjust the weight of my bag. He must be thinking, Sorry, hot chick, but there’s the moron I have to walk home. Seriously, why did they ask him to do this? Granted, being escorted home by White Coats would be super embarrassing, but Lander is either going to hate me or tease me about this forever. I never should’ve said he could be in our group.

  He slides around into my field of vision, catching me with his vibrant azure eyes. “You ready?”

  I nod and try to ignore Tish’s indignant gasp.

  This little jaunt is sure to stir up some gossip. Wonder when Mom’s going to hear about it? I can’t wait to hear the P.P.P. literature’s Courting and Dating Etiquette and Protocols. At least it’ll be something new. Zeph told me it’s really awkward, and I can only imagine.

  The cool air hits my face with a pleasant nip. I take long, deep breaths, grateful I’m able to fill my lungs again.

  We walk our bi-peds in silence for a while.

  Lander is the first to break it. “So I’d better just admit upfront I had an ulterior motive in volunteering to walk you home.”

  He volunteered? Oh boy, now what? “No kidding. I wouldn’t doubt that. What was your motive?”

  “I wanted an excuse to get out during school hours.” He slows his walk and swings one leg onto his bi-ped then looks back over his shoulder at me. “Of course, it was also to get some decent one-on-one time with the prettiest girl in school.”

  Probably best to leave that alone. I clear my throat. “Why do you want the excused absence? What are you wanting to do during school hours?”

  He turns his burning blue eyes on me, and they’re dancing with mischief. “Hop on your bi-ped and follow me. I’ll show you.”

  I kinda wish I could. “The doctor said I can’t ride for the rest of today.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh, Averi, are you always going to let them tell you what you can and can’t do? How are you going to know what you’re capable of if you never try living?”<
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  My mouth drops. “I don’t always let them tell me what I can and can’t do.”

  “Good, then let’s go.” And with that, he pushes off the ground and races away.

  I watch as his toned, lean silhouette gains some distance. My fingers find the handles of my pruners and absently test their spring several times. The Organizers don’t always get to say what’s best for me. I swing my leg over my bi-ped and follow.

  Chapter Five

  As we ride, we pass the occasional Grand out for a walk or jog. They wave to us, and I wave back. Lander doesn’t wave at first, not until after the first few times. Do they not wave to each other in Colorado?

  “It sure is a gorgeous day,” says Lander. He looks about himself as if being outside is something rare and wonderful.

  My eyes glance at the trees, hoping to catch them fully striking their vibrant, rusty colors. I wish they weren’t engineered to drop all their leaves at once. “Yeah, it is. I love the fall weather.” I swallow hard and stare down at the road’s surface. “It used to be my favorite.”

  Lander glances back at me. “Used to be? Fall still happens every year.”

  “True.” I clear my throat and try to focus on moving my feet. “Stuff happened a few years ago that kind of ruined it for me.”

  He draws a deep, self-satisfied breath. “That’s a shame. Maybe someday you’ll choose not to let it ruin fall for you anymore.”

  Ouch! Does he even realize how rude that is? “I’m not choosing to let it; it just happened.”

  We reach the edge of the village shopping and dining zone and turn off the paved street onto a narrow path of rammed earth. It goes slightly downhill and takes several sharp turns.

  “Right,” he says over his shoulder. “And the past can do what to you now?”