CHAPTER
ONE
Wallis
laughed and pushed the hog to 127 mph. As he glanced back over his
shoulder, he pulled his mask out of his jacket pocket.
The
Protect-and-Serve squad car hummed as its velocity increased to 115.
The Protect-and-Serve officer behind the wheel maintained a grim
expression. Speeding in a residential neighborhood was a serious
offense—especially late at night.
Wallis
Barber turned onto a street of dark living pods. He careened into his
driveway, whipped his phat hog around, and faced the squad car as it
braked in front of him.
A
shock wand in hand, the Protect-and-Serve officer jumped from his car
eager to make an arrest.
Wallis
pulled on his mask: a black ski mask with two eye holes and a slim
mouth slot. The phrase “Be Nice” was stitched across the forehead
with bright red and yellow yarn.
Surprised, the
Protect-and-Serve officer deactivated his shock wand. He took a step
forward, offered his hand to Wallis, and said, “Congrats, Wallis. I
had no idea you signed on.”
Wallis
shook the Protect-and-Serve officer's hand and reddened it with
blood.
The
Protect-and-Serve officer grinned and wiped the blood on his pant
leg. “So, I guess it was you, John Tom, and the others down at the
java shop?”
Wallis
proudly stuck out his chest and replied, “You knows it, officer.”
The
Protect-and-Serve officer removed his patrol cap and stuffed it under
his armpit. “Just keep up the good work out here, son. You, John
Tom, and the rest, you keep stompin' 'em good.” With a wink, he
strolled down the driveway to his squad car.
Wallis
raised his fist and shouted, “BE NICE!”
The
Protect-and-Serve officer gave a crisp salute and backed out to the
street.
Wallis
entered his living pod and shut and locked the door behind him.
Living Pod Number Twelve had been his home for the past seventeen
years. It had thick shag carpeting, a 150-inch flat screen TV, soft
oval walls, long tan drapes, and off-white, comfortable furnishings.
An
hour later, in his bedroom, Wallis stepped out of the shower. He
dried off and tied a towel around his waist. He stared at himself in
the full-length bathroom mirror behind the door and marveled at his
youthful physique. He smiled broadly, impressed by his rows of
perfect white teeth. He ran his hands through his jet-black, wavy
hair and coolly smoothed it back.
Wallis
dropped into a lounge chair at his work desk. He had set up his
speakdeck before going out, just in case he returned home drunk.
He
hit the SPK button on the deck and watched as the mic light turned
green.
He
put his mouth up to it and said, “Hi.
Wallis David Barber here. Santa Monica, Cali-for-nie-ay. And I, uh…I
just turned seventeen, seventeen this very day!” He
smiled and sang, “Happy
birthday to me, happy birthday to me, I'm seventeen today, and I've
gotta do this shit cuz they told me to!”
He laughed, burped, and continued.
“So, yeah, uh…they told me I was in this morning!” He
cheered, pumping his fists. “And
I got the BE NICE stitchin' all sewn in tight too!” He
stood from his desk and placed his right hand over his heart. “The
black mask is the depths of outer space: all that matters. The yellow
is the sun: the giver of all life. The red is the blood: the blood of
the us, the all, the chosen few.” He
sat and leaned toward the mic.
“So, anyway, back to biz-ness. Let's see, where do I start? Well, I
woke up pretty early this morning, I had me some tasty bee-day grub,
chatted with the biologicals, went to school, and then to the Be Nice
meeting. Oh, eff this. I know what you really wanna hear. So, listen.
We picked up a flit right after the meeting. The word was these Be
Nicers from New Venice had spotted these two golden oldie haters down
at our local java shop. So me and Janey Typermass, we put on our Be
Nice masks and took off on my hog. John Tom, Pete and Becky Tensil,
and Abe Robinson, they beat us down there in John Tom's big time
H-mobile. After about 25 minutes or so, this oldie Afreak shows up.
This oldie Afreak, she was maybe 75—fat, real black, and supah evil
looking—didn’t see us hiding in the dark over by the corner
table. So this Afreak goes to work: she starts servin' up the java
and the donut holes and the cake and the lemon wedges. I say eff
these oldies that beat the life expecs. Too old to stand the W Line,
so they end up in the java shops—real lazy on their meds, as well.
So we peeped this Afreak up close, real close. And I swear, whenever
a white person stepped to her for service, she sure as eff gave them
the stinky eye. And then this old, white Klanny, he shows up. He was
dressed all old an' shit—no damn fashion sense. And, don't you know
it, the Klanny gets crazy mad and calls the Afreak the N-word, and
the Afreak, she goes and says somethin' terrible about Euro people.
So me, John Tom, Janey, Pete, Becky, and Abe, we went to work. Aw,
buddy, you shoulda seen that Afreak and Klanny's faces when we said
they were both guilty of Race Crime. John Tom, he laid that old
Klanny flat out. Becky and Abe, they stomped him down and bloodied
him good, messed up their shiny, new, black trooper boots with skin
and bad teeth. Me, Janey, and Pete, we took off on the Afreak. She
tried to argue the Race Crime with us, so Janey bashed her head in.
It was so, so epic even the customers cheered. Then Pete says that we
should put the Afreak and the Klanny side-by-side and take a pic.
Post it up on Flit, Bleep, Pace, and Jack; let everybody know that
the Santa Monica Be Nice kids ain't no effin' joke. And, yeah, that's
just what we did!”
Wallis
switched off the deck. His eyes were red and irritated. He dropped
his towel on the floor, made a nasally dive-bombing sound, and
flopped on his bed. He looked around his bedroom and settled on the
black ski mask with the red and yellow BE NICE stitching on the
forehead, draped over a chair. He then looked at the sky blue walls
and up to the black ceiling. He thought, that
should be a ceiling with a whole lot of those glow-in-the-dark stars
on it.
He
stared at his stylish clothes, wrinkled and unwashed, hanging in the
closet. He owned Friss tees, Tojomi wrap-around sweaters, several
pairs of Wrecker Wear jeans, a dark navy blue pea coat with silver
epaulets on the shoulders, and six pairs of war boots with black
laces: black like the night sky.
Wallis
rolled over and looked at his work desk. His Heroes Unlimited action
figures were perfectly lined up: Blazer Blane, Rock Quarryman, Super
Doll, and a variety of others. His comic book collection was neatly
boxed, boarded, and bagged next to them. The Fearsome Falandrom No.1,
CGC value 9.2, was on top. His schoolbooks and supplies were stacked
pyramid-like in the middle of the desk—the bigger books on the
bottom, the smaller books on top—three drawing pens and a box of
colored pencils to their right.
Wallis
glanced at the sky blue walls a second time and noticed several light
blue rectangles. There were posters hanging there the other day: lots
of hot, sexy chicks, musicians, fast cars and fast hogs—childish
bullshit.
Wallis
switched off his desk bulb. He would hang his new Be Nice posters, as
soon as he woke, in the morning.
Mary
Barber placed three plates of chocolate cake on the breakfast table.
