Elite

“Are you sure there is nothing I can get you?” Jules asked for the dozenth time that morning. Sylvie had held onto her feigned illness with two hands, partially because it was nice to be catered to so sincerely, but mostly as a distraction for the questions she knew Jules really wanted to ask.

The ones that Sylvie was in no way ready to answer.

“I’ll be fine,” Sylvie said, patting the girl’s hands where they tugged obsessively on the thin blanket tucked at Sylvie’s waist. “It’s just a little bug.” Jules nodded, but Sylvie could still see the uncertainty etched into the girl’s fine features.

“I’ll send Anne to check on you,” Jules said. “Please get some rest.”

Finally, she resolved herself enough to head for the door, but not before casting one last distressed look Sylvie’s way. While a “sick day” was practically obsolete in New Eden, Sylvie realized the bearing they must have on the people here. Sick one day could mean gone the next. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt for using illness as a means to manipulate her friend.

Friend.

It was true. Jules was her friend—the realization of which only made her claim of stomach pains immediately feel legitimate. Rising from her bed, Sylvie shrugged her shoulders as if to shake off the feeling and then followed Jules’s footsteps out the door.

Sylvie made quick work of the hallway before ducking into the bathroom, pleased to find it empty. She bolted the door behind her and leaning back against its hard surface, tried to block out her memories of the place. It was almost like a memorial of the conflict that had dragged her away from the celebration the night before and plagued her with the struggle between nightmares and wake throughout the night.

Who was the true Rebel?

Was it Jack? With his kind words and heroic acts? Or Rex? The hardened and violent, angry boy? And who was she? Sylvie cringed when she thought of the way she had treated her Scab, Emma, back home. How many times had she gone out of her way to make the girl’s vacant life more difficult? Or made her the punch line of a shallow jab? She didn’t have to count to know it was far too many.

She was no better than Rex. The only difference was she had been more creative in her cruelty. The large, empty room suddenly was too small and Sylvie could feel the hot prick of shame cover her body. She crossed the room to the sink and turning on the old facet, brought the cool water to her face.

She wanted to wash it all away, but when she lifted her eyes to the age-speckled mirror, there it was staring right back at her—the mark of what she was. Her ebony lashes laid in precise little half moons across her cheeks, which were only made more appealing by the natural flush that accompanied what GeneticCosmetics held frozen in place.

In the past, the perfect picture would have sent her satisfaction through the roof, but now it only mocked her with its inability to hide the flaws below the surface. Not even New Eden’s OPTICS could change that kind of ugly.

Sylvie stepped away from the mirror, eager to put some distance between herself and the reflection. She considered returning to her room to wait out the day hiding under the covers, but she knew if Rex caught wind she wasn’t in the clinic that would be the first place he would look for her. And while she was beginning to feel like she deserved his brutal treatment, she would rather not face it at the moment.

So instead, Sylvie slipped noiselessly from the bathroom and down the hall directly adjacent to the door. Passing the old storage closet she had found on her first day, she considered seeking solace among the clutter, but a twin pair of sunlight patches at the end of the hall caught her eye.

There, the doors opened to the large field behind the old school house. Sylvie had caught glimpses of it the past few days and as far as she knew, it wasn’t used for anything. That fact, combined with the bright blue of the sky outside, made her decision for her.

A burst of wind greeted her as Sylvie opened the heavy door, the strong gust swirling her jet-black hair around her like ink spilled in water. It made her feel alert as she scanned the open expanse for any sign of someone who may disturb the solitude she was seeking. Finding no one, Sylvie crossed the grassy stretch until she came to a large metal structure situated on the perimeter of the grounds.

She had spotted it peeking out over the building the day they had arrived and had wondered about its purpose. Seeing it up close now, Sylvie recognized the structure from one of the virtual reality simulations back home. She knew it had once been seating for spectators in real life sporting events. Sylvie had never quite understood the appeal of watching grown men clobber one another, but she was thankful for the tradition now. The lofty stands gave her a perfect perch where she would be able to see anyone who approached her in enough time to get away if she wanted.

Taking the steps two at a time, Sylvie made her way to the top and nestled herself back against the corner railing. The bars were thick with rust that came away on her hands, but Sylvie had long since accepted that cleanliness had its limitations outside of New Eden. She wiped off her palms on the leg of her pants until they came away clean and reached into her pocket for the book Jack had given her.

She had not dared look at it in Jules’s presence, but when she opened the tiny volume to the page marked with twine, she though for a moment she should have. “The Birthmark,” Sylvie said, reading the title out loud. She couldn’t help but think of Jules and something told her that was the point. She hesitated, sure what she was about to read would only make her feel more terrible about herself than she already did, but the voice of her curiosity had always spoke louder than any of caution.

Soon, her eyes tore across the pages, soaking up the words like a thirsty sponge. The tale of science and love could not have been more poignant if it had been written for Sylvie herself. The imperfection of the character Georgina’s birthmark had been what made her human. Without it, she attained perfection and was no longer fit to live in this world. Sylvie felt the protagonist, Aylmer’s, shame for she too had always sought perfection for herself and in others. While she knew the story was symbolic, the lesson had been learned.

She wasn’t supposed to be perfect.

Once again, Jack had given her exactly what she needed without having been asked. Sylvie started to rise, to race to Jules and apologize for her ever having thought she was less than what she was all because of a silly mark, but the figure at the bottom of the stairs stopped her mid-step.

Jack stood staring up at her with a hopeful smile playing across his face. Caught up in her story, Sylvie had not seen him approach, so she had no idea how long he had been watching her. But right there in that moment, it didn’t matter. His eyes locked immediately with hers and before she knew it, she was bounding down the stairs toward him.

