Chapter 7
655 Words
7
Not really the same mother, I wanted to tell her, but I was afraid it might hurt her feelings.
Because even though the face generally looked the same, the tone—the vibe of the woman—was definitely different.
Or maybe what was different was how Halli treated her mother. Maybe that was the whole wrong thing. Because I would never talk to my own mom that way.
We’ve been a team, my mom and me, since I was ten. Before that we were part of a triad, a trio, a family—but she and I don’t really talk about that anymore. There are no pictures of him on the wall. If there are still photos of the three of us in albums, they’re tucked away in my mom’s closet. When he left, he left us for good, as far as my mom was concerned. If he sends checks now and then the way he’s supposed to, she deposits them like she would any donation she gets at work. We never talk about him. And I’m kind of okay with that.
I used to feel so sorry for Lydia and her twin brother Will. They lost their dad for real—as in dead—back when they were little. I thought it was so sad they’d never know what it was like to have him around as they grew up. But people adjust. I’ve adjusted. Now it would feel weird to have him back.
So whatever weird thing there was going on between Halli and her mother, it wasn’t anything I shared or understood.
But it made me curious about something.
“Are your parents divorced?”
“Divorced?” she said. “No.”
Wow. What an interesting thing. She must have had a whole different life, growing up with both parents. I wanted to hear all about that at some point, but first there were other things I was more curious about.
“What did you mean when you said to your mother, ‘Watch my dot’?” I asked.
“My location on the map,” Halli said. “You know . . . the tracking.”
She could see I didn’t have a clue.
“You don’t have that?” she asked.
“I mean, sure, we have maps . . .”
Halli pulled her shirt down on one side and bared her shoulder. She pointed to a spot beneath the left side of her collar bone. “Don’t you have one of these?”
“One of what?”
“An identifier. A tracking cell embedded under the skin. We all have them.”
I know sometimes pet owners microchip their animals, but I’ve never heard of doing it to humans.
“Does it . . . hurt?”
“Probably,” she said. “But you get it when you’re a newborn, so I don’t really remember.”
I thought about what that must be like: Here’s your new baby, Mrs. Jones, let’s just weigh her, measure her, microchip her—good to go.
“So that means your mom can track you wherever you are?”
“Unfortunately,” Halli said. “But only for another few months. Then I’m taking her off the list—taking both of them off.”
I felt like I should understand—she was speaking clearly, and not only in English, but actually in my own voice. Yet I still didn’t get it.
“I’m sorry—take who off what list?”
“My parents. Off the list of who gets tracking information. Once you turn eighteen you get to decide.”
“Oh, sort of like a friends-and-family plan.”
“A what?”
“Never mind,” I said. “So you’re saying no one can track you once you’re eighteen? I mean, unless you want them to?”
“The government still can—everybody has to register with them. That way if you commit a crime, or you’re lost up on Everest, they can find you.”
“Wow.”
“So you don’t have that?” Halli asked.
“Not at all.”
But it was an interesting idea, for sure. I started thinking about who would be on my list. My mother. My father. Lydia and Will and their mom Elena. And . . . that was about it. Those are the only people I care about and the only ones who probably care about me.
Kind of sad.
“How many people are on your list?” I asked Halli.
“Three. Two now, with my grandmother gone. And soon, zero.”
I was practically sociable compared to her.
I heard a beeping again. More of a ringing, really. I waited for Halli to answer her screen. She didn’t even seem to notice the noise.
Because it wasn’t her noise. It was mine. My phone, my world.
And thanks to that, me back in my own bedroom.
- Writer
