Collapsed: Book One of The Illusion of Truth, page 8
“Who is that?” I ask, still looking around at the room. It contains a library of textbooks and a plethora of unfamiliar—but intriguing—scientific equipment.
The doors close behind us, and he walks toward a large set of beakers with various types of clear liquid inside them.
He gives me a quizzical look, then chuckles. “That’s my virtual assistant. She’s not alive, per se.”
I narrow my brows in confusion.
“She’s a computer.” Dr. Pierce walks to where the coffee has nearly filled the carafe, takes a white mug from the counter, and pours the brown liquid into it. “Want some?”
I bite my lips. I’ve heard of coffee before but never had any . . . too expensive. Although I’d love to taste it, it’s best I decline. “No, thank you.”
He shrugs. “Maybe next time.”
Next time? Does he plan on me coming back here again? “What about Mrs. Pierce’s rules?”
Dr. Pierce chugs a big gulp of coffee. “You let me worry about that. Now. I suppose we should get down to business.”
“Business?”
He gestures with his hand to a table that has two high, backless chairs under it. “Have a seat. Isaiah did provide you with a Flexx, correct?”
“Flexx?” I ask.
“A handheld,” he clarifies.
I pull it from my pocket and hold it up.
“Excellent.” He points to the chair again. “Please sit.”
I place the Flexx on the tabletop and pull out the chair, which squeaks across the concrete floor. I perch carefully on the seat and wait.
Instead of sitting, he busies himself with some of the lab equipment and taps something into his handheld, then into his fancy computer. Probably findings from an experiment. “Please understand you are here because I wanted you to be.”
“In your lab?”
Dr. Pierce chuckles, eyes me for a second, and then returns to his work. “No, silly girl. Your placement with the Cobalt Premier Workforce. My daughter needed a governess, and I needed someone who would be willing to instruct her in the sciences.”
I shake my head. “Why couldn’t anyone just instruct her in the sciences?”
A full-on laugh bursts from his mouth. “Miss Hawkins, my daughter is a girl, if you haven’t noticed.”
“And . . .”
“And girls, particularly girls of high society families, don’t grow up to be scientists.” He turns and gestures to my Flexx. “Tell me what courses my wife has arranged in Eleanor’s Cotillion curriculum.”
“Last night we practiced proper table manners.”
“Exactly. My daughter is being prepared to be an excellent wife, mother and supporter to her husband . . . all excellent things, mind you. Sure, you’ll be able to teach her a few basics about history . . . math. But I’ve seen the gleam in my daughter’s eyes when she comes down here to the lab. I love my child and don’t want to deny her anything.”
I fidget with my hands on my lap. “But why me? Why a Cobalt?”
“Because, despite your disadvantages, Cobalts don’t have such hang-ups in their culture. I specifically chose you because of your marks and interest in science.”
Heat rises up my cheeks. Pride? Embarrassment? The fact that I’m being seen for once in my life outside of close friends and family? “But Madam . . . the rules,” I remind him.
He downs a large gulp of his black coffee. “Mrs. Pierce is often distracted, and what happens in Eleanor’s study room will be no bother to her if you are diligent in completing the rest of my daughter’s curriculum. Now, I will not force you, but if you are willing, I might eventually be able to give you and my daughter limited access to my lab on slow staffing days to run experiments and other such learning opportunities. But that will take time. For now, at least, I can load your Flexx with lessons.”
I gaze around at the lab and my mouth falls open. I—a Cobalt—will have access to all this?
“But I do need for you to decide now since I will be required to get everything in order.”
I gulp my heart down from my throat. “Yes, please . . . sir.”
He smiles. “Dr. Pierce will suffice.”
Chapter 10
I run my trembling fingers over the Flexx tucked away in my pocket as I quietly make my way upstairs from the lab. Apparently Dr. Pierce’s private space is on the opposite end from the staff quarters, so I don’t run into anyone. Thankfully.
Now loaded on to my handheld—and can only be opened with my, or Dr. Pierce’s fingerprint and a special code—is a massive science curriculum.
My mind is swirling with the seemingly infinite possibilities. I can barely believe my good fortune.
And the curriculum is not just one for young children . . . Dr. Pierce made sure that the information spanned far past that. He said it was in good faith that I’d be here a long time and teach his daughter for years to come, but I have a small and probably ridiculous inkling that it’s for me.
Could that even be?
That a man of high Scarlet society would even consider a Cobalt to be intelligent . . . or worthy enough to even possess such information. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and this morning was the first time that I’d even met him.
He could not think that highly of me yet.
Without even realizing I’d taken the whole journey from the lab, I find myself back in my room and gazing out the window while still clutching the precious device in my pocket. The gardens at the back of the house are massive and more than beautiful—lush and green. But in truth, my standards are incredibly low since gardens were not a part of Cobalt life in the Tenement. So I don’t actually know if the Pierces’ landscaping is on par with or better than anyone else’s.
Off in the distance I spot what I think might be at least forty rose bushes. I’ve read that their smell is delectable and make a mental note to find time to go out there sooner or later. Beyond the roses are the apple trees Ellie told me about.
