Elites of Eden, Page 2

  “I think the EcoPan does it to make us feel a little more normal,” Hawk muses. “I mean, look at this.” He fiddles with the controls of his Egg and suddenly we are surrounded in a panorama of a Snow Festival from many years back. It must have been before I was born. The clothes all look out of date, the sort of flowing, casual, free garments in muted colors I imagine our grandparents wore.

  The Egg is designed to give students a full immersive experience. I don’t even know why we have teachers, really. They could just program our lessons into the Egg and take the rest of the day off. Inside the Egg, the temperature drops, and despite the singing and cheers of the crowd that seems alive around me, there is a hushed feeling. I’m right there, in the crowd, the darkness kept at bay by lamplight. My senses are sure of it, even if my mind knows it is all an illusion. I can’t help but smile when an elderly woman next to me raises a wide-eyed baby up into the air, holds out its chubby little hand to catch a snowflake. Hawk hits another button, and the scene shifts jarringly to a frozen artificial pond, solid for one night only. Couples glide awkwardly on its surface, and the Egg drops a VR hood over my head and makes me feel like I’m skating alongside of them.

  When Hawk turns it off, I’m breathless. The Egg has returned to ambient temperature and is just a machine again, its delusions hidden. But my cheeks feel raw and rosy from the recent cold.

  I shake my head against the unexpected sensation of exhilaration. I’d meant to make myself feel better by making someone else feel worse. Instead, the person I’d meant to hurt for entertainment, for power, for practice, has made me feel alive. Happy, I’d almost say.

  Why does that feel like a novelty? Aren’t I always happy? What reason do I have to not be happy? I have everything.

  I feel a strange uncertainty, and it makes me angry. So when Hawk leans close and asks me for the first dance at the school Snow Festival tonight, I lift my chin haughtily and snap, “I’m not going to that stupid kids’ party. My friends and I have other plans.”

  We don’t, and I know we’ll be there because we’ve been planning our outfits forever. But at the end of class Pearl slides up to me.

  “Did you hear, the outer circles are having a contest for king and queen of the Snow Festival. The winner gets money, and a night in the innermost entertainment circle.”

  I’d heard something about it. “An effort to boost morale among the lower classes, right?” I ask, not really interested.

  “Exactly,” she says. “And what do you think they’re going to do with all that morale, huh? Start making decisions? Wanting things above their station?” She laughs derisively. “No good can come of letting outer circle proles get their hopes up about . . . anything. Why let them into our circles, even for a night? Next thing you now they’ll be wanting their kids to go to Oaks!”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Pearl,” I say uncertainly. Pearl cares far more about these things than I do. But she probably has a point. “But what can anyone do about it, if the powers that be have authorized . . .”

  She silences me with a look. “Oh, you sweet little thing! I am the powers that be.”

  * * *

  THE LAST CLASS of the day is a tedious hour of Earth Stewardship, where one of the Brothers dozes while our Eggs instruct us on the finer points of geology. It is just starting on something called fracking, where people, not satisfied with destroying the Earth’s crust, began bikking up the inside of the planet, too. We haven’t gotten very far, though, when the bell tower chimes the end of the school day, and we jet out of our Eggs faster than the Brother can jolt awake and shout, “To be continued tomorrow!”

  I love our bell tower, the Oaks carillon, the arrogance of those giant chimes looming over the campus. They boom our schedule out to half the inner circles, screaming to the world that we are the ones who matter. It is our waking and studying, playing and sleeping that count, not yours. So what if you want to sleep late? If carillon rings to wake Oaks students at 6 a.m., you have to get up, too.

  The last bells peals still echo over the elite heart of Eden as we run to our dorms. They are set up with two or three bedrooms around a common leisure room. Before I came to Oaks, Pearl was the only student with a private room, arranged through some scheming of her own, and no doubt her parents’ money. When I arrived mid-term, though, there were no spare dorm rooms, so an extra teacher’s room was converted for my use. I’m on the opposite side of campus and closer to their supervision, but my big bedroom, private bath, and little parlor for entertaining are the envy of all the other students. Particularly Pearl. She keeps mentioning to the staff how isolated I feel away from the student body, so I’m sure as soon as a shared dorm opens up I’ll be out. For now, though, it gives me a little something to lord over Pearl.

