Lakewood - Megan Giddings Page 0,20

from me. Talk to me about sex. Do you like it? Are you scared of it? A person came in wearing one of those terrible unicorn masks and asked me about risk-taking. How often was I scared? Would I ever go bungee jumping? What were my rational fears? Then everything was twisting and I saw colors on the walls—lavender, orange, fruit-punch red. My spine was sparking with pain. All I wanted was to lie on a hardwood floor. Stay still until it all floated away.

Lena covered her eyes.

Déjà vu spread across her like sunlight pushing through a set of blinds. How many times had she done this, looked at memories written by herself, felt this same mix of confusion and annoyance and fear? Did she think every time this was worth it as long as I’m taking care of my mom?

She hoped so.

7

Lena knew it was the last day when, at breakfast, she was given her phone, her luggage, and a check for three thousand dollars with “Thinking of you during this difficult time” scribbled in the memo line. The money was coming from an account that belonged to an R.M. Johnson. Lena was sure that person did not exist. And really, it didn’t matter. It would have taken her all summer at her work-study job or Burrito Town to make this much.

She took another bite of her fruit salad. Dipped a piece of cantaloupe into strawberry yogurt.

“Knock, knock.” It was Tim from orientation. He was dressed as if he was working in the electronics section of his local Target: pleated khakis, a red polo, and a cell phone in a holder strapped to his brown belt. “Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Lena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in case any yogurt was lingering around the corners.

“So, we’ve been thrilled with your results. You have a wonderful memory, an incredible tolerance,” he said, smiling. She could tell he was very pleased. “We would love to officially invite you to be a part of Lakewood.”

“Lakewood?” Lena asked as if she hadn’t heard the name before, as if it hadn’t been hinted at all the time.

Tim poured them both coffee. “You would be working more with Dr. Lisa. The two of you seem to have connected.” His smile widened. Lena gripped her knees beneath the table. His tone, the expressions on his face made her wary. Why did he feel the need to sell her on this? They had to know she was desperate for money. Whatever they wanted her to do would have to be much worse than the things that had happened this week.

Slowly, Lena said that while Dr. Lisa was great, she cared much more about what she would be doing in this project.

“That’s a great question.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“We like what a straight shooter you are.”

And that was another lie. Here she had made an effort to be soft. It hadn’t been conscious most of the time, but she had been eager to make a good impression on everyone.

Lakewood was the name of a small town about two and a half hours north of Lena and Deziree’s home. Tim explained they were building an “undercover site” there. “We’ll have what looks like a regular job set up for you, but you’ll be doing research studies most of the time. You’ll get a free place to stay, generous health insurance for you and your mom, and we pay very, very well.”

He handed Lena a contract, flipped to the page with the amount of money she would be paid.

“It’s not a typo. And of course, complete health coverage for your entire family. Nothing paid out of pocket.”

On the money line was an amount so big that it embarrassed Lena. Below that were the terms of a new nondisclosure agreement. Potential jail time. Up to a million dollars in damages as decided by a federal judge’s ruling. A section detailing the amount of money she—or her designated beneficiaries—would receive depending on what happened to her. If she died, $100,000. For sustained brain damage or neurocognitive issues, $75,000. Smaller amounts for blindness, irreversible changes to her appearance. If she lost a foot, $15,000.

“How could I lose a foot?”

“Oh, our lawyers have to think of every possibility, you know, liabilities. You got to be one hundred percent protected in this business.”

“I see.”

It was the healthcare. Her mom could start getting Botox again for her migraines, go to the recommended physical therapist. She could always afford her medication and