She set silverware, napkins, and Wallis’s favorite Heroes Unlimited
mug next to them. She adjusted her blonde hair, swept a curl behind
her ear, and moved to the stove. She grabbed OJ, milk, and a
half-eaten chocolate cake off of the counter next to it. She put her
haul on the kitchen table and hit the intercom button.
“Morning,
you sweet thing,” her husband, Brent, said, as he entered a second
later.
“Morning,
lover,” she replied, kissing him on the cheek.
Brent
Barber zipped his green tracksuit jacket, hiding his middle-age
bulge, and picked up his newspad. “He awake?”
Mary
checked the watch implant on her wrist. “It's just about eleven.”
“Well,
I sure hope last night went okay.”
Mary
closed her eyes and crossed her fingers.
After
getting dressed in his green Wrecker jeans and black and
white-striped Tojomi sweater, Wallis unlocked a drawer on his work
desk and took out a leather portfolio. He unzipped it and opened to
the pages inside. There were black and white and color sketches of
the dozens of superheroes he'd thought up: muscular men and women
with detailed costume designs in action poses alongside a litany of
supervillains.
Wallis
carefully removed one of the pictures of a superhero with an “M”
emblazoned across his chest: The Mighty Morphon. Wallis looked at his
Be Nice posters arranged on the floor and held Morphon up to one of
the pale blue spots on the wall. He stepped back, thinking to
himself, So why can't
I hang up some of my
heroes instead?
Wallis
zipped the portfolio closed and placed it back in his work desk. He
locked the desk, pocketed the gold key, and collected his
schoolbooks. He blew a kiss to his Super Doll action figure, rubbing
her left nipple for luck, and ran out of the bedroom. He ambled down
the shag-carpeted hallway and jumped to the bottom of the stairs. As
he marched into the kitchen, he snatched his selli off the family
photo shelf.
Wallis
took a seat at the kitchen table. “What it be like, errybody?”
“Well,
hello there, big man,” his father answered.
“And
a glorious morning to you, my one and only,” his mother cooed.
Wallis
eyed his plate. “Damn, woman. You know I love
me some birthday cake for breakfast.”
His
mother blushed, both hands curled against her cheeks.
His
father smiled. “So did you have fun last night?”
Wallis
stuffed a hunk of cake in his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of
milk. “Oh, you knows it.”
“Son,
we are so, so proud of you.”
“Thanks,
Pop.”
“And
we're very glad that you and your friends had so much fun.”
Wallis’s
mother chimed in, “That's what it's all about. Having fun. And did
you know when your father and I were your age—”
Brent
loudly cleared his throat.
“Oh
jeezles, I'm sorry,” Mary said.
Brent
gave her a stern look.
Mary
smacked herself on the forehead, went to a cupboard above the
dishwasher, took out a bottle of pink pills, downed a few, and
returned to the table. “So what are you doing today at school?”
Wallis
licked chocolate icing off his plate. “I'll prolly chill in artsy.
Get my drawings on. But, before that, us older kids, we got the Be
Nice lectures with ice-ass Mr. Beams.”
“Well,
let's just hope
you learn something, Mr. Seventeen.”
“You
know me, Moms. I'm ice.”
“And
don't forget, I invited Janey and her mother to have dinner this
weekend.”
“I
already got it locked and logged.”
Brent
remarked, “I gassed up the hog early this morning. You're welcome.”
Wallis
pressed his wrist implant and caught the time. “Okay, folks, I'm
gone.”
“You
do good today,” Mary said. “And if you find any haters out there;
you stomp the crap out of them!”
“Anyone
gets out of line, anyone wants to clackity clack nonsense with you,
you show them what's what!” Brent followed up.
Wallis
slid on his rose-colored driving shades and viewed the sunny streets
and peddie walks of Santa Monica, California. He gunned the throttle
and pushed the hog up to 100; it was black, chrome, fast, and a
bad-ass piece of machinery.
Santa
Monica was mostly a seaside town. It was a community of living pods,
businesses, big shopping malls, and parking structures built around
the Thirty-Third Street Promenade. The Promenade was the main
thoroughfare: the main street that led to the Pacific Ocean. Beyond
the Promenade was Water Town, but no one ever went to Water Town
unless they were on a paddleboat tour. The only things in Water Town
were dead office buildings and sea life.
Wallis
took the hog to 110 and rocketed down Arizona Avenue. Lots of people
were out: swells of humanity dressed in the latest fashions crowded
on the peddie walks. What
an ice-ass sight,
Wallis thought. Everyone
out this morning, everyone together, happy, with no troubles and no
worries. Black people, white people, brown people, yellow people, one
or two red people, and the occasional misfit toy: little people, the
handicapped, the mentally challenged, everyone had big smiles on
their faces.
Wallis
regarded the cars and hogs that zipped in and out around him. The
same rainbow of humanity was packed inside small electric cars and
trucks or rode free on the backs of their hogs. Most people worked
their newspads and let their steercomps drive for them, but Wallis
pushed his hog to 125—he liked being in control, no auto driver
needed, eff
that.
Wallis
rode down the right side of the road, close to the curb, and watched
the living pods breeze past. They were nestled together like colorful
eggs in an Easter basket.
It
was okay to think about Easter, just
to think about it.
Wallis
inspected the rose-tinted masses going to and fro wondered, So,
who was who exactly? And what did all of these people do in their
pods when Be Nice wasn't watching or listening in? Were they haters?
Were they criminals? Were some of them maybe religious freaks?
Wallis remembered the one time he heard this golden oldie had stepped
outside his pod during…what was it? Some religious, Jewbrew
nonsense, Passover? The oldie had on one of those silly beanies; the
dumb shit had forgotten to take it off. He was going to the store
when two Be Nice Hollywood girls saw him. They beat the living shit
out of him on the street corner, and even pissed in his face.
Janey
Typermass rushed out of the shower and almost tripped. She caught
herself on the shower door, but painfully stubbed her baby toe.
“Mother-I
fucked you!” she barked.
Wincing,
she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She fluffed her Afro
puffs, puckered her full lips, removed her towel, and examined her
small but firm breasts.
There
was a knock at the door followed by a female voice, “You okay?”
Janey
yelled back, “I'm all good!”
“I
thought I heard you scream.”
“I
just stubbed my wee-wee-wee.”
“Okay,
c'mon, breakfast is ready.”
“I
want Fruity Fruits, toast, and milk.”
“But
I made you waffles and bacon.”
Janey
rolled her eyes. “Just dump it in the cold box, and I'll have it
for dinner!”
Janey
squeezed into her black Wrecker skin tights and her silver
wife-beater and glanced at herself in the mirror across the bedroom.
“Got-damn, yes,” she said. “You are def one foine-ass
Afreak.”
She
took her selli off her work desk, snapped a picture of herself, and
posted it on Jack, Bleep, and Pace. Eff Flit, that site was getting
to be for little kids. She went over to her canopy bed and pressed
the MKE button. A whirling of rotors and electric arms and the bed
was made. She picked up her designer originals off the floor and
threw them over a chair. She laughed when she picked up her Be Nice
mask and war boots. The boots still had golden oldie Afreak blood on
the laces from the java shop.
