by Samira Ahmed
Together with my parents, I walk down the Midway. They smile and offer a salaam to everyone we pass. Everyone returns the greeting in kind. Like our smiles are real. When we’re halfway there, I say good-bye to my parents, telling them I want to go back and get my book so I can read in the Hub library.
I turn back and walk toward our block, looking over my shoulder to see them walk into the Hub. Then I cross through the camp to the blocks on the opposite side of the Midway. People are out, heading toward their jobs or taking the little ones to the grandparent day care or school. Some people have laundry bags. Others carry empty boxes that they’ll fill up with kitchen staples from the supply area. I don’t run; I don’t try to hide. I keep my eyes open for the drones and guards. I hear the sanitation trucks enter the gate and see the men in their khaki uniforms fan out around the camp. I don’t spy David, but I know he’s here. I walk to the side entrance of the Mess. It’s usually unguarded and unlocked when the garbage has to be taken out. I glance around cautiously and let myself in.
Palms clammy and heart beating in my ears, I tiptoe to the kitchen. The Mess is mostly dark except for the lights along the perimeter of the room that let off a faint electronic buzz. I take extra care not to touch anything in the kitchen, afraid of the noise, afraid of what could happen.
The pantry door is ajar. A light radiates from inside. I hold my breath and walk cautiously forward. As I place my fingers on the doorframe, a hand reaches out and grabs mine and pulls me.
I fall into David’s embrace. He kisses me so softly and deeply that it makes me want to cry. As scared as I am of hiding that burner phone between my mattress and the wall, I’m so thankful that it made this moment in the pantry of the Mess possible. David nuzzles my neck. “I miss you.” Then he steps back. “I have to show you something.” He reaches into his khaki uniform and pulls his phone out and shows me the screen. A headline screams FASCISM AT MOBIUS: AN INSIDER SPEAKS.
“They put it up as I was getting here,” David whispers. “KALA-TV ran the story and read your post on the air. The reporter said to expect it to explode. It probably already has. The whole world is going to know you, or at least your words. Layla, you did it. You’re amazing.”
David’s words muffle in my ears. My eyes fix on the screen. I read the headline again, and it knocks the wind out of me. I scan the words, my words. And then I’m there again, in that moment. Hearing it. Noor’s screams. The security guys dragging her away. Asmaa and Bilqis, who tried to help her. Their blood staining the dry earth. The Director. The gun. Tears fill my eyes. I whisper, “The whole world will know their names.”
David wipes away the tears from my cheeks, then kisses each one. “Yes. Everyone will know their names, thanks to you.”
“And you,” I say. I run my fingers through David’s hair; it’s damp from sweat. He’s always there for me. Literally, he’s here right now, next to me, but in this rare, unrushed moment, I’m aware that there’s a tiny space between us, a distance that I don’t know how to fill. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s because of the fight we had when he first snuck in here to see me. Maybe it’s because of the electric fence that seems to separate us even when I’m in his arms. I don’t know why exactly, but it feels awful. And I try to push that emotion away because I don’t want to feel it. He’s taking huge risks to see me, to help me. I want it all to be like it was. I am desperate for a brief moment of Before with David. The minty smell of his soap, the warmth of his arms, how when our fingers intertwine, the brown of my skin and the brown of his are nearly a perfect match. All the familiar sensations of home. I need that feeling so badly right now. But as I grasp for it, I know it’s out of reach, even though David is right next to me. I kiss him and then take his hand and pass him another story I’ve written out in tiny print.
“The hunger strike is tomorrow,” I whisper.
“I’m scared for you.”
“I am, too. I’m scared for all of us, but Jake is keeping an eye out.”
David breaks from our embrace. “I know he’s helped us, but are you sure you can trust him? That this isn’t all a ruse?”
“I trust him. I know why you feel that way. I can’t say more. I mean, I don’t even know more. He could’ve already given me up, like, a hundred times to the Director, but he hasn’t. He’s on our side.”
