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Chapter Two~ Heading Home

The dirty underbelly of Trujohn-Fatherland hadn't improved much in years. Dad always said that the Tram System attracted only the bottom of the barrel, the desperate riffraff that don't belong in our country. And, apparently, me.

I avoided the Trams as much as possible. My parents thought I hopped the grungy trains once a month, but for the last year, I'd gotten rides with Ander. Now, with Ander's car obviously out of the question, I was forced to brave the unsavory characters who frequented the North Midland Tram.

About fifteen suspicious-looking men and I sailed briskly beneath the bustling Division. The only sound on the silent Tram was the murmured talk of two business men, casually smoking their Electronic Cigarettes, and casting shameless glances at me, the only unsupervised woman.

I shifted in my seat, allowing my tattoo to be seen.

Upon catching sight of the image of a black book surrounding a Venus Symbol—a circle on top of a lower case T shape—inked sloppily into my wrist, one of the men wrinkled his nose. "It's one of them damn Learned prudes."

Rolling my eyes, I slumped in my blue plastic chair. In most cases, my Mark of Learned Females served only one use: on top of earning me plenty of ridicule, it could often ward of unwanted attention. Most of the time. Many of Trujohn's lovely gentlemen couldn't care less whether or not my Mark forbid any sort of relationship, emotional or physical.

"Jean? Jean Bennett?" whispered a soft female voice.

I turned with a start to see Ivana Frederick, one of the six other Learned Females to graduate Carthowa with me. Of course, she was accompanied. A girl would be a fool to navigate the streets of Trujohn alone.

I guess I know what that makes me.

Ivana and I had never been particularly close. I never knew why, but every smile I offered her was met with stoney apathy. It was as if the freckled redhead held some inexplicable grudge against me. After Sophmore Year, I'd given up on forming a connection with the young woman.

Why she was reaching out to me now, I couldn't guess.

I dipped my head respectfully to Ivana's chaperone, a bristled man I assumed was her father. Quickly, I lowered my eyes, shrinking from his leering gaze. Perhaps Ander had been correct about that custom.

When Ivana's father didn't address me, I returned my attention to his daughter.

"Yeah. Jeanie... You're Chelsea- no. Ivana, right?" Perhaps it was rude to pretend to question her name, but I'd rather Ivana think I paid her no mind than risk giving off the all too true impression that I'd spent months trying to riddle out why she seemed to inherently dislike me when I couldn't recall ever wronging her.

"Yes. Ivana Frederick." The freckled redhead brushed her hair awkwardly over her shoulder. "I guess we haven't ever really spoken."

"I wonder why," I snipped. After being reprimanded by Ervin and arguing with Ander, I was in no mood to offer thinly veiled kindness to a girl who'd never extended me the same curtesy.

Ivana bit her lip, freckles blending into her skin as her cheeks darkened. "I probably deserved that... I was pretty rude our first couple years of school. I didn't really have any right to dislike you."

"No. You didn't." My words were clipped and curt.

Ivana's father grunted at my tone towards his daughter. If he had an in with a Patri member, he could easily press charges against me for verbal harassment, but evidently he didn't care enough. Judging by his drooping eyelids, he wouldn't have the energy to find a Patri member to report me to anyway, and I wasn't concerned with a verbal lashing. I've already been chided by two men today. Why not make it three?