Only Ever Yours by Louise O'Neill Read Free Book Online Page B

is on the right, cheekbones contouring her dark skin, her black haircut in thick bangs, drawing attention to her eyes, cat green and almond-shaped like mine.
    “So, girls, let us begin,” chastity-ruth says, walking up and down the center steps dividing the rows of seating. “At the end of each section, I will ask you to record yourVoiceNotes. Please make these comments as detailed and thorough as you can, to help #755 and #734 to explore their weaknesses. Remember, your voices will be disguised to maintain anonymity, so you may speak freely.”
    “Your skin is too dark, naomi,” I hear someone say. “I think that you should ask about some lightening cream.”
    “cara, your hair color washes out your skin tone,” someone else whispers. “I think you should ask about a tanning cream.”
    We have undertaken this task every Friday since our first Comparison Studies class in 4th year; two different victims each time. I always start off wanting to be kind, but somehow, once I start speaking too, I can’t stop. I guess it does sort of make me feel better, at the time, a faint feeling of superiority swelling inside me like a balloon, but afterward my tongue feels bitter, like a hole has burned through it.
    “What did you say about her?” I asked isabel when we were in 14th year, watching agyness’s eyes turn glassy with unshed tears, wondering if my comments had been the cause. “Did you say anything about her being flat-chested?”
    I willed her to agree, to collude with me, to follow me down into this dark rabbit hole.
    “No.” isabel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I never say anything like that. I usually just recommend they get their hair trimmed.”
    In that moment I loved her for her basic decency. And I hated her too. Because once again, without even trying, she was better than I was.
    naomi and cara take their seats, shoving their earbuds in. We are all the same when it’s our turn. Maybe we hope this time it’ll be different, that this time everyone will agree that we’re beautiful. Or maybe not. Maybe on some level it’s actually okay when the distorted voices whisper in our ears, telling us we’re ugly, we’re vile, and everyone knows it. We may be perfectly designed, but really our eyes are too close together and our thighs are too big.
    cara’s face is ashen. What was it I said about her? I’m sorry. I’m always sorry.
    “As you know, girls, there is always room for Improvement. With every year since your design date, you are getting older, losing your bloom, depreciating in value. Standards, girls! Standards must be upheld. I’m sure #755 and #734 are grateful.”
    I look at cara again, holding her face together in a smile. She doesn’t look very grateful.
    “An easy way to ensure equality of standards is to create consistency,” chastity-ruth continues, pointing at the board behind her. It’s still split in half but with two new images. On the left there is a foto of a woman from before us, and on the right a foto of liu.
    “This woman from Old Japan is the prototype for #783. All variations have been regulated.”
    I would never say this aloud, but I sometimes think the modifications have left liu’s features almost bland, so diluted that they are almost interchangeable with mine, or megan’s, or naomi’s. All that is different is our skin tone and hair color. But at least we still have some diversity,however marginal. It’s rumored that nowadays only blond, blue-eyed girls are designed in the Afrika- and Chindia-Zones, their past literally whitewashed.
    “As you can see, girls, the contrast between women today and the women before is vast.” More and more images emerge of the women before as chastity-ruth continues her lecture. “Please note the lack of symmetry in the face, the bulbous noses, the dilated pores over the forehead and chin. Undesigned, natural women.”
    The screen updates with new horrors and I feel as if I might vomit. I have to close my eyes when she