David shakes his head. “I can’t trust someone who has a gun on you, and you shouldn’t, either.”
I take a deep breath. “He won’t hurt anyone, and he definitely won’t hurt me. I promise.”
David raises an eyebrow. “Is there something else I should know? What are you not saying?” That space I’m imagining between us widens, ever so slightly.
“No. It’s not like that. Please, believe me. I love you. Plus, jealousy doesn’t suit you.” My heart is in a vise. Maybe David feels a little of that distance between us, too.
The door slams, startling both of us.
“Come out now. I know you’re in here,” Jake’s voice bellows through the Mess, and we hear him stomp into the kitchen. I reach for the doorknob, but David touches my hand and shakes his head no.
But it doesn’t matter, because Jake pulls open the pantry door. His jaw is clenched. His face is grave and official. Angry. He’s every inch the corporal right now. “This was stupid,” he whispers, but his voice seethes. “He knows.” Then he turns to me. “Do you have another story on you?”
I open my mouth, hesitate.
“There’s no time. He’s going to be here any minute. You need to give it to me.”
I reach into David’s pocket and pull out the piece of paper with my handwriting on it. I hand it to Jake, and he quickly tucks it into his boot. David looks at me, his mouth open in shock.
The main door to the Mess bursts open. All the lights are flipped on. The Director marches into the kitchen with two of his private security detail. They aren’t military; they aren’t Exclusion Guards. They’re the two who dragged Noor away. Private security doesn’t need to uphold an oath to the Constitution. They are loyal to the Director, and only to him.
“Good work, Corporal Reynolds. Restrain Miss Amin.” Spit flies out of the Director’s mouth as he speaks. His face reddens to a deep crimson, the veins on his neck taut like wires pulled too tight. All my muscles tense. My breath goes raspy, like there’s not enough air to breathe in the room. Every single time I’m frightened in here, I think that I’ve never been so scared; but always, always, I keep finding there’s another level of fear I had no concept of.
Jake is standing in front of us; he turns and looks at me, softening his eyes for the briefest of seconds. He takes me by the arm. I look wildly from the Director to his security detail to Jake and then to David. I jerk myself away from Jake and wrap my arms around David’s neck and whisper, “Your phone. Instagram. Now.” Jake pulls me back, a look of shock in his eyes.
“It was me. It was all me. David didn’t do anything.” I say this knowing that none of it matters.
The Director rubs his hands together like he’s washing them. “Thank you for that admission, Miss Amin, but I believe there is enough blame to go around. There certainly will be consequences for everyone involved.” The Director’s face is almost gleeful. It doesn’t cause a shiver of fright. I’m long past simple fear. I feel like ants are running all over my skin, like I know I’m in a nightmare and I’m clawing to get the ants off me, but all I’m doing is hurting myself.
I manage a few words. “David’s not an internee. He has civil rights. The rule of law exists.” Jake, who is still holding on to my elbow, gently tugs at my arm, a warning that I’m digging a deeper hole for myself. But I have to say something. David is only here because of me. Because I asked him to come. Because I needed him. And now he’s going to get hurt because I’m a selfish asshole.
“I am the law,” the Director rages, then motions to his private security detail. One of them grabs me from Jake.
“No!” I scream as the man shoves me against the fridge. It happens so
fast. My cheek slams against the hard, cold metal before I can grasp what is going on, and the voices and bodies blur around me. I hear Jake yell something about my being a minor.
David steps out in front of the Director. From the corner of my eye, I see him shaking. “I’m sure the world is interested in how you’re the law now and how you’re hurting kids in here. Kids.” He’s holding his camera in front of him, filming. “I’m live streaming on Instagram Live. That’s Layla Amin. Californian. American citizen.”
I catch David’s eye as he steps closer to me and the man who is still holding me against the fridge.
The Director pulls at his collar, his face beet red. He’s breathing so loudly through his nostrils that I expect him to exhale fire.
