Bumped Read online

  “Insufficient verticality,” Zen explains, holding his hand about six inches over his head. “No one pays to bump with a guy who’s five foot seven and a half.” He drops his hand and points it straight at me. “Now I know what you’re thinking: Why don’t you dose some pharma-grade HGH?”

  “That’s not what I was thinking at all,” I interrupt. “And what’s HGH?”

  “Human Growth Hormone. Anyway, lots of shorties have pumped themselves up with HGH to make themselves more sellable to RePro Reps. But you know what’s happening? Users report that the increase in height is inversely proportional to a decrease in IQ! Ha! So these needle-happy juiceheads pass the test for verticality, but fail the minimum standards for intelligence!”

  I’m able to understand approximately one in every five or so words that come out of Zen’s mouth.

  “And it also makes their stiffies shrink,” he says, holding up a pinkie.

  That much I can understand. And I wish I hadn’t!

  “Unless someone develops HGH that pumps up brains and bodies, I’m only good enough for everythingbut. Doomed to be a Worm, never a Sperm.”

  “‘I am a worm, not a man,’” I recite by memory. “‘Scorned by man, despised by the people.’”

  “Yes!” Zen says, his face alight. “That’s how I feel sometimes!”

  “Christ said it when he was under persecution,” I explain.

  “He did, did He?” Zen says bemusedly, shaking his head at me. “You make a really great witness for Goodside, Harmony.”

  I think this is a compliment, so I accept it. “Thank you.”

  “But you still have a lot to learn about life on this side of the gates.”

  Zen is right. I do have a lot to learn. Othersiders rumormonger about the willful unknowingness of the Church, but God has placed in the human heart a desire to know the Truth. The more I know about Melody’s decision to turn pro, the easier it will be for me to show her that earthly riches can’t compare to Heaven’s rewards.

  Then maybe, just maybe, we can take the right path together.

  Zen searches through his pockets, then hands me what looks like a debit card.

  “What’s this?” I ask.

  “It’s a Lost-and-Found card, for emergencies. It works even if you’re not on the MiNet. If you get lost, just fingerswipe right here,” he says, pointing to a small X marking the spot, “and I get an alert to find you, wherever you are.”

  I clutch the card in my hand. “Why would you give this to me?”

  “Oh, it’s no big,” Zen says. “My parents gave me a bunch of them after all the floods and earthquakes. I figure that you’re new to Otherside and might wind up somewhere you didn’t mean to go. . . .”

  His kindness brings tears to my eyes.

  “What I meant was, why would you want to help me?”

  He shrugs. “Helping people is kind of my hobby.”

  I look down at the card once more. “But you don’t even know me. . . .”

  Zen shakes his head as if the answer is obvious.

  “You’re Melody’s sister, Harmony. We’ll know each other for the rest of our lives.”

  SECOND

  A free society cannot force girls to have children, but a free market can richly reward those who do.

  —Ashley and Tyler Mayflower, PhDs,

  Princeton University

  I WAKE AT DAWN IN PANIC, NOT PRAYER.

  Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here?

  I’m on the floor, soaked with sweat, blankets twisted around my legs like invasive vines choking the tomato plants.

  Why am I not in my bunk?

  Where are Laura, Katie, and Emily?

  I’m about to cry out when a lump on the bed next to me rolls over, smacks her lips together, and sighs. That’s when I remember:

  The sighing lump is Melody.

  I’m on the floor of her room.

  She’s my sister.

  She’s my twin.

  Melody mumbles a word I can’t quite make out. And even if I could, I probably wouldn’t understand what it means. She was studying her advanced biogenetics flexbook when I came in to say good night. She said her parents make her read her most challenging subjects before bedtime.

  “Even my dreams are educational,” she said. “I never get a rest, not even when I’m asleep.”

  I read the Scripture every evening. Is that why I dream of Jesus?

  Almost immediately the guilt of being here instead of where I should be settles heavy upon me. I make up for the omission with a morning offering.

  “‘Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,’” I whisper, so as not to disturb Melody. “‘For I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.’”

