by Annie Oldham
Chapter Two
“What is with you today?” Jessa asks as we leave Brant outside the Juice Deck. Jessa and I have to be home in seven minutes to help Grandma with dinner before Dad gets home from the colony offices at 18:00. We head to the nearest transport that will take us through the traveling tubes of the colony and drop us off in the living quarter.
There are more people in the corridors now, leaving their vocations for the day, leaving school, leaving their enrichment lessons. The corridor buzzes with people talking and laughing. I watch two boys a few years older than Jessa and me. They talk excitedly about some new variety of angler fish they had seen while exploring the Trench in their field studies. I’ve seen hundreds of angler fish before. Sure they have a bioluminescent dangler. Big deal. A lot of fish down this deep do. But I learned last week in Burn History that only one species up on the Burn can do it—pyractomena borealis. The firefly. It flies around when the sky turns dark and flashes its little light, glowing like a star.
“Seriously. What’s up?” Jessa asks again. She’s irritated now. I had completely zoned out on her. I shrug.
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet it’s nothing. Is it because of Brant? I know you guys’ve been friends for so long. I didn’t think going out would be a problem.”
I shake my head, waving away the distraction. “Nah, not a big deal.”
We turn the corner, and the doors to the transport are closing. We slip in as fast as we can. The doors hiss all the way shut, and a monotone, female voice announces, “Next destination: the living quarter.”
There are mostly other kids around our age on the transport, coming home from vocations and school. My stomach lurches as the transport drops, heading down the transport tube toward the living quarter. The transport tubes are clear, so you can see everything speeding by. The tubes go between levels in the colony, so usually all you see are lots of wires and air ducts and flashing lights. But sometimes the tubes skim along the outer wall, so suddenly you’re plunged into blackness with only the eerie artificial light to keep you company. I involuntarily lean into Jessa as we fly out next to the water.
“Do you think we’ve over-done the Juice Deck? We’ve been there for two dates already. But it was where we had our first kiss, so it is kinda special.”
Jessa keeps talking, going on about dates and what the options are in the colony, but that memory of Mr. Klein has me thinking. That had been a year and a half ago, and I had completely forgotten the conversation. He had all but given me his blessing to find a way to explore the Burn. So there has to be a way to do it, and I am convinced he knows about it. If he is as fascinated with the Burn as I am, he will have found a way by now.
Then I remember when I had surprised him that day, and the way he hunched over that laptop. Protecting the monitor from the view of the watcher, I realize. I remember the guilty way he slammed it closed and jumped up when he knew someone was behind him. The answers are on that laptop, and I have to see it. But there is someone always watching. How can I access his computer without getting him or me into trouble?
“So what are you going to do about that red-head that’s been eyeing you every day this week?” Jessa whispers behind her hand.
“You can’t prove anything!”
Then I realize I’m not sure what she even asked me. I was so caught up in planning, that the first words I hear are accusations that aren’t actually there. “Wait, what?”
She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, pull it together, Terra. This is getting ridiculous.” She curls a lock of hair around her finger coyly. “I said, what are you going to do about the red-head?” And she inclines her head toward a boy standing a few feet away from us. He looks down at a book in his hand when I glance his way.
“Him?” I lower my voice when it comes out as a squeak. “Please, Jessa. Don’t embarrass me again. You know I don’t want to double with you and Brant.”
“Oh, come on. He’s kinda cute in a gangly sort of way. And besides there’s the summer dance tomorrow night