Can you trust your family? Can you trust your friends? Because you may just have to choose.
New York City, 2048. Superstorms, and the politics of privilege, have left downtown Manhattan in tatters with electricity rationed, neighborhoods condemned, and hope destroyed. When high school senior Casey Parker and her best friend Jennifer are ripped from their comfortable, prep school lives, the pair find themselves in the dangerous world of the resistance. With family on both sides of the conflict, there's no way out for Casey but a dangerous gamble: allowing herself to be captured by the enemy in order to learn their secrets. Failure could mean the lives of her family; success could mean the lives of her friends...
Can you trust your family? Can you trust your friends? Because you may just have to choose.
New York City, 2048. Superstorms, and the politics of privilege, have left downtown Manhattan in tatters with electricity rationed, neighborhoods condemned, and hope destroyed. When high school senior Casey Parker and her best friend Jennifer are ripped from their comfortable, prep school lives, the pair find themselves in the dangerous world of the resistance. With family on both sides of the conflict, there's no way out for Casey but a dangerous gamble: allowing herself to be captured by the enemy in order to learn their secrets. Failure could mean the lives of her family; success could mean the lives of her friends...
1
âBags open, people. Powerâs down. Weâre doing it the old-fashioned way.â
A collective grumble roiled the line. About forty kids stretched along the New York City, Upper East Side street, waiting to get into school. Casey Parker, stuck about midway, raised her hands in a what-the-fuck gesture to the security guard pacing the line. He smiled at her and shrugged. She had already missed first period, and now she was going to miss Lab. Casey sighed. This was not good. She was failing Chem, her first time ever failing anything. She needed to get inside, she needed to get to lab, and she needed the power to stay on. Lifting her sunglasses, she checked her screen to see if sheâd missed any notifications about the outage. There was a curt message from her mom about dinner, but otherwise nothing. She jockeyed to see what was up at the front of the line, but she was too short and the guyâs head in front of her too big. The guy, Jonas, she knew from English Lit. Casey stood on her toes and put a hand on his shoulder. It was damp from sweat.
Jonas turned and looked at her hand, then at her. âI could give you a boost.â
Casey stood down, wiping her hand across her tank top. âYou calling me short?â
âNever, Parker. You are tall in every way except height.â
âGood,â she said. âYou know Iâm sensitive.â
Jonas grinned at her, then went back to his business.
The line moved but not fast enough. The blistering hot morning wasnât making things any easier; Casey tugged at her top, hoping for a breeze. It was October, it was well over ninety degrees, and it had been like this for days. Another step, then two, and she was almost at the front of the line. A school guard checked bags behind a folding table. Behind him, a full-body scannerâgood for guns, knives, and illicit substancesâloomed, lifeless and frustrated.
âGreat,â Casey said, frustrated as well.
âWhatâs great?â
She turned. Jennifer, her best friend, was standing next to her, smiling. In a sleeveless blouse and ponytail, Jennifer looked fresh, rested even. She looked the exact opposite of how Casey felt; that was usually the case, though. Her best friend had a politicianâs way of pulling herself together. It ran in the family.
âWhatâs great?â Jennifer repeated.
 âThe power outage . . . the line . . . one guard checking all of us.â Casey waved at the teenagers in line behind them.
âWhatâs the rush? Sirotaâs got us in assembly anyway.â
Casey stepped to the inspection table. âAll of us?â she asked, lowering her bag from her shoulder. She flinched when its strap scraped against her sunburnt skin.Â
âNo. Just the seniors.â
âDonât tell me itâs a fucking Recruiting thing.â Casey put her bag on the table.Â
âI wonât . . . but itâs a fucking Recruiting thing.â
The guard looked at them sideways.
Caseyâs stomach, already in knots thanks to being late, tightened some more. She was not a fan of Recruiting or the wars it helped fuel.Â
The guard, after poking around in Caseyâs bag, slid it back to her. She grabbed it, but he held on. âIs there a problem?â she asked, surprised.
The guard eyed them both. âYou two should watch what you say.â
âExcuse me,â Jennifer said. âDo you knowââ
The guard cut her off. âI do know, Ms. Hargrove. But still.â He let go of the bag.Â
âNo offense meant,â Casey said, grabbing the bag and slinging it over her shoulder. He was right, after all. You never knew who was listening, and speaking poorly of Recruiting could get you in trouble.
The guard ordered her around the table. âArms out,â he said, a metal-detecting wand in his beefy hand.
