CHAPTER NINE
Nova
THIRTY-SEVEN DAYS LEFT
‘You’ve been staring at that same page for almost an hour,’ Estelle pointed out.
She flipped through streams on the family room’s old flatscreen.
Puffa Swells sat squished between us on the couch.
Sunday nights, Estelle and I treated ourselves to an epic sleepover sesh, complete with a reality-show binge – our guilty pleasure.
The last episode of Project Blue Crush had faded to credits minutes ago, and Estelle had already switched to Hills High, our next addictive reality drama.
Teens fussed about Homecoming proposals two weeks into the school year.
The school was Cas’s alma mater, though I didn’t remember if he ever made a cameo in the older seasons.
Every thought I had came back to him. His last string of texts left me unfocused.
Estelle was right – I’d been stuck on these chem lab notes for an hour, my attempt at multitasking a complete fail.
I couldn’t remember anything past the first line.
Cas’s texts, though? Those I had memorized.
Castor
There’s something I haven’t been completely honest about
My heart sank when I read the text yesterday – the first one he’d sent since I left him on read after he asked about my feelings on Pain Givers.
How do you discuss rich privilege with the rich and privileged?
My community needed Pain Givers, but we’d never be them.
We’d never have that type of ease. Hate wasn’t the right word; neither was jealousy.
Frustration was closer, but I’d never be able to articulate exactly what I meant.
It’s something that those who got it, got it.
He was too good to be true. When I’d first saved his name in my phone, I’d put ‘Prince Charming’ for all of two seconds – yes, sometimes I did cringey things.
But I’d never had anyone put so much intention into getting to know me.
He wanted to know everything, things I never felt I had the luxury to think about.
Still, I wasn’t the kind of person who got swept off their feet. This was a first.
Castor
I haven’t been able to find the right words
Castor
But I’ll be on NBN News – Sunday, 5 p.m.
That was his last message. I had responded with the weakest –
Nova
K
I shouldn’t care that he hadn’t just said whatever it was, but I did.
Our crash had been on Monday. It was Sunday.
After a week, he didn’t owe me anything.
And this friendship – or whatever was growing between us – wasn’t realistic.
It wouldn’t last. It was fun for now. That was all I wanted it to be. Ugh, why was this so complicated?
‘Earth to Nova,’ Estelle sang.
I shot up, flinging my phone under the cushions and immediately gasping from the sudden movement. The pain in my ribs was almost gone, but any quick jerk of my torso was still my worst enemy.
Estelle roved her gaze over me. ‘I don’t know why you don’t sue whoever ran you over.’
I sighed. I hadn’t told her about Cas. I planned to – eventually.
But while she enjoyed her Freedom System benefits and nice paychecks, she, like many people, didn’t have the highest opinion of those with excessive wealth.
Especially from Crestview, despite her obsession with Hills High.
Her thoughts about Pain Givers? Absolutely lethal.
Whether or not it was easier for Pain Carriers to live with helical disease, they were still the ones living with it, while the wealthy went on with their lives.
It could’ve been the science nerd in me, but as frustrating as I found that reality, it made sense.
If someone felt little to no pain, could carry helical disease and be compensated for it, what was the issue?
It was a choice to give it away, and a choice to carry it.
It was why I ignored the FODDER FOR THE RICH flyers.
I’d seen another this morning, challenging my logic: IS THE SYSTEM REALLY YOUR CHOICE WHEN LIFE MAKES YOU DESPERATE ENOUGH TO SAY YES?
But my logic didn’t mean I had high opinions of everyone uptown either.
Outside of Estelle’s argument, I thought rich people were serially out of touch.
Cas’s mom? I’d heard her in the background of one of our FaceStreams ordering flower arrangements from Argentina for a new installment in their west wing foyer.
Meanwhile, I debated whether to catch two buses to the MidCity pharmacy, where the sweetest cashier always took time to find coupons for Daddy’s medication.
I tried to ignore the different worlds we lived in. I wanted a couple more days with Cas in a bubble of bliss. From his recent texts, it sounded like that bubble was about to burst.
‘There’s no need for me to sue the guy. He paid my medical bills, and he bought me that new bike you’ve already asked to borrow.
