98.2

By Henley J. Alexandre

In Eden, Washington, there are rules. Wear a facemask. Be home by curfew. And, most importantly, wash your hands. This is Emily's normal. Growing up in the fifty-year wake of a global health pandemic, Emily has never known any different. However, now that she is sixteen, the world is starting to look different. A new friendship is opening her eyes to life before the global pandemic and, as she learns more about the past, she grows even more frustrated with her present. Emily begins to see small fractures in the daily habits and routines that have come to define her existence. Risking the quiet comforts of normalcy, Emily's curiosity takes hold and she begins to step outside of everyday life in Eden.

Fifty-two years earlier, Sam is returning to campus for his final semester at St. Agatha University. Greeting old friends and preparing for graduation, Sam is wrestling with the excitement and sadness that comes with closing the door on his college years. However, his senior year is cut short when a horrible virus sweeps the globe and life is brought to a screeching halt. The virus changes everything and Sam struggles to adjust to life in the pandemic. Wear a facemask. Be home by curfew. And, most importantly, wash your hands. This is Sam's new normal.

Two sides of the same coin, Sam and Emily are desperately searching for answers. But, at what cost?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098351946

Book preview

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

98.2 © 2020 by Henley J. Alexandre

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN (Print): 978-1-09835-193-9

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-09835-194-6

For all those affected by the COVID-19 pandemic, an event that will undoubtedly shape the way that we treat each other, consider the poor and excluded, and exist in the world.

Special thanks to my dear friend, Elizabeth Nigro, without whom I would have never had the courage to put pen to paper, and to my friends Jordan Conerty, Becky McGrath, and Marina Templin for helping guide this process.

Contents

Year Eleven

Viral

Deep Breathing

Gemini

The Mountains

Anything Else?

Golden

Red

Placed

Home

Setting

Order

Curfew

Landed

Release

Star

Glimpse

Year Eleven

98.2, declared a calm, robotic voice as the scanners passed over her body. Emily looked up at the room’s corner speaker, awaiting further confirmation. Vitals normal, the voice stated in the same monotonous tone that Emily had grown accustomed to over the years. The light above the doorway changed from blue to green, and the glass doors slid open in front of her. Her ears popped as the bodily sensation of altered air pressure washed over her. Emily stepped out of the entrance examination scanner and walked into the foyer of Walter Reed High School.

She paused for a moment to stare beyond the rows of wash stations and down the long white corridor, sparse with the students who had been granted in-school permissions for the new year.

Year 11, she thought, Here. We. Go.

She took a deep breath and peeled off her raincoat, a common ritual for someone who had grown up in the Pacific Northwest. Eden, Washington, was a middle-sized city with roughly twenty thousand residents. Mostly families, the city was divided into eighty different housing clusters across forty square miles. Eden had a similar feel to Seattle, but it was less densely populated. Eden wasn’t a shipping hub or a major trade port. It was known mostly for its professional athletics and its ties to the digital education industry. In Eden, you were either trying to make it as a professional gamer or you worked for EduView, a digital learning platform that focused on home and remote education.

Slinging her raincoat over her arm, Emily turned left and walked toward a wash station labeled, Station E6, just as she had during Years 9 and 10. While she wasn’t assigned to any individual station, every student had their tendencies, and Emily embraced consistency and the practice of a routine. Her in-school ritual always began with a sharp left turn coming out of the entrance examination scanner and a quick, fifteen-step march to Station E6 in the left-side wash bank.

Emily kept her head down as she passed the two in-school officers standing in the foyer. Above them, a large painting of the city crest towered over the entryway. A green shield, adorned with filigree, hung over the students as they passed into school premises. She glanced ahead and made eye contact with her best friend, Fae Dotterman, whose lips turned up as she waved excitedly in salutation. Just as Emily could be found marching toward Station E6, Fae’s routine was a right turn out of the scanner and a predictable march toward Station E13. Every week, the same.

An awkward sort of girl, Fae was taller and lankier than her peers with a stride that often made her look unbalanced. Her high-waisted jeans accentuated her length as her long strides led her across the entryway. Brown, frizzy hair, left even curlier by the rain, draped down her back, as she turned away from Emily and stepped into her wash station.

Fae was known around school for her contagious smile and her penchant for word play. She was an entertainer above all things and often embraced the spotlight, leaning in with all her quirk and charm. Emily had known Fae her entire life. Their parents had moved into the same housing cluster, and their families had remained close as their children had gotten older. In many ways, Emily looked up to Fae. Fae was always unapologetically herself; a courage and attitude Emily often longed to emulate—except for those times when Fae found herself getting into trouble.