Janey
looked at the drawings on her walls. She loved her charcoal sketches
of outer space: of all the planets, stars, suns, supernovae, and
creepy black holes. Outer space was a seriously unforgiving place,
and she liked that. There was no oxygen? Too bad. It was too cold?
Eff you. It was what it was and it was all
there was.
She
put her finger on a drawing of the Milky Way and smeared a fuzzy
black line down the center.
In
the kitchen, her mother served breakfast. Fruity Fruit Fruits, a
carton of milk, and a stack of toast were set at the side of a puppy
bowl; the puppy's name was Pooper. Janey poured a mound of cereal
into the bowl and drowned it in milk. Her mother, Irene, took a seat
at the table and picked at a large plate of waffles and bacon. Irene
was in her mid-forties, full figured, and wearing the house moo-moo
that she always wore. The big gold hoops she had in her ears pulled
her earlobes down, stretching them out.
“Are
you packed yet?” she asked Janey.
“The
field trip’s not ‘til this Monday,” Janey said.
“You
and that Barber boy, you two gonna bed down together?”
“No,
Mom. He's just my man, so I'm gonna bed with somebody else.”
“Well,
I heard you start the Be Nice lectures today. Is that right? And you
got Mr. Beams?”
“Uh
huh.”
“Mr.
B. Senior? Y'know, he taught me? And, good Lord,
girl, did we all love that man.”
Janey
shot a look across the table.
“Child,
I'm in my own living pod. I can think and say whatever I—”
“You
need to go take your meds.”
“I'll
take them before work.”
“Woman,
if I come back, and you're still clackin' on like some dumb-ass
Christ-ee…”
“Girl,
this is my pod! I can do whatever I want in my pod!”
Janey
placed her right hand over her heart. “The
black mask is the depths of outer space: all that matters. The yellow
is the sun: the giver of all life. The red is the blood: the blood of
the us, the all, the chosen few.”
“Girl,
you know, back in my day—”
“What?”
Irene
rested her eyes on her waffles and bacon.
Wallis’s
hog blared a retro space funk tune from the driveway.
“Have
a good day,” Irene said.
Janey
mockingly put her hands together in prayer. “Praise the Jesus!”
Janey
ran outside and jumped on the back of Wallis’s hog. She kissed him
on the neck and playfully bit him on his left ear.
Wallis
revved the engine and shouted, “So I guess you're still hungry!”
The
BURGER BURGER BURGER joint was crowded. Young kids chowed on synth
burgers and synth dogs while the over-thirty-fives manned the service
counters, their medicated grins unwavering.
Janey
squirted a bottle of ketchup in a wide circle. She followed it with a
bright, yellow sun made of mustard. Relish made up the star clusters.
She admired her creation on the table and smeared her finger through
the center of the ketchup circle.
Wallis
set a tray of burgers and fries down. “Girl, why you always do
that?”
Janey
giggled. “Because I can.”
“So
you sketch anything last night?”
“Are
you serious?”
“Just
wonderin'.”
“Drunk
as you were, I know you didn't do shit.”
“That's
cuz I'm Be Nice for real
now.”
“Yes,
you are! My baby boy, he's all grown up!”
“Hey,
did you hear we got Mr. Beams and the lectures later?”
“Yep.”
“Okay,
we got the field trip Monday, then the semester break, then, after
that, one more year, and we are out.”
Janey
pushed Wallis’s burger aside and sat in his lap. “And we def
gonna be big time, supah famous artsies, right?”
Wallis
kissed her. “Baby girl, me and you, we're both gonna be supah dupah
famous.”
“Me
and you? Only me
and you, right?”
“Girl,
please. You know it's just me and—”
At
the adjoining table, a group of younger kids laughed and made “ooooh”
noises.
Wallis
turned to face them and threw up the Be Nice gang sign. His left hand
with an okay gesture, his right hand formed an upside down peace
sign.
The
kids broke out of the restaurant.
John
Tom Martinez puffed his black cigarette. He liked the black tar
brand: the kind with the gold band around the top of the filter. He
was dressed in his Italiano blue and black checkered one piece—the
one with the spiked footies good for serious stomping. His dyed black
hair was buzz-cut on top and faded on the sides.
“Y'all,
go and eat up. Make sure you finish it all,” he said.
At
the breakfast table, his mother and father went to work on sizable
portions of pancakes and butter. The Martinezes were getting old,
gray around the edges, and fat around the middle. Abe Robinson and
Pete and Becky Tensil entered from the laundry room off the kitchen.
The three of them were in their underwear, each carrying a stack of
rumpled clothes. Abe, short, stocky, and Afreak, put on a white tee
and cargo shorts. Pete and Becky, red-headed pale-skinned twins, put
on matching green sweats and orange Protect-and-Serve shooter
goggles.
Becky
smiled at the Martinezes and said, “Just wanted to tell you again,
it's real, real ice of you to let us stay here, Mr. and Mrs. M.”
The
Martinezes smiled.
“Yo,
we def appreciate the luv,” Pete said. “Cuz our folks, they both
dead and happy now.”
Abe
picked up a trumpet lying on the kitchen counter. He put it up to his
lips and blew a few notes.
John
Tom tapped his mother on the shoulder. “Hey, did you sign my
permission slip for the field trip on Monday?”
“Of
course I did, John,” his mother replied.
“What
was that?”
“I
mean, of…of course, I did, John
Tom.”
John
Tom left the table. He measured six-feet-three inches.
Becky
ran back into the laundry room. She returned with four black masks
and turned them right-side-out, revealing the BE NICE stitching
across the forehead.
There
was a beeping sound from a selli. John Tom grabbed his phone from the
front pocket of his one piece and checked the caller ID.
Wallis
and Janey were a mile away from school when the hog's selli beeped.
Wallis slowed down to listen. Janey leaned into him, her head over
his shoulder.
“It's
John Tom. Be Nice front office hit me. We gotta roll,” the selli
squawked.
Wallis
unhooked the selli from the hog's gas tank. “But what about
school?”
“Eff
that, Wally-Wal. When Be Nice says it's time to roll out, we roll
out.”
“But
what about Mr. Beams? We got the lectures later,” Janey said.
John
Tom shot back, “Damn, girl, we'll get there in time.”
“Well,
where we goin'?” Wallis asked.
“This
pod over on Colorado. I hear some sick-ass Sex Crimer.”
Janus
Jones waited at the front door of his living pod and looked through
the peephole. He nervously rubbed his sweaty palms over his prison
issue pants and overcoat. He had gotten lucky. His lawyer had freed
him on a minor technicality. After the brutal rape of his
over-thirty-five neighbor, his pod had been tossed by the
Protect-and-Serves without a warrant. You were happy if your lawyer
got you off, but the battle for survival on the outside was fierce
mainly because if Be Nice found out what you did, they would sure as
eff come after you and beat you down. What happened on the inside?
Well, there, the penal officials, they would kill you quick.
John
Tom, Pete and Becky, and Abe arrived in John Tom's H-Mobile.
They
put on their Be Nice masks. The early afternoon sun made them itch.
