Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 6

The next two months pass more slowly than the last four years of high school. Mom enters my applications to various theater programs that I'm eligible for, including the Seattle Secondary Theater program Crew mentioned.

It's a necessary step because Strand checks to make sure all graduating Throwbacks are enrolled in a job training program at the beginning of the summer. Medical school in Paris won't begin until the fall. I'll have a few months to dip my toe in the water of Throwback life before I leave for good.

Ava and Fletch are busy planning for college in the fall, and we have little in common now that my future has changed. Part of me would like to confide in Ava about moving to Paris, but it's too risky. The only person other than Addie that I fully trust is myself.

Instead I spend my afternoons in the Seattle Public Library, applying to medical programs in Europe with my fake Evolved ID. Everything goes smoothly, but I need figure out how to get my high school to send over my grades without mentioning my Status.

I'm turning over the possibilities in my mind as I leave the library two days before my final grades are due. It's getting dark, so I hurry to the bus stop so that I won't miss dinner. I'm only a couple of blocks away when someone shoves me, hard, and I fall.

"Take off your backpack, or I'll rip it off," says a man who towers above me, radiating a stench of piss that makes me want to gag. Underneath the filth I recognize a man of the Mac clone type, and from the gold in his eyes, I can tell that he's high.

"Back off," I say, and I attempt to get up and run.

But he moves fast for an addict, and he yanks my backpack off so hard that my arm pops out of its socket. The sharp pain takes my breath away.

A couple on the other side of the street ignore my cry for help and scurry away as my attacker backhands me across the face. I spit blood as he takes off down the block with my bag.

"Go after him! He took my stuff!" I shout to a man who turned the corner. He's on his phone. I see him notice the lavaliere on my wrist before deliberately looking away, continuing to text as if I don't exist.

I take a deep breath, remembering my first aid training. I sit on the ground and put my arms around my knees. Then I slowly pull backward until my arm pops back into its socket.

My shoulder is sore, but the sharp pain is gone. Did I really just get mugged?

My phone is still in my back pocket, thank God, so I look up the location of the nearest police station. It's a few blocks away, and by the time I run over there, my breathing has returned to normal.

I open the tall glass doors and make my way across the marble floor to the front desk. I'm less than a yard away when a tall, blond officer yanks my arm—the uninjured one, thankfully—and forces me to face him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks with a scowl.

"I'm here to report a crime, Officer Boer," I say with a glance at his nametag.

"Replicant Claims is in another building. I could write you a ticket for setting foot in here," he growls.

I understood the concept that there are separate facilities for Throwbacks and Evolved, but the reality that even Evolved police won't help me is a shock.

"My attacker will get away!" I say. "You have to catch him before he hurts anyone else."

"Get out of here," he says, his voice low and rough. "If we let all you Knockoff rats in here, you'd shut down the system."

"What are you saying?" I say, making a monumental effort not to yell.

"Tell me this. Was your attacker a Throwback?"