  A good psalm usually sets me right. But I’m feeling particularly out of sorts this morning. I unwind the blankets from my legs, gather up my pillow, and tiptoe out of Melody’s bedroom. I feel my way down the dim hall back into the guest room where I had started out the night.

  When I got back to the house yesterday, my suitcase wasn’t on the doorstep as I had feared. But Melody wasn’t there to welcome me either, as I had hoped. The front door was locked but I didn’t panic because I heard noises coming from the backyard, a fwoop fwoop fwooping that sounded mechanical but I could in no other way identify.

  I made my way around back and found Melody in the backyard defending a soccer goal from a machine launching one ball (fwoop) after another (fwoop fwoop) at unpredictable angles and terrifying speed. I flinched with every fwoop. Melody jumped and lunged and caught each black-and-white blur with just enough time to toss it to the side before the next fwoop hurtled straight for her. She never stopped moving. Dozens of soccer balls rolled onto the grass, but not a single ball slipped past her fingertips and inside the goal.

  Only after the final fwoop did Melody allow herself to bend over, rest her hands on her knees, and gulp for air.

  “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Just a few minutes,” I replied. “How long have you been practicing?”

  “Long enough so my parents won’t get pissy about not practicing long enough.”

  I nervously patted the netting on my veil.

  “Did Zen help you pick that out?” she asked.

  “No,” I replied. “This is the same one I was wearing earlier. I didn’t buy one after all.”

  “Oh.”

  Then she picked up one of the balls and started bouncing it from one knee to the other. She seemed worried about something, but I was reluctant to ask what it was. I was afraid to say or do anything that might result in her asking me to leave and never come back.

  “That’s okay,” I said, unclipping my veil from my scalp and shaking out my hair. “It’s a relief to take it off, to tell you the truth.”

  She let the ball drop to the ground and gestured for me to follow her inside.

  “I moved your suitcase into the guest room so you can change into something more comfortable in there.”

  “Thank you.”

  Melody opened the door to the room in which I would be staying, and gestured up to the patchwork of pressed tin tiles in the ceiling, then down to a puzzle of dark and light, long and short wood planks in the floor.

  “My parents recycled the whole house. It’s totally green.”

  She paused, then waited for me to say something, so I did.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “I know it’s not exactly the nature you’re used to,” Melody said, touching her hand to the brass doorknob. “But it’s as all natural as you can get off the farm.”

  I realized then that she was trying her best to find common ground, to make me feel welcome in her home. I wanted to embrace her to thank her for her compassion before she closed the door behind her. But I didn’t. I was afraid such a display might provoke a sudden change of heart.

  This guest room is roughly the same size as the room I share with Laura, Katie, and Emily. But with j
ust one bed in the middle of the room, it feels far more spacious than any room I’ve ever slept in. That’s why I crept into Melody’s room in the middle of the night and slept near her on the floor. I’ve never slept alone. I’m too used to falling asleep to the rise and fall of peaceful breathing. I knew I’d toss and turn all night in the silence.

  “Mellloooooodeee? Helloooooooo . . . ?”

  Oh my grace! I jump at the sound of a voice coming from the front of the house. It sounds too low to be a woman, but too high to be a man. Who is it? How did he/she get in the house?

  “Let me see yooooooooou.”

  I don’t know who would be visiting Melody at this early hour, but I rush toward the front door to find out. I freeze when I reach the common room.

  “I’ve got the BEST NEWS, Miss Melody Mayflower!”

  The voice isn’t coming from a visitor. It’s coming from a man projected larger than life-size on the MiVu wall. It’s almost impossible to notice anything about him other than his suit, which is illuminated with electrified stripes of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet.

  “I want to see the look on your face when I tell yoooooooou.” He trills the last word, reminding me of a soprano who holds her notes just a beat longer than everyone else in the Church choir.

