Chapter X: Now

Delaney

The streets of Seattle are unnaturally quiet. Snow-encrusted sidewalks are marred by footsteps, but the culprits are long gone. In the dim evening light, the only sound is that of the whistling wind. It's one of the rare times that I've seen the city so empty. Not that it's a surprise; after all, Jeremy Fairleigh is in town.

Leaning toward the frosty glass of the window, I gaze outside, catching sight of a few stragglers who haven't dropped everything to go and see Fairleigh speak. Their hoods are turned up against the biting cold, scarves winding around their necks and gloves cocooning their fingers.

For the most part, things have gone back to normal. Trai and I have gone home to our families and returned to school, where our biggest worries are Mr. Ellison's pop quizzes and Ms. Ehrenberg's load of math homework. Our parents still go to work, we still go to school, and our life has returned to its previous predictable rhythm.

But that's just on the surface. Within the city, and in our school itself, changes upon changes have been implemented in quick succession. It began with alterations as big as a new system of state and city government (my dad had to learn the new job) and has gone down to matters as small as what we wear to school (starchy new uniforms, which Fairleigh says "promote unity.")

Probably the biggest change, though, is the removal of the Popularity system in every school district across the country. For me, it took a while to get used to; all those years of wishing it would disappear, yet at first, I found it hard to function without it. Before, we knew who our friends were, where to sit at lunch, who to hang out with after school-it was all determined by our Rank. This was new, and for a lot of us, terrifying. But as time passed, we figured out how to break down the barriers, and now, you'll see former Populars lunching with ex-Losers, and big groups of mixed-Rank kids gathering at Dulcet at the end of the day.

All thanks to Jeremy Fairleigh and the Pro-Inferiors.

In a way, I'm actually grateful for everything that Fairleigh had done. Without Popularity interfering with everything, my parents are more lax, my teachers are less tense, and my peers are actually willing to speak with me. In the three months since I've returned home and school has started again, I've acquired a small but steady group of friends-that is, when I can find people who don't spend all their time questioning me about my time in the Capitol.

"Hello? Delaney, you in there?"

I snap back into reality at the sound of Katie's voice, blinking away the glow of streetlights to focus on my friend's face. She's watching me worriedly, her green eyes narrowed in concern.

"You okay?" she questions. "You looked kind of out of it just now."

I shake my head. "No, I'm fine," I assure her. "It's just strange, is all."

Estelle, the more perceptive of the two, gives me a knowing smile. "Strange that the city emptied out just to go see him speak?" she guesses, pushing her dark curls out of her face.

"How'd you know?"

She taps the side of her head, smirking. "Psychic, of course."

With a roll of my eyes, I laugh. When I first met Estelle, all those months ago at Stevie Jackson's party when she'd warned me about Carlie, I wrote her off as nothing more than Caleb's jealous ex. Now, having reconnected with her after the Popularity system was abolished, she's become one of my most trusted friends.

Katie, the ditsy blonde from my Marine Bio class, has slightly less depth than Estelle, despite them being best friends. But she's loyal, friendly, and doesn't ask too many questions, so I'm content to have her around.

Other than the two of them and me, the only people in our little circle are Trai and a quiet boy named Cameron. The latter is sitting next to Estelle with his nose in a book and his lengthy red hair falling into his eyes. He doesn't acknowledge the conversation between us-but then again, he rarely does. When all five of us are together, he and Trai don't say much, preferring to let us girls carry on the conversation. Which is what they're doing right now, with Trai sitting beside me, engrossed in a game on his cellphone.

"Well," Katie says, "I, for one, am glad that President Fairleigh is speaking. It means that Dulcet is way less crowded." She takes a satisfied sip of her hot cocoa and shifts in the vinyl booth seat.

President Fairleigh. Trai looks up at that, and the two of us share a glance. Even now, months after the public accepted him as president, I can't seem to wrap my brain around it. There was a time when I didn't even know what the word meant, and now, one of the most controversial people in my life wears the title like a badge.

But I never call him "president." When I speak of Fairleigh to Trai or my other friends, he's either Jeremy, Fairleigh, or simply, "that guy." And it's rare that his name comes up in our conversations; though Estelle and Katie are firm supporters of the Pro-Inferior government, they know that I'm ever a skeptic, and only bring up the topic when absolutely necessary.

"I can second that," Trai says, responding too late after a gap of silence follows Katie's statement. He glances around the cafe, whose only other inhabitants are a young man reading on his tablet and the chubby blonde who works the counter in the evening.

Everyone else is off watching President Fairleigh.

He's on a speech tour again, this one spurred by the almost-completion of the new capital, which sports its old name of Washington, D.C. I wonder how this particular gathering is going, though-after all, the speech is being held in an outdoor area, and with winter well on its way, the temperature out there can drop below zero in the evenings.