Casey spread her arms out as directed, and the guard gave her a perfunctory once-over. Wearing shorts and a tank, it wasnât as if she could hide much. The scanner silently agreed, and the guard waved her along. She waited as he checked Jennifer next.Â
âWhereâs your stuff?â Casey asked, realizing Jennifer didnât have her bag.
âIn my locker.â Jennifer held her arms out to the side. âI came back out after first period. I was looking for Martin.â
âYou mean your boyfriend?â
Jennifer smiled as the guard let her through. She lowered her eyes. âHeâs not my boyfriend.â
âRight. After last night, Iâd say he was. You were practically glowing.â
In front of them, Jonas had his arm behind him, holding open the door.
âWhere were you this morning, anyway?â Jennifer asked.Â
Casey thanked Jonas, and they followed him inside. âI was up late after I left you guys at the bar. We fought again.â She pushed her sunglasses up over her forehead, forcing her dark curly hair to fall in line and away from her face.Â
âYou fought about Bruce?â
Bruce was her momâs new boyfriend, and Casey was having a hard time accepting that her mom was dating again. That Bruce was a douche didnât help any. âBruce. My grades. Fake IDs. Same shit.â
âFucking Bruce,â Jennifer said.Â
âFucking Bruce,â Casey agreed.Â
Climbing a short stack of stairs, Casey watched her footing as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior lighting. Her high-tops squeaked on the polished floor. Once past another set of doors, they were confronted with a bottleneck of students. As Jennifer had said, it was just the seniors, and they were being herded into the auditorium.Â
Jennifer searched the line forward and back. With about a foot on Casey, she had a mostly unobstructed view.
âAnything?â Casey asked.Â
âNo. Itâs just not like him. Heâd at least message me.â
âAnd you tried him?â The line inched forward. A freshman, judging by his small size, excused himself and slid between them. His sweaty forearm brushed against Caseyâs.
âOf course. But Iâm trying to play it cool. I donât want to seem desperate.â
âYou? Desperate? Never.â Casey wiped her arm on her shorts. âHe should be flying a banner letting you know where he is. Youâre Jennifer fucking Hargrove.â
âStop.â Jennifer blushed. âItâs different with Martin. Heâs different.âÂ
 âYou think he joined up?â Casey pointed toward the auditorium doors. âA Recruiting assembly . . . could mean another Recruiting list.â
âNever. Not Martin. He would have told me.â
Casey shrugged. She didnât know Martin well enough to know what heâd do. The line continued to inch along as her frustration spread like a rash she couldnât scratch. âWho calls an assembly during a blackout?â she huffed.Â
âItâs better than class.â
âNot when youâre failing.â
âYouâll be fine. You always are.â
The way things were going this semester, she wasnât so sure.Â
They reached the auditorium. Beyond the double-door entrance, Brian Jasperâwho had graduated the year beforeâwas handing out screens. Brian had been crushing on Casey since junior high. He was sweet, and they used to be friendsâor, at least, friendlyâbut Brianâs military allegiance had become too much for her, and they had drifted apart. She nudged Jennifer. âWhatâs he doing here?â
âHe works in the Recruiting office. You knew that.â
She guessed she knew that, but she hadnât been expecting to see him now. âI canât . . .âÂ
âCome on. You could do a lot worse. Look at him in that uniform.â
 âStop,â Casey said. Whether guy or girl, good-looking or not, the uniform, and the violence it represented, was the problem.
Brian spotted her, and his face brightened. He smiled, and it was so genuine that Casey didnât know how to react. How could anyone be so enamored with her? She forced a smile in return, hoping it came off as genuine. He was too nice a guy to hurt. She put her hand on Jenniferâs back and guided her in first.
âJennifer Hargrove,â Brian said, handing her a screen.
âColonel,â Jennifer said, saluting.
âThe electionâs looking good for your father,â he said, ignoring her teasing.
âThatâs what I hear.â
Jenniferâs father was Michael Hargrove, head of the Independent Coalition Party and most likely the cityâs next mayor.Â
âWell, the ICP is lucky to have him, and the city will be, too.â
Jennifer turned to Casey. âYou hear that, Case? You are lucky to have him.â She took a backward step away, and then another. âAs long as youâre not black, or Latino,â she continued to rant as she turned and headed down the nearest aisle, âor Asian, or live downtown.âÂ
âShe never changes,â Brian said.