John
Tom ran a white silk cloth across the dashboard of his car. The
H-mobile was his baby, his lover, the car he'd gotten for his
sixteenth birthday: apple red with phat black racing tires and giant
chrome exhaust pipes.
“Where
are they? They're effin' late,” John Tom mumbled, as he checked his
wrist implant.
“You
know how they are,” Becky said.
Pete
snickered, “Yeah, they're prolly out makin' the bay-bays.”
Abe
leaned over the backseat. “Yo, I hear Wallis’s pop, he just got a
raise over at Shelby.”
John
Tom pocketed the silk cloth. “Yeah, I gots to get my pops to
another W Line. I mean, his pay's ice, but it ain't Shelby ice. Cuz I
def need me some work done on this—”
The
sound of Wallis’s hog cut him off.
Wallis
and Janey, already wearing their Be Nice masks, stopped next to the
driver's side. They gave John Tom and the others fist bumps.
Wallis
motioned to the living pod across the street. “So what's this guy's
name?”
“His
name's Janus, Janus Jones,” John Tom replied.
Janey
yelled at the pod, “Janus! You mean, more like, Janus, the punk-ass
anus!”
John
Tom popped the trunk of the H-mobile and handed everyone a shock
wand. “No,” he said. “It's more like Janus right up
his anus.”
Everyone
laughed and hollered and bolted across the street.
Janus
saw them coming through the peephole. He hesitated, gathered himself,
and unlocked his front door.
The
Brennan Learning Center's athletic field was packed. Students, all
over sixteen, and of every shade and size and weight class, gathered
in the dimming sunlight. They talked, they kissed, they fought, they
feverishly tapped their selli keys. The fashions on hand were
striking: hair was styled, gelled, matted, hot-pressed, or rowed;
black war boots were polished to a mirror-like sheen.
The
Brennan stadium was shaped like an ice cream scoop, perfect to hold
the ever-increasing volume of new students. A stage had been set in
the middle of the athletic field, covering the foot-soc yardage lines
marked in white. Overhead, seven giant telescreens beamed the Brennan
school logo, a Roman centurion riding a hog.
Wallis,
Janey, John Tom, and the others, halfway up, forced their way through
the crowds offering greetings and numerous handshakes as they took
their seats. A few kids from neighboring Be Nice groups, Westwood and
New Venice, threw up gang signs.
The
giant telescreens suddenly went dark.
The
chatter in the stadium transformed into cheers and whistles.
Wallis,
Janey, John Tom, and the others joined in.
From
an opening in the center of the stage, a platform lifted Mr. Clay
Beams onto the foot-soc field. Mr. Beams was in his mid to late
twenties. He had angular features, a tall muscular build, and a thick
mane of long, silky blond hair. The hair was braided into an
intricate ponytail: a solid gold pretzel that ran down the middle of
his back.
“BEAMS!
BEAMS! BEAMS! BEAMS!” the thousands of kids chanted.
Wearing
a black and white one piece, Mr. Beams raised his hands in the air.
The
boisterous crowd quieted.
A
black, red, and yellow dome closed over the top of the stadium.
“Forget
what you've been told. Forget everything you've heard. This is the
real, this was
The Before,” Mr. Beams said, his commanding voice amplified over
the stadium's loudspeakers.
The
giant telescreens flashed on overhead. They displayed a hectic array
of images of people from every continent around the world.
Mr.
Beams continued. “Thirty billion of us trapped here on Earth, and
the golden oldies, they told us not to worry. They told us to keep on
making more.”
Grainy
footage of smokestacks belching out poisons and pollutants
materialized on the telescreens.
“And
while we were all out making more babies, the golden oldies, they
told us to stick with the greasy black oil and the filthy black coal.
They wanted us to pollute the only planet we have to live on, and to
keep killing one another to earn
that almighty
dollar.”
News
clips of human suffering on the telescreens…droughts, famines,
diseases, viral outbreaks.
“And
how did we respond? We obliged the golden oldies willingly, naively,
and, yes, even foolishly. And what was the end result? All of us…we
were made to suffer!”
Stock
footage of scientists at work, of rocket ships taking off, of
grandiose space stations in orbit.
“We
were made to suffer! And for what reason? For the oh-so-false
promise of one day being lifted off this overcrowded and polluted
world...and flown to the stars! But, when the economies of the world
collapsed, and they could no longer promise us the stars, or even put
food in our bellies, they lied to us again, and they robbed
us of our land! And
then the air, it became hotter! And the oceans, they became angry!
And the waters we used to swim in and fish in and play in and depend
on soon rose against
us!”
Photos
of riots, burning cities, wars being fought in forests and on city
streets.
“We
fought one another, we battled one another, we eradicated one
another, and those who once governed us, they sat high above it
all…and they watched.”
Mr.
Beams waved his right hand over his head.
The
giant telescreens went dark.
The
slow build of a symphony orchestra.
The
kids clapped and cheered.
“And
when it seemed mankind could take no more…from out of the slime,
from out of the mud of the wretched masses…He
appeared!”
The
photo of a young man wearing a black ski mask. Yellow and red
letters, BE NICE, stitched across the forehead.
The
kids in the stadium went ballistic.
“He
was an unknown! He was a nothing! He was a nobody! But his message,
it was clear! His message was clear enough for us to understand, and
it was loud enough for them
to be afraid of!”
The
kids chanted, “BE NICE! BE NICE! BE NICE!”
“He
was one human being! But he was a human being with a message! BE
NICE! Apply this philosophy to all things, and evil will come
crashing down!
So we took to Flit, to Pace, to Jack, and to Bleep, and then we took
the war, all ten billion of us, right to them! We took down the
polluters who wouldn't BE NICE!”
News
footage of armies of young people, millions of them, battling their
way into companies and corporations.
“And
then we took down all the racists, all the haters—the low IQ plague
of scum that had infected mankind!”
Still
photos of men and women, of all ethnicities, being hanged from
lampposts.
“And
then we took on the zealots and the religious demagogues! The ones
who had pitted us against one another for centuries in their endless
drive for indoctrination! The same ones who told us to sit and have
faith while the world died around us! They said have faith that a
divine being would arrive and offer
us salvation! But there was no divinity and there was no salvation!”
Footage
of churches burning, of mosques and synagogues going up in flames.
“And
then we took on the rich: the greedy parasites, the bastard children
of the almighty dollar! We told them they could no longer hoard their
ill begotten wealth, they could no longer own millions of acres of
land when the teeming multitudes needed decent homes to live in! And
then we stood before the entire world as one army, ten billion
strong, and the world, it cowered before our might!”
Website
footage of young people on the march.
“We
ended the Mussie and Jewbrew nonsense in the Middle East with the
power of our boots and our fists, and then we marched on Africa and
India and all of Europe! We marched on Japan and China and Russia
next, and then we marched on North America!”
Animated
scenes of living pods popping up around the world—replacing slums
and ghettos—turning swamps and tundra and deserts into habitable
cities.
“And
then, after Be Nice made sure everyone had a decent place that they
could call home, we closeted the gods of the old ways, and we
replaced them with the stars. The stars: the only things that matter!
Outer space: the only thing that's real! The sun: the giver of all
life!”