Emily stepped into Station E6 and kicked the rainwater off of her boots. She opened her tablet bag and removed the bright-blue wallet that her mother had given her the previous day.

Your favorite color! her mother had exclaimed, as Emily peeled open the vacuum seal wrapped around the gift. I thought it would be a nice way to start Year 11.

Thanks, Mom. It’s beautiful. Emily had replied.

The actions of one…, her mother invited.

Carry the safety of us all, Emily replied cheerfully, as her mother joined in unison.

Emily looked down at the gift in her hand and smiled. She removed her ID card and placed the wallet gently on the station table next to a cylindrical tube that ran into the ground. She held her ID card beneath the station’s barcode reader and the same monotonous voice from the entrance examination scanner called out, Emily Chang, Year 11. Welcome to Walter Reed High School. A rush of air and the sharp whoosh of the cylinder brought her assigned day-kit up the cylindrical tube. Emily reached into the tube and took her day-kit in hand. Her eyes opened wide as she opened the day-kit and removed its contents.

Green. Of course I got green. Emily thought as she examined her shoe slips and the day-kit essentials.

While most of the shoe slips at Walter Reed were a standard-issue white, a limited collection of bright-green slips had remained in circulation from a previous year. The school had a brief moment back in 2069 where they thought that they could raise school spirit by issuing all-green day-kits. Green wipes, green hand sanitizer, and, of course, green shoe slips. After many complaints, most of the green day-kits had been recycled or repurposed. But, every so often, an unlucky student found themselves wearing a remnant from the all-green era of Walter Reed High School on their feet. A less-than-ideal way to start Year 11, Emily exhaled audibly and shook her head in disbelief as she pulled the shoe slips over her still-wet rain boots.

Turning toward the station sink, she washed her hands as the machine displayed a bright-red timer that counted down from twenty. The rush of water welcomed Emily back to in-school, as her excitement rose. She was back for another year. Emily hummed along with the soft, elevator-style melodies that accompanied the countdown. Upon the melody’s completion, she exited Station E6 and caught up with Fae who was now standing with a group of students outside the wash bank area.

Em! Fae called out excitedly. How was your winter season? Everyone stay fit?

Winter was good! Emily exclaimed. The Chang household was proper fit, no issues! What about you guys?

Not too bad, Fae explained, Dad caught a seasonal, but he was only in isolation for eight days. Nothing too serious….

Fae’s eyes traced the nervous look on Emily’s face and she slowly looked down toward the floor, halting abruptly upon reaching Emily’s feet and bright-green shoe slips.

Oh dear. Green, huh? Fae remarked with a kind, apologetic half-smile.

Don’t get me started, Emily spouted in frustration, as she rolled her eyes. Where is your first class?

Fae pulled back the tan fold on her tablet bag, revealing her day-kit and small chrome tablet. She took the tablet in hand and began swiping between windows on an already open web browser. Arriving at a scheduling app, she announced, Haystead’s Reading Comp, Room 223. What about you?

Same! Emily chirped quickly, breathing a sigh of relief.

Emily had memorized her schedule the week before in preparation for Year 11. Fae and the other girls often teased Emily for her meticulous nature, but Emily didn’t know any other way to exist in the world. She was a meticulous sort of person. Seeking a redemptive quality to the bright-green hue that had colored the beginning of her morning, Emily was grateful to have a friend in the first class with her. The girls waved goodbye to the group of students, and began their walk down to Professor Haystead’s classroom.

Hyper aware of her appearance and the echo of snickers that followed her bright-green shoe slips down the hallway, Emily lowered her gaze and clutched her tablet bag tightly to her chest. Tensing up, she turned to her friend and whispered, Urrgh, why do they have to stare? I hate Year 11 already.

Don’t worry, Emily. Everything will be fine, Fae exclaimed matter-of-factly, now displaying a sly, mischievous grin.

NO. DON’T DO IT! pleaded Emily in anticipation of Fae’s theatrics.

Inhaling deeply, Fae proceeded to belt the lyrics of their favorite pop song at the top of her lungs. The ruckus could be heard the entire length of the hallway. Everyone looked up to observe the grand performance, as Fae sang, skipped, and danced across the tile flooring. She sang louder and louder as the two continued toward Professor Haystead’s classroom. Laughter and applause thundered, as students took out their tablets and began to take pictures and videos of the display.

