Hush Money

by Susan Bischoff

  “She wasn’t the first one from around here, ok? There have been…a bunch.”

  “What’s a bunch?”

  “I don’t know. Enough so it’s a thing here. A thing we don’t talk about. Enough so we start to think there must be more. And we wonder if the person sitting next to us is hiding a Talent.”

  “And there’s probably a bunch of Talents around wondering if the person next to them is gonna figure them out and turn them in.”

  I took a bite of pizza while she was talking, not caring how it burned the roof of my mouth. At least she couldn’t read anything from my expression except Oh my God, cheese burn! Kat bit into hers too, with more care than I had, and we ate in silence for few minutes. But of course I knew she wasn’t finished.

  “So these kids who disappear, they never come back?”

  “No.”

  “No letters? Phone calls?”

  I wiped my mouth, trying to figure out what to tell her and thinking that Dad was so right about how having friends would just complicate my life, make me constantly have to decide what to say and what not to say.

  “A long time ago, there used to be some letters. But they were censored. You know, lots of lines marked through with black marker so you couldn’t read them. Then there was this big deal where someone managed to reconstruct what had been censored. I think it was someone with a Talent who did it, but I’m not sure how it happened. It was just a flash in the media—something that came out and was hushed up really fast. Most major news outlets, papers and stuff, didn’t run it. It would be hard to track down anything about it now.”

  “But you heard about it.”

  “Like you said, I listen a lot.”

  “Ok, so the reconstructed letter. What did it say?”

  I looked around. I didn’t know why I was telling her this stuff. I had this feeling like I wanted to tell her. It wasn’t like I was getting more comfortable with talking to her. But it almost felt like some kind of release to tell her, to talk to someone about this stuff I knew. It was weird, but I liked it. So I was going to keep going.

  “It talked about what it was really like at the State Schools. Like prison. It talked about working the kids to improve their Talents, but like hard. Like you can make your players do laps to get them in better shape, or you can make them run until they drop and then kick them until they get up and make them run some more. It was like that. It talked about experiments. Torture. Food and sleep deprivation. Just all kinds of horrible stuff. That sense that everyone has that they do not want to go to a State School, despite what the government says about helping Talents? The Koenig Letter—that’s what they called it—is part of that. Even if they missed it when it happened, that’s what started the rumors flying. That’s when NIAC became the Boogeyman.”

  “Wow, you even remember the name.”

  I flushed. Damn. “Yeah, well, it’s just, living here where it’s been more common, I guess it’s more interesting to me than it is to other people. Plus, I’m good with names. I know a lot of crap.”

  “Uh huh. Yeah, I guess I can see that. So after the…whatever Letter thing, then no more letters?”

  “Right. Supposedly the point of the State Schools is to help kids with Talents control them—so they don’t hurt anybody. And at first that’s mostly who they took.” Part of me was telling myself to shut up, but I was just in it now, wanting to be able to tell someone how wrong it all was. “But that didn’t cover the kids who didn’t electrocute the cat, or shatter all the windows, or start f-fires—” I took another drink so I could swallow. “But they wanted control over all the kids. So they said that scientists should have access to all the Talents. That’s when they made it mandatory for parents to report their kids. But since the ‘dangerous’ Talent kids never came back, who’s going to do that, right? Not a lot of parents did.

  “Then, not too long after that, came the R.J. Smith Elementary School Disaster. Allegedly there was one psychic kid who could put thoughts in other people’s heads. You’d think he would have made himself the most popular kid in school, but I guess he wasn’t really bright. He had some family problems, and other kids made fun of him because of that, so rather than change their minds, he got back at them by screwing with their heads. Scaring the hell out of them. Until some of them started killing in self-defense—against whatever was in their heads—killed each other, a teacher. It was a whole big mess.”

  “My God.”

