Tree of Life (eBook)

Chapter One: Mary

My alarm starts blaring and I lightly touch the off button. There is no snooze button for this girl, today is the first day of Academics and I have to get ready. Usually, mom would come to my room with breakfast rations for me to eat in bed and tickle my toes until I woke up, but since she disappeared it’s just me and dad. Well, mostly it’s just me. Dad didn’t take mom’s disappearance very well; he lost his job at The Tree Headquarters. He was sorting trash in the Community Sector for a while, but he is not really able to leave the house anymore these days.

I know that dad will have forgotten what day it is, so there will be no special communion waiting for me as I’m sure many other kids will have today. I slide my grey, button up Academics shirt over my head and check my reflection in the mirror. My blond hair shines and I twist a small strand around my finger as I contemplate whether to pull my hair up into a ponytail or leave it down for the day. I settle for down and head toward the kitchen.

Unlike many of the houses in my Living Sector, my house is one story. My father is disabled, and stairs would be too difficult for him to navigate, so The Tree assigned us to a nice one-story house. I remember my mom was thrilled and my dad was so grateful that The Tree had considered him when assigning our housing. Now, our one-story sprawling Living Quarters is just a reminder of The Tree and its presence in our lives.

We live in a nice Living Sector, but that is only because my mom worked in a fairly high position for The Tree; if it were up to dad’s current status, we would live somewhere on the far side of The Tree in a Living Sector that is closer to the Community Sector. Thankfully, this Living Sector has better schools, and in my opinion better people. One thing I look forward to with Academics starting is the social aspect. I have my girls, but I’m always on the look out to add to my collection of friendships.

This year is pivotal for me as I will be turning sixteen; the age that The Tree sends the Life Lines to you in some mysterious way to determine your Marking. This could be my last year at Academics, so I better make the most of my time as I can.

I jump, startled, as I enter the kitchen. “Hello sweetheart,” my dad is surprisingly awake and greets me with a cup of rationed orange juice in a cracked red mug. The mug was one of his favorites before he was injured. Now, I think he selects the cup out of habit instead of choice.

“Thanks dad.” I sip the juice and watch him carefully. He seems more upbeat than normal, so I’m naturally suspicious, a quality my dad tells me I received from my mom. My suspicion radar is always going. Mom said that I was continuously watching the world around me, looking for clues to some mystery the rest of them didn’t know needed to be solved.

“Are you ready for the day? First day of Academics for the year, right? Your mom wrote it on my…” his voice trails off and his eyes fill with sadness and the lost look I’ve become familiar with as my dad’s face returns. Mom likely wrote the first day of Academics in the notepad my dad carries with him everywhere he goes. When his tongue gets twisted, and words won’t come out he will write to communicate. We tried to get him to use a digital voice modulator, but he refused it because it was designed by The Tree.

“I ain’t using that Tree machinery. They’ll change my words. I don’t trust ‘em.” I believe those were his exact words when mom and I insisted on him using the modulator. It’s hard to argue with dad, so we just let him use his notebook and pen like he did before The Tree “took everythin’ over.” He’s good with the pen and paper, and it reminds him of a time when things were simpler.

I finish my juice, shrug on my backpack and I head toward the family commuter. I can hear my dad’s wheels squeaking quickly in my direction.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take public transport?” My dad hates the commuter. He is distrustful of anything The Tree controls. Our commuter is an older model, but it works just as well as the newer ones. Mom was very practical and only took the commuter when The Tree gave it to us as part of her payment for her job at The Tree.

“I’m going to be late if I take public transport. I need to go now, or I’ll be late anyway.” I climb into the commuter and turn to wave at dad, but he’s already closed the door and wheeled away. I program the commuter to head to my Academic Sector and absent mindedly twirl my hair around my finger as I try to remember my mom’s face. I’m terrified I’ll forget her smile, her eyes, her laugh. It is horrible the way she was taken from us; here one minute and gone the next, with no trace or sign of where she went. I have some ideas about what happened, but dad would just call those my suspicions.