  Pearl grabs my hand and hurries me along with an uncharacteristic enthusiasm. We’re supposed to be above actually getting excited about anything.

  Usually we meet in her room, but today she drags us into mine. It makes me uneasy. Pearl likes to be in charge, at the pinnacle of everything, the cynosure of every eye. If she’s putting the attention on me, she must have a reason for it.

  “We’re going out tonight!” she says to the others, and explains her idea to steal the Snow Queen title from some undeserving outer circle girl.

  IT MIGHT NOT sound revolutionary, but it is. Oaks has very strict rules about leaving campus. It’s a boarding school, which in a way is kind of silly because every student is from one of the inner circles, nearly all from the innermost, nearest the emerald eye of the Center. We could walk to our family homes every night in a quarter hour, or hop an autoloop and be there in minutes. But the Oaks philosophy is that living together builds a community of leaders who will be able to work as a team to lead Eden in the future. Our fellow students are our families, more than our biological parents. We live, study, eat, and sleep together. No one in Eden has a brother or sister, of course, thanks to the strict one-child policy, but the student body of Oaks comes close.

  We can only leave the campus on a pass. The pass has to be authorized both by a parent and the school. Most of the students go home for a night or two every other weekend. I go every Friday night to visit my mom at the Center, where she works and pretty much lives. Families can also give permission for students to go out into Eden at night, to parties and clubs. The school isn’t crazy about this—they’d rather we stay in, studying or something else dismally dull—but they usually let us. We go out a couple of nights a week at least, to whatever club is most popular.

  However, it is a cardinal sin, and grounds for dismissal, to sneak off campus without permission.

  Usually it wouldn’t be a problem to get our parents to give us last minute permission and then hustle it through the school bureaucracy. Tonight, though, everyone is expected to be at the Snow Festival. It is a mandatory gala, an obligatory bonding moment we absolutely cannot miss.

  So when Pearl tells us that we’re sneaking out, even my jaw drops a little bit.

  “What’s wrong, Yarrow?” she asks, tilting her head to the side with that kittenish expression she uses right before her claws come out. “Don’t you like my idea?”

  I can feel the tension in the air. Lynx looks like she’s dying to say something that might push me in the wrong direction, in opposition to Pearl. She wants me to scoff at the idea, create a breach that she can slip into. But she doesn’t quite dare speak in case the balance shifts the wrong way. Copper is positively quivering, waiting to see what will happen. After an eternity, I say musingly, as if it is my own idea I’ve just come up with, “The school Snow Festival is so boring. I think we should look for something better to do.”

  Pearl flashes her feline grin, and it makes me feel like I just passed a killer test. Her approval is so hard to win, but when it comes, it feels like a blessing.

  “Thought you’d like it,” she says. “I’m glad, because we couldn’t do it without you.”


  She needs me! I feel proud, though a shiver of dread tickles my spine. We are known for getting up to some serious hijinks, but this is bigger than anything we’ve done before.

  “Oh, don’t look so worried, Yarrow,” she says dismissively. “The school makes a big deal about sneaking out, but it’s just for show. Come on, do you really think they’d expel us? The school’s entire reputation for greatness is based on having people like us attend. We give them prestige. If we get caught, then our parents will write a retroactive permission note . . . wrapped around a generous donation. We’ll be fine.”

  She’s probably right. I mean, that’s what money and power are for—to shield you from the bad things in life. Nothing bad has ever happened to me. It never will. I smile at Pearl, feeling suddenly safe, and part of this very special sisterhood that I know will last my entire life. “I’m down for whatever you want,” I assure her.

  Lynx—looking a little disappointed that there wasn’t more drama—is ready to get on board now. “Fantastic idea, Pearl!” she gushes. “But how are we going to get out?”