  I timidly approach the screen. The first thing I do is lower the volume. This man’s voice carries and I don’t want him waking up Melody. There’s a box lit up in lower right-hand corner indicating that MiVu is in 1Vu mode right now. There are two more boxes that are blinking questions: 2Vu? 2Vu? 2Vu? Or: @Vu? @Vu? @Vu? We don’t have MiVu in Goodside, so I’m not too familiar with the technology, but I believe “2Vu” means we can only see each other. And “@Vu” means that we can be seen by anyone who is plugged into the system right now who wants to see us. As I consider which box to press, the man on the screen keeps up his one-sided conversation.

  “Whoopsie! What time is it there? It’s nearly lunchtime here in Stockholm. This scouting trip has been UH. MAZE. ING. I was just saying to myself, Lib. Have you ever seen so many blond, blue-eyed hunkaspunks in your WHOLE LIFE? And myself replied, No, Lib. I have not.”

  Lib. I rack my brains trying to remember who Lib is. I know Melody has mentioned him, but I can’t remember. . . .

  “There’s one fine speciman I was all ready to introduce to the Jaydens. . . .”

  Now I remember! Lib is Melody’s Reproductive Representative! He’s the one who recruited her to be a Surrogette! Melody said he was a colorful character, but I hadn’t expected him to wear a suit that glows like an electric rainbow. Maybe I can tell him that Melody has had a change of heart. She doesn’t want to be a Surrogette after all. Would he believe me? Of course then I would have to do some prayerful witnessing to make Melody believe it herself.

  “GUESS WHAT?”

  I press the 2Vu option.

  “Hey gorgeous! You ARE there!” Lib crows when I come into his Vu. “Like the lumina suit?” he asks, stretching out to get a full view of the electric rainbow running up and down his arms. When I respond with a wince, he sighs, then presses a button on his wrist to make the lights go out. “It’s a bit too much first thing in the morning, isn’t it?”

  Now that I get a better look, I see that Lib is bald, save for a silvery inch-wide strip of hair running front to back across his scalp. His skin is as brown as an acorn, and his face is stretched taut and unlined, as is often seen in older men of means in Otherside. Even the skin in his eye sockets is pulled tight, making them bulge in surprise at all times. Those lavender eyes are scrolling up down and all around as he takes in my appearance as carefully as I am taking in his. Usually this would make me feel uncomfortable, but something about Lib tells me that he’s not looking at me with impure interest.

  “You got some SUN! It gives you that FRESH, OUTDOORSY look!”

  It becomes clear that Lib uses his expressive voice to overcompensate for his frozen face. He drops it to a conspiratorial whisper, beckons for me to come closer to the screen.

  “Just don’t get too much. A little rosy glow is okay, you just don’t want to get . . . ah, too dark. That’s not what the Jaydens hired you for. They don’t give a hoot about the multiculti trends! They are SO into Euro! That milky complexion is one of your greatest assets.”

  Oh! He thinks I’m Melody! She must not have told Lib that I’m staying with her for a while. I’m about to reveal myself as the twin sister, but he doesn’t stop talking long enough to give me the chance.

  “And while we’re talking superficials, that . . . that . . .

  THING you’re wearing is so TERMINAL and so FERTILICIOUS at the same time.”

  I look down at my long white cotton nightdress.

  “You are so smart to cover up as much skin as possible,” Lib continues with admiration in his voice. “I’ve been selling everyone since you signed with me: MELODY MAYFLOWER IS THE FULL PACKAGE. Beauty and brains. I wish all my clients were as bright as you.”

  I try to correct his mistake. “Actually, I’m not—”

  “Oh, but you ARE. You must spend most your day fending off amateur offers from all the . . .” He screws up his mouth, just about the only part of his face he can move. “Opportunistic humpers at your high school.”

  “But—”

  “Do you have ANY IDEA how many of my clients break their conception contracts? They have NO appreciation for all the hard work I put in to making the perfect three-way match.” He snorts. “TOO HORMONAL to think about how their choices affect their OWN futures.”

