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Quinn

The scent of garbage and shit lingers inside the sanitation facility’s break room. It seeps under the door, through the vents, and it’s embedded in the clothing of the thirty women gathered around two tables pushed together. The air is filled with nervous anticipation—or, in my case, dread—for the President’s special address.

“My stomach’s in knots,” Olivia says.

“Mine, too,” echoes another coworker from the opposite side of the table.

“Considering I have the worst luck, I doubt she’ll be announcing my name.”

My only fear is the President saying Olivia’s name. If she does, then that’s one more person I’ll lose. I’m not sure I can handle it. There are over three hundred million people in the bottom tier alone. Even if only a fourth of that number is women of child-bearing age, it’s just a one in seventy-five million chance she’ll be called. That’s nearly impossible, right?

“Can you believe some of us will be heading to space in a couple days?” Olivia asks.

Her words cause the knot in my stomach to tighten. For purely selfish reasons, I really, really hope she’s not one of them.

From the head of one table, the datapad chirps and the black screen comes to life. We all wait with bated breath. At least I do. Another second passes, and the President appears, the giant blue and gold seal on the wall behind her. She stands at a podium, appearing as put together as always in her tailored beige suit and her short gray hair styled without a strand out of place. Her gaze is fixed on the camera in front of her.

Hushed voices grow and Olivia shushes everyone. I can’t glance away from the datapad or the woman on the screen.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans,” she says. “This is a day filled with amazing possibility for twenty women. You will leave the bottom tier for something better. Something exciting.”

I snort. “How does she know it’ll be better?”

Olivia shushes me, too.

“Any of the women whose names are announced tonight can decline the Bohnari’s offer,” the President continues. “However, understand that by doing so you will invalidate your lottery entry and not be given a second chance. You have until eight tomorrow morning to accept. Any time after that, you will forfeit your place and another name will be announced.”

Tomorrow morning? That’s barely any time to commit to a life-altering decision like moving to an alien planet and leaving everything behind. Sounds a little suspicious to me. Then again, the women who entered the lottery did so of their own choosing so they must truly want this.

“I will start by reading the first name,” the President announces.

Nausea churns in my belly for some weird reason. It’s the icky feeling I get when I know something bad is about to happen.

“Olivia Jean Morrison,” she announces and my heart stops beating for a second.

Olivia grabs my hand and clutches it tightly. I blink back the tears. My best friend is leaving me. Just like everyone else in my life. I can’t—won’t—cry here. Not in front of everyone. I’ll wait until I’m home and can lock myself in my room.

Three more names are read and then the next.

“Devon Marie Jackson.” The woman across from me widens her eyes and her mouth flaps open and closed.

“Lindsey Anabel Taylor.” She and Devon turn to each other with the same shocked expression.

I sit there completely numb. Three people within feet of me—women I see nearly every single day—will be gone in days. Just like thatI’ll be alone once again. All except for my mother. This is why I stopped making friends. It hurts too much when they’re taken away.I don’t hear any of the rest of the names being announced. There’s a white noise buzzing in my ears instead.

I blink and focus on my surroundings. Only to find all the women staring at me.

I turn to Olivia. Her eyes are wide and there’s a slightly unhinged look to her as she stares back at me. My gaze takes in everyone a second time. They all continue gaping.

“What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Olivia recovers first and clears her throat. “The President called the name of the last woman chosen.”

So?

“It was yours,” Devon is the one who answers.

There’s a delay while my brain processes what she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your name was the last one called,” Lindsey replies.

I heard and understand what she said, but they have to be wrong. There’s no way my name was called because I didn’t enter.

“There has to be some kind of mistake.” I shake my head. “My name should never have been called.”

Before anyone can say anything else, the super bursts through the door.

“Everyone back to work. Now,” he barks.

We all scramble up from the tables, although I’m slower to rise. Shock has me nearly immobile.

“Don’t panic,” Olivia whispers as we walk back to our station. “You can decline, remember?”

That does give me a bit more peace of mind. Except I can’t help but wonder how my name got entered in the first place. Or how many more women’s names were read who didn’t ask to be entered.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Finally, the shift bell rings and I head to the locker room to get my things so I can go home. Olivia meets me outside. The whole night I’ve been having a pity party for myself and its now hitting me that I’m losing my best friend.

“I’m going to miss you,” I tell her, trying not to cry.