  “Yeah. Total psycho little kid. So there’s an example of a Talent you can’t really see, and that you wouldn’t necessarily think of as going to go out of control. Not like toddlers who turn the babysitter into a popsicle. But obviously people can still be hurt by stuff like that, so the government says, that’s it, we don’t know what the kids can do, what they will do. They’re just kids, and we need to look out for all of them in a controlled environment. So that’s when the scare campaign really got going and, unlike the Koernig thing, the government was all over publicizing the Smith School Disaster. They made it everyone’s civic duty to turn in Talents. So now it wasn’t just parents, it was teachers, day care, neighbors, anyone who saw a kid use a Talent should report it. Because if something awful happens, it’s gonna be on your head.”

  “I never heard that before. But then, my parents aren’t really into talking about national events and politics and stuff. We hardly ever even watch the news.”

  “It was a long time ago. Like when we were really little, I guess. I bet if you ask your parents, they’ll remember the school thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” She gave me that look again, that sort of assessing look that made me nervous. “So, you really can talk when you get into it. It’s a different you. You’re all…animated.”

  Yeah, great, thanks. “I should go. Saturday’s busy sometimes. My parents might be swamped.” I pushed my chair back.

  “Ok. Look, Joss, thanks for telling me this stuff. I’m sorry I’m so pushy. I get that it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “No big deal.”

  “I’m sorry for that crack earlier about who’re you gonna tell.”

  I shrugged. “It’s true enough. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Yeah but, I was kind of hoping that we could be friends.”

  I opened my mouth to ask her why, but then shut it again. That’s what she expected me to say; that was how she was going to keep me here, talking to her. And who knows what I’d say if I did that.

  “I should go. Thanks for lunch.”

  Chapter 5

  Joss

  There were footsteps on the stairs, heavy and quick, jogging up, then down again.

  False alarm.

  I went back to my book. I was sitting on the uppermost landing of the stairwell at the end of the science wing. Fairview High was a Frankenstein Monster of a building, with all kinds of additions grafted onto an old building. It was a desperate attempt to keep up with the times, without actually tearing it apart and starting over. My spot, the one I had found in the first months of my freshman year, was in the older part of the school. The stairwell was one of those dark, steep, wrap-around deals, far away from everything else that it didn’t get much traffic. Most kids just stuck to the more central stairs.

  This landing I was perched on was the end of a road to nowhere. The stairs continued up, past the second floor, for no apparent reason. I think maybe they meant to put in a roof access door or something like that, but it didn’t happen. So there was no reason for anyone to come up this far. Plus, because of the way the stairs were all but stacked on top of one another, you really couldn’t see from one landing up to another. Although you could see down if you leaned forward and looked through the railing. All in all, it made it a really great place to hide and get a little peace in the chaos of Hell on Earth. Which I really needed, regularly. That’s why it was My Spot.

  I wasn’t supposed to be in that part of the school so early in the morning. No one was. But it was one of those days when the pouring rain was so bad that the
y couldn’t make everyone stay outside until the first bell, so they had to let them all into the lobby and the gym. School, after all, is a place of learning, and you can’t just have students roaming its halls. Who knows what might happen? But, even when they open up the gym, it gets really crowded and there are kids, like me, who always manage to escape the corral. Even if it means manipulating a locked gate or two along the way.

  I heard the footsteps again, slower this time, and a few more of them. My heartbeat picked up as I shoved the novel back in my bag and reached for the Chem text. After all, maybe the appearance of scholarly duty would soften the heart of an over-zealous Hall Monitor and save me from detention.

  But since when did Hall Monitors travel in packs?

  Marco rounded the corner and stopped as soon as he saw me. He was clearly surprised. In the next moment, when he started up the steps toward me and that predatory smile started to spread across his face, you could tell he was pleased in his evil way.

  “Hey, Joss…You know…you’re not supposed to be here.”

  I suck at this, I really do. There must be some way, some right thing to say to diffuse this and make him go away. But I didn’t know what it was. During the recent cafeteria incident I had tried not saying anything, but that hadn’t worked. So this time I went for mild sarcasm.