  “Mr. Lib, sir, I—”

  “They all proooooomise to keep it pure. They’re all like”—his voice gets higher—“Lib! I won’t bump with him! He’s my everythingbut! Then they do a little too much TOCIN DOSIN’ and the next thing I know these girls have forgotten the but in everythingbut and they’re BUMPING with some unaccredited”—he turns his head and sticks out his tongue—“WORM.”

  Worm. That’s how Zen referred to himself yesterday.

  “I’m sorry,” Lib says with a sniff. “I’m just SO EMOTIONAL today. Becaaaaaaaaause . . .” He makes a strange choking noise, then covers his mouth with his hands as if he’s unsure whether he’s capable of delivering his message after all. Then he opens up his hands to make a megaphone. “YOU’RE GONNA GET BUMPED BY THE BEST MAN BRAND IN THE BUSINESS.”

  His words push me backward onto the couch, a sight that makes Lib cackle and clap with delight.

  “W-w-what?”

  “And you’re not gonna BELIEVE who it is. I still can’t believe it myself.”

  I can’t believe any of this.

  “I’ve got one word for you.” He closes his eyes, takes a breath, then says with reverential solemnity, “Jondoe.”

  This word means nothing to me but it means everything to Lib.

  “ARE YOU TERMINATED? BECAUSE I AM BEYOND TERMINATED.”

  I think I might be terminated and I don’t even know what he is talking about.

  “Jondoe,” Lib keeps saying to himself. “Jondoe. When the Mrs. finally convinced the Mr. to go commercial, I never dreamed their application would be approved by the all-time highest scorer on the Standards. Believe the hype! He’s got the fastest, strongest swimmers ever recorded!” Lib mops the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “He’s got a perfect five-star ranking among triple-platinum-level customers who have employed his services. Ash and Ty will TERMINATE when you tell them that!” Then Lib does his best to twist his frozen face into a look of exaggerated concern. “Oh, sweetie! You’re IN SHOCK.”

  This, I understand. I am in shock. She’s been waiting for this news for years. It certainly complicates my plans to get Melody to get married and live with me and Ram in faith and fellowship as all good and obedient Church girls should.

  Lib leans in and cups his mouth with one hand to share a secret, and I instinctively come closer to hear it.

  “I. EXIST. FOR. YOU,” he says. “I live for you and I die for you.”

  I object
to such Christlike claims coming from a sinner’s mouth, but can’t raise my voice in protest.

  “You know to what great lengths I went to make sure your file was flawless,” he says in an emphatic whisper. “I put my reputation on the line for you. I pulled strings. I called in favors. Let’s just put it this way, Miss Melody Mayflower, I earned my fifteen percent!” He wipes his immobile brow, sits back, and raises the volume. “And it worked! It’s a testament to all my hard work that Jondoe accepted the Jaydens’ bid. He’s very selective, he takes only a fraction of the offers that come along. You can tell Ash and Ty that getting into the number one college in the WORLD will be a no-brainer after Jondoe gets into you!”

  He cackles wildly.

  “I cannot thank you enough for all your efforts in keeping your EYES on the PURITY PRIZE.” He traces an imaginary line from my neck to my ankles. “Never in my wildest dreams did I think that you would have the opportunity to bump with Jondoe.” His eyes are tearing up, the only visible sign on his face that he’s overcome with emotion. “From what we’ve all seen and heard about Jondoe, he’ll be WORTH EVERY MICROSECOND of frustrated restraint. . . .” He rubs his palms together with relish.

  My sister is still chaste. It’s not too late to protect that gift of purity, but I need to intervene right now, to tell Lib that I will endure fire raining down from Heaven before I will allow my sister to prostitute herself for procreation and profit. The best investment she can make is in God. If only Lib devoted as much time and energy into glorifying the Lord as he put into his immoral business, he too would be saved.

  “I can see your heart pounding!”

  I clutch my chest to feel what Lib can see. This is my chance to find my voice. To tell Lib I’m not who he thinks I am, nor is my sister. I must coax the words out of my throat. I can’t let fear stop me. Being scared means that I trust my own feelings more than I trust God, and that’s just disrespectful.