Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(7)

The girl next to me had long, wavy black hair and mocha skin. She glanced my way then continued to bite her nails, irritated but not scared. Her legs were crossed at the knees, and she wore a tight T-shirt and pajama pants.

“Forgot your shoes.” She pointed at my feet. My socks were muddy and grass stained. I hadn’t noticed.

“What did they get you for?” she asked, without looking up from her hand.

I didn’t say anything.

“Hello?” she said. “Ember, right? I’m talking to you.”

“Sorry. How do you know…” I looked at her face and did recognize her faintly.

“I went to Western last year. Rosa Montoya? We had English together. Thanks for remembering.”

“We did?” I felt my nose scrunch up. I was usually better with faces.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I was only there for a couple months. Between placements, you know.”

“Placements?”

“Group homes. Foster care, princesa. So what are you in for?” She spelled the words out slowly. I did remember her now. She had sat in the back of the classroom, biting her nails, looking bored, much as she did today. She’d come in mid-semester and had left before finals. We’d never said a word to each other.

I wondered if there were other girls from my school on this bus. No one else looked familiar when I glanced around.

“The soldier said an Article 5,” I answered.

“Ooh. You got hauled into rehab because your mom’s the village bicycle.”

“The … what?”

A girl in the back began sobbing louder. Someone shouted for her to shut up.

“The village bicycle. Everyone’s had a ride,” she said sarcastically. Then she rolled her eyes. “Ay. Don’t look so innocent. Soldiers? They’ll eat that up. Look, princesa, if it makes you feel any better, I wish I didn’t know my dad. Consider yourself lucky.”

I didn’t like her assuming I didn’t know who my father was, even if it was the truth. Most of the men attracted to my mom’s free spirit tended to beat it for the same reason.

Most, but not all. Her last—and worst—boyfriend, Roy, had thought he could control it, but even he had been wrong.

I was glad Rosa and I hadn’t spoken before at school. I nearly wished we weren’t talking now, but she did seem to have some idea about what was happening.

The bus lurched out of the ER circle, and as it did I felt a physical pain tear through me, as though my limbs were being pulled in all different directions. My mother and I had always been together, through everything. Now I’d lost her, and who knew what she was going to say, what she was going to do, to try to get home.

Anger rose above the grief. Anger at myself. I didn’t fight hard enough. I didn’t play nice enough. I had let her go.

The bus climbed back onto the highway. Garbage was piled up against the line of broken-down vehicles that lined the slow lane. I recognized the old houses and the painted silos in front of the old University of Louisville. The Red Cross had turned the campus into a housing colony for people displaced by the War. I could see dim candlelight still burning in a few of the higher dorm-room windows.

“Where are they taking us?’ I asked Rosa.

“They won’t say,” she said. Then she smiled. There was a gap between her two front teeth. “I already asked the guard back there. The one with the shiner.”

I could picture this girl punching someone in the face. I thought of Morris and the scratches on his neck, and it seemed surreal that I had done that. Attacking a soldier—that was insane.

“Will my mother be there?”

The girl looked at me as if I were a full idiot.

“Kiss that dream good-bye, chica,” she told me. “An Article 5 means that she’s not even your mom anymore. You’re property of the government now.”

I pinched my eyes closed, trying to ignore her words, but they echoed in my head.

She’s wrong, I told myself. And we were wrong, too. I forced myself to picture Katelyn Meadows walking up the driveway of her two-story house in … Indiana. Or Tennessee. She’d moved there because her dad’s job had been relocated. It had happened fast. Jobs were scarce these days. That’s why even her friends didn’t know. She was probably acing her history tests at some new high school. Believe it, I thought desperately; it could happen. But my imagination was too brightly colored to fit reality. It was a lie and I knew it.

My mind turned to Chase, and there was such a harsh burn within me that I nearly gasped. How could he? I pressed my cheek against the cold window as the countryside grew black as the night.

*



“TRUTH or dare?”

I smiled at his question. We’d played this game a thousand times when we were kids. The dares always got us in trouble.

“Truth,” I said, soaking in this world he’d brought me to. The woods ablaze, the trees defining every graduating degree of red and yellow. The sun, warm on my face, and the chatter of the birds. It was so different here than the noise and asphalt of the city. The perfect place for secrets.

“Have you ever liked someone you shouldn’t?”

“Like someone with a girlfriend?” I asked, weaving around a tall tree in our path

“Yeah. Or a friend.”

His question caught me off guard, and I missed a step.