With every step, Sylvie felt the need to be near him grow until they were standing only a breath away from one another. Jack opened his mouth to speak, most likely to comment on the story that was not burned into Sylvie’s consciousness, but she never gave him the chance.

Her mouth collided with his in fervor like she had never experienced before—desperate and hungry. Sylvie’s fingers laced themselves through the tousled locks of his hair like they had minds of their own and they had just been waiting for the opportunity all along.

In the instant before she kissed him, Sylvie had felt a spike of panic at Jack’s possible reaction, but as his large arms closed around her, she let go of everything but the sweet taste of him. He was mint and sunshine and man and when he turned his head, deepening the kiss, Sylvie was certain she had never been more alive than she was right then.

“I was so stupid,” she said in the breaths between kisses. “I understand now.” She moved in to continue their embrace, but Jack lifted his hand to cup her cheek and held her there in place.

“You’re starting to,” he said, rubbing his thumb across her kiss-bruised lips. “But there is so much more.” Crystal eyes bore into hers so intently that it was as if he were still talking even though he said nothing more. Instead, he lowered his head again and placed one last soft kiss on her lips. “I have to go,” he said. “But meet me here tonight and I’ll explain everything.”

All Sylvie could do was nod as Jack walked away. He left her there with a head full of questions and a heart full of butterflies.

***

Since solitude had never been a friend to angst, it wasn’t long before Sylvie abandoned her little perch for the bluster of activity that awaited her back in the clinic. There, she hoped to find a distraction that would keep the hours from creeping by. The soft titter of laugher greeted her as she stepped inside and confirmed she had made the right decision.

Or so she thought.

Sylvie was only a step away from Ellena’s little cubby, when a firm hand clamped down on her arm. “Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Anne. Sylvie followed the limb up to the stern face to which it belonged. “You are supposed to be in bed!” Anne’s eyebrows drew down into Sylvie to cross it.

“Oh that!” Sylvie said, waving Anne away. “No, I feel fine!” She actually felt much better than fine. Maybe the best she had ever felt in her life, but she spared Anne those details.

“Doc will be the judge of that,” Anne said, and moved to stand in Sylvie’s path. “I can’t let you around the children if there is a possibility that you are sick. Their little bodies couldn’t handle being exposed to anything else.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if to silently add that Sylvie should have known better before pointing toward Doc’s office across the room.

Truth was, Sylvie did know better, but rather than explain she had lied that morning, she merely nodded and crossed the distance to Doc’s waiting door. It was cracked open just far enough that she could see the older man bent low over a large book and furiously scribbling notes in the margins.

“Um, Doc?” Sylvie said, clearing her throat. She tapped lightly on the door. “May I come in?” He waved her inside and only lifted his eye to her once he looked certain he had completed his task. He tucked his pen in the spine of the book, marking his place, and closed the volume in a little plume of dust.

“Ah, Sylvie,” he said, swiveling around in his chair to face her. “What can I do for you?” He clasped his hands together and rested them between his knees.

“Anne wants you to make sure I don’t have anything contagious before I go around the children. I told her I was fine, but she wants the go ahead from you.”

Doc considered her for a minute, almost like he was diagnosing her on sight alone. “Have a seat over there,” he said finally and motioned toward an elevated bench tucked into the corner between a long counter and what looked like a closet door. Sylvie hoisted herself onto the worn, padded surface and took in the room.

One drab wall was a collage of hand drawn pictures complete with Ellena’s name scrawled across them. The happy pictures seemed out of place next to the medical charts and anatomical models that populated the rest of the space. Next to the bench, Sylvie saw a steel cart, its top tray lined with a row of medical tools. Among them was the OPTIC scanner he had used to disable her implant. While it had only been a week since—Sylvie felt like a lifetime had passed.

“So what’s the problem?” Doc asked, bringing her back to the present. He had risen from his place in the chair and stood beside her, an expectant look on his face.

“Oh!” Sylvie faltered. “Um, it was my head.” She hesitated for a second. “And my stomach.” Each of her hands went to their respective places at her temple and the flat plane of her belly. She couldn’t remember which she had complained about to Jules, so she claimed both now to be safe.

The next several minutes were spent in a series of questions regarding symptoms and medical history. She had no symptoms and no medical history. Aside from her broken arm, Sylvie had never been sick in her life. She considered giving her OPTIC implant credit, but that was a conversation for another day.

“I think you are safe to go around the children,” Doc said after he completed his exam. “But if you start to feel poorly again, go back to your room.”

“I will,” Sylvie said and tucked the excuse away in case she needed it later. Doc crossed the room and tugged open the door, signaling she was free to go, but Sylvie hung back. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for and she knew she had to take it. “Doc?” she said, her voice quivering ever so slightly as it lifted in question.

“Yes?” Doc’s weathered hand stalled just shy of his book and he half turned to look at her with his good eye. “Is there something else you needed?”

“Ellena,” Sylvie said, practically tripping over the name. “Is she named for anyone in particular? Or did you just pick the name at random?” At her question, Doc became so still that Sylvie just as easily could have been staring at a photograph rather than the man himself. That is, until his face changed. Passive interest became the most palatable and heartbreaking sadness Sylvie had ever seen.

“No,” Doc said softly. His lips twisted into a melancholy smile. “It was not random.” He shook his head slowly, thoughtfully, like he was trying to nudge the memory free. “Ellena was named after the bravest woman I have ever known.” Doc fixed her eye on Sylvie, but no look could have pierced her the way his words did next. “She was named after your mother.”