“I’ll miss you, too. But we have all day to hang out together if you’re up for it tomorrow?”

It’s my one day off that I always spend with my mom, but for these extenuating circumstances, I don’t think she’ll mind.

“Definitely. I’ll come over around nine.” I can at least spend a couple hours with my mom first.

Olivia and I part ways with a goodbye hug. She heads south while I go west. The streets are dark and quiet. In this part of the bottom tier, the street lights frequently burn out. Someone is always calling to get them repaired, but often it’s a wasted effort. Which makes me wonder why the bottom tier women were the only ones eligible for this co-called bridal program.

Earth has long been divided into upper and bottom tiers, which is essentially those who have everything and those who don’t. The upper tier wants to keep us bottom tier folks under their thumb. They give us crumbs, expecting us to lick them up and be grateful for it. None of those rich pricks—the President included—has a single reason to allow us to go someplace things might actually be better. That’s the biggest reason why this all seems a bit suspect.

At last, I make it to our building and climb the stairs to the fifth floor apartment I share with my mom. I unlock the door, trying to remain as quiet as possible so I don’t wake her. Except she’s already awake and sitting on the sofa in the living room with the single lamp on the sideboard lit.

I should have known she wouldn’t be sleeping.

“They called my name in the bride lottery, but I didn’t enter it. I swear.” I haven’t moved from near the doorway since the door closed behind me.

“I know you didn’t, love,” my mom says. “I entered it for you.”

All the air is gone from lungs and I’m having trouble dragging in more. I walk forward but I’m barely aware I’m moving.

“Wh—what? Why would you do that? How could you do that?”

My mother pats the cushion next to her and I collapse onto the spot. She swivels toward me and takes my hands in hers. They’re warm around my cold ones.

“I did it because I love you,” she says.

“But if you loved me, you wouldn’t be trying to send me away.”

“Oh, baby.” She strokes the hair off my forehead, her eyes scanning my face. “I’m not sending you away. I’m letting you go.”

A watery laugh spills from my lips the same way the tears do from my eyes. “It’s the same thing, mama.”

“My sweet, brave Quinn.” Her thumb drags across my cheek bringing the wetness with it. “You are everything to me. My not-so-little girl. My heart. My love. It’s just you and me now. Except, I’m not always going to be around. When I’m gone, you’ll be alone, and I don’t want that for you. I want better for you. I want you to have a family. A husband. Children.”

“But I could have that here,” I argue, my tears falling faster than she can wipe them away. “I don’t need to leave Earth for another planet to find a husband or have kids. There’s millions of men here to choose from.”

She smiles sadly. “They’re all from the bottom tier.”

“ We’re from the bottom tier.” Never once has my mother indicated she’s ashamed of where we live.

“That is why you need to go.” She squeezes my hands. “This is your chance to get away from this place. To no longer be a bottomer. You won’t have to work hours and hours at the sanitation facility surrounded by garbage and refuse. You’ll get to have a life that doesn’t include eating protein bars. These Bohnari people have technology, wealth, and all the things you can’t get by staying here.”

“I don’t care about any of that. I care about you.” The only person I have left in this world. How can she not understand that?

“Who will you have when I’m gone?” she asks. “Olivia’s name was called, too, and we both know she’s leaving on that ship in two days. Quinn, you need to be on there with her when the time comes. I need you to be on there. Please, do this for me. Go to Bohna. Marry one of their people. Have children. Most of all, be happy.”

“You can’t guarantee I’ll be happy there. Maybe their men are cruel. Vicious. I could be far worse off on that planet than I am here and I’ll never be able to come back.”

“What if they’re not? What if their men are kind? Loving? You could be missing out on an amazing life. They have communication capabilities,” she points out. “You may not be able to visit, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll never talk to me again. Besides, you’ll have Olivia there. The two of you will be there for each other.”

I open my mouth to protest once again, but she lays a finger over my lips.

“Go to bed and sleep on it. Think about what I said and decide in the morning. But, please, Quinn, say you’ll go.”

Unable to do anything more than nod, I slip off the couch and make my way to the room we share. I slowly undress and change into my nightshirt. After I brush my teeth, I braid my hair and crawl into bed. Alone. For far too long, I stare up at the ceiling waiting for my mom to come in, but by the time my eyes drift shut, she’s still not beside me.