As if in testament to the chilly weather, Trai emits a sudden sneeze. He rubs at his red nose with his sleeve, an action that elicits a look of disgust from Katie.

"Damned cold," he muttered.

"You, too?" Estelle smiles sympathetically. "It's been going around; I had it last week."

"I haven't caught it," I say, smirking smugly. Trai elbows me in the side.

"Don't brag," he chides. "Not all of us get perfect immunity."

I elbow him back, laughing. Cameron looks up at Trai's comment, scrutinizing my face before turning back to his book. He's told me many times that he finds the idea of immunity fascinating, what with him being a science geek and all. Honestly, though, I don't believe that Dr. Leary's serum actually worked, not when he had been trying to kill me. But that's debatable, because since returning from the Capitol, I haven't acquired a single illness, from the tiniest cough to the stomach flu.

"Hey, you gonna eat that?" Katie asks suddenly. She jabs her spoon in the direction of the untouched plate in front of me, her eyebrows raised. "If not, I'd be happy to take it off your hands..."

"Nope, sorry, called it," Trai interjects, plucking the rainbow-dyed cupcake from my plate and taking a monstrous bite out of it. When he sets it back down, I smack him across the arm, muttering, "Barbarian."

Katy isn't fazed. After casting a suggestive smile at the two of us, she returns her attention to the dessert in question. "I'm serious," she persists. "It's just sitting there, like, lonely, and it's kind of bothering me."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but pick up my fork and take a bite of the rainbow-dyed cupcake in front of me just to appease her. Dulcet's secret rainbow cupcakes have become somewhat of a regular snack for me, a new favorite since Trai introduced me to them a couple of months ago. In essence, they really aren't much more than a vanilla cupcake streaked with food coloring; yet something about the multitude of hues swirled throughout the dessert is mesmerizing and, as I can attest, addicting.

We spend the next hour or so making small talk, discussing homework (way too much for math tonight, completely unfair), grades (Estelle has a C in Spanish, and her mom is ready to kill her), and teachers-my personal issue, courtesy of a certain new art teacher named Mrs. Ahlgren.

When Caleb first told me about Ms. Shea's death, I'd hardly believed it. But sure enough, when I walked into art class on the first day of Junior year, my favorite teacher was not there. Instead, perched on the chair like some kind of demon-hawk, was Mrs. Ahlgren, the once-sub who is now our permanent teacher. She isn't Ms. Shea: she isn't fun, imaginative, or even infinitesimally likeable, and she doesn't behave like a teacher so much as a prison warden. I can spend at least twenty minutes complaining about her, and I do, with my friends giving me that sympathetic nod that friends do when they've heard a rant a thousand times before.

While I'm talking, Katie does end up having some of my cupcake, and between her endless bites and the giant chunk Trai took out of the dessert, I end up having to get another one entirely. The girl at the counter doesn't even have to ask: my order in boxed and in front of me before I so much as open my mouth.

I take the cupcake back to our table, careful this time to keep it away from my friends' giant appetites. Like always, as I open the box, I can't help but remember my conversation with Trai in the Capitol cells that one night, with both of us hungry and fantasizing about what kind of food we could be eating. I think that at that point, neither of us really thought we'd get out of the Capitol, especially given the circumstances. Yet here we are now, alive and well, sitting in the middle of our favorite cafe and eating rainbow cupcakes.

Caleb

Snow falls around me as I get out of the car, fluttering into my eyes and coating my thick sweater. It dusts the pavement and smothers the newly-constructed buildings in front of me, covering their metal structuring in icy white.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

I hear another car door slam, but don't turn around. A moment later, Nessa is beside me, her hands buried in her pockets as she stares at the snow-encrusted city before us.

When I don't respond, she continues, "I think this is what I missed most, living in the Capitol all those years: the snow. We got sun, we got fog, but inside that dome, there was never snow. I'd see it falling sometimes, but it'd be wiped away practically the instant it hit the glass." She sighs. "Nice to finally experience it again."

The wind kicks up a flurry of snow just then, pelting us in the back with icy bullets. Nessa, caught off guard, stumbles forward, but I anticipate it and manage to stay still.

I wait until she rights herself, tightening her scarf around her neck. Over the past few months, Nessa and I have developed somewhat of a friendship, though it came about more out of necessity than desire. I spent weeks traveling with Fairleigh on his speech tour after Delaney and Trai left to go back to school, and once they were gone, I didn't really have anyone to talk to. Nessa and Perfecta were the only ones there, and though I hadn't completely forgiven them (and still haven't), I was willing to push my grudges aside in favor of human companionship.

"Did Jeremy say when it will be completed?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at the city, many of its buildings still surrounded by scaffolding.

"December twentieth," she says. "A week away."