Jake steps forward and moves the security detail away from me, gently pulling me back from the fridge and placing his hand at the small of my back. David keeps filming. Jake speaks in a calm, deliberate voice. “Sorry about that”—Jake pauses slightly and looks at the Director—“accident, Miss Amin. I’m sure the Director would want you to get checked out at the infirmary. The Exclusion Authority has clear regulations on the treatment of minors at Mobius.”
The Director clears his throat and takes a step away from us, into the shadow of a large shelf of supplies. “Yes, we want to make sure Miss Amin wasn’t hurt because of this little snafu. We are simply trying to ascertain who might be spreading these lies about Mobius.” He pulls a tablet from his suit pocket. “Miss Amin, I’m certain you can assure your boyfriend’s viewers that these allegations are false.”
I square myself to look the Director in the eye. The left side of my face throbs and burns. I ball my hands into fists. “I can do no such thing, Director.”
The Director takes a stride toward me, but Jake steps between us and says, “I’m sure Miss Amin can’t comment because she doesn’t have access to that story, sir.”
The Director narrows his eyes. The muscles in his neck bulge so much and he’s so red, I’m not sure he’s even breathing. I’m not sure I’m breathing. “Corporal, please escort our…” He clears his throat. “… our guest off-site and deliver Miss Amin to the infirmary, where I’m certain she’ll get excellent care.”
David keeps filming as the Director marches out with his security detail.
Once the door slams, David puts his phone down. He was narrating the whole time, I think, but I couldn’t hear a thing besides the blood rushing in my ears. I collapse to my knees, crying into my hands.
David drops down next to me and strokes my back. “Layla, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I wish I could’ve done something.”
I raise my eyes to his and see that they’re filled with tears. I wipe my face on my sleeve and wince. My cheek is swelling up. “You did, and there’s nothing more you could have done,” I say, and kiss him on the cheek.
Jake steps to us and helps me up. David stands as well. “I’d say you’ve done quite enough, David.”
I turn to Jake, shocked that he could be so cruel after what almost happened. After what did happen. “Jake—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He directs his remarks only to David. “You’re on the outside. She’s in here. You may think you’ve gotten away with something, that you were clever. But you get to walk out of here, and she doesn’t. And what—giving Layla a burner to keep in her trailer?” Then he turns to me. “Which I will be confiscating, by the way. Security is going to be tighter than ever now. This place will be Fort Knox.”
David looks like he was punched in the gut. His eyes trail away from Jake to me. “Devastated” is the only word that comes to mind to describe him. As Jake spoke, I watched David’s face and could almost feel the full range of his thoughts—starting with defensive anger and moving on to fear, then sadness, and finally horror. I know, because I felt those things, too.
Jake shakes his head. “We have to get you both out of here. Now.”
We walk toward the main gate, Jake between us like a chaperone. David and I can’t hold hands, and we definitely can’t kiss good-bye. With each step, reality sinks in, that David will never be able to get in here again, even if Jake were willing to help us—which clearly he won’t be.
I feel utterly helpless as we stop in front of the gate. David turns to me and mouths, I love you. He tries to step closer, but Jake positions himself between us.
David gulps, then offers a hand to Jake. “Please keep her safe,” he says, his voice barely a scratch. Jake shakes David’s hand and then calls over another guard. He whispers something close to the man’s ear. The guard nods.
David and I simply stare at each other. I know he feels like I do: overwhelmed by the truth that we are powerless right now.
The other guard motions to David to follow him. He does, but for the entire distance to the gate, David walks with his head turned back, half smiling at me, like he’s willing things to be okay. Jake pulls me away, toward the infirmary, and my heart wants to fight him, but my body can’t anymore. Not now. So I give David one last, longing look.
“Will he be okay?” I ask.
Jake sighs. “Yup. Fred will drive him back to town. Make sure he gets to his motel safely. Fred’s also going to tell him to spread the hell out of that video. The Director will be furious. It’s bad enough David was live streaming, but knowing it will go viral… and after that post you wrote… That’s why you were foolish to do this.”