I break away from the view, take my seat at the desk, and bring out my device. I enter a special code that Dr. Pierce showed me and then place my index finger on the screen. Up pops a hidden display with icons for the science curriculum. Plus there is another that I don’t recognize.
I tap it, and an access window for online information blooms on the screen. I gasp at the sight and quickly close it again. The only place I’ve ever heard of online access is strictly for Scarlets. Why would he put that on my Flexx? Seeing it shocks me back into reality.
Why did I say yes to any of this? Isaiah said I was only receiving the handheld for Ellie’s basic schooling, emergencies and schedule updates. Mrs. Pierce would be furious if she found out what I was doing, and I risk getting sent back to the Tenement . . . or worse. I should be grateful just to be here and have the chance to help educate Ellie in the proper way. Back in the Tenement a few years ago, we managed on one meal a day for a week so that Mama and Papa could afford my basic school supplies like pencils and paper. And now who do I think I am? I gulp at my impulsive and selfish behavior. I didn’t say yes for Ellie . . . I said yes for me. But then, Dr. Pierce is the person ultimately in charge here and has asked me to do this.
I never take risks. This is something Kalib would do, not me.
I toss the device beside me on the desktop and blow out a long, exasperated breath.
Stupid chocolate . . . I wouldn’t even eat Kalib’s chocolate and I just agreed to do something completely against Scarlet cultural norms. What if it’s even worse than that? What if it’s illegal? Would Dr. Pierce break the law? That would put him at risk too.
My stomach clenches, and I realize that on top of my nerves I’m also starving. When Dr. Pierce told me he had food in his lab, I can only imagine that he must have meant coffee . . . since he downed four cups just while I was there. Quickly I check around to see if a meal was delivered to my room— a sandwich, stale crust of bread, anything—but there’s nothing. Probably due to the low staffing today.
Determined to get my mind off my current problem, I pocket my handheld again and head from my room.
Empty, the house feels a little creepy. The walls are dotted with random art . . . some scenic and some portraits, maybe long-dead Pierce relatives, but I have no idea. I have a feeling that Kalib would be more interested in the art than I am, but I’m glad for a few moments to explore and not have to run into anyone. After a bit of trial and error, I make it down to the kitchen where Isaiah brought me through yesterday morning.
Carefully I peek around the corner to ensure no one is inside. Across from the open door is a large basket of what looks like some sort of individual cakes wrapped in paper. There are three different colors, which must indicate the flavors.
“Do we have to watch this stuff? Doesn’t President Nelson know it’s our day off?” I jump at the male voice coming from down the hall.
A woman laughs. “We never get time off from understanding our place.”
I glance back at the cakes as my mouth waters just thinking about them. But no, I can’t just take one without permission. No matter how empty my belly is.
I steel myself and walk toward the sounds of the voices. Maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll know what I can have from the kitchen and what I can’t. Creeping toward the doorway, I make out a new voice I recognize as President Nelson. When I finally reach the open door, I spot a small media screen on the wall, and sure enough, there he is blabbing away. I call it blabbing since that’s mostly what I heard from him on the large outdoor screens in the Tenement.
Nothing ever changes in the Tenements, so he was just forever reminding us of old rules that we already knew. If something different came up, everyone else would be talking about it, so I rarely took notice. I had enough to stay on guard for on the streets.
President Thomas Nelson calls himself the president, but everyone knows that he only elected himself long ago—years before I was born. He’s gray and balding and generally soft-spoken, but I think the tactic is calculated to lull the people into thinking everything is under control. Which makes me a little surprised to hear the negative comments from these staff members, whom I remember from the kitchen, plus another red headed young woman I don’t recognize.
My chest tightens. The kitchen staff did not give me a very welcoming look yesterday, and I seriously doubt that they’d care if I starved to death.
The three of them lounge like they own the place on two plush couches. The furniture down here doesn’t look as expensive as the pieces upstairs, but the quality is still infinitely higher than anything we had back home. They drink from white mugs, what I guess is coffee from the same rich aroma that filled Dr. Pierce’s office. The kitchen staff woman reaches to a plate beside her to pluck up one of the cakes and peels off the layer of paper surrounding it. She takes a big bite straight from the top.
“You really outdid yourself this time with the banana nut muffins,” she says to the man with her mouth full of what I guess are called muffins. “They really are divine.”
“The blueberry is overbaked and dry,” he answers. “Not sure what I’m going to do with those.”
I guess if dry muffins and President Nelson on the media screen are the biggest issues around here, these people still have it pretty good.
Before I can even speak, the woman I recognize turns her head and spots me. My heart leaps into my throat, and my body instantly freezes. She gives me a quick once-over. “What are you doing down here?”
The man raises his brows, apparently waiting for my answer too.
“Um . . . I didn’t see anything in my instructions of what to do if I didn’t have one of my meals delivered to my room.”
The unknown woman scoffs. “So you made it out of the Tenement and now you think that Scarlets need to wait on you, Bluey.”
