Our story begins on the planet earth. A sleepy little planet is she, and she lives her millennia year after year the same; on the routine elliptical path around a great ball of fire. Despite her peaceful exterior, she houses a warring people. America, one of her youngest children, is closed away from her family, the moody teenager of Earth's brood. This country has a different view from the rest, you see; the male species was eradicated from America 127 years ago. No one with a Y chromosome has been born within the American border since 2040. Lesbianism skyrocketed, and men simply weren't necessary anymore. Indeed, those who remained tried to resist. Resistance was futile. The leaders had tried to take care of the issue peacefully, but men were a fighting breed. They wanted their rights, and women, when presented with the power that they had been denied for so long, weren't about to give it up. Shoot down the weak, said the women. Let them taste their own medicine.
The last man, a man named Obadiah Smith, tried to surrender in 2039. He tried to make peace with women, apologizing for all that his gender had done in the past, but the women had tasted blood. They executed Obadiah Smith at midnight of December 31st, 2039, marking the new year as the first year without men.
At last, women had free reign in America. The first thing they did was close the borders completely, because hey, the rest of the world was angered. You can't just kill of an entire gender! They protested. Your way of life will crumble!
America, ever the teenager, laughed at them and stuck out her tongue (for America can now freely use female pronouns) and said, I don't care!
Since then, every child born in America has been born to two women, one having housed it in her uterus for the expected nine months, the other having provided the impregnating sperm via bone marrow. Single mothers can even self impregnate! All children are dutifully recorded- it would be impossible to have a child without the labs, so why not take advantage of the easy way to keep track of the citizens?
One such girl was born, born to Amelia and Therese West. Her name was Mayabelle, and while she was a sweet baby, she grew up to be something of a bitch. As you might have presumed, Maya will be the focus of our story.
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"Mayabelle Harper West, you get down here now, or you'll miss your hover!"
Mayabelle Harper West groaned and rolled out of her bed. Pale feet, pocked with freckles and with the toes painted an electric shade of neon purple, hit the floor. These same feet hopped over to a dresser, taking quick, nimble steps at the coolness of the slick hardwood. The brightness of the chipping violet polish was swiftly muffled by a pair of thin white socks. A pair of cropped denim shorts was secured at the waist over a set of stick-thin legs, and a raspberry camisole was thrown over her head, sticking tight to what little curves existed. Several strands of wavy red hair floated to the ground as a hairbrush was yanked mercilessly through a sea of their neighbors, then twisted and pulled into a messy knot at the crown of the girl's head.
Maya was a thin girl, but that didn't necessarily make her pretty. She had large, dark-lashed blue eyes, a button nose, and multitudes of freckles made her cheeks appear two shades tanner than they actually were. She had tight waves of scarlet hair that floated to her shoulders, and stayed surprisingly smooth despite Ridgecrest, Florida's humidity. In the winter, it appeared almost brown, but in the summer, blonde undertones made their debut. Her face was angled sharply, high cheekbones and a narrow chin giving her a very haughty appearance. Maya was had small breasts, but they were there, and that's what mattered.
Maya swaggered into the kitchen on the Friday morning on which this adventure takes place. Her mother, Amelia Jane West, was attempting to shove an apple into an already overflowing lunch sack. Her mother, Therese Olivia West, was sitting at the counter, kicking her bunny-slippered feet and commenting on Amelia's progress, occasionally saying things like, "I told you, love, it's not going to work."
Therese's grandparents had been from Europe, and while both Therese and her daughter carried Grandfather Matthias's flaming Irish hair, it was Therese alone who continued Grandmother Olivia's sharp British accent. Although Maya had pestered, Therese had told her countless times. "I never knew my grandfather," she would insist over dinner. "He resisted, and he was taken care of. Good thing, too." Therese had the utmost respect for America's woman-run government, and if anyone had suggested the possibility of her fraternizing with a male, she would write a three-page essay explaining why they should go boil their heads.
Maya took the apple neatly out of Amelia's hand and tossed it back into the bowl on the counter. "I'll get one at lunch. It's the last day, after all," she said, kissing her mother on the cheek. She grabbed the tan sack off of the counter, winked at Therese, and ran towards the door. She slipped her feet into the black sandals waiting by the mat, then after one last grin thrown haphazardly over her shoulder at her mothers, Maya wrenched open the door and fled outside.
Now, while Maya might not have had any fat on her, she did have muscle. Sports were highly popular in Maya's town, and she was nothing less than a hardworking athlete. So, as she ran faster than wind to A) make it to her hover stop on time and B) keep the soles of her sandals from melting to the pavement, it was the seasons of track that kept her on her feet.
Maya skidded to a halt as the familiar putter of the school hover pulled up to the stop. It was a Hov.2, quite literally the oldest model of an industrial sized hover on the market. It seated 50, and while it was astronomically more ecofriendly than the antique cars Amelia favored, it was often outstripped by passing butterflies.
"Wait," she gasped, racing up the steps before the hover's silver doors could slide shut. She swiped her wrist over the sensor, and it read the chip embedded under her skin with a pleasant chime. Panting, Maya fell into her seat, the hot vinyl sticking to the back of her thighs. One thing that hadn't changed since, well, ever, was the material with which school bus chairs were mass produced. You know the sort- the gray, cracking, perhaps once-nice vinyl, filled with yellowing foam that poked through the hairline fractures.