âShe is pretty consistent.â
He handed Casey a screen. âYou should come out to one of the orientations this month.â
She took the screen. âYou know thatâs not me.â
âYouâd be surprised.â
No . . .  I wouldnât, she thought. The last thing Casey could imagine doing was signing on the dotted line as an ICP recruit. If the ICP hadnât been hounding her police-officer father with corruption chargesâcharges he had vehemently deniedâthen maybe he wouldnât have felt the need to leave. âSorry, but no,â she said, caring a bit less now about being genuine. She took a tentative step toward the aisle and tried to spot Jennifer in the crowd.
âOkay,â Brian said. âYou know where to find me if you change your mind.â
She half-waved and hurried away, agitated by the hard sell. After a few steps, she glanced back. Dude was still smiling. He was so fucking earnest.Â
Casey weaved down the aisle, dodging students as she went. Jennifer, sitting toward the front and to the side, was talking to Greg. The auditorium was hot, and the kids passing her were even hotter. She kept her arms close to her side to avoid any inadvertent rubbing. Jennifer turned and gestured for her to hurry on up. She pointed at the empty seat next to her.
âFuckinâ Sirota,â Casey said, still mad that heâd called this assembly in the first place. She dropped into the saved seat, putting her bag between her feet on the floor.
Jennifer turned. âI blame Recruiting,â she said, a bit too loudly, seemingly undeterred by the mild rebuke theyâd just received outside. She held up the screen Brian had given her. âYouâd think they had enough bodies by now.â
There were never enough bodies.Â
Between the occupation forces along the southern border and the hot wars across the Middle East, the ICP was always in need of recruits. Still, Jennifer needed to keep her voice down. Questioning the ICP could get you in trouble. Glancing around, most of the seniors within earshot were their friendsâones who, for the most part, could be trusted.Â
âYouâre extra âantiâ today,â Casey said.
Jennifer scowled. âI was fine until Soldier Boy up there. Not to mention the rent-a-cop outside.â
âBrian likes your father . . . you canât blame him. Heâs practically brainwashed to like him.â
âWell, my brainwashing wore off a while ago. I donât have to like him.â
Casey slid down into her seat until her bare knees touched the row in front. She felt bad for her friend. Jenniferâs father was absent for the most part, and when he was present he was indifferent at best. In truth, she felt sorry for herself, too. Whether mentally or physically absent, a lost father was something they both had to deal with.
From the row in front of them, Tanya turned, her hand shading her eyes. âCanât we close them?â she asked, pointing in the direction of the windows behind them.
âThe curtains donât work without power,â Greg answered. His hair was mussed, and he was in the same T-shirt heâd worn to the bar last night. âWe tried.â
âGreat,â Tanya said, turning back.
Greg leaned forward, and waved at Casey. âYou made it?â
She rolled her eyes. âIs everyone keeping tabs?â
âSpreadsheets,â Greg answered. âWe plug in everything you do.â
Casey sneered. âNice T-shirt, by the way,â she said. âIs this day two or three?â
Greg looked down. He lowered his nose to his armpit and took a deep, exaggerated breath. âThree,â he said. âJust how you like it.â
Casey sat back. Boys, she thought, looking to Jennifer for affirmation. But Jennifer wasnât paying attention. She was holding herself up by her seatâs armrests, looking around the auditorium. After a moment, she lowered herself back down and leaned toward Casey. âI still donât see him.â
âIâm sure heâs fine. Martinâs a downtowner like me. Weâre a tough breed.â
âItâs the downtown part that concerns me. They were scheduled for an outage last night, and he was worried about getting home.â
âThatâs like the third night this week.â
âFourth,â Jennifer said. âI donât know how they do it.â
Casey scanned the auditorium. It was a full house. Despite the heat, the seniors gabbed, fidgeted, and generally carried on. Brian had made his way to the front of the auditorium and was standing at attention next to the stage. Sitting in the first row were the science and math geeks Martin usually hung out with. But Jennifer was right; Martin wasnât with them. On the stage, Vice Principal Sirota appeared from the wings, his tie loosened and off-center, his dress shirt stained with perspiration. He had a bullhorn in his hand and was flanked by two uniformed ICP officers. He shuffled to the center of the stage, shoulders slumping. His companions walked tall.
The rowdy crowd finally hushed.