I gulp and hug myself for protection. “Um . . . of course not. That’s just how Isaiah set things up. I’m glad to serve myself if that’s what needs to happen. I simply don’t know what I’m allowed.”
“What you’re allowed? You shouldn’t be allowed down—”
The man clears his throat and cuts her off. “Don’t forget Sarah, Isaiah did say . . .”
The two women verbally back off at his reminder. Isaiah must have quite a bit of pull around here, and maybe this guy is at least sensitive enough to stay in line.
Sarah, from the kitchen staff, gives me a saccharine smile. “Fine.” She points to a tray behind her that’s piled with several muffins. “You can take a blueberry.”
I scan over the muffins and guess that the ones with the bluish spots are the ones she’s referring to.
“Blueberry for a Bluey.” The other woman chuckles.
They all burst into laughter.
“After that, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make blueberry muffins again!” the man says.
I step into the room and walk quietly toward the platter.
“Make sure you use the tongs . . . we’re not animals around here like you’re probably used to.” Sarah scoffs.
Everything in me wants to scream at them, and I know by the heat radiating off my neck and cheeks that I must be beet red. Cobalts aren’t animals! These people are the ones acting like brutes right now. But when is that a new story?
With a shaky hand I reach for the metal tongs and forgo the plate for napkin only. I pluck up one speckled muffin and drop it into the center of the paper.
“So there was this special program on last night about the reckless nature of all Cobalts and why it’s still best that they stay in the Tenement for their own good—and ours,” Sarah says as if I’m not standing right here in the same room as they are. “Apparently so many of the girls are always trying to catch the eyes of sentries assigned there.”
My mind flashes back to the goon who nearly pulled me into the alley for nothing more than trying to mind my own business and get to my exam on time. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes.
Breakfast is not worth this treatment.
“Probably hoping for a better station in life . . . little manipulative whores,” the man adds. “I hope we don’t have to see any of that disgusting ambition around here.”
Ugh . . . and I thought he might be a little better.
I stare down at my muffin and find it squeezed in the middle since my fingers have closed over it.
Without glancing back, I hustle from the room to keep them from seeing me cry.
“Blech . . . toss out all those muffins and make sure those tongs are sterilized,” one of the women says, likely loud enough for me to hear on purpose.
The others cackle, but I’m already at the staircase, crumpled muffin still in hand, and can barely hear them anymore.
I move quickly through the hall without running because I know that barring an emergency, running inside the house is strictly prohibited. At least I have the mental capacity in this moment to remember that.
Up the stairs and to my room, I palm the lock pad and nearly fling myself onto my bed. I toss the completely mangled muffin onto the side table, and tears flow freely from my eyes.
Through the blur I make out my portrait from Kalib.
In this moment all I want is for him to be outside my window and put his arms around me. I never felt unseen with Kalib. Even though I pushed him away far too often, he was always there.
He told me not to do this. I didn’t listen.
And now I don’t even have any idea where he is.
Or if I ever will know again.
Chapter 11
The rest of the day I distract myself from the staff’s insults by immersing myself in Ellie’s schooling on the Flexx. Not just the science one, but also Mrs. Pierce’s Red Ladies Cotillion curriculum. Weird thing is, that’s the actual name . . . the Red Ladies. So pretentious.
Being in the Tenement all of my life, I’d never actually realized how different Scarlet men and women were treated. Back home, there was barely a difference . . . we all just did our part. Men and women were placed at jobs where their best skills lay. Maya Lark was mayor, not because she was a woman but because she worked her way up the ladder to get to that position. I know from Kalib that men work in the factory where his mother and sister sew clothes, and Papa has an equal number of men and women working for him at the transportation factory. When babies are born in the Tenement, they immediately go to childcare so both parents can return to their stations and start working again.
But here in Carmine it’s quite different. From the curriculum, I’ve learned that not all families can afford it, but if they can, women do not work . . . at least not outside the home. Mrs. Pierce seems to have made her job running her home and maintaining their family’s social status, but she earns no income.
From what I can tell, Dr. Pierce ranks pretty high in the government as a scientist. What his exact responsibilities are I don’t know yet but hope to find out.
Thinking about it, Mama often told me that she wished she could have spent more time with me as a baby and wished her factory hours were not at long as they were. So I don’t know which way of life for women I prefer. But here it’s all but forbidden for Ellie to learn science, whereas I had the opportunity to at least study it some throughout my education.
That said, I want to do a good job teaching Ellie her social responsibilities since that is the job that got me here.
By 4 p.m. I think I’ve gotten the hang of basic place settings for a dinner party and acceptable small talk for ladies, both in mixed company and women-only groups. It seems like a lot for a six-year-old to manage, but I think I can make practicing fun with a few games.
A clatter comes from Ellie’s room, and within seconds a knock comes at our shared door.
“You there?” Ellie’s muffled voice comes through the crack.
I chuckle and power off my device. “Yes.”
“Can I come in?”
“You’re asking this time?” I let out a stronger laugh as she pokes her head through the now-open door. Her hair has partially come out from the chignon I tied it in before she left. Several tendrils of hair frame her cherub-like face.
