I often wonder whether there are others just like us, living the same lives, but different. Like is there another Siena out there somewhere, not Scrawny but Strong? And a Circ who still lives, having never gone on that mission? Another Lara who doesn’t hafta count on the Wilds to kidnap her to escape the Call? I know it’s just my imagination creeping up on me in that quick and subtle way that it does, but I still wanna believe it’s true.
I hafta believe.
~~~
Three days to the Call. I’ve asked Lara half a dozen times why she thinks the Wild Ones are gonna kidnap her but she don’t have an answer. Or she won’t answer. I’m beginning to think she’s convinced herself it’s true to calm her nerves. Or maybe there’s something to it. Could she really know the feral all-girl tribe? At this point anything’s possible, I reckon.
Veeva’s been giving me tips all quarter full moon, like “Don’t let yer Call take control when you lie with ’im. Show ’im who’s boss.” Like most of what she says, I don’t even know what that means.
Father’s been extra nice to me, which basically means he hasn’t yelled at me or pulled out his good friend, the snapper. That’s ’bout as good as it gets with him.
Mother seems happy too, although she’s always tired these days. “My little girl is growing up,” she says today, while we’re sitting together mending a pair of Father’s britches. They’re from the battle with the Glassies and they got holes in both knees. One of the nice things ’bout being a Pre-Bearer is that I been done with Learning for a quarter full moon. I still gotta go to some Pre-Bearer thing later today and tomorrow, but that’s it.
“Do you think Skye’s alive?” I ask.
She stops with her needle and thread, turns her tired eyes to me. “Does she feel dead?” she asks, pointing to her heart.
“I—I don’t know. I never really thought ’bout it that way. I guess…” I think ’bout Skye, ’bout her raven-black hair, ’bout her contagious laugh, ’bout how she was everything I’m not. Popular, coordinated, pretty. There’s no sadness for her in my heart. No. She doesn’t feel dead.
I shake my head.
“Well there’s your answer,” she says matter of factly.
“But Circ doesn’t feel dead either,” I say, feeling my heart crumble even as I say it.
“Siena,” she says, putting down the britches. “You can’t do this to yourself. Do you see him sometimes?”
I nod. I see him in everything. But I can’t tell her that. Instead I say, “Sometimes.”
She curls an arm around me, pulls me in. “I still see my first love, too,” she whispers. “Sometimes.”
My head jerks, eyes widen. “You mean, there was someone else ’sides Father?”
She laughs and it reminds me of Skye. They were always a lot alike. “Your father is my Call.” She drops her voice even further, looks ’round as if the hut walls might be listening. “Brev was my true love.”
I straighten up, all my attention on my mother and this surprising revelation. “Who was he?”
She stares at me wistfully and I can tell she’s looking right through me. “The son of a Greynote. Kind eyes, bluer than the winter rains. Soft hands, but strong, too. Oh, I remember spending too much time kissing him behind the border tents.”
“Mother!” I exclaim, shocked. “But that’s where the shilts go.”
Her grin makes me grin, too. “I wasn’t shilty, Siena. I only ever went there with Brev. Besides, people doing what makes them happy ain’t shilty.” It’s funny hearing her saying that ’cause it’s what I’m always thinking.
The door slams and Father clomps in. My head is spinning, both ’cause of Brev and how she just said ain’t, which I ain’t never heard her say. In less time’n it takes for a vulture to swallow a burrow mouse I’ve learned so much ’bout my mother, more’n I ever knew ’fore. I desperately wanna ask her what happened to him, where he is now, whether she ever sees him, but now Father’s here, scowling at us like we’ve just spit on his moccasins.
“You’ve got Call Class,” he says gruffly.
I stand up, meet my mother’s eyes for an instant, share our secrets without words, desperately wanting to ask her more. Smiling, I follow my mother’s Call outside.
~~~
Call Class. Our chance to ask questions. And we got plenty.
There are ’bout thirty of us. Me, Lara, and a bunch of others who’ve never really tried to talk to me. The Teacher, a squat woman with laser-sharp eyes, is whacking away the questions with an ease that can only come with experience. She must teach Call Class a lot.
“Can I choose my Call, because there’s this guy…?” one girl asks, twirling her hair with one finger. Everyone knows the answer to that question, so it makes half the class crack up. I just stare straight ahead.
Teacher sighs, but answers anyway. “All Calls are at random. An eligible Pre-Bearer’s name is selected and then an eligible male name is selected. Listen, Younglings, because this is important. You do not get to choose your Call because it doesn’t matter who it is. All that matters is that you Bear children and help our tribe survive. That’s it.”
“What do I do if I don’t like my Call?” a whiny girl asks, apparently not getting Teacher’s message.
“Deal with it,” says Teacher. “Next.”
“How do I know if I’m satisfying my Call?” asks one of the shiltier girls, grinning slyly. “You know, when I lay with him.” She’s only asking what everyone’s thinking.
“I’m sure you know the answer to that already,” Teacher says, unblinking. A few Pre-Bearers giggle and the shilty girl blushes and ducks her head. “Next.”
“What if I miss my Call?” a familiar voice asks from beside me. My heart stops. Every head in the room turns to look at Lara. And ’cause I’m sitting next to her, they look at me too. Guilty by association. There’s a speck of durt on one of my feet and I’m determined to stare it away.
“No one misses their Call,” Teacher answers, as if it’s a perfectly valid question. “Next.” I can still feel the eyes on us, but then one by one, they turn back to face the front.
“Why’d you ask that?” I hiss.
“Just for fun,” Lara says, grinning.
“You got a funny way of having fun.”
“Now it’s your turn,” she says, winking.
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Ask a question. A real question. Not something that she’s heard a million times, that she expects you to ask. Something else. Try to rattle her. For fun.”
I shake my head. “You’re wooloo,” I say, but immediately start thinking about what question’ll surprise the unflappable Teacher.
Another girl asks, “Do I have to have a Call-Sister?”
Stupid girl, I think. This is stuff we’ve been learning for years. Teacher sighs, but responds, her voice monotone and rehearsed. “A Call-Family is comprised of a man and his three Calls, who Bear his children. Every three years, each Call-Mother is required to become big with child and Bear a new child. They take turns until the family has grown to its maximum sustainable size, which includes three children per Call-Mother, or nine children total. It’s at this time only that it will be considered a Full-Family and Bearing shall cease. Next.”
The question pops into my mind like most of my random thoughts do. Quickly and vividly. Circ’s bloody face wet with tears. His body, still stronger’n most, weakened by injury and blood loss. His voice, urgent and stronger’n expected as he gives me his charm. My charm now. My fingers play on the pointer charm dangling from my bracelet. The question comes out. “What if my Call is dead?” I murmur, almost to myself. The question is rude, uncouth, and inappropriate in a lot of ways. There’s a good chance I’ll go to Scorch just for asking it.
“Excuse me?” Teacher says.
Lara is tapping her foot with excitement next to me.
“What if my Call is dead?” I say again, louder this time.
Teacher’s eyes narrow. “I’m not sure what you’re playing at, Youngling, but what you ask is impossible. You haven’t received a Call yet, so he can’t be dead.”