âThank you, seniors,â he said. Sirotaâs voice was more nasal than usual. He held up the bullhorn, exposing his unsightly pits. âCan everyone hear me all right without this? I really donât want to use it.â Hearing no objections, he continued. âYou should all have received screens from Recruiting on your way in. Please make sure to fill them out before you leave, and bring them to Recruit Jasper.â He pointed to Brian below him. âIf you see any of your classmates who arenât here, let them know they must report to Recruiting and fill one out before Thanksgiving break.â
Jennifer leaned in. âGlad youâre here now?â
âThrilled,â Casey said. And it was true. Any chance to avoid a trip to Recruiting was appreciated.
As Vice Principal Sirota bleated on, Casey tuned him out. She slipped her screen from her bag and made the rounds of her music sites. Domino Falls was playing the Beacon on New Yearâs Eve. She had seen them a few weeks back and would sacrifice a foot to see them again.Â
Looking up, Sirota had moved to the side as one of the uniformed men took over. After a well-worn spiel about ICP loyalty, respect, and sacrifice, he began reading the latest Recruiting list. Publicly announcing the names was meant to honor the recruits and their familiesâan exercise in patriotismâbut Casey dreaded the reading. The recruitment process seemed so random and opaque. Kids like Brian would sign up, and that was understandable. But, increasingly, kids she never thought of as ICP material were suddenly joining, and it made no sense. Still, you never questioned the ICP. If you were seventeen, you were eligible, and thatâs all anyone needed to know.
 Today, Jonah Carson led the list of new recruits. Jonah joining up made sense. He was as deep into the hive mind as Brian. Casey didnât recognize the next two names, but someone behind her gasped after the second one was read. She turned to see who had slipped, but it was no one she knew. The girl, maybe a sister or a girlfriend of the new recruit, had her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. Casey felt terrible, but Recruiting was like thatâit was random, it was sudden, and, nine times out of ten, it sucked.Â
Lost in thought, Casey wasnât paying attention when the next name was called. However, she did hear Jennifer gasp. Casey turned to her friend. âJen . . .â she began to say, then things slowly registered: They had called Martinâs name. Jenniferâs almost-boyfriend hadnât been late or cutting class; he was gone because heâd been recruited. Caseyâs casual suggestion had been right. Casey looked to the stage; Sirota was glaring in their direction. Jennifer started to stand. She was about to say something that could not be taken back, and Casey could not let that happen.Â
Grabbing Jennifer by the arm, Casey forced her to sit back down. Jennifer looked at her, stunned. âJen, no,â Casey said.Â
Jennifer sat back, shaking off Caseyâs hand. With her eyes glued to the stage, she whispered, âNo way. There is no fucking way.â
Casey didnât know if there was a way or not, but that was irrelevant. Her best friend would not take this lightly. But lightly was the only choice they had. Jennifer sat stiffly in her seat, her eyes red and wet. One tear, then another rolled down her cheek. Casey knew sheâd have to get her friend out of the auditorium and find a safe place for her to vent. The rest of the school day, if not the week, was shot for sure, and she could kiss her Chemistry grade goodbye.
Strangely enough, she felt relieved, glad for the excuse not to try.
Drained by Marc Daniel Acriche is an incredible Dystopian Fantasy tale of what a teenager will do to save a friend when they disappear and they're without the resources they need to find them.
Casey Parker enters the story, already disjointed from her life, with a father who has dropped out of her life without a trace, a questionable mother with an even more questionable partner, and an uncertain future. But when her best friend's boyfriend, Martin, disappears having been taken by a large and oppressive political party to be brainwashed and trapped as one of their soldiers, Casey suddenly knows what she must do next---but with no idea as to how.
This story is an epic chase and battle through unknown terrain and challenges, as well as constantly questioning how reliable the narrator is and how trustworthy the people (new and long-term) are to Casey's survival and core objective. The story is fast-paced and enjoyable, full of wit and sass, as well as sharp, intellectual, and often unexpected twists and turns, with a little sci-fi thrown in for fun effect.
Drained was an incredibly quick and enjoyable afternoon read for me, and the unique storyline and imaginative images and characters will keep it in my memory for a long time.
My sole critique would be that the tone of the book does not always match its graphic nature. There are explicit moments in this book of graphic nature and language, though the book largely reads to me as a Young Adult (YA) Dystopian Fantasy. For me, this was only an observation and not something that actually detracted from the story or quality of the read---but this might be one of those examples of a book being placed in the YA section when it arguably shouldn't be.
For anyone looking for their latest Dystopian read, especially with a kick-butt, talk-back sort of lead character, this is an excellent option (and definitely a book I'll be reading again).