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 forever.”
“Then tell me to leave.” I wipe my face with a napkin.
“You need exercise. You need fresh air. You’ll feel better if you go outside.”
“Tell me to,” I say. “Tell me to, and I will.”
“No.” Cal sighs. “I’m done with that.”
“You’re done with me then, because I can’t live on my own.”
Cal shakes his head. “You don’t have to live on your own. Is that what you think?”
I push away my plate.
“You can live here as long as you want. For the rest of your life! You can be my daughter, Blanca, my real daughter. I’m sorry I didn’t say that a long time ago. It’s what Sophia would have wanted, and it’s what I want too. You can make friends. You can go outside. You can do anything you want.”
“Tell me to,” I say. “Tell me to be your daughter.”
“No. You have to choose for yourself.”
“You know I can’t do that!”
“Do you want to?” Cal wrinkles his forehead.
“Yes.” I wipe my cheek on the edges of my sweater.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Tell me how to help you.” Tears run down Cal’s nose.
“I have told you!” I yell. “But you won’t listen.”
“I’m trying,” he says. “I’m trying to help you.”
But he won’t.
The next day, I wake up to the sound of hammering outside my bedroom window. Workers install a ladder into the courtyard.
So now every day I climb down the ladder and get some fresh air. I run around and around the courtyard in circles so I don’t get fat. Because I know that someday Cal is going to want a Vestal again, and I’ve got to be ready.
I am loyal. I am discrete. I follow the rules. Run. Run. Run. I am a beacon of light in a world that has forgotten what is important. Run. Run. Run.
I am a Vestal.
No matter what Cal says.
I don’t recognize myself anymore. Even though I’m wearing my standard-issue whites, I don’t look like me. I don’t know what’s wrong or why this isn’t working, but I know it’s my fault.
It’s been almost a month now, cloistered in my room. I’ve read all the books on my wall, and I’ve written about a thousand letters on my white desk, most of them to Fatima. But I never send any of them.
If other Vestals knew that Mr. McNeal released me, I’d be shunned. Headmaster Russell would probably take my cuff away. Once a Vestal is decuffed, they might as well be dead.
Four weeks of cloistering. At least, I think it’s the fourth week. I should have created a calendar and crossed out the days because it’s easy to lose track. I should have done that.
I should have done a lot of things.
I should have done a better job proving to Mr. McNeal what a perfect Vestal I am. I should have made him realize that he needs me in his life exactly as I am. One of the Brethren. Sealed for life. A blank slate for the genesis of anything.
I should have done better. I should have lived up to my platinum cuff. I should have embodied what it means to be top pick.
I should recite the Vestal Code of Ethics one hundred more times. That’s more important than sleep.
Much more important.
Sleep isn’t as important as being a Vestal.
I should know that.
Sometimes I climb down the ladder into my courtyard and look up at the sky. It’s so blue and clear. I see clouds drift by and think about how clouds are like perfect Vestals. They’re white and fluffy and higher than everyone else. You’re a little cloud floating in the sky above the whole world. And you’re placid. Perfectly placid. That’s what I’m supposed to be. But now I’m down here in the dirt.
The Virus comes to the first-floor window and stares at me every day. I can see his fingers twitch when he sees me. He’s itching to blog about me. I know it.
But I’ve never seen the Virus hold his palm up, so I guess he’s honoring his promise. I don’t think he’s taken my picture. Yet.
I don’t know how I got so confused by that Virus. He’s not good-looking at all! He’s tech-infested and covered in tattoos. I can’t believe I let him touch me.
You can’t ever trust a Virus. That’s what Barbelo Nemo wrote, and he’s