“I know.”
“You’ve put yourself in danger. Your friends and parents, too.”
“I know.”
“And I can’t be here all the time to keep an eye—”
“Jake,” I say more loudly than I intended. “I know. We totally fucked up. I didn’t think through the consequences. I know you could be in danger, too.”
Jake’s shoulders sink. “Layla,” he says softly, “I’m not worried about me. Hell, the Director thinks I got to you first to turn you in. I saved him in there. He’ll probably trust me more. But knowing what he could do to you…” Jake touches my elbow.
It might not be the time to ask this question, but what other time is there? “What are you going to do with the article I wrote?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it out. After that story today, every news station and blog will be champing at the bit for more. You were right. The world needs to know what is happening here. The world needs to learn about the torture at the black-ops sites and the disappearances of citizens.”
I put my hand on Jake’s arm. His muscles go taut. “Be careful, Jake.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m the one with the gun, remember?”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Look, there’s the Red Cross visit tomorrow. The Director is tense. He wants to put on a good show. He can’t afford to look like he’s not in control. Command will be breathing down his neck with the information breach in here. So you’ll be okay for now. And after that, well… I’ll figure something out.” Jake grins, but it’s a wan smile; there’s no heart behind it.
I don’t believe his words, and I’m guessing he doesn’t believe them, either.
I stand in front of the door to my trailer and press the ice pack against my cheek.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My mind, turning and turning. My center cannot hold anymore. Any minute, gravity will triple and crush me like an empty soda can. When I open my eyes, I want to be on the beach. I want to walk into the ocean until I’m neck-deep in the Pacific, its waves lapping at my shoulders. I want to breathe in the salt air and let the water wash the dust off my body and rinse the fear from my soul. I want to feel the sting of the sea in my eyes and be buoyed by the waves and carried across time to another life. Can that be possible? Can I slash the fabric of space-time and disappear from Mobius? I open my eyes. Apparently, wishing things into existence only works in fantasy. And reality is everywhere around me.
My cheek stings. There is no way I can hide this from my parents. They might not hear about my Insta
gram fame, not immediately, because even when information does get in from the outside, it takes time; but they’ll find out. How do I tell them I risked their lives to kiss my boyfriend? How do I tell them I wrote the post that is probably going viral? This place is already a prison, but when my parents learn what I’ve done, they won’t let me leave the claustrophobic confines of this trailer.
I walk in resolved not to tell them the truth, knowing that for right now, for today, my lying might be best for all of us. As the door clicks shut behind me, an alarm blares across the camp and makes me jump back. Then an announcement echoes through the valley: “Return to your Mercury Homes immediately. Await instructions via your media units.” I look out the window and see people rushing back to their trailers. My parents enter ours, out of breath. I look at my mom’s disheveled hair and the rattled look in my dad’s eyes. Things are going to get worse for my parents because of me.
“We rushed back from the Hub,” my dad says, walking to the kitchen sink, where he fills a glass of water for my mom and then one for himself. They both lean against the tiny kitchen counter and take deep gulps. Then they look at my red, swollen cheek.
“My God,” my mother says as she crosses to me and gently pulls the ice pack from my cheek to take a look. “What happened, beta? Did someone hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. I tripped on the stairs coming back to get my book and smashed my face against the door. I’m such a—”
The media unit flicks on, and the Director’s angry face fills the screen. “Our community has been betrayed. Someone has leaked lies about life here at Mobius, and these deceptions are agitating people on the outside. We will find the culprit; make no mistake. Until then, the entire community will be held accountable.”
My jaw clenches. Rage burns inside me. The Director means to scare people into submission. And it will work because, more and more, he wears his hatred on his face, losing the pretense of civility. Good. I’m glad. The mask is gone, and the gloves are off, and I’m going to use my anger to steel my resolve.