Maya groaned and massaged her temples, glancing at the people surrounding her. There was Penelope Viseman, a chubby, brown haired girl who could often be found frequenting the library, Kimi Chang, a petite girl with Chinese blood, and just boarding was Lilia Maison, Maya's best friend.
Lilia had blonde hair that fell midway between her shoulder and jaw, and her almond shaped eyes were watery green. She had a sharp, almost square jaw. Lilia and Maya had met in sixth grade, when Maya had opened her locker on Lilia's face. After they had gone to the nurse and gotten Lilia some ice, and Maya was apologizing for the millionth time, Lilia had finally snapped, "For the love of anything you hold sacred, would you stop apologizing?" And Maya had instantly dubbed her as best friend material.
Lilia collapsed in the seat across from Maya. Unlike Maya's own pale skin, Lilia's entire body was a glowing bronze, which she had a tendency to accentuate by wearing black. "God," Lilia moaned, peeling off the sweatpants she was wearing to reveal athletic shorts underneath. Lilia wasn't as thin as Maya, but she wasn't overweight, either. "My mom made wear these awful sweatpants because 'shorts aren't modest'. Well, Mommy Dearest, when you have to trek to the bus stop at seven in the morning when it's already ninety degrees outside, you decide whether you care about modesty! Honest, Maya, I'm about ready to start streaking!"
Maya snorted. "You tell me. It took me two weeks of nonstop chores to be allowed to wear camisoles as shirts. Hey, look at it this way- after today, we're officially twelfth graders!"
Lilia frowned before protesting, "We don't become twelfth graders until we start senior year. That's how that works."
Maya held her hand out, palm up, to Lilia. "Do you see this?" She asked, peering scrutinizingly at her clearly empty palm. "I mean, Lilia, can you see?"
"What is it, Maya," Lilia said in a voice that Maya knew all too well.
"It's all the fucks I give about your opinion."
Maya blew gently on her hand, sending the imaginary little fucks soaring towards Lilia, who raised a singular unimpressed eyebrow. Then, giving in to Maya's ridiculous expression, one of wonderment and childlike awe, she snickered. Just once. With that, they both dissolved into laughter.
Another girl got onto the bus, and it was with great disdain that Maya met the haughty brown stare of Reagan Fischer, their high school's Resident Bitch TM. "That's really childish," Reagan remarked snootily. Maya rolled her eyes. Reagan huffed, tossed her straight brown hair, and marched to the back of the bus with her pointy nose stuck in the air.
Lilia stuck out her tongue after Reagan. "I'll show you childish," Lilia muttered hotly. However, after a glare from Maya, Lilia swallowed the saliva she'd worked up in her mouth.
The hover groaned as it shuddered to a stop. The recorded voice that Maya had heard every day since she was five sang, "Thank you, and have a safe day at school!"
The driver nodded wearily at each girl as they departed her hover. Maya thought she looked about ready to cry from relief. They began the stroll down the sidewalk to the brick and ivy building that crumbling at the corners. A banner across the front of the school declared Ridgecrest High School, home of the Stingrays!
Maya said her good byes to Lilia, whose homeroom was in another building, and strutted into her own. She opened her locker and traded her food for her textbooks (never a good sign) before kicking the door shut and turning to be pressed nose to nose against Bonnie Switch.
Bonnie Switch was the school's biggest flirt. Head of the pom team, the dance team, and the hip hop squad, she was one hundred percent gullible, but everyone loved her anyway. Reagan Fischer was her right hand woman, and basically the brains behind anything Bonnie suggested. Bonnie leaned against Maya's locker, her jaw working a stick of gum, her frizzy black hair pulled sleek into cornrows, and her shirt exposing a dangerous amount of cleavage. "Hey there, Maya-maze," Bonnie said cheerfully, blowing a bubble. Despite Bonnie's position of power, she wasn't as big a bitch as you'd expect her to be. Mainly she was just annoying.
Maya sighed, then gave Bonnie a brief nod. "How are you, Bonnie?"
Bonnie cocked her head like a cat, a smile blooming across her heavily made up face. "I'm doing well! But you know- I'd be even happier if you and your friend Lilia came to my party tonight!"
Maya glanced over her shoulder, certain that Bonnie meant someone else. No way in hell was Bonnie Switch inviting her to a party. At Ridgecrest High, the football and cheer squad stayed separate from the soccer and track teams stayed separate from the nerds and drama club. There was a certain social hierarchy whose borders were well defined, and Bonnie was blatantly ignoring that.
"Sure, I'll go," Maya stammered. "Uh, where's your house?"
Bonnie giggled. "Oh, duh. I'm in Oakwood- the big one with the gnomes in the yard. You can't miss it!"
Oakwood was the rich neighborhood. While the woman government had taken care of the homeless, the fact remained that there was still a monetary ladder. Bonnie's parents clearly worked in higher positions than Maya's, giving them a VIP home in Oakwood. Maya liked her house, though. It was simple.
The bell rang, and suddenly, the head of every girl in the hallway snapped up. It fell into a frenzy, pushing, shoving, stepping on one another, anything to get to class on time. "What time?" Maya called desperately after Bonnie as they were swept away. She repsonded with something that looked like "eight thirty", so Maya decided to roll with that. Oakwood, 8:30.