The Other Me Part 5

"It's got a red tinge."

"That's the one." Resa smiled. "That's our home system."

"Do you remember any of it?"

"Not really. Part of the genetic manipulation required to let me survive on Earth resulted in a memory wipe."

"You were just a child."

"A sutari sutari," Resa corrected. "I remember some words. That's all."

"You think we'll ever make it back?"

Resa shrugged. "Do you want to?"

"I'm programmed to want it." Tristan's DNA was hard-coded to protect Resa and to one day enable the emperor's safe return to Kazar.

"How can you want something you've never had?" Resa stared into Tristan's eyes.

"Sometimes the heart just knows what's right." The tension was palpable. Tristan leaned forward too, waiting for Resa to kiss him again, but the kiss never came.

"I think my human DNA is overriding my Kazari genes." Resa shuffled back, breaking the moment.

"You want to be human?"

"No, but I'm not sure I want to return to an arid planet to rule some sand-rat society."

"That's treason."

Resa smirked. "Treason against who? Me? I'm the emperor, remember?"

Tristan didn't answer; he just kept staring at the red pinp.r.i.c.k sun burning however-many trillions of miles away. "I'd like to see it, just once, just to know what part of me came from."

"Maybe you should learn to be happy with what you have and not yearn for the unattainable," Resa said.

WITH A A sigh, I save the file and contemplate Resa's words. My words, really. Would wanting Gabriel to be my date for the ball qualify as yearning for the unattainable? Of course it would. My fingers stray to my ear lobes, stroking the unperforated skin. Mom said I can get my ears pierced when I turn eighteen, which is just ridiculous, considering most of the girls I know got theirs done as little kids. sigh, I save the file and contemplate Resa's words. My words, really. Would wanting Gabriel to be my date for the ball qualify as yearning for the unattainable? Of course it would. My fingers stray to my ear lobes, stroking the unperforated skin. Mom said I can get my ears pierced when I turn eighteen, which is just ridiculous, considering most of the girls I know got theirs done as little kids.

"You're up early. Want some coffee?" Mom pokes her head into my bedroom.

"Thanks. I'll come to the kitchen." I shuck my Snoopy pajamas in favor of a spaghetti-strap top and shorts. Not even 10:00 a.m. and it's already hot.

Dad's out in the garden with his s.h.i.+rt off, planting and weeding. Our entire property could fit into Jordan's atrium. I wish we had a swimming pool; I'd be in it 24/7.

Mom hands me my coffee and gets the ice out of the freezer, dropping three cubes into the mug before adding just as many spoonfuls of sugar.

"We got our invites to the Charity Ball," I say.

"Tell me about it." Mom picks up her sungla.s.ses and walks out onto the patio. I follow, sitting in the umbrella-provided shade while Mom tans her legs. Riker's stretched out in the sun, tail twitching as he watches the lizards race up and down the brickwork.

"The theme is black and white, and tickets are fifty rand."

"That's reasonable, considering it's for a good cause." Mom waves away a fly buzzing around her coffee mug. "Have you got a date?"

"Not really."

"If you'd go to the youth group meetings like I suggested, you'd meet some more boys."

I can think of nothing more mind-numbing than spending Sat.u.r.day evenings sitting at church discussing the Bible with a bunch of Catholic nerds.

"I did meet someone."

"Where?"

"At the cla.s.s yesterday."

Mom turns her head. I can't see her eyes through the tinted lenses, so I'm not sure if she's looking at me. "Hmm."

It's amazing how she's able to convey such intense disapproval with a single syllable that isn't even a word.

"Didn't say I'd ask him, just that I met him."

"Does he have a name?"

"Gabriel."

"Where does he go to school?"

b.u.g.g.e.r, Mom's not going to like this answer. She reckons government schools are a cesspit from which no teenager can emerge unscathed, destined for a life of crime and corruption. That's why she and Dad took out a second loan on the house to send me to a private high school, despite my objections.

"Stormhof," I say quietly.

"Hmm."

"I just said I met him. Not about to elope or anything."

"That's rea.s.suring." Mom presses her lips together, clearly unimpressed. Time to change the topic.

"Mom, you know you said I could only get my ears pierced when I was eighteen. I was kind of wondering if I could get them done for the ball."

Dad grunts with exertion as he struggles with a wheelbarrow full of dead tree limbs. We watch him strain, his back already turning lobster in the sun.

