Our Dear Captain was so taken by your performance, he has chosen one lucky girl to meet him!
Our Dear Captain unwraps the Big Mac and sets it on the table. He looks at the Big Mac. He looks at you. He licks his lips. It’s not that you choose in this moment to risk your life for a Big Mac. It’s that in this moment, you can no longer be an Obedient Girl. You grab the Big Mac and run.
THE MANUAL FOR OBEDIENT GIRLS BY ANDREA KARIN NELSON 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 68
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You’re not a very good Obedient Girl. If you were, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.
Your squad is headed to the Olympic Games, 2058. It’s the first year Martians have competed.
The Obedient Girls will bedeck the stands, resplendent in carefully-pressed uniforms and perfectly-synchronized cheers.
You will be showing the world that the People’s Colony of Mars, colonized by the US despite international law, is a society worthy of their envy. A successful exercise in societal reform. Certainly not the slave-State of a madman.
The Manual for Obedient Girls is heavy in your hands. You run your finger over the title, embossed in austere red type across the cover. You open it in an obligatory show of studiousness. The words blur in the hours spent staring at its pages.
RULE #8:
Uniforms are to be kept neat and tidy at all times and must be pressed daily. Your uniform is a symbol of honor and privilege and should be worn accordingly.
You pick up the scratchy, red polyester sweater and matching pleated skirt. The fabric is stiff and cheap. To say the outfit is tacky would be an understatement.
“Ugh, Margo, could these be any more hideous?” you say, trying out the chummy banter from Earth that feels so unfamiliar now.
It’s hard to tell with her squad-authorized, chin-length bob, but you suspect Margo might have been a cool girl back home. Maybe it’s the extra layer of Purity Neutral lipstick you’ve seen her sneak, defying the Manual’s strictly mandated “two layers, no more, no less.”
“We cheer in honor of Our Dear Captain,” Margo replies, government-issued smile plastered on her face.
Okay...maybe not so cool. Then you think—maybe you imagined it—but you think you see Margo raise her eyes.