Backdated to 7/26/2014

Beatrice gets her up early the next morning: the sun has barely made its way above the horizon when she barges into Gemma’s room and tells her to “get up, we have errands to run. Put on something you can move in. And bring a change.” Gemma changes into a pair of stretchy capris she usually wears for softball conditioning and her favorite NASA shirt and her sneakers and follows Beatrice out to the car.

They start the day at a high-intensity kickboxing class, where Gemma struggles to keep up and Beatrice moves through each routine with deadly, predatory precision. Afterwards, they shower and change and go to Whole Foods, where Beatrice fills the cart full of kale and fresh fruit and whole grain granola and all kinds of fancy things that Gemma has never eaten before and isn’t sure she’ll like. “Keep close,” she says, sounding slightly bored, “Or I’ll make you put your hand on the shopping cart like Ethan and Gabby.”

It is all Gemma can do to wonder where this sudden display of interest from her stepmother has come from.

They take the groceries home. “Do you have sandals?” asks Beatrice. Gemma nods. “Put them on,” she says. “Have you ever had a pedicure?” Gemma has not, but they go to the salon and the whole time her toes are being painted (sparkly purple), she keeps glancing at Beatrice over the top of her copy of People and she thinks people don’t just become friendly overnight, especially when the cops brought you home at three in the morning.

They go to Starbucks. They drop in by a salon run by a friend of Beatrice’s and she implores the woman to please, please do something about Gemma’s hair, at least fix up the ends, they’re a mess, and Gemma wonders if the wonders will ever cease, while her mane is snipped and smoothed until it falls in glossy pink waves that, if not even, at least look healthy and like they might be thinking of approximating something sort of like volume.

In the car, on the way home, Beatrice says, “Your father and I would like to move you to a school here in Massachusetts, where you’d be closer to us. You’re clearly making no progress surrounded by other delinquents like yourself and we’ve spoken to several family counselors on the subject and they all agree you need to be in a more nurturing environment. Your mother may have given up on you, but we have not.”

Gemma thinks, desperately, that her mother has not given up on her, her mother just can’t deal with her, because Gemma’s too much, it’s her fault, she’s bad--

--But she isn’t bad, she reminds herself. She’s good.

But if she leaves Destiny City, she thinks more desperately, how will Avalon ever find her again?

Beatrice must sense her hesitation, because she says, “It’s in your best interest to accept our very generous offer.” And then, she reaches over and turns off the radio. The sudden silence makes Gemma feel like a caged rabbit. “I did a little bit of research about you, Lieutenant Astrophyllite,” says Beatrice, casual as can be as she pulls up to a stoplight. “Your first mentor went insane, isn’t that right?”

Gemma looks over at her, and her sharp cheekbones slide into sick focus and she feels a prickle of acid on her ears and smells cinnamon and ozone and pine. She swallows hard, heart racing. “General Trixilite?” she asks. Beatrice smiles, but it is not quite friendship behind her lips. Gemma imagines she has teeth like a crocodile.

“Bischofite, if my sources are correct,” she says, accelerating. “He tried to lead your whole branch to ruin and wound up a twisted abomination for his trouble. Serves him right. Your next mentor was a bit better. Avalon. Impressive resume. Corrupt knight. Senshi-killer. I imagine that to a little lost girl like yourself, she was quite the role model. A pity.”

“A pity?” asks Gemma, her voice growing small. Beatrice looks surprised.

“Oh, you poor child! That’s right. It’s privileged information. General Avalon is dead.”

Gemma feels her heart break into little tiny pieces. “Dead?” she asks, voice catching in her throat.

“Some magical accident. It doesn’t matter. She died for the greater good, because she delivered her Wonder right into the hands of the Negaverse,” says Beatrice. They are nearing the house. “Quite the devoted soldier, General Avalon.”

Gemma stares at her sparkly, purple toes.

“There will be a hearing,” says Beatrice, changing the subject. “You’ll be asked to testify against your mother. It shouldn’t be hard to find her as unfit - you’re already practically a ward of the state. And he we are, your rich father and stepmother, here to sweep you out of a lifetime fated to teen motherhood, working poverty, and methamphetamine addiction. Don’t ******** this up, Gemma. You’ll find, as you move up in the world, that I am a very valuable ally to have.”

When it’s put that way, it doesn’t sound like much of a choice at all.