Unwind: The Bill of Life–Part 1

However, between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, a parent may
 choose to retroactively “abort” a child...

“We should run away,” Ariana says. “I’m fed up with everything, too. My family, school, everything. I could kick-AWOL, and never look back.”

Connor’s parents don’t know that Connor knows he’s being unwound. He wasn’t supposed to find out, but Connor has always been good at ferreting out secrets.

Ariana’s house is a twenty-minute walk, if you take the conventional route. Suburban Ohio neighborhoods never have streets that go in straight lines, so instead he takes the more direct route, through the woods, and makes it there in ten.

Then a light comes on at the top of the stairs, and reflexively Ariana closes the door a few inches.

He curses himself for not having forethought enough to consider that. Thinking ahead has never been one of Connor's strong points.

The trucker rolls up his sleeve to reveal that the arm, which had done the tricks, had been grafted on at the elbow.

The look of despair on Andy’s face is suddenly replaced by a steely resolve bordering on triumph. He quickly looks away from Connor and takes a few steps before the police grab him—steps away from Connor, so that the police still have their backs to him.

Instead of wiping the tears away he lets them dry on his face like he used to when he was a little boy and the things he cried about were so insignificant that they’d be forgotten by morning.

The bullet embeds in his backpack.

Its side mirror smacks him painfully in the ribs before the car screeches to a halt, sending the acrid stench of burned rubber up his nostrils.

She holds her fingers above the keys for a moment, then begins with perfect passion. Soon her fingers dance across the keys making the flawless seem facile.

She holds the wrong note in her mind, and even as she continues playing, that note reverberates within her, growing to a crescendo, stealing her focus until she slips again, into a second wrong note, and then, two minutes later, blows an entire chord.

He’s not fifteen, and he’s never been a ward of the state.

Every one of them is small, subtle, but they are mistakes nonetheless.

A tribunal, thinks Risa. Three adults sitting in judgment, like the three monkeys: hear-no-evil, see-no-evil, speak-no-evil.

She slaps awkwardly down into a chair far too plush for an inquisition.

Risa doesn’t know the other two people sitting beside the headmaster, but they both look very official. Their demeanor is relaxed, as if this is business as usual for them.

“Let’s see...you’ve been a ward of the state from birth. It looks like your behavior has been exemplary. Your grades have been respectable, but not excellent."

“It’s school policy to have a lawyer present at these kinds of proceedings.”
“And what kind of proceeding is this?”

“Please, Miss Ward. It’s not dying, and I’m sure everyone here would be more comfortable if you didn’t suggest something so blatantly inflammatory. The fact is, 100 percent of you will still be alive, just in a divided state.”

The lawyer sighs in exasperation and looks at his watch.

The bus is full of kids moving from seat to seat, trying to find kindred spirits or trying to escape them.

The system might have a million contingencies for state wards trying to screw with things, but they don’t have a plan of action for dealing with an accident.

There are, of course, a few other tithes at his school, but they’re all from other religions, so Lev has never felt a real sense of camaraderie with them.

“There are also people who tithe their first, second, or third child. Every family must make the decision for itself. Your parents waited a long time before making the decision to have you.”
Lev reluctantly nods, knowing it’s true. He was a “true tithe.” With five natural siblings, plus one adopted, and three that arrived “by stork,” Lev was exactly one-tenth.

“I’m ready for this,” and saying it makes him realize that, in spite of his fears and misgivings, he truly is ready.

Yet, for such a large family it’s unusually quiet, and the clatter of silverware on china makes the lack of conversation even more conspicuous.

There are a million more things to be furious about, but Lev finds himself incensed by what he’s just been called.

Before either of them has a chance to scream, the bus careens off the road to avoid them and smashes head-on against the fat trunk of a huge oak, stopping the bus cold.

Lev stands there, impotent, unable to move, unable to process this.

The kid hits the ground, out cold, unwittingly taking the bullet meant for Connor.

It’s the hostage, just dumped in the path, his white clothes smudged green from the foliage, and brown from the muddy earth.

These two talk in an easy tone of voice, like they’re all friends. They’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security, thinks Lev.

There’s a moment of silence, then Lev, biting back his anger and revulsion, says, “Thank you. Thank you for saving me."

At first the boy’s eyes had been lazy and his head lolling to one side, but now those eyes are sharp.

Connor feels like punching that smug look off the kid’s face, but he restrains himself.

“I’m sure you’re very good at stealing, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Connor appears insulted by the insinuation.

Her words or maybe just her intentionally condescending tone makes Connor storm off.

It’s Lev—and Risa realizes that her little ruse has backfired. She had set out to test him with a fake argument but the argument turned real, and in the process she completely forgot about Lev.