  “Huh. You don’t say?”

  Marco sneered at me and continued up the steps, made a show of easing himself slowly down to sit beside me. And of course, since I was leaning against the railing and there were only four whole feet of floor beside me, he had to sit right up against me. This is what crawling skin feels like, when your whole skin wants to crawl away from something noxious, whether the rest of you is coming along or not. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. He’d probably make himself comfortable and bug me until the bell. I could deal that long without shoving him down the stairs. Probably.

  Jeff came up next, pulling some girl behind him. Some girl who seemed reluctant to follow. He pulled her up onto the landing and pushed her back into the corner. Not a shove, not violent, but it was a push. I felt a flare of something, rage or human decency, probably some combination of the two. But I breathed in and beat it down. Whatever this was, it was not my business. Still, it seemed not good, and I was starting to feel uneasy about more than just Marco occupying my personal space.

  In that moment, before Jeff blocked her from my view, she looked up.

  I jumped back on instinct, right into Marco who used the opportunity to throw his arm around my shoulders. I don’t think Trina saw me. She might have seen a flash of someone, assumed Marco was watching them. Leaning away from Marco again I took a chance, leaned toward the railing again and peeked through the bars.

  Jeff had Trina completely caged, almost completely hidden by his tall body. I could see part of the side of her, one leg, covered in black tights below her skirt, bent at the knee, her whole body sort of trying to turn protectively away from him. His hand skimmed up the sleeve of her light jacket, caught the strap of her bag that she wore over one shoulder, and pulled it off, dropping it to the ground beside them. The move tugged her jacket and sweater out of place to bare her shoulder. She didn’t move to fix her clothes, but she didn’t look at him either.

  Beside me, as my stomach clenched, Marco leaned into my ear. “Do you like to watch?”

  I wanted to ask him what was going on, but I was afraid to turn my face toward his, afraid and disgusted by the intimacy of our conversation as well as the scene below us. I was afraid to ask because I was afraid to know. Because knowing for sure that something was wrong would morally obligate me to act to stop it, wouldn’t it?

  And I couldn’t do that.

  Jeff leaned in and was saying something to Trina. Her face was turned away, toward the corner, but I could see her body language, see her cringe. Unconsciously I mimicked her movement. That caused Marco to chuckle softly. He lifted his arm from around my shoulders, but before I could be relieved, he quickly shifted his position, sliding up and back, getting one leg on the other side of me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hauled me back snug against him, dropping his chin on my shoulder so that we were both looking over the railing.

  Somehow I had let that happen. That disgusting pig had his whole body wrapped around mine and I just sat there and took it. I didn’t shriek, throw him off, pummel him senseless—all the kinds of reactions that I would never allow myself because they would draw too much attention. Maybe that doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I’d spent my whole life learning to tread as lightly as I could, always concerned about not making anyone notice me. If I started yelling my head off and teachers came rushing to my aid, I’d have to explain why I was up here illegally in the first place. They’d remember me. I’d be on their radar. Other kids might see or hear, start wondering aloud why I was up there with Marco in the first place. Start talking about me, noticing me. I couldn’t have that. I had to stay cool.

  Cool and completely grossed out.

  I forced myself to be calm. Being this disgusted isn’t fatal, I thought. Probably. I could just wait it out, until Marco was done messing with me. Let him lose interest as usual and be on his way. I was in no real danger, after all. We were in school, right? What was really going to happen? If he tried anything, I could knock him down the stairs. Or there were other things I could do. My dad might want me to pretend to be normal around other people, but at home he had made me practice, build up my control so I was ready for all kinds of scenarios.

  Below us, Jeff lowered his mouth to Trina’s shoulder. My stomach rolled. I knew my reasons for not screaming bloody murder, but what were hers? Why the hell didn’t she knee him in the balls or something? Her hand came up between them, ineffectually pushing at his chest. He caught it and brought it up behind her back, forcing her to arch into him. I felt queasy.

