leaned their heads together as the next contestant went to the mic. None of the other kids looked at Joni. Joni was half their age, but that wasn't why they always looked at her strangely. It was something else. Probably the same reason the lumberjack dad was mad at her.
And he was standing, now.
He pulled his wife up, too. They were scooting down the aisle not making much of an effort to walk sideways like you're supposed to when you walk down a crowded aisle.
"Quiet, please." One of the judges, the nice one with perfect teeth, said, "Please settle down."
"We're done here," lumberjack dad said.
"Sir, you need to take your seat or your son will be disqualified. Distractions need to be kept to a minimum."
More disruptions.
Someone else stood.
Lumberjack dad stared at the nice judge. Joni thought he was going to slug him one.
"You test her?" He pointed that giant arm right at Joni.
"You have no right!" Now Joni's momma was standing up.
"Did you test her?" Lumberjack dad didn't pay any attention to momma. "The rules clearly state this is a natural-born Spelling Bee. There are competitions for biomite-enhanced young ones, but this is not one of them. And even if it was, that girl is five. She’s too young to be seeded; it’s against the law. So did you test her?"
Arguments broke out in the studio. Judges were standing, crew from off the stage were coming over, and security was already putting hands on the lumberjack dad. People were walking out. One of the contestant’s dad came up on stage and dragged him off by the arm. He gave Joni a mean look.
That's when the first tear came out.
"Did you inspect her brain stem?" Lumberjack dad was shouting over the chaos. He was pointing at the back of his neck while security ushered him away. "There'll be a knot the size of a BB where the seed point is."
One of the judges left. The others were calming the crowd. Joni's face felt hot. Her papa came out of nowhere, put his arm around her. She hid her face while people stomped off the stage. The lights turned up. There was a call for recess, a call for order.
And Joni cried in her papa's arms. She rubbed her tears, smearing them on her cheek, and reached behind her ear. Her little fingers crawled through the hair braided on the back of her head, the braid her mama did for her before the event, and searched the base of her skull.
Where she found a knot the size of a BB.
10
Nix used the white washcloth to wipe his face, his head, rubbed the film off his teeth and changed into a new white jumper. He did these things every time Cali came to visit. Ritual was key to remaining sane in solitary.
And he didn't want his sister to worry.
Nix folded the old jumper and placed it at the foot of the door where a guard could switch it out when he dropped off food. The small table was on its side in the hallway, the chess pieces scattered on the floor. Nix imagined George's computer program suggested he offer a draw after a few more moves.
Or kick over the table and leave.
Nix returned to his desk and straightened the only stack of papers on it. Every week, Avery sent a drawing. Sometimes it was animals, sometimes people. Most of the time, it was scenery, like the mountains or the lake. Regardless, it always had the sun. The sun was bright yellow and shiny, just like he remembered. He could see the sun rise from his window, but it wasn't the same from inside the Center. The sun didn't rise the same when freedom was gone.
He rubbed the waxy, yellow circle peeking over the lush hills. No liquid there. Just a sterilized piece of paper. Nix smelled it. It reminded him of home. Reminded him of when Cali and Thomas would be working at the lab late at night and Nix would put Avery to bed. He'd take a book from her nightstand and open it and the smell of the pages would fill his nose with memories. That's what those old pages smelled like: memories. They were old books, books that Cali read to him when he was
And he was standing, now.
He pulled his wife up, too. They were scooting down the aisle not making much of an effort to walk sideways like you're supposed to when you walk down a crowded aisle.
"Quiet, please." One of the judges, the nice one with perfect teeth, said, "Please settle down."
"We're done here," lumberjack dad said.
"Sir, you need to take your seat or your son will be disqualified. Distractions need to be kept to a minimum."
More disruptions.
Someone else stood.
Lumberjack dad stared at the nice judge. Joni thought he was going to slug him one.
"You test her?" He pointed that giant arm right at Joni.
"You have no right!" Now Joni's momma was standing up.
"Did you test her?" Lumberjack dad didn't pay any attention to momma. "The rules clearly state this is a natural-born Spelling Bee. There are competitions for biomite-enhanced young ones, but this is not one of them. And even if it was, that girl is five. She’s too young to be seeded; it’s against the law. So did you test her?"
Arguments broke out in the studio. Judges were standing, crew from off the stage were coming over, and security was already putting hands on the lumberjack dad. People were walking out. One of the contestant’s dad came up on stage and dragged him off by the arm. He gave Joni a mean look.
That's when the first tear came out.
"Did you inspect her brain stem?" Lumberjack dad was shouting over the chaos. He was pointing at the back of his neck while security ushered him away. "There'll be a knot the size of a BB where the seed point is."
One of the judges left. The others were calming the crowd. Joni's face felt hot. Her papa came out of nowhere, put his arm around her. She hid her face while people stomped off the stage. The lights turned up. There was a call for recess, a call for order.
And Joni cried in her papa's arms. She rubbed her tears, smearing them on her cheek, and reached behind her ear. Her little fingers crawled through the hair braided on the back of her head, the braid her mama did for her before the event, and searched the base of her skull.
Where she found a knot the size of a BB.
10
Nix used the white washcloth to wipe his face, his head, rubbed the film off his teeth and changed into a new white jumper. He did these things every time Cali came to visit. Ritual was key to remaining sane in solitary.
And he didn't want his sister to worry.
Nix folded the old jumper and placed it at the foot of the door where a guard could switch it out when he dropped off food. The small table was on its side in the hallway, the chess pieces scattered on the floor. Nix imagined George's computer program suggested he offer a draw after a few more moves.
Or kick over the table and leave.
Nix returned to his desk and straightened the only stack of papers on it. Every week, Avery sent a drawing. Sometimes it was animals, sometimes people. Most of the time, it was scenery, like the mountains or the lake. Regardless, it always had the sun. The sun was bright yellow and shiny, just like he remembered. He could see the sun rise from his window, but it wasn't the same from inside the Center. The sun didn't rise the same when freedom was gone.
He rubbed the waxy, yellow circle peeking over the lush hills. No liquid there. Just a sterilized piece of paper. Nix smelled it. It reminded him of home. Reminded him of when Cali and Thomas would be working at the lab late at night and Nix would put Avery to bed. He'd take a book from her nightstand and open it and the smell of the pages would fill his nose with memories. That's what those old pages smelled like: memories. They were old books, books that Cali read to him when he was
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