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John was working the morning shift, 5:00 a.m. to noon, breakfast to just before lunch. Mary was supposed to take over at lunch and work straight through until 10:00 p.m. Lunch through dinner through sleep time, with an hour at the end to work out schedules and clean up. Then she’d have time to go home, watch some DVDs while she worked out on the treadmill in the basement. That was the schedule. Eight hours of sleep and a few hours free in the morning.
But in reality she often spent two or three hours exercising at night. Going after those last few pounds. On the treadmill, down in the basement, where Astrid wouldn’t hear her and ask her why.
Most days she consumed fewer than seven hundred calories. On a really good day it would be half that.
She hugged John. “What’s up, little brother? What’s today’s crisis?”
John had a list. He read it off his Warriors notebook. “Pedro has a loose tooth. He also had an accident last night. Zosia claims Julia punched her, so they’re fighting and refusing to play together. I think maybe Collin has a fever…anyway, he’s kind of, you know, cranky. I caught Brady trying to run away this morning. She was going to look for her mommy.”
The list went on and as it did, some of the kids ran over to hug Mary, to get a kiss, to get an appreciation of their hairdo, to earn an approving “good job” for the way they had brushed their teeth.
Mary nodded. The list was about like this every day.
A guy named Francis came in, pushed rudely past Mary. Then he realized whom he had just shouldered aside, turned back to her with a scowl, and said, “Okay, I’m here.”
“First time?” Mary asked.
“What, am I supposed to be sorry? I’m not a babysitter.”
This scene, too, had been repeated every day since peace had come to Perdido Beach. “Okay, here’s the thing, kid,” Mary said. “I know you don’t want to be here, and I don’t care. No one wants to be here, but the littles have to be taken care of. So lose the attitude.”
“Why don’t you just take care of these kids? At least you’re a girl.”
“I’m not,” John pointed out.
Mary said, “See that easel? There are three lists on there, one list for each of the daily helpers. Pick a list. That’s what you do. Whatever is on the list. And you smile while you’re doing it.”
Francis marched over and checked the list.
John said, “I’ll bet you a cookie he doesn’t pick diaper duty.”
“No bet,” Mary said. “Besides, there are no cookies.”
“I miss cookies,” John said wistfully.
“Hey,” Francis yelled. “All these lists suck.”
“Yes,” Mary agreed. “Yes, they do.”
“This all sucks.”
“Please stop saying ‘sucks.’ I don’t want to have three-year-olds repeating it all day.”
“Man, when my birthday comes, I’m stepping out,” Francis sulked.
“Fine. I’ll be sure not to schedule you after that. Now, pick a work list and do it. I don’t want to have to waste Sam’s time calling him over here to motivate you.”
Francis stomped back to the easel.
“Stepping out,” Mary said to John, and made a face. “How many people have hit the magic fifteen so far? Only two have poofed. People talk about it. But they don’t actually do it.”
The FAYZ had eliminated everyone over the age of fourteen. No one knew why. At least, Mary didn’t, although she had overheard Sam and Astrid whispering in a way that made her think they might know more than they admitted.
A fourteen-year-old who reached his fifteenth birthday would also disappear. Poof. If he let himself. If he decided to “step out.”
What happened during what kids called Stepping Out was now known to just about everyone. The way subjective time would slow to a crawl. The appearance of the person you loved and trusted most to beckon you across, to urge you to leave the FAYZ. And the way this person transformed into a monster if you resisted.
You had a choice: stay in the FAYZ, or…But no one knew just what the “or” was. Maybe it was escape back into the old world. Maybe it was a trip to some whole new place.
