why I need to be locked in here. The only way I could ever hang out with a Virus again is if Cal tells me to. But he won’t.
And then I have to deal with Seth too. “Blanca,” he says. “It’s me. Can I come in?” Seth’s gravelly voice pulls at my heartstrings.
“Ask your father,” I answer.
“He said to ask you.”
I throw myself on my velvet coverlet and push away the memory of that safe feeling I had when Seth’s arms wrapped around me in the sunshine. I muffle my sobs with a pillow.
“I can hear you.” Seth scratches at the door. “Please let me in so we can talk.”
I can’t talk. I can’t come out. I can’t do anything until Cal sees how wrong he is and starts treating me right. If Cal releases me from my sacred Vestal calling, I’ll be worthless.
Worthless!
“Can I tell you what to do?” Seth asks. “Will that work?”
“No!” I cry. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Well then, tell me how it works,” says Seth, his voice stifled by the metal door. “I’ve never understood your Vestal shit.”
“It’s not shit!”
“Fine. Tell me your Vestal ways.”
But what’s the use? I’m not supposed to be talking to a Virus anyway.
“Blanca, you have a hard road. I can see that,” Seth says through the door. “In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it . You have everything you need to achieve happiness.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then I get off the bed. I walk over to the door and crouch next to it, holding my cuff up to the metal.
“Can you hear me, Blanca?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come out of there?”
“Yes,” I say again.
“Then come.”
“I can’t,” I explain. “Not unless your dad tells me to.”
“Fuck it!” Seth pummels the door. “Forget all that crazy Vestal shit and come out of there already!”
“It’s not shit,” I say. “It’s what I am. It’s what I’ll always be.”
I was sealed for life.
Two weeks of cloistering. Two weeks of pacing my room, dusting the bookshelves, and pressing my face against the windowpanes, unable to see anything but the walled courtyard below. Two weeks of hoping Fatima, Beau, and Ethan didn’t know about my disgraced situation. Two weeks of reciting my favorite verse from the Vestal Code of Ethics over and over again.
I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. I picture Fatima brushing her hair to the rhythm of Ms. Corina’s voice at night in our dorm. “One hundred strokes, children,” Charming Corina would tell us. Then her saccharine voice would call out, “ I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. ” Brush. Brush. Brush.
Beau told us that the boys did jumping jacks to the exact same mantra. “ I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. ” Jump. Jump. Jump.
It doesn’t matter what Cal says to me. I’ll always be loyal to my Brethren.
Now Cal is worried that I’m not getting any exercise. Of course he has every right not to want me to be fat, so when he brings me meal trays, I stop opening the door.
“Damn it, Blanca!” he yells after the second night of this routine. “Open the door!”
Directions, at last! I fling the door open, hopeful and starving.
Cal holds out a wooden tray piled high with roast turkey and mashed potatoes. “Are you going to eat this?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Are you telling me to eat this?”
I look at him, and Cal is as angry as I’ve ever seen him. He is so angry that there are tears in his eyes.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Do you think you should eat this?”
I shut the door with a click .
“Blanca!” Cal pounds on the metal door. “Open the door and eat this food!”
I open it up again and sit down on the ground, right there by the tray. I cram the food in my mouth as fast as I can. The sudden rush of nourishment makes me queasy.
“Blanca. Sweetheart. Please.” Cal sits down next to me on the floor. “Please don’t do this anymore. You can’t stay in there
And then I have to deal with Seth too. “Blanca,” he says. “It’s me. Can I come in?” Seth’s gravelly voice pulls at my heartstrings.
“Ask your father,” I answer.
“He said to ask you.”
I throw myself on my velvet coverlet and push away the memory of that safe feeling I had when Seth’s arms wrapped around me in the sunshine. I muffle my sobs with a pillow.
“I can hear you.” Seth scratches at the door. “Please let me in so we can talk.”
I can’t talk. I can’t come out. I can’t do anything until Cal sees how wrong he is and starts treating me right. If Cal releases me from my sacred Vestal calling, I’ll be worthless.
Worthless!
“Can I tell you what to do?” Seth asks. “Will that work?”
“No!” I cry. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Well then, tell me how it works,” says Seth, his voice stifled by the metal door. “I’ve never understood your Vestal shit.”
“It’s not shit!”
“Fine. Tell me your Vestal ways.”
But what’s the use? I’m not supposed to be talking to a Virus anyway.
“Blanca, you have a hard road. I can see that,” Seth says through the door. “In so many ways it’s difficult being you. But I know that you can do it . You have everything you need to achieve happiness.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then I get off the bed. I walk over to the door and crouch next to it, holding my cuff up to the metal.
“Can you hear me, Blanca?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come out of there?”
“Yes,” I say again.
“Then come.”
“I can’t,” I explain. “Not unless your dad tells me to.”
“Fuck it!” Seth pummels the door. “Forget all that crazy Vestal shit and come out of there already!”
“It’s not shit,” I say. “It’s what I am. It’s what I’ll always be.”
I was sealed for life.
Two weeks of cloistering. Two weeks of pacing my room, dusting the bookshelves, and pressing my face against the windowpanes, unable to see anything but the walled courtyard below. Two weeks of hoping Fatima, Beau, and Ethan didn’t know about my disgraced situation. Two weeks of reciting my favorite verse from the Vestal Code of Ethics over and over again.
I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. I picture Fatima brushing her hair to the rhythm of Ms. Corina’s voice at night in our dorm. “One hundred strokes, children,” Charming Corina would tell us. Then her saccharine voice would call out, “ I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. ” Brush. Brush. Brush.
Beau told us that the boys did jumping jacks to the exact same mantra. “ I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. ” Jump. Jump. Jump.
It doesn’t matter what Cal says to me. I’ll always be loyal to my Brethren.
Now Cal is worried that I’m not getting any exercise. Of course he has every right not to want me to be fat, so when he brings me meal trays, I stop opening the door.
“Damn it, Blanca!” he yells after the second night of this routine. “Open the door!”
Directions, at last! I fling the door open, hopeful and starving.
Cal holds out a wooden tray piled high with roast turkey and mashed potatoes. “Are you going to eat this?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Are you telling me to eat this?”
I look at him, and Cal is as angry as I’ve ever seen him. He is so angry that there are tears in his eyes.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Do you think you should eat this?”
I shut the door with a click .
“Blanca!” Cal pounds on the metal door. “Open the door and eat this food!”
I open it up again and sit down on the ground, right there by the tray. I cram the food in my mouth as fast as I can. The sudden rush of nourishment makes me queasy.
“Blanca. Sweetheart. Please.” Cal sits down next to me on the floor. “Please don’t do this anymore. You can’t stay in there
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