I try to imagine what it'll be like, living in the new capital all the time. Fairleigh is having a special building constructed, comprised entirely of apartments for all of his delegates, right in the center of the city. I, though, will be staying in the main presidential residence, because (though it hasn't been formally announced yet) Fairleigh has selected me as his new vice president.

Vice President Payne. It has a certain catchy ring, but I'm not sure I like it. After all, despite my altered appearance, I'm really just sixteen years old. No amount of strength or intellect can change that. I discussed my concerns with Fairleigh after he'd made his decision, suggesting that he choose someone with more experience, like Nessa or Perfecta. But he was insistent.

"So, I heard Jeremy made you an offer," Nessa says casually, pulling me from my reverie. I jump a little, thinking she's referring to the VP position, which no one's supposed to know about it yet. But she continues, "His head scientists have been working on a new process, correct? For memory recovery?"

"Oh." I shift uncomfortably. "That. Yeah, they think they've just perfected it, and Fairleigh wants me to be the first to use it."

"Are you going to do it?" she asks softly. When I shrug, she looks at me solemnly. "You'd be able to remember everything, Caleb. Your friends, your family, your life...everything. You'd be able to reclaim every single memory Leary stole from you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I want to remember," I snap, and she falls silent. Because it's true: sure, on one hand, I do want to remember. I want to know who my parents and friends are, to have actual, tangible memories to rely on. But at the same time, they aren't my life anymore. As uncertain as I feel about it, Fairleigh, the Pro-Inferiors, and the new capital are my life now. I'm a different person than I was. The way I see it, that means I should create new memories, different memories. The past is the past: I don't need to remember it in order to succeed in the future.

Just then, a muffled banging erupts from behind me. I glance over to see Miracle, pounding her fists against the back window of my car, petulant that I've locked her in. Though she's improved in behavior over the past months (she no longer tries to strangle me whenever I talk to her), she has the attitude of a bratty little kid. Fairleigh has offered, more than once, to move her somewhere where she can be watched around the clock, but I've refused. It's my mess-it's my fault for bringing her out of the tunnels, making it my fault that she's so fractious-so it's my problem to deal with.

I roll my eyes at Miracle, mouthing the words, real mature. She flashes a rude hand gesture in my direction. Nessa watches the silent exchange with amusement in her eyes, before asking, "How is she?"

I snort. "Oh, she's better," I allow. "Marginally."

Nessa shakes her head, smiling. "Well, you have to admit, she's never been the most enjoyable companion. This whole brat act isn't anything new-trust me, I was her adviser."

I look over my shoulder again, and note that Miracle has stopped her racket. She's sitting in the backseat now, her arms crossed and her bottom lip jutting out, looking for all the world like she's five years old. But at least she's quiet.

"It doesn't surprise me, with the way Leary catered to her every wish," I mutter.

Nessa nods, and we fall into silence. I stare at the countless buildings laid out before me, built on the remains of the Leary's infamous Capitol. It looks so different now, so innocent, without the hulking dome and frigid Superiors.

I wonder then, as I have many times in the past months, where Leary has gone. The subway lines have to lead to some destination, a sequestered location somewhere in the country. But with the tunnels buried beneath ash and rubble, there's no way to find out. So for now, Leary is just out of our reach. He has all one hundred candidates (including Jeanette and Carlie) and by now, they're probably brainwashed Superiors. I've told Fairleigh of his rival's plans, expecting an attack sooner rather than later, but there has been no sign of the doctor. In fact, since the fall of the Capitol, things have been suspiciously uneventful.

The calm before the storm, I'm sure.

"Where do you think he is?" I ask Nessa after a while, rubbing my gloved hands together against the chill. "Leary, I mean."

She takes a moment to answer, her eyes focused on the snowy landscape, and when she does, it's not the short response I was expecting. "Late in June," she begins eventually, "after a speech, I found an envelope on the hood of my car. The only words on it were 'For Fairleigh'. There was no address, sender information, or anything. But I gave it to Fairleigh. And after reading it, he locked himself in his hotel room and wouldn't come out for hours. Something in that letter really upset him, and I can only guess that it came from David Leary." She pauses. "Honestly, I don't know where he is. He could be anywhere. But I'll tell you this, Caleb: Dr. Leary doesn't give up. He may be crazy and neurotic, but he's determined. So, while I have no idea where he may be"-she frowns at the horizon-"I certainly don't think we've seen the last of him."

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TO EVERYONE READING THIS:

Thank you so much for reading! And thank you to all of you who voted in the Watty Awards; thanks to you, Superior won in Science-Fiction On the Rise. You guys are the best, and I hope you enjoyed this story! :)

Additionally, THERE WILL NOT BE A SEQUEL TO THIS STORY. I REPEAT. NO. SEQUEL. I realize that I previously said there would be but I've deleted all mention of it and sent out several fan messages and put it on my profile and I still get questions about it all the time. So I'm just going to leave this here. There will NOT be a sequel to Superior. Thanks.