  “Leave that to me. Or rather, leave that to Yarrow.”

  When Pearl explains her plan, I feel a sick twist in my stomach. I can do it. Of course I can do it. It’s just . . .

  I gulp, but force a smile through tightly clenched jaws. “No problem!”

  While they talk about the details of the plan, I zone out, looking at the decorations around my room. I change décor every few weeks; I can’t decide what suits me. Right now, it looks like the inside of a psychedelic cave or a swirling galaxy of stars, the walls adorned with winking crystalline lights in shades of topaz, purple, and pink. They’re off now, but at night I can lie in my bed and pretend I’m floating in the middle of a nebula. Even when my eyes are closed I have visions of twinkling lights all around me, like they are imprinted on the insides of my eyelids. The multicolored crystal lights all around me feel familiar, safe.

  Then Pearl reveals the crux of her plan, and it startles me out of my daze. “We’re going to sneak out through the Temple.”

  The school campus connects directly to the Temple. It is supposed to remind us that we, the elite, have a special duty to the Earth. And of course, being good little children, we can visit the Temple whenever we like, to pray for forgiveness for the sins of our forefathers. Like it’s our fault the Earth was destroyed. The Temple is open to the outside world during the day. (When, let’s face it, there’s not much temptation to sneak out. Daytime is boring to the extreme. What, we’re going to join the commuters? Tour a factory assembly line? No, the night is our time.) But at night it is locked.

  When Pearl suggests sneaking out through the Temple, I can’t quite help looking at her like she’s crazy. Lynx gives a sly, secret smile. She foresees me getting caught, expelled, sees herself moving back into her old place as Pearl’s right-hand girl.

  “But there will be a Temple attendant at the entrance,” I remind Pearl.

  “Sure, but not at the other doors.”

  “But they’re . . .”

  “Past the Skyhall, in the priests’ private quarters.” Where anyone who isn’t a priest or priestess of the Temple is strictly forbidden to venture. This could turn out very badly.

  Despite my worry, I find myself looking forward to tonight. It will be a challenge, thrilling. Suddenly I feel oddly claustrophobic, like Oaks is closing in on me. That’s crazy. The campus is huge. Sure, it is surrounded by a high wall. But there’s nothing about it that should make me feel trapped.

  But all I say is “I better wear sneakier shoes, then. I don’t think stilettos are right for this job.”

  I can handle the risk in what Pearl proposes. It’s the other part I’m not so sure about. But of course I’ll do it. I’ll do it with a smile.

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT WE dress and prepare for the party as usual. We have to put in an appearance or the headmaster might get suspicious. It’s a small school, and if the most important, most popular people aren’t there, people will notice, and talk. Anyway, the plan depends on being extravagantly seen.

  I head to Pearl’s room, but when my hand is on the door I hear her talking to someone inside. Probably Lynx, plotting something against me, so I pause and listen. The voices sound really intense, but they’re talking too low for me to make out the words. One of them suddenly rises sharply, in a commanding tone, and I recognize the voice, but it’s not Lynx.

  It’s my mom.

  What on Earth is she doing on campus? Any why is she with Pearl? I press my ear closer to the door, but the door is unlatched and I accidentally shove it open an inch. The voices inside abruptly cease. A second later a scowling Pearl has flung the door open.

  “What the . . . Oh, it’s you. You’re early.”

  I look past her. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  She’d been sitting comfortably on Pearl’s bed. Now she uncrosses her legs and runs her fingers carelessly through her short blond hair. “I came to see you of course, darling,” she says lightly.

  “Yes, but why . . .”

  “Though of course Pearl reminded me that the Snow Festival dance is tonight, so I’ll come back another time.” She rises, her usual brisk and efficient self.

  “Okay,” I say, wrapping my arms around her when she comes in for a quick hug, holding on just a little bit longer than she does, as always. I want to ask her more, but she’s already out the door with a backward wave. Poor Mom. She hardly has time to see me. They work her to death at the Center. Well, she pushes herself hard. She has to, I guess. It’s her job to prevent insurrection and rebellion in Eden. Since there’s never been any, I guess she’s good at what she does.