The
stadium became a sea of raised fists.
“It
was our desire to no longer accept the old ways of hate, greed, and
envy! It was our common desire to turn to our neighbors, our friends,
and our loved ones and say…BE NICE!”
The
kids cried out, “BE NICE!”
“And
for anyone who wanted to hinder our goals, our desire for world
peace, freedom, and a good life for the masses…they were met with
the stomp stomp!”
The
kids pounded their boots on the ground in unison chanting, “STOMP,
STOMP!”
“We
don't care about your liberalism, your socialism, your communism,
your conservatism, your Judaism, your Catholicism, your Hinduism,
your Buddhism, your Islam, or your Christianity! If anyone dares to
mention any of the old ways out in the open, and Be Nice hears about
it…what will they get in return?”
“STOMP,
STOMP!”
“And
what did the oldies do? They gave in! They surrendered! They didn't
want their precious, little planet turned into a burning cinder! So
they gave us food, clothing, big TVs, phat hybrid cars, phat hybrid
hogs, and brand new war boots to keep us happy!”
“STOMP,
STOMP!”
“And
then we put the golden oldies on the amazing meds so they could work
and earn
that almighty dollar! And when each of our time comes, we will do the
same, we will do what is best for everyone! We will take our meds! We
will eat and drink our fill! We will smoke cigars and cigarettes and
whatever we want! We will have babies only if we choose! We will live
our lives as we see
fit! And if we have lived right and lived well, we will pass on!
Fifty-five years, as the life expecs tell us, and we will step aside,
allowing the next generation to take hold! For as long as we are one
people on one planet, we will do whatever we must in order to
survive! And, above all else, as long as we survive…WE WILL BE
FREE!”
The
lights in the stadium brightened.
Space
techno jazz boomed from the loudspeakers.
Mr.
Beams danced on the stage and waved to the crowd.
Wallis,
Janey, John Tom and the others, and the thousands of wild-eyed kids
enthusiastically swarmed the field.
CHAPTER
TWO
“So…what's
his name?”
“I
call him The Mighty Morphon.”
“I
see. And what are The Mighty Morphon's superpowers?”
“I
haven't figured it out yet.”
Wallis’s
art teacher, Ms. Garner, looked at the superhero sketched in his
drawing pad. It was a powerful superhero with an M emblazoned across
his chest and an expression of rage on his face.
“Well,
I guess if you named him Morphon you must have the sense that he has
the power to change into something
or someone else,” she said.
Wallis’s
eyes darted back to Morphon. “I guess.”
“So
does Morphon have a secret identity?”
“I
haven't figured that out yet, either.”
“But why does he look so
angry? He can't be angry. I mean, no one can just be
angry.”
“Yeah?
Why the eff not?”
An
indiscernible twitch quivered on Ms. Garner's face. “Because,
Wallis, no one is just angry, because everyone is happy.”
“I
know that.”
“Okay,
so maybe Morphon is mad at all the haters. You know, the ones that
are still hiding out there.”
“Yeah,
I like that, Ms. G. That's good. Eff all
the haters.”
Ms.
Garner took Wallis’s hand and affectionately held it. She smiled
and moved to the next student.
Wallis
turned to Janey at the back of the classroom. She was sketching; her
face and nose dotted with charcoal. Wallis checked Ms. Garner, saw
she was occupied with the other student, and crept to Janey's side.
“Whatcha
doin'?” he asked.
Janey
rolled her eyes.
Wallis
looked at her drawing. It was a crude charcoal sketch of the sun and
the orbiting planets. The sun vomited plumes of black flames. The
orbiting planets burned.
“That's
ice,” he said.
Janey
drew a dark line of charcoal down his cheek. Wallis held her close
and kissed her.
“Janey,
may I see what you've drawn?”
Wallis
and Janey moved apart as Ms. Garner positioned herself between them.
“It's
the sun, the planets, and outer space. It's the only thing that
matters,” Janey said.
“Yes,
Janey, that's right.”
Wallis
whispered, “Ms. G, you think one day we'll get out there?”
“I
hear the scientists would like to, Wallis, so I'm sure we will.”
Janey
smirked. “Hey, Ms. G., you start the meds next year, don't you?”
“Yes,
Janey, that's right.”
“And
if you're really good at stuff, like artsy, they let you keep doin'
it, right?”
“Yes,
Janey, that's right.”
“So
you think you're gonna get to keep doin' artsy?”
Ms.
Garner didn't answer. Her face twitched a second time.
Wallis
noticed it and remarked, “If not, it's straight to the W
Line...right?”
“Yes,
Wallis, that's right. I'll go straight to the W Line.” Ms. Garner
regained her composure. “So, Janey, can you tell me what your
drawing represents?”
“It's
just the sun and the planets and other stuff,” Janey said.
“Yes,
I see that, but…why is the sun, the giver of all life, destroying
all the other planets?”
Janey
stood there. She didn't know. She didn't care.
Ms.
Garner took time to process. “You and Wallis, you both met here in
my art class?”
Janey
held Wallis’s hand. “Yeah, Ms. G. And we're both gonna be
artsies. We're gonna draw the music disc covers, the comic superhero
books, and paint the really famous paintings.”
“That's
nice. I'm so very proud of you. But, like Mr. Beams teaches us,
sometimes what we want in life isn't always what's best for—”
Wallis
went face to face with Ms. Garner. “Then we'll go on the meds and
get on the W Line like my mom and pop did, and like Janey's mom did.
We're Be Nice, Ms. G.,we know what's up.”
Ms.
Garner acquiesced. “Good, Wallis. That's very, very good.” She
eyed Janey's drawing a second time and moved to another student.
Abe
placed his trumpet to his lips. He closed his eyes and played. The
music rolled out smoothly, but with a somewhat melancholy feel.
The
rest of the students in class looked on.
Abe
played for another three minutes then stopped and opened his eyes.
Impressed,
John Tom gave a fist bump to Pete and Becky.
The
class applauded.
Mr.
Baylor, the music teacher, strolled from behind his desk.
“Incredible, Abe. That was just incredible.”
Abe
locked his trumpet in its carrying case. “Thanks, Mr. Baylor.”
“Music,
music, music. Don't we all just love music?”
“Abe's
gonna be supah famous! You watch!” John Tom declared.
“He's
gonna be right up there with Killer Frank and Josh Klown,” Pete
added.
Becky
gave a thumbs up. “I bet, when he takes his meds, they're just
gonna let him keep on playin' his tunes.”
John
Tom pounded his desk in approval. A pair of cymbals fell off the desk
and crashed to the floor.
The
class applauded.
“Hey,
I ain't into the music thing,” John Tom boasted. “Me, I'm gonna
be big time pro foot-soc.”
“Oh,
yeah, right,” Pete said. “You gonna be on the W Line just like
your daddy and your mama.”
With
a serious look, Mr. Baylor turned to Pete. “And there's absolutely
nothing wrong with that, is
there, Peter?”
Silence
in the classroom.
Pete
bowed his head. “No, Mr. Baylor, sir. There ain't—ain't nothin'
wrong.”