As the commute to the Academic Sector begins, I mentally prepare myself to meet my “crew.” My “crew” is a group of girls I’ve grown up with and known my whole life. We rarely spend time together outside of Academics, but while in the Academic Sector, we have a presence. The whole of Academics knows who we are, or at least that is what we like to think. We are the daughters of powerful Tree employees; I just keep my mom’s disappearance as a taboo subject as to not tarnish our image.

My commuter pulls up to the Academic Sector and I pull my backpack on, put my most confident face on and head to my locker to meet the girls. Before I enter the building, I notice a girl and a boy, they look like siblings, I vaguely remember seeing them before this year. I think my mom may have worked with their dad. I make a mental note to talk to one of them before the day is over and try not to continue to stare in their direction. The girl takes off in front of the boy waving excitedly to her friends.

Once in the Academic building, I find my locker and lean up against it, messing with my hair and waiting for the girls to show up. I people watch, observing the new students as they are the ones who look lost in the hallways. The girl that was walking with the boy is in the middle of a cluster of other students talking excitedly about her schedule. I don’t know when I’ve ever been that excited about Academics, or anything really. Mom hasn’t been gone that long, but her absence has made finding excitement more difficult on a day-to-day basis.

“Mary, there you are!” Sarah shows first, her auburn hair in her classic messy bun. Her cheeks are flushed and covered with freckles from the time off between the Academics year. Sarah’s dad works for The Tree doing something that she swears she can’t talk about. It’s top secret or something. My mom had jobs like that, so I never question; besides, I really don’t care that much. Shortly after Sarah arrives so does Rachel.

“So, Mary, what’s the plan for the day?” Rachel flicks her long jet-black ponytail back over her shoulders. Rachel’s dad worked in the same office as my mom, so we grew up going to celebrations and communions The Tree sponsored for years. Rachel’s dad asked to leave the department not long after mom disappeared, it caused a small rift between Rachel and I, but I think we are okay now. Just competitive, like we are trying to defend the turf that no longer exists for either of us with The Tree on behalf of our parents. It’s silly really. I realize I am tilting my head in thought as I look at her and I still haven’t answered her question. That’s when I notice her eyes land on the boy that I saw outside the school.

“Not that one Rachel. He’s mine.” Rachel raises her eyebrows at me but smiles and nods. There is an understanding between our group that we each call dibs on a boy every year. Another ritual I’m not sure why we maintain. Relationships in Academics are pointless; we will just be Marked and go where our Life Line Markings send us, which is usually far away from each other. I’ve never known a single relationship to last outside of the Academic Sector. Despite this, we all burst into giggles and then link pinkies before we separate to go to our classes. Luck would have it that my first class was with Mr. Lucas, the History teacher.

I walk into class and pick a seat toward the front. History is my worst subject, so I figure if I sit in the front, the smart kids will sit by me, and I can look off their assignments throughout the year. I hate the way these rooms are so clean, can we not put some color on the walls? And then there’s Mr. Lucas, all shaggy hair, and giant glasses. He looks like a hairy troll from nursery Academic stories.

As the bell rings Mr. Lucas introduces himself and then starts taking attendance by alphabetical order. I hear my name and say “present” hoping that my smile will be enough to make Mr. Lucas move on to the next student, avoiding the “how was your time outside Academics” question. He moves on quickly. I find myself daydreaming but snap back to reality when I hear Mr. Lucas call the name Able Smith.

“Able Smith?”

“Present Sir.”

“Any relation to Mark Smith?”

I know that name. Mark Smith was a man that my mom worked with at The Tree. I turn around to see who this Able Smith person is and am surprised to see the boy I had noticed earlier. I look away quickly as I don’t want him to notice me looking at him. Mark Smith is practically famous with The Tree. He was one of the founders of the Markings and Life Lines. That’s why that boy looked so familiar, I’ve seen him standing with his dad at Tree events that my mom made us attend, or rather events The Tree made...