Christmas.”
“All right.” My marshal taps his airscreen again. “You’re dismissed.” He waves a small
metal tube over my inner wrist and it microsprays the letter “M” in black. Branded.
“It’ll wash off in a day. If we need you, we know where to find you.”
I leave as fast as I can without running. If you run, they ZipTaser you. It’s instinct
with them.
Smoky Eyes straightens. I tell myself I’m not going to look at him. But I walk past
and of course look right into those eyes. He stares back as if he’d like to say something
but not now. Not with marshals waiting.
“Next,” the seated marshal says.
Smoky Eyes doesn’t move. It could be fear of the marshal, but I like to think he can’t
tear himself away from my gorgeous self.
“Now!” the marshal shouts.
Smoky rolls his eyes in a goodbye gesture and goes in. The Starter behind him, an
Asian guy, moves forward. He looks like he recognizes me, but I don’t know him.
“Wait outside,” the Asian guy says to me. “I want to talk.”
The hall is packed with the donor Starters in line and the renter Enders moving past
them. I’m caught in the shuffle and couldn’t stay if I wanted to.
“Why?” I shout back.
“I know you,” he says.
Over the heads of the Enders, I look at him as I’m forced to keep walking. He’s hot.
All donors are. Still, if I knew him, I think I’d remember. I’m ready to dismiss him
as a flirt when a memory flashes through my mind.
He stares at me. We’re in a club. I’m sitting in a deep-cushioned chair in this classy
place—around a caffeine table. He is sitting across from me. And next to us isSmoky Eyes. He calls the Asian guy Lee, and Lee calls him Raj
.
They’re talking about secrets and lies. How we have to act casual, not slip up, so
the girl doesn’t guess who we really are. What girl?
Then I follow Lee’s stare and see a Starter moving closer to sit in the last chair.
She wears a shimmery dress; she’s obviously another donor, by her perfect skin and
long, glossy hair. There must be an Ender renter inside, but she doesn’t act like
other renters. She’s nervous, cautious. She says to call her Callie. The two guys
put on big smiles for her benefit. I do the same. I feel an overwhelming sense of
deception. I drum my fingers and then I get it. I know who had that habit—Doris. I’m
Doris wearing my body
.
I blink and come out of the memory. The crowd of Enders has pushed me down to the
end of the hallway, far out of sight of Lee. We spill out to the lobby, which is filled
with more people—donors, renters, marshals.
Doris is still where she was when I saw her right before the marshal’s interview:
leaning against a wall, her arms cuffed behind her. I look around and see other Prime
employees: Tinnenbaum, the front man, and Rodney, the driver and bodyguard. They’re
also cuffed and pouting.
And then I see her. The donor girl from my memory: Callie. She’s talking to an Ender
in a suit, probably a detective. She sees me staring. Her expression goes through
a rainbow of changes. At first she recognizes me and looks angry. Then she shakes
it off, as if she was wrong. Or calming herself; I can’t tell. Should I try to talk
to her? No, she’s returned her attention to the detective.
I stand in the middle of the lobby, completely confused. Why am I getting these memories?
They’re not really mine. I was asleep at the body bank when Doris was using my body.
No one explained to me that she was my renter; I figured it out from the flashbacks.
But they come in pieces, flashes, without reason.
I need to get out of here. I head for the door.
Instead of Prime’s doorman, a marshal stands by the exit.
“Have you been questioned?” he asks me.
I hold up my arm and show him the “M” brand on my wrist. He nods and unlocks the door
so I can finally leave this disgusting place.
I step into the cold night air and am hit with the
“All right.” My marshal taps his airscreen again. “You’re dismissed.” He waves a small
metal tube over my inner wrist and it microsprays the letter “M” in black. Branded.
“It’ll wash off in a day. If we need you, we know where to find you.”
I leave as fast as I can without running. If you run, they ZipTaser you. It’s instinct
with them.
Smoky Eyes straightens. I tell myself I’m not going to look at him. But I walk past
and of course look right into those eyes. He stares back as if he’d like to say something
but not now. Not with marshals waiting.
“Next,” the seated marshal says.
Smoky Eyes doesn’t move. It could be fear of the marshal, but I like to think he can’t
tear himself away from my gorgeous self.
“Now!” the marshal shouts.
Smoky rolls his eyes in a goodbye gesture and goes in. The Starter behind him, an
Asian guy, moves forward. He looks like he recognizes me, but I don’t know him.
“Wait outside,” the Asian guy says to me. “I want to talk.”
The hall is packed with the donor Starters in line and the renter Enders moving past
them. I’m caught in the shuffle and couldn’t stay if I wanted to.
“Why?” I shout back.
“I know you,” he says.
Over the heads of the Enders, I look at him as I’m forced to keep walking. He’s hot.
All donors are. Still, if I knew him, I think I’d remember. I’m ready to dismiss him
as a flirt when a memory flashes through my mind.
He stares at me. We’re in a club. I’m sitting in a deep-cushioned chair in this classy
place—around a caffeine table. He is sitting across from me. And next to us isSmoky Eyes. He calls the Asian guy Lee, and Lee calls him Raj
.
They’re talking about secrets and lies. How we have to act casual, not slip up, so
the girl doesn’t guess who we really are. What girl?
Then I follow Lee’s stare and see a Starter moving closer to sit in the last chair.
She wears a shimmery dress; she’s obviously another donor, by her perfect skin and
long, glossy hair. There must be an Ender renter inside, but she doesn’t act like
other renters. She’s nervous, cautious. She says to call her Callie. The two guys
put on big smiles for her benefit. I do the same. I feel an overwhelming sense of
deception. I drum my fingers and then I get it. I know who had that habit—Doris. I’m
Doris wearing my body
.
I blink and come out of the memory. The crowd of Enders has pushed me down to the
end of the hallway, far out of sight of Lee. We spill out to the lobby, which is filled
with more people—donors, renters, marshals.
Doris is still where she was when I saw her right before the marshal’s interview:
leaning against a wall, her arms cuffed behind her. I look around and see other Prime
employees: Tinnenbaum, the front man, and Rodney, the driver and bodyguard. They’re
also cuffed and pouting.
And then I see her. The donor girl from my memory: Callie. She’s talking to an Ender
in a suit, probably a detective. She sees me staring. Her expression goes through
a rainbow of changes. At first she recognizes me and looks angry. Then she shakes
it off, as if she was wrong. Or calming herself; I can’t tell. Should I try to talk
to her? No, she’s returned her attention to the detective.
I stand in the middle of the lobby, completely confused. Why am I getting these memories?
They’re not really mine. I was asleep at the body bank when Doris was using my body.
No one explained to me that she was my renter; I figured it out from the flashbacks.
But they come in pieces, flashes, without reason.
I need to get out of here. I head for the door.
Instead of Prime’s doorman, a marshal stands by the exit.
“Have you been questioned?” he asks me.
I hold up my arm and show him the “M” brand on my wrist. He nods and unlocks the door
so I can finally leave this disgusting place.
I step into the cold night air and am hit with the
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