Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 1

WARNING: This story contains depictions of substance use, depictions of sexual assault, and depictions of suicide and self-harm that may be upsetting for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Whenever there's an unjust rule, I always itch to break it. In general, I try to quash that impulse, since it rarely leads to anything but trouble. But tonight, I decide to give in to my restless desire for freedom, even if it means sneaking out past curfew.

Creeping out of my house, I breathe in the fresh night air. The neatly painted shed beside our house is locked, keyed to Dad's fingerprint, but I figured out how to hack that ancient technology ages ago.

Inside the small space, a black motorcycle gleams, waiting for me to pull it out of hiding, like Excalibur anticipating King Arthur. Taking it isn't really stealing, since it's a birthday present, and I turn eighteen at midnight.

I roll my motorcycle down the street for a block before revving it up. Dad's been teaching me how to drive manual, but it's tricky after a lifetime as a passenger in our autonomous car.

If life were a movie, the soundtrack to mine would start with the soft crunch of asphalt under my bike's wheels and the rev of an engine roaring to life. Racing across the open road, free, I'm unstoppable. There are a thousand places I could go and hours till dawn.

If I'm going to pull an all-nighter, I'll need to be caffeinated. My favorite coffee shop is three miles away, and I keep an eye out for the police, since it's against the law for an underage teen to drive a manual vehicle.

My motorcycle skids to a stop a millimeter from the side of the coffee shop, and I get off. Released from my black helmet, my long, dark brown hair tumbles down my back, making me feel like a total badass biker girl.

The ground is crawling with caterpillars. I hopscotch across the asphalt to avoid their bony little bodies, but one crunches beneath my scuffed black boot. Seattle natives hate this time of year, as everything green is devoured by the greedy little buggers, but it's worth it when monarchs fill the air a few months later.

The owner of the shop, Mr. G, greets me with a pleasant grin and gives me my usual steaming cup of black dark-roast coffee with a ton of sugar. I pour it into my old metal thermos for safekeeping, sipping it as I read the digital display beside the door listing odd jobs. I need to earn as much cash as I can this summer for university. Even if I get the scholarship I applied for, undergraduate medical school programs aren't cheap.

The cool night breeze hits my cheek when someone enters the shop.

"Throwbacks eat out back," the owner barks, and I glance at Mr. G in surprise. I've never heard that tone in his voice before.

"Sir, my sister needs to use the restroom, and there isn't one outside. She's underage, a kid. Can you make an exception?"

A girl with the signature red curls and bright blue eyes of the Molly clone type shifts from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

Mr. G looks at her with the superiority of a man whose DNA is Evolved, giving him rights and freedoms that Throwbacks will never know. "Either you two get out of here or I'll call the police."

"Yes, sir."

My eyes move to the tall boy who spoke. He has dark hair that almost hides his eyes, which aren't exactly brown or green, but something in between. A fading bruise is visible on his right cheekbone.

I know him.

Justus is a late transfer to my high school this year, and he has already earned himself a reputation for getting into fights. The teachers have labeled him a troublemaker, but I know that two of the brawls he was in were to protect Throwback freshmen who were being bullied by some Evolved seniors. I thought he was some kind of Evolved activist, fighting for Throwback rights. Until tonight, I never guessed that he was a clone, too.