  Still, I wish I could spend more time with her. More than once a week, every Friday night. My mom is the most important thing in the world to me. Mom is the one I love and trust, my touchstone.

  “Pearl,” I ask when Mom is gone, “what were you two talking about?”

  “Oh, just girl stuff,” she says. “Your mom has the best taste. I was going to wear those strappy sandals, but she told me that the silver pumps make my legs look longer.” She models the shoes, stretching out her shapely legs for me to admire. “Oh, and she gave me these earrings. Your mom is so bikking cool.”

  I feel a surge of jealousy. I want Mom to give me advice about my shoes. I want her to give me shiny presents like the green-faceted gems that wink from Pearl’s ears like tiny versions of the Center’s Eye. That’s the kind of stuff moms should do. I mean, she pays a lot of attention to me when I visit, asking about my dreams, my friends, what I do. Making sure I meditate and relax while I’m there. But I’d really like to do girly things with her occasionally. Get a mother-daughter manicure. Shop. We never seem to have time for all that.

  Maybe Mom is planning something really special for me, and she decided she needed my best friend’s help to plan it. Maybe she wants to do something over the next holiday, just her and me. Maybe she needs Pearl’s help planning a surprise. I feel a little shiver of excitement. Yes, that must be it. My birthday is coming up soon, and Mom wants to do something special. Why else would she have gone straight to Pearl when she visited, instead of to her own daughter? When I help Pearl put the finishing touches on her hair, I find I’m in a much better mood.

  * * *

  PEARL PAID THE band to play our favorite song when we walk in, cued by one of our minions who hopes to join our inner circle, though she never will. The campus is decorated with silvery snow made of shimmering metallic nanobots that float and soar around at knee level with their micro engines. They’re so glittering and pretty that they make the real snow look dull and dirty by comparison.

  Pearl looks like an ice sculpture in white-and-silver lace that hugs her body. Her shining, nearly white hair is piled high, with a few tendrils curling over her cheeks. Every eye is on her, but she doesn’t look at anyone in particular
, or even seem proud. At most, she looks mildly amused, on the verge of boredom. I hear sighs of envy, a few low, catty remarks.

  I was originally going to wear something fancy, but I modified my festival outfit to be more functional. After all, we might have to run, a thought that evidently doesn’t bother Pearl. I decided on a flippy skirt the color of mercury and thigh-high black boots, with a glimpse of silver tights flashing between. My top is made up entirely of black artificial feathers, smooth and glossy as a raven’s wing. I strut a half step behind Pearl. Any other time I’d be basking in the admiration, but tonight my eyes are on the door.

  The song changes and Hawk is suddenly at my side, stroking the soft feathers on my shoulder. “Hello, beautiful.” Just as I knew he would. Because he is in love, and people in love are so perfectly predictable. So easy to use.

  Everyone is watching Pearl, who has grabbed her man of the week—or hour—and pulled him to a tabletop. She’s gyrating on him, the ice queen showing heat, and even the disapproving Sisters and Brothers can’t tear their eyes away, though they’ll gently tell her to step down at any moment. Just not quite yet. She’s spectacular, and love her or hate her, no one can look away.

  Except for Hawk. He hasn’t even noticed her. Every drop of his attention is on me.

  Perfect.

  I pull him suddenly, almost violently, to me, pressing the length of my body against his. His eyes widen, but a second later he’s kissing me back. I grab his hand, move it where I want it, and it feels so right and so wrong that I’m not really acting when I suddenly shove him away and make a loud sound, part indignant squeal, part frightened scream, that cuts through the music.

  While Hawk looks at me in openmouthed bafflement, I back away, holding out my hands defensively. “How could you?” I wail loudly, and look around for someone, anyone, to help me in my pretend moment of terror. At once, Pearl is at my side.