Social Worker Guy does another nauseating spin, fixating on a new section of screen. “Yes, your uncle died two years ago. You have a third cousin in . . . Oh, no. That’s by legal fusion.” Hardly anyone calls it marriage anymore. Who’s fused to whom is always the newest stuff on gossip holo boards. Social Worker Guy keeps drawling on. “So, not a blood relative. Doesn’t count. Your grandparents had no illegitimate children, nor did your father, it seems . . .”
The guy commands the screen to turn off, and it transforms to a frigid scene of winter snowfall. How warm and fuzzy of him.
“Well. I guess it does look like it’s the two of you.”
Two. A hopelessly small number.
He stands up and opens the door. “Come, we don’t have much time. Are either of you hungry? Thirsty? I’m going to get myself a Vitalyte anyway.”
We stand up to follow him obediently, shaking our heads. He walks us to a nearby capsule-shaped transport, where we all grab safety handles sprouting from the beige-colored walls. The door closes seamlessly. We speed up, left, right, and down through several buildings.
The doors open onto a dim concrete hallway. I wonder what café is in this dreary place. We pass by twenty closed doors, all the same gray color as the hall. Even the ceiling is gray. I start to wonder if I’ve gone color-blind or if this building is just pathetically devoid of color.
Social Worker Guy stops at an unmarked door and presses his finger onto a wall pad. The door clicks open. Inside is a room with a scattering of century-old rickety chairs and a plain desk. An elderly lady sits at the desk, scowling at the solitaire hand on her holo. A blond boy and a girl sit in a corner pair of chairs. The boy looks my age, and the little girl is probably ten. They both glance eagerly at us. The girl gives me the up and down, then goes back to staring at the floor, the buoyancy in her face now gone. Clearly we’re not who she wanted to walk through that door.
“Is this the café?” I ask, confused.
“Of course not. Have a seat. The assistants will be with you in a moment.” He rummages inside his shirt pocket and pulls out something. “Here, this is yours.” He drops Dad’s wedding band in my hand. I’m shocked to see it perfectly intact after the accident that tore my father to pieces.
Dyl looks at the ring but hesitates. I hand it to her, and her eyes water at the offering.
“Are you sure?” she whispers. I nod. After spending a week with dad in the ICU, it seems unfair that I’ve got memories she doesn’t. She needs something real to hold on to. Dyl sits in a rickety chair and turns the gold circlet in her fingers. The corners of her mouth pull down so far, I wonder if I’ll ever see them change direction. In the corner, the blond boy has his eyes fixed on Dyl. No surprise there. Even in her misery, she’s so pretty. I want to smack his glance away.
Social Worker Guy turns to leave. I’m afraid to ask him, but I force myself.
“Please. What are we doing here?” I ask.
“This is the New Horizons Center of West Omaha.” I must look as stupid as he thinks, because he enunciates his next words very slowly. “So you and your sister can be placed with a new family. A foster family.” He gives my arm an unreassuring squeeze, so he can push me away to click the door shut.
I back away from the door. Foster family? Each day this past week, I doggedly assumed Dad would recover. I never considered that the sky would fall, or that the earth would stop rotating. And here I am, detached, orphaned, and missing that person who used to tether me to the world. My bones feel loose and disconnected beneath my skin at the thought.
The old lady at the desk finally switches off her holo game and serves us a prunish smile.
“Names please,” she orders. I step forward and quietly give her our information. She bobs her head, telling us to sit and wait.
After only a minute, a door opens in the back of the room. Two guys wearing ID badges around their necks walk in. One of them—tall, with broad shoulders and an aquiline nose—scans a list of names on his holo. He points at us while speaking to his younger coworker. “Take them to level F. There’s a vacated double there. I have to find singles for these two,” he says, motioning toward the brother-sister pair.
The younger guy steps closer to us. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black sweater. His short hair is perfectly mussed, exactly the way that Dyl likes. She takes notice, pocketing Dad’s ring and wiping her nose. I don’t even think she’s consciously doing it, but her posture straightens out.
Though I know she’s still sad—it’s in her face—it must be some innate reaction she’s been born with that only showed up a few months ago. The ability to react to cute guys like this. I am clearly missing this gene, because the reactive posture I have right now is an I’d rather be anywhere but here schlump.
The guy in black nods his head, acknowledging us. His light-brown locks splay across his forehead. “Come with me.”
Dyl stands up briskly to follow him. I shake my head. I want to follow because I want someone to take me away from the horror of the last two hours. Dyl wants to follow him because he’s cute. I want to tell her to be wary, but now is probably not the time for a lecture on the dangers of teen heartthrobs.
The guy lopes down the hallway. His holo is on now, and though I can’t see the face, the voice on the other end tells me it’s the same guy from the other room.
“Get them situated. The director will talk to them herself once all the data is in.”
“Shall I order the usual?” our guy asks. His voice is surprisingly soothing and calm.
“Yes, but let them rest first. Tomorrow we’ll do the tests.”
“Excuse me?” I interrupt, as politely as possible. “What tests?”
He stops and turns, and for the first time, we both get a better look at him. He’s pretty tall, towering over Dyl, who shifts her feet from side to side. She does this when she’s nervous. He stares down at her with a pair of warm amber-brown eyes, and smiles, then gives me an equal serving of perfect white teeth. There’s one dimple on the left. From the melting expression on Dyl’s face, I’m guessing that, for her, dimples equal trustworthy.
“It’s just standard stuff, to make sure you guys are healthy and find a suitable family. Nothing to worry about. Everybody gets it done.”
“Everybody?” Dyl says, her eyes wide. She hates needles, even the microneedle patches that you can hardly feel.
“Actually, I got tested too. I was in your shoes five years ago, so I know what it’s like.”
Both of us shut our mouths, feeling bad. He turns and leads us to a transport. Before long, he’s showing us into a bare-bones apartment with two beds, a table, and a bathroom. On the wall is a small metal door—an old but apparently functioning food service efferent, preloaded with food supplies so we can have fresh meals at the touch of a few buttons.
My caffeine buzz is wearing off, only to be replaced with a spectacular pounding headache. Combined with the lack of sleep from the past week and the realization that our new home doesn’t include Dad, I’m feeling pretty horrific now. I must look green or something, because the boy puts his hand on my arm.
“Are you okay?” His hand is so warm, it sends a strange tingle in my skin and I step back, embarrassed at the redness in my cheeks.
“Not really.” It’s not his problem. In two seconds when he leaves, he’ll forget us.
He studies me for a moment. “Every day gets a little easier. You’ll see.”
The canned feel-good line does nothing for me, but it works on Dyl and she practically liquefies, crying fresh tears. The guy closes the distance to pat her back, and she melts right into him. I don’t know whether to be jealous or disgusted. After way too long, they pull apart, and Dyl wipes her eyes.