  Inside my conscience was screaming at me to do something, but the part of my mind that was always in control, that monitored every single step I took to make sure it wouldn’t cause anyone to look my way? It was stronger, louder, telling me that if we could just hold out a few more moments, surely this would stop. So some gross guy was pawing at her. She’d live, right? My eyes were hot, and I was getting afraid that tears were actually going to come out of them. My heart pounded as I tried to think ahead, tried to bargain with myself.

  Ok, it’s ok. Just stay calm. This is under control. It’s not like she can’t help herself. And if it seems like she really can’t, then you still can, right? If it goes too far, you can still do something. Like knock Jeff’s head into the wall, push him back, watch him bounce down the stairs. Just hang on and don’t do anything you’ll regret.

  But just how far was too far? Jeff’s leg slid between Trina’s. I didn’t know where his other hand was—I didn’t want to know. His mouth was on hers and she was squirming against him, but he had her pinned, completely under his control. I could…What could I do? Send that bag of books into his head? Of course not. Way too obvious. Send a punch of air to hit the backs of his knees? Tricky from this far away, but yeah, maybe that. Maybe a blow to his kidney to throw him off enough for her to get loose? Would she even run off if I set her free?

  And would Marco be able to figure out that I had done it?

  I barely heard the quick, light footsteps on the stairs, but I heard them, and so did Marco whose body went tense. Jeff was oblivious.

  “Oh! Um, sorry! I’ll just…” the girl’s voice sounded familiar and trailed off when Jeff’s head spun around to see who it was.

  “What do you want?” he snarled. Now that he had moved, I could see Trina’s swollen mouth, smeared lipstick, and the tracks of tears on her cheeks. My own eyes—there was just no way I was gonna cry. No way. Why the hell was she letting this happen to her?

  Why was I?

  “Hey, Trina. You ok?” We heard the footsteps again, and brown curls came into view.

  It was Kat.

  “Get lost.” Jeff shifted to block Trina in again.<
br />
  “What the hell’s going on here? Trina, come with me.”

  “She’s fine, and I told you to get lost.”

  I hadn’t thought my heart could pound any harder, but my whole head was pulsing with blood and tension. I didn’t know Kat very well, but she didn’t seem like the type to just turn around and leave, and I knew Jeff was a hot-head. Yesterday I probably wouldn’t have thought he’d hit a girl, but that was yesterday. I risked a glance at Marco, who was riveted…and smiling.

  Jeff turned to Kat and took a step toward her, well into her personal space. Kat didn’t back down, but it was obvious by the way she leaned away as she looked up at him that she was uncomfortable.

  Behind Jeff I could barely hear Trina saying, “Kat, just go.”

  “Yeah, this is private.” Jeff gave her a shove that, more like a hard punch to the shoulder, that made her stumble sideways toward the stairs.

  She grabbed onto him to steady herself, but then hung on to his arm. He started to shake her off, but she just latched on to the front of his jacket.

  “Jeff,” she said firmly, staring into his eyes. “Go away.”

  He jerked slightly, as though she’d dealt him a slap that didn’t so much hurt as surprise him. Then, in the next moment he stumbled back, out of her grip, his hands coming up to his face.

  “What the hell? What did you do, you bitch?” His hands moved over his face, seeking some kind of injury or something. “What did you do??” He pressed his back to the wall, his eyes wide with terror and darting around everywhere. He groped for the railing.

  “You’ll be fine if you get out of here before you really piss me off.” Kat’s voice was deadly.

  Jeff was swiping at his eyes with the back of one hand, the other on the handrail. He moved quickly down the steps, missing some, half falling, catching himself and continuing down. Totally panicked.

  I realized that both Marco and I were standing and leaning over the railing, watching his progress, stunned by what we had seen. Marco snapped into action, forgetting about me and racing down the stairs. I followed.