’ I nodded to it in the corner. Daddy hadn’t asked me to move it yet – just taken pictures of it to show off to his friends outside the butchery shop.
Who else had a fancy solar seven-speed this side of the bay? Just his daughter.
‘He bought you a bike you shouldn’t be riding yet with those ribs.’
‘I’ve not gone far,’ I countered. ‘Just to class, and to work on the mural.’
‘Mhmm. Maybe I’ll sue – because somewhere along the way you forgot about hanging out with me. This is the first time I’ve been over all week. I can sue for lost best-friend hours.’
I scrunched my face. ‘That feels extreme. We’re sitting side by side.’
‘At least I get to see Leo today.’ She wiggled her pink brows, newly dyed to match the tips of her hair. I’ll need to edit the mural.
I gagged, and the alarm on my solisWatch beeped.
I snatched the remote. It was five o’clock.
‘Don’t you want to see if Simon asks Laurynce to the dance?’ asked Estelle.
‘Not really,’ I muttered, flipping the stream. I tried to do it casually – because when had Estelle ever known me to watch NBN News – but as soon as I found the feed, I froze.
Cas filled the screen. He looked different from our FaceStreams. No sleepy eyes or disheveled hair tucked under a snapback.
Today, his golden-brown complexion shone against a dark silk suit, the top button of his dress shirt undone.
It took everything for me not to react – because as far as Estelle knew, I had no reason to be invested in a Fox.
I kept my mouth shut as blue lightning crackled at his temples and down his neck.
Castor Cas had helical disease.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ Yvonne Meadows began.
If I were less distracted, I would’ve taken more time to admire her canary-yellow dress and the sunset blush across her dark brown cheeks, but I couldn’t take my attention away from Cas.
Stars. This was what he meant about not being honest. But why keep this from me?
I’d told him about Estelle, Skye, my mural.
Carrying helical disease wouldn’t have made me think any less of him.
Then I remembered his question and turned up the volume.
‘It’s coming up on one hundred and fifty years since a single solar flare changed the very chemistry of our world,’ said Mrs Meadows, ‘bringing with it the painful parasitic helical disease plaguing point-one per cent of the global population. It’s unpredictable and unrelenting, not caring who it affects.
No one is protected from its pain – not even our leaders, innovators and most influential families, as proven by my guest today.
Nearly thirty-five years ago, Albert Fox, founder of Dominion Pharmaceuticals and pioneer of the Freedom System, discovered a way to transfer helical disease from one carrier host to another.
It is that very program that could save his grandson from an excruciating life today. Castor Fox, how are you?’
‘I’ve been as well as I can be this past week – still surfing and training on the days when I have the energy. I’m keeping up with my sports medicine classes at NorCal Dominion. I might’ve skipped once when the waves were too good to pass up. Sorry, Dr Munroe!’
Mrs Meadows smiled. ‘It’s amazing to hear you’re still training.
You rose through the junior league with such determination and skill.
This year, you’re only a few points away from an invitation to the Challenger Series, putting you one wave closer to the Championship Tour.
Helical disease puts that at risk, but lucky for you, the Freedom System is here to help.
It’s almost as if your grandfather knew his family would need this program when he created it. ’
They both chuckled, and it was jarring to see Cas like this – his light laugh, the manufactured smile. I squirmed. He was polished to a tee. You wouldn’t guess he had helical disease. The blue glow flashed again, and he did his best to ignore it.
I saw where the conversation was going – what Cas hadn’t wanted to tell me.
It was why he’d asked me about being a Pain Giver.
This disease didn’t care who you were or need a reason to activate.
It could happen to anyone, at any time. And for people without money and access, it ruined their lives as they once knew them.
But for Cas – with his dreams of going pro – he’d give his pain away with ease.
That meant someone from a community like mine would carry it.
It was a harsh reminder of our differences, how far apart our worlds existed.
I thought of Chicago. Houston. Other cities with large Pain Carrier populations, still trying to rebuild.
That was the purpose of the Freedom System: so those at the top could keep thriving, so the world could keep spinning.
My stomach turned. I already knew this about Cas.
I knew he was rich. I knew who his grandfather was.
And I was wildly aware of what Daddy had said about Brenson Moorehouse and his advocacy for those who couldn’t afford to be Pain Givers.