John
Tom caught the foot-soc ball in one hand and raced toward the distant
goalpost. His body pads undulated around his muscular frame, a bead
of sweat rolled out from beneath his helmet. The opposing players
moved in on him from either side. He dropped the foot-soc ball to his
right foot and kicked it to a nearby teammate. The teammate caught
the ball, advanced down the field, and kicked the ball back to John
Tom. John Tom caught the ball, leveling two players in his way, and
kept running. A burly boy charged him head on. John Tom kicked the
ball over the boy's head, ran forward, and caught the ball before it
hit the ground. He stopped, threw the ball in the air, and, spinning
in a one-eighty, whip kicked the ball through the goal post.
A
group of students cheered from the sidelines.
The
foot-soc coach patted John Tom on the helmet.
High
in the stadium seats, Wallis and Janey sketched in their drawing
pads.
Wallis
glanced at Janey's drawing of a fiery comet hurtling through outer
space. He looked at his own drawing of John Tom scoring a touch-goal
in the Pro Foot-Soc League.
Down
on the field, a crowd of young men and women recorded the foot-soc
practice on their sellies.
Janey
pointed at them. “Brian Drake and his crew, like they're really
gonna go Hollywood and make the big movies.”
“Yeah,
right. They're gonna end up filming on the W Line.”
Janey
giggled.
“Hey,
you packed yet?”
“Nah.
Not yet. Not leaving `till Monday.”
“I
didn't tell the folks. I'll do it tomorrow.”
Janey
smeared the comet off her drawing pad. She sighed and turned her
attention first to the open roof of the stadium, then to the stars in
the night sky.
“You
good?”
“You
know…sometimes I think that…” she paused.
“What?”
“Nah,
I'm good. Forget it.”
“You
said sometimes you think that…?”
“I'm
good. Forget it.”
“I
know you. What?”
“It's
nothing. It's childlike.”
“Tell
me.”
“Nah.
It's kiddie stuff.”
Wallis
stared at her.
“Damn,
okay.” Janey checked the stadium to make sure no one was close
enough to hear them. “Okay, this one time…this one time I was
thinkin'…I mean, I was in my room, so it was private, I can't get
in any trouble or—”
“Will
you tell me?”
“Well…if
the stars are the only thing that matters. If way up there, if outer
space, if that's the only thing that's real…then why do we have to
stomp stomp?”
Wallis
closed his drawing pad with a puzzled look.
“What
I'm sayin' is…like, why aren't we tryin' to get out—go way, way
out there in space? Why do we always have to beat on each other down
here?”
Wallis
tapped his drawing pad with both his thumbs.
“I
know. It's kinda silly.”
“You
wanna know somethin'?
“What?”
“Well,
it was a few years ago, okay? But this golden oldie, he told me there
used to be, like, I don't know, these four separate times. I think
they were called seasons or some shit like that. Now, though, it's
always hot. The golden oldies, they effed up everything. That's why
we have to stomp. We have to stomp so the bad stuff can't ever happen
again.”
“But
you think a train ride, a field trip across the country, it's really
gonna help to get us,” Janey motioned to the sky, “way, way out
there?”
“Maybe.”
“Baby,
there's nobody here. Talk to me.”
“I
am talkin'.”
“No,
I know you. I know you real good. And I saw what you did earlier.”
She leaned close and whispered in Wallis’s ear, “I saw you with
that Sex Crimer, Janus. You held back.”
“What?
No way!”
“You
wanna know a little secret? Me…I held back on him, too.”
Wallis
checked the stadium. No one was listening.
“If
the stars and the sun are the only thing
that matters…”
“Girl,
you're crazy. You're crazy. And if the therapist or anybody else
hears you say that—”
“I
was in my own pod, okay? And when I'm in my own pod, I can do
whatever I want and I can think whatever I want.”
Wallis
placed his drawing pad under his arm. “Girl, c'mon.”
Janey
kissed him. “And I know you feel the same way.”
Wallis
guided his hog to the curb. Janey slid off the seat and bit him on
his left ear.
“See
you tomorrow night.” She waved goodbye and ran up the walkway to
her pod.
John
Tom's H-mobile swerved around the corner. John Tom triple-tapped the
horn. Wallis whipped the hog around and drove up beside him.
John
Tom peeked at his selli. “I left the twins and Abe over at BURGER
BURGER BURGER. So you
wanna go see what's up?”
Wallis
looked at the stars. “Not tonight. I got me some artsy to do.”
John
Tom raised a shock wand and sparked the tip. “For real? I mean,
you're missin' out. Always someone out there who needs a good stomp
stomp.”
“That's
for damn sure. Just not tonight.”
John
Tom gave Wallis a fist bump.
Wallis
revved the hog engine and raced away down the street.
Wallis
entered his pod. His father was asleep under the flatscreen in the
living room. A half bottle of meds was next to him on the floor. His
mother was asleep on the couch. Her meds were on the java table. A
trail of saliva dripped out of the corner of her mouth.
Wallis
opened the fridge unit. A case of Dawg beer was on the bottom shelf
between a package of bacon and a bowl of pre-made pancake batter.
Wallis
opened a can of Dawg and took a sip. He set the can down, unlocked
his work desk, and took out his art portfolio. He flipped through the
pages: dozens of drawings of superheroes. But the one thing that
caught his eye, as if for the very first time, was that all of his
superheroes appeared to be angry; they were mad, scowling, furious
about something indefinable. Wallis viewed the action figures posed
on his work desk. They smiled back at him.
Wallis
activated his speakdeck, took another sip of Dawg, and began, “Yeah,
so…so here we go. Today, it was insane. John Tom, he got a Be Nice
call right before school started. Me and Janey, we were already on
our way when he hit us on the hog. Anyway, we motored straight to
this dude's living pod. This Sex Crimer, Janus Jones. Man-oh-man, and
was John Tom ready to go. He had these ultra-killer shock wands in
the trunk of the H-mobile. Oh, and you shoulda heard when Janey
called this guy, Janus, the punk-ass anus. We laughed so hard like we
was already on the meds! So, uh…we crashed inside this dude's pod,
and John Tom, he went right at him. He shocked the guy's nut-sack
for, like, twenty minutes, and then he kicked out his two front
teeth. We almost pissed ourselves laughing! Then Abe tells the dude
he got off on a tech-ni-cal-i-ty, and that Be Nice don't play no damn
lawyers, we play exe-fuckin'-cutioners! So we beat on this dude, beat
him up, down, and bloody! And Becky, oh, man, she took a knife out of
the dude's kitchen, like a knife for cuttin' up meat, and why this
punk had a knife like that, just gettin' out of the lockup, I have no
idea. Anyway, John Tom, Pete, and Abe held him down…” Wallis
stopped, drawn to the superheroes in his portfolio. Angry
superheroes, insane superheroes…but, wait, superheroes never got
angry, they never went insane “…and…and
as Becky's cuttin' him, cuttin' him up good, she's sayin' men and
women are equal, no one rapes…” He
studied his action
figures. Blazer Blane, Rock Quarryman, Super Doll, and the rest of
the Heroes Unlimited squad smiled back at him. “So…so
then…John Tom, the twins, and Abe, they…they took the dude in his
bathroom. Me and Janey, we cracked up when we heard him scream…”
Wallis
pushed off the speakdeck. He swiveled his chair to the blue walls and
the light blue spaces where his posters had been. Across the bedroom,
his Be Nice posters were rolled up on the floor.