Emily buried her face in her elbow, bright red from embarrassment. All the while, she was quietly grateful for Fae having, once again, proved to be unapologetically herself. Amidst the circus of it all no one seemed to notice the color of Emily’s shoe slips and, in that moment, Emily ceased to care.

Ms. Dotterman! a booming voice said sternly behind them, That is quite enough of that.

Turning abruptly to locate the source of the admonishing voice, the two girls looked up at a towering figure of a woman dressed in a black dress and a medical white coat. Emily and Fae shank back into their spines and cowered at the looming and intimidating presence of the woman. Her high ponytail, strong cheekbones, and thick-framed glasses hinted at a carefully curated aesthetic that demanded their attention and respect. The medical white coat that hung neatly over her broad shoulders displayed prominently, E. Blackwell, M.D., Ph.D.

Dean Blackwell! Fae managed to sputter, Apologies. We’re just very excited to be back at Walter Reed.

The woman looked down at the girls in displeasure. Recall, Ms. Dotterman, that this space is for education and there is little room for your mischief and disruptions. she said sharply. Dean Blackwell confidently continued, standing up straight and looking down the bright white hallway, The actions of one.

Carry the safety of us all. Yes, Dean Blackwell, the girls acknowledged apologetically.

Dean Blackwell marched away in the other direction as Emily and Fae slowly turned to look at one another. As their disciplinarian quickly moved out of earshot, they performed a poor, high-pitched imitation of Dean Blackwell’s voice, waving their fingers mockingly, Ms. Dotterman, Ms. Dotterman. That is Quite. Enough. Of That.

The girls chuckled as they continued down the hallway and entered Room 223. Emily glanced around the room, frantically searching for her assigned learning booth. The booths, fixed heavily to the floor in rows, stood five and a half feet tall with tinted glass paneling on all sides. She stood on her tiptoes to get a better look at the second and third rows, craning her neck and searching for a booth displaying her last name and identification number on its external monitor.

I’ll see you after class! Fae said, as she located her booth in the back corner and darted off in its direction.

Emily nodded, quietly envying Fae’s height, and continued to scan the room.

Chang - 662123, she read on a digital display near the middle of the room. Stepping around the first row of booths, she quickly made her way to her assigned seat. She entered the booth, pulled her day-kit out of her tablet bag, and removed two sanitary wipes from the pack. She began to wipe down her chair, desk, the tinted side and front panels, and her tablet. She discarded the wipes in the empty disposal bin outside her booth and settled attentively into her seat, tablet in hand. Emily turned on the device and placed it in the tablet stand affixed to the desk in front of her. Immediately, a timer appeared on the tablet screen that counted down to the start of class.

1:26, 1:25, 1:24, 1:23 ….

Emily looked around the room to identify her peers. The tinted side and front panels on the booths obscured the views of the students’ faces, but certain features could still be made out through the glass.

Sandy-blond hair, glasses, red tablet bag, she noted, as she identified her friend Patrice in the back of the room. Going booth to booth, Emily silently named the remaining members of her first class until she came to the front row. Her eyes drifted to a patch of dark hair in front of her. Seeing only the back of his head, Emily failed to identify the boy seated in the booth in front of her.

Who is that? She wondered, noticing a battered, black tablet bag resting neatly on his desk.

As the display timer reached 0:00, a window appeared in the middle of Emily’s tablet screen. A young man, nearing thirty, was sitting casually at a white desk with a stack of actual, bound books resting prominently to his right.

Books? Emily thought. How curious.

The dated nature of his cravat and glasses were too reminiscent of a lost era. He looked like a character out of an old movie. The man straightened his cravat and cleared his throat.

Good morning, students, he announced with gusto.

Good morning, Professor. Emily replied loudly, accompanied by her peers.

The man continued, I hope you all had an enjoyable and healthy winter season. My name is Jamie Haystead, and I will be your Year 11 Reading Comprehension instructor. As many of you know, our primary concern for this year is your Aptitude Exams. These exams will undoubtedly shape your future in important ways, but we will have time to discuss those. For now, please open link seven and …. Professor Haystead paused for a moment and scanned the tablet in the middle of his desk, looking to cold call an unfamiliar name on the attendance sheet. He continued, ... Mr. McDaniels, can you please diagram the third sentence for the class.

The dark-haired boy in front of Emily responded dismissively, Yeah, sure.

Emily’s eyes opened wide, gawking at the tone of disinterest in the boy’s voice.

Excuse me, Mr. McDaniels. Would you mind speaking up? Professor Haystead called back.

Yes, sir. I would love to diagram the sentence, the boy said, sarcastically.