"You need more sunscreen," Mom yells.

"In a minute," Dad shouts back.

"About my ears, I was-"

"You can wear clip-ons for the dance."

"Clip-ons? The theme isn't the eighties." I slurp my cooled coffee. It's still too bitter and catches at the back of my throat.

"Cute, Resa, but you don't need to irrevocably alter your body just for a dance."

"It's not irrevocable."

"It's certainly unnecessary."

"But I want earrings."

"Does Jordan have pierced ears?"

"That's got nothing to do with this."

Mom slides her sungla.s.ses down her nose, all the better to glare at me. "Does she?"

"Yes." Three holes in one ear and five in the other, but I don't get into details. She's also got a belly ring and a tiny b.u.t.terfly tattoo on her hip, which Mom definitely doesn't need to know about.

"That girl...." Mom sighs. "No piercings until you're eighteen. End of discussion."

"Because I can't alter my body?"

"Because you're too young to make that kind of decision."

"It's an ear piercing, not a facial tattoo." I slam my coffee mug onto the patio table. Riker yowls and disappears into the house in a blur of gray.

"Treasa Rae." Mom's tone is deadly. "You asked, and I said no. End of discussion."

I slump back into the chair, arms folded across my chest.

"When you're done being a sulky Sue, let me know and we can start talking about a dress." Mom gets up and grabs the bottle of sunscreen from the table before trotting after Dad, brandis.h.i.+ng the SPF 35.

Never mind irrevocably changing my body, I'd like to irrevocably change my whole freaking life!

SUNDAY AFTERNOON AFTERNOON, Dad drops me at Jordan's for a swim. Sheryl's tanning topless, and Jordan's drifting around the swimming pool on a lilo lilo reading our English set work. We had an essay due two weeks ago, so I guess I'll be writing this one for Jordan too-I still owe her for some physics homework. She paddles to the edge when she sees me and steps daintily off the lilo onto the bricks. reading our English set work. We had an essay due two weeks ago, so I guess I'll be writing this one for Jordan too-I still owe her for some physics homework. She paddles to the edge when she sees me and steps daintily off the lilo onto the bricks.

"Why aren't you in your cozzy?"

"There's something I want you to help me with first."

Jordan raises an eyebrow. "Might this have something to do with one Gabriel du Preez?"

"Not really."

"Then what?" She fiddles with the strings of her bikini bottoms. They're barely there, just a sc.r.a.p of striped fabric held together with string and beads, straining across her hipbones.

"Will you pierce my ears for me?"

"Why?" Jordan leads me into the air-conditioned interior and grabs two Creme Sodas from the fridge.

"Because my mom said no, and piercing places need parental consent because I'm under eighteen."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

"My mom could take you, say she's your mom."

"It costs money." Like an entire week's worth of pocket money, which could be better used on magazines featuring Liam St. Clare.

"I could sponsor you."

"Thanks, but no. I'd like to try this DIY."

"Your mom's going to freak."

"My body." I shrug, feigning more nonchalance than I feel. Mom is going to kill me.

"Good for you, Ree."

Jordan heads upstairs, where she has a bedroom en suite entirely to herself. The room used to be her older brother's. When he moved down to Cape Town to study at UCT, Jordan recolonized, starting with turning the walls from boring beige to a psychedelic splatter of neon. Mom and Dad barely let me put up posters, never mind paint and draw on my walls. The wall opposite her bed is the mural wall where Jordan works out her artistic frustrations in acrylic and pen.

"Is that the Virgin Mary?" I study the latest addition.

"Yeah, working on a concept for art."

"For the Chili Peppers?"

"Nope, thinking of changing my song."

"To what?" I unpack the sewing kit I scrounged from Mom's cupboard and the various first aid items pilfered from Dad's bathroom cabinet.

"Ever heard of Bauhaus?"

"The German school?"

"The band, dork." Jordan strolls across her immense bedroom and plucks an alb.u.m from the wall unit crammed to overflowing with books and CDs. "Craig must've left this behind when he went to Cape Town. Never knew he was into this stuff." She hits play and turns up the volume. "Listen to the lyrics."

"Sounds like they're having an epileptic fit."

"I know. Isn't it rad?"

The guy starts singing-well, he's not singing so much as being strangled over psychotic guitar riffs. The chorus is a little better, where he actually manages to crow out a tune.

"Can we pierce my ears now?" Considering my ears are already bleeding.