Janey
and her mother arrived at 7 PM the next evening. Irene had on an
orange moo-moo, a string of pearls, and a pair of gold earrings that
dangled down to her collarbone. Wallis’s mother, Mary, greeted
everyone and ushered them to the kitchen table. Wallis’s father
came through the front door wearing his work jumper covered in brown
grease.
“Hi,
all!” he said.
“Well,
hey, there, lover love,” Mary answered.
Janey
took a seat. “What up, Brent? So how you doin', big man?”
“Why,
I'm doing fine, Janey. Thank you so much for asking.” Brent smiled
at Janey's mother. “My, that's a lovely dress you have on, Irene.”
“Thank
you, Brent. I'm so very glad you like it.”
Wallis’s
mother placed a bowl of pasta on the table. “And how was work
today, dear?”
Brent
lit a cigarette. “It was great. We did thirty-two thousand new
solar panels for the week.”
Irene
filled her plate with pasta. “On my side, I built over one hundred
and forty-three brand new pedal bikes.”
Mary
put a bowl of some kind of steaming meat and meat sauce on the table.
Janey
poured herself a glass of wine. “So where's my hot as eff man at?”
Everyone
laughed.
Wallis
entered the kitchen. He had on black overalls, a cigarette parked
behind his ear. “Hey, baby girl.”
They
kissed.
Wallis
sat at the table.
Janey
hopped in his lap. “You tell `em `bout the field trip yet?”
Brent's
face lifted from his plate. Meat sauce dribbled down his chin.
Mary
placed a dozen rolls of garlic bread on the table. “What field
trip?”
Wallis
lit his cigarette. “Be Nice field trip on Monday. We get to go
across the nation. We get to see the whole of everything.”
“Well,
that sounds like fun,” Brent said.
“It
sounds like a lot of fun,” Irene said, as she chomped down a roll
of garlic bread.
Wallis
motioned to the kitchen. “Yo, Mom, can you get me a beer?”
Mary
hurried to the kitchen. She took a beer out of the fridge unit, wiped
off the top of the can, and ran back to the table.
Wallis
grabbed the can and took a sip. “It's okay that I go?”
“It's
okay with me,” Brent said. “But you know we'll miss you.”
“So
me and Janey, we did some good art in class on Friday.”
The
parents stopped eating and clapped.
Janey
said, “I drew the sun really big, and it was, like, burnin' up
everything.”
Her
mother poured a tall glass of wine. “Brent, may I have a
cigarette?”
Brent
handed her a cigarette.
“I
drew Mighty Morphon. He's the changing man,” Wallis said.
Mary's
eyes widened. “Oh, is
he?”
Wallis
took another swig of beer. “Me and Janey, we gonna be supah famous.
We gonna paint all the music disc covers, draw the superhero comic
books—”
His
father cut him off, “Oh, I have no doubt about that.”
Janey
snuffed Wallis’s cigarette out on her empty plate. “We gonna do
it. Me and Wallis: we gonna be
supah
famous.”
“I
know you are. Because you children are so wonderful,” her mother
said.
“Son,
did I ever tell you I wanted to be a music man?”
“A
million times, Pop. And Mom, she wanted to be, like, an actress on
the TV.”
“Silly
times,” Mary said. “Those were silly times. But now we work. Now
we make good things.”
At
10:00 p.m., Wallis and his parents walked Janey and her mother to the
front door.
“John
Tom, Abe, and the twins are going to Mescoe's at 1,” Janey said.
“You wanna go out later?”
“At
1? Yeah, that's ice. I'll swing by and pick you up.”
She
and Wallis kissed.
Irene
opened the front door. “Thank you very much for having Janey and me
to dinner.”
Brent
and Mary replied, “We enjoyed serving you.”
Wallis
pushed his wrist implant. The LED time flashed 11:39 PM. He was on
his bed. His clothes weren't packed and his drawings were still in
their art portfolio on top of his work desk. He was surprised when
the front doorbell chimed.
He
jumped downstairs and opened the front door.
A
stunning brunette, in her early thirties, stood on the walkway
outside. She wore knee high black war boots, a long, black leather
coat, and viddi-camera eye shades.
Taken
aback, Wallis looked her up and down.
She
flashed a gold ID badge and said, “Good evening. I'm sorry to
bother you, Wallis. My name is Miss Janika Fallings.”
She
gently pushed Wallis aside, stepped into the living pod, and shut the
door.
“Yo,
who the eff do you think—”
“You
may call me Ms. Fallings.”
She
put her badge in her right coat pocket and activated her eyewear.
“Okay,
look, woman—”
“I'm
the therapist at the Brennan Learning Center.”
Wallis
went numb.
“But
don't worry, Wallis. I'm not here to speak to your parents.” She
slowly circled the living pod. Her eyewear lenses brightened as they
viddi-recorded. She walked through the living room and eventually
settled at the kitchen table. “Why don't you come over here and
join me, Wallis? Have a seat.”
Wallis’s
stomach churned as he took a seat.
Ms.
Fallings patted him on the knee. “Well, you appear to be okay. You
look good. No obvious problems, as far as I can tell.”
“I'm
sorry?”
“Now,
Wallis, what do you have to be sorry about? Did you do something
wrong?”
Wallis
squeezed a dinner napkin on the table.
“So
I've been told you're quite the artsy, Wallis. Quite the young
talent. You and your girlfriend, Janey Typermass. That's her name?”
“Uh,
yeah.”
“Wallis?”
“Yeah?”
“Do
you have any idea why I'm here very late and
on a Saturday night?”
“No.”
“Well,
Wallis...I'm here because I'm upset.”
Wallis
fumbled with a plastic dessert fork.
“But,
here's the thing. I only get upset when one of my boys or girls gets
upset.”
“I'm…I'm
not upset about anything,” Wallis said.
He
checked her out. She was no older than thirty-one, maybe thirty-two.
She crossed her legs from left to right, showing off her nylons and
spiked boot heels.
Ms.
Fallings took an infopad out of her coat pocket and worked the
screen. “Wallis David Barber, average student, above average
artistic, two-parent home, both parents employed by the Shelby Corp.
Girlfriend, Janey, above average IQ, single parent home, mother also
employed by Shelby. So, Wallis…it seems you have a splendid life
here. That's why I don't understand why you're so upset.”
“I
said, I wasn't...look, I'm not upset about anything.”
“But,
Wallis, I received a call from your art teacher today, a Ms.
Garland—”
“Garner.”
“Oh,
I'm sorry. Ms. Garner. Right. Anyway, Wallis, do you have any idea
why she called me?”
Wallis’s
cheeks became flushed.
“She
told me about your drawing in her art class on Friday.”
Wallis
sat back.
“Your
superhero? The Mighty Morphon, was it?”
“Yeah.
So what?”
“Well,
Ms. Garner thinks that you may be angry about something, Wallis. And
she said your girlfriend, Janey, she also thinks she's angry—”
“Okay,
pay real close. I'm Be Nice. Now I heard all the stories before so
you can—”
“Stories?
What stories? Are they juicy?”
“I
know all about you people…you school therapists.”
“You
do? And what do you know?”
“I
know...I know all you hot panty therapists, the ones who like to come
and hassle us legal age, young dudes…because you're only after one
thing…THE COCK.”
“Wallis,
tell me about Janus Jones, the Sex Crimer rapist. I'd like to know
why you held back.”
Stunned,
Wallis locked eyes with her.
Ms.
Fallings removed her lenses. “You reported about a Mr. Janus Jones
on your last confess tape, the one on Friday. You were saying how
much fun you and the other members were having, but you stopped
recording for some reason.”
Wallis
ran his thumb over the top of his Dawg can.
“Wallis,
I'd like to know why you and Janey didn't go into the bathroom with
the other Be Nice members and have fun.”
Wallis
didn't answer her.
“I
listened to their confess tapes. They said you and Janey didn't join
in. She went into the kitchen and you went to, what, watch TV?”
“Okay,
listen up—”
“It's
a joyous thing to punish the wicked! It's fun! What's wrong with you,
Wallis? Don't
you think it's fun?”
Wallis
focused on the kitchen table.
“What
is it? You're drawing strange, angry people in art class! You're not
punishing the wicked! What are you so angry about? Tell me! What's
bothering you?”
Wallis
kept his eyes on the table.
“There's
thousands of kids out there who want to be selected for Be Nice when
they turn seventeen! It's a privilege!” She reached into her jacket
and pulled a shock wand from a side pocket. “But, I mean, who
knows, Wallis, perhaps you're not one of them. John Tom and the other
members, they had fun. They had fun
when—”
“I
had fun.”
She
activated the shock wand and held it up to Wallis's face. “Did you,
Wallis? Did
you have fun?”
“Yes,
I…I had fun.”
“And
what about your girlfriend?”
“She…she
had fun, too.”
“Are
we not living in the best of times? Isn't everyone having fun?”
“Yes.”
Ms.
Fallings studied him. She deactivated the shock wand and returned it
to her jacket.
Wallis
took a gulp of beer.
“Wallis.
Do you have any drawings upstairs? Ones that no one has seen?”
Wallis
hesitated to answer.
“If
you lie to me, Wallis, you realize I'll have to report this
conversation—”
“There's
no more drawings, I swear.”
Ms.
Fallings crossed her legs from right to left.
“Am
I…am I in really big trouble?”
She
popped on her eyewear without answering.
Wallis
walked her to the front door.
“There
is one
more thing, Wallis,” she said. “You're not to tell anyone, not
even your girlfriend, Janey, that I was here this evening. Is that
understood?”
“Yes,
ma'am.”
He
opened the door. Ms. Fallings marched out to the walkway. Amused, she
said, “After your cock? Don't you wish you were that lucky?”
Janey
checked her wrist implant. Her mother was in the living room, asleep
in a rocking chair. A bottle of meds and a coffee mug of wine rested
at her feet.
A
light knock at the back door.
Janey
hustled through the kitchen and peeked through the back door
peephole. Wallis was there. He beckoned her outside. She opened the
door. “What's your—”
“We
gotta go!”
“What?”
“I
curbed the hog the next street over! So no one sees it!”
“What?”
“The
school therapist, she was just at my pod!”
Wallis
drove on the unlit side roads and guided the hog into the canyons.
A
dirt road led to The Wood. Trees appeared, followed by thickets and
underbrush. The hog breezed by a group of kids drinking beer, a group
of kids smoking pot, and an orgy of kids having sex out in the open.
Wallis pulled over and parked. He and Janey backed off the hog. He
hoisted a six pack of Dawg from a side pouch by the rear wheel.
Janey
cracked open a beer. “Okay, so what the eff happened?”
Wallis
opened a can of Dawg and chugged it. Janey sat beside him. Behind
them, the last four letters of the decayed Hollywood sign spelled
WOOD.
“Baby,
talk to me! What happened?”
Wallis
took a long swig of beer. “She just showed up at the pod. This
wild-ass lookin' chick. She flashed this big, shiny badge, got all in
my face with a shock wand. Then she said she knew what happened with
Janus Jones, the Sex Crimer. She said she knew I held back.”
“No!”
“She
said she heard my confess tape. I was ice on it. I was, I swear. But
I…I was thinkin' about some other stuff…and I guess I turned off
the deck and—”
“No
way!”
“She
also said Ms. Garner talked to her. And Ms. Garner said my drawing in
artsy, my superhero, The Mighty Morphon, he looked angry or some
shit. Then she said I was angry. Then she said we should be happy
about stompin' Janus, happy to go with John Tom—”
“Wait,
we.
She said we?”
“She
thinks you're angry too.”
“Seriously?
I'm angry about what?”
“How
the eff should I know?”
Janey
finished her beer. She stood and leaned against the WOOD sign. “Ms.
Garner, she asked me about my drawing, with the hot sun…she asked
me why it was burnin' up the other planets, remember?”
“You
said you knew I held back, and that I felt the same way.” Wallis
pointed to the stars. “If that's the only thing that matters, why
do we stomp? You said that, you did!”
“But
I was thinkin'! I didn't mean it! It was nothin' for no therapist—!”
“It
doesn't matter.”
“Yeah,
it does!”
“Okay,
pay close. She's prolly gonna go to your pod—”
“But
I didn't do nothin'!”
“Then
we gotta play along, okay? Act like we're good! And then on Monday
morning we hop that field trip train…and we are long gone.”
Janey
fell in his lap. He put his arms around her.
“Girl,
we're gonna be ice. But we have to act normal. We have to act just
like they want us to act.”
“You
said they think we're angry? But angry about what?”
“Therapists,
they get deep inside your head and they—they look for stuff. We
draw a few crazy things in—”
A
voice cried out behind them, “Yo, let me get a Dawg!”
“We
Be Nice! Beat it!” Wallis barked.
“No
hassles! I'm ice! Didn't mean no disre…” the voice trailed off.
Janey
faced Wallis on her knees. “Do you believe in the Dead?”
“The
Dead? What?”
“John
Tom, he was talkin' to me about—”
“Girl,
John Tom's full of shit, okay? Don't you believe anything he says.”
“But,
when I was little, baby…see, I-I knew these two girls—”
“It's
a lie! Don't believe it! It's just John Tom—”
“This
little girl, she used to live right across the street from me. She
was there, and then one day she wasn't there. Same thing at youth
camp. There was this girl and—”
“We're
fine, okay? These are the best of times! Everyone's happy!”
“I
heard they hit you hard with the big meds. And they make you go away
for good.”
“It's
a lie! And the therapist, she was just doin' her job, tryin' to scare
us! Makin' sure I'm right in the head! And makin' sure you, you're
right in the head!”
“You
think she'll come to my pod later?”
“If
she doesn't show by tonight, we're on that b-train, and we're gone.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Girl,
we are outta here. We are long
gone.”
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