Several students stifled their laughter. Emily looked down at her tablet as the boy began to diagram the sentence, his edits appearing on everyone’s devices in the room in real time. She watched carefully, as the red markings circled the different parts of speech and drew lines between the related clauses. The boy executed the task to perfection, completing the effort by drawing a big red smiley face in the tablet margin.

Very good, Mr. McDaniels. Perhaps without the attitude next time, Professor Haystead said approvingly, as if the boy had earned their instructor’s respect. The boy slouched back into his chair and began spinning his tablet pen around his thumb.

As Mr. McDaniels so eloquently demonstrated, diagramming sentences quickly will be essential to moving on in this class. While the exercise may seem rudimentary, the fundamentals of reading comprehension rely on understanding how the different parts of speech are working together in any given sentence ….

As Professor Haystead continued his introductory lecture, Emily’s mind fixated on their upcoming Aptitude Exams. For most students, Year 11 began the Age of Responsibility. Upon turning sixteen, young people were called on to take on a more active role in the community and perform essential tasks for familial obligations. Not only did this grant them certain communal permissions and extended freedom of mobility, but it was also the year that their Aptitude Exams would organize them into career categories. Based on your highest scored categories and the community’s needs, you would be set on a career trajectory for Year 12.

Studying for these exams will be the most important part of Year 11, her father had explained. As much as our personal and romantic lives are decided by our housing clusters, our professional lives are largely determined by the Aptitude Exams in Years 11 and 12. Trust the aptitude process and do your best. They’re nothing to worry about, but they aren’t to be taken lightly either.

She replayed her father’s words in her head repeatedly until the end-of-class tone chimed. Staring blankly at the front of her booth, anxiety began to swell in her chest as she imagined the variety of career paths that her future might hold. Emily lost herself to her imagination and worry as Professor Haystead carried on about reading strategies and sentence structure. At the sound of the chime, Emily began to gather her things.

Remember to examine the worksite at home and complete Reading Exercises 1.1 through 2.6 for next week, shouted Professor Haystead as the students packed away their tablets. Focus on diagramming the sentences, and call Mr. McDaniels if you’re having any trouble! I’ll see you all for in-school again next week!

Exercises 1.1 to 2.6 in a single week!? Looks like I’m locking myself in my room, Emily thought.

Emily exhaled audibly as she stood up, pulling two more disinfecting wipes from her day-kit. She wiped down her booth slowly and methodically, in the same fashion and order of operations as when she had arrived. Chair. Desk. Tinted front and side panels. Tablet.

Holding the now-dirty wipes in her hand, she scanned the back corner of the room for Fae. Her eyes honed in on the mess of frizzy brown hair rising above the paneling of a back-corner booth. Placing her day-kit and tablet back in her tablet bag, Emily turned to discard her used wipes in the disposal bin. She lofted them from a short distance and smiled proudly as the wipes fell neatly into their intended destination. She pulled her tablet bag over her shoulder in satisfaction and strode to meet Fae at the door.

A voice called out from behind her, Kobe.

Excuse me? she asked, turning toward the source of the unfamiliar word. It came from the patch of dark hair at the front of the room—Mr. McDaniels.

Emily examined the boy, now standing before her, more closely. She followed the waves of his messy-neat, dark hair down to the contours of his face. His facial features were oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Soft brown freckles spread neatly under his eyes, fading as they stretched toward his mouth. His dark-wash, denim button-down lay wrinkled over a tight black T-shirt. He stood at roughly Emily’s height with a thin frame and a long torso. Focusing on the familiarity of his face, Emily stared at him intensely.

Kobe, he repeated in the same calm tone. Displaying a casual smile as he shifted his weight and leaned against the booth.

I heard you, Emily responded. What is a Kobe?

With a quiet chuckle, the boy explained, I’m sorry, it’s an old saying for when you throw something away. The wipes ... you threw them in the bin.

Oh. She replied. Thanks. I’ve never heard that .... Have we met before?

No, I’m Cayden, he explained as he started toward the door. The new kid, I suppose. Maybe I’ll see you around though.

The boy waved over his shoulder as he strode away from her. Emily fixated on the perplexing familiarity of his face as her eyes followed him out the door. Furling her brow, she racked her brain for a previous encounter or meeting that they had had. As she stood puzzled, nothing came to mind.

You okay? Fae approached. You look like someone just tried to touch your face.

Emily shook her head from side to side, freeing her mind from its fixation. Yeah, sorry, she explained, I just had a weird interaction with the guy in the booth in front of me.

Mr. McDaniels? Weird how? Fae inquired with a suspicious tone.

Oh, it was nothing. Never mind. He said ‘Kobe’. Do you know what that is? Emily asked.

Fae shrugged her shoulders and changed the subject. The girls reviewed their schedules and went their separate ways for their second classes. The rest of the day went by as most first days do. New booths, new professors, new homework. Emily welcomed all of the usual things. She was happy to be back at Walter Reed High School and was already excited to return the following week.

But, as the day carried on, Emily had difficulty shaking the sense of familiarity that washed over her during her encounter with Cayden. Between that and the added pressure of Year 11’s Aptitude Exams, Emily struggled to focus through the rest of her classes. Emily was usually so attentive and focused. Something was off about the first day of Year 11.

Nerves, she thought. It’s just nerves.

As the exit tone chimed for the Year 11 students at 14:00, Emily headed toward the departure examination area on the opposite side of school. As she wandered through the hallways, she tried to shake off the stress of the school day and began to plan her evening walk home. Monday walks were particularly special to Emily’s family and even more so now that she had entered the Age of Responsibility.

As Emily planned her evening responsibilities on her way to the departure examination area, she spotted Fae and their friend Marshall walking up ahead of her. She lengthened her pace and stride to catch up with them. At sixteen years old, 6’6" Marshall was hard to miss. Few students at Walter Reed shared Marshall’s athletic build and even fewer his height.

Marshall Kunitz! I swear, you get bigger every time I see you! called out Emily, as she caught up to the group from the rear.

Emily looked up at Marshall’s broad shoulders in awe. He had grown so much over their winter break. His family was one of the few in their housing cluster that could afford a complete, home gym, and he often talked about the luxuries of having a second space in their housing unit dedicated to their family’s fitness. Emily’s family boasted a stationary bike and treadmill, but the communal nature of weightlifting and group workouts in Marshall’s family always made Emily uneasy. Everyone touching everything, sweating everywhere.

Startled by the abruptness of her approach, Marshall jumped at the sound of his name. He turned, raising his hands wide in an attack-pose, and replied, You be careful, Em! You keep sneaking up on me like that and I’m going to have to start picking you up in these hallways.

You wouldn’t dare! Emily replied, as she and Fae evaded Marshall’s faux lunges. Taunting their playmate, Fae made inviting gestures in his direction as if to say, Come and get me!

Laughing, the three of them pranced playfully around the hallways as they proceeded toward the departure area. With each faux lunge, Marshall inched closer and closer to the girls, sometimes coming within a foot’s length of physical contact. As the game continued down the hallway, the departure scanners came into view. Emily straightened her posture as they grew closer, and abandoned the playful banter as Marshall lunged for her one last time. A thunderous voice brought the group to an immediate halt, and a rush of nervous energy came over them.

Four feet! shouted an in-school officer at the group, having witnessed Marshall’s final lunge.

Gripping his rifle tightly, the officer took three large, booming steps toward the group. The bulk of his all-white body armor and dark-gray facemask added heft to his already intimidating presence. With each boot step, the ground seemed to shake more intensely than the one that came before it. The officer brought himself to a stop with a final stomp of his boot, just in front of the group.

A still fear fell swiftly over the group. Their game was over just as quickly as it had begun. Marshall and Emily froze in place, as they had been instructed to do by their parents so many times before. Now statues, they exchanged sideways glances without moving their heads as if to express a concern for and solidarity with one another. Fae stood quietly to the side, as the officer seemed to be addressing only Emily and Marshall.

Both Emily and Marshall had been stopped by officers before, but no amount of exposure normalizes the paralyzing feeling of an officer’s gaze and interest, especially in a public context like school. There are some things, for certain people, that never quite feel normal.

Fae spoke up on behalf of her friends, leveraging the officer’s apparent lack of interest in her, I’m sorry, sir. We were just playing around. Marshall wasn’t actually going to break distancing.

The officer slowly directed his eyes at Fae, and she took a step back, retreating behind her words. She knew better than to address an officer directly. Officers were an untouchable force and to question them required a great deal of privilege and confidence. Protecting and serving the health and wellness of the community, the officers answered to The Council alone. Fae’s words carried little weight in this moment.

The officer returned his attention to Emily and Marshall. This isn’t a game, he lectured them. In-school is a privilege, not a right. Now head toward departure and maintain your distance.

Loosening his grip on his rifle, the liaison officer gestured toward the placard on the wall with his gun. Their eyes followed the length of the rifle barrel across the room and up the wall.

The group read the bold writing on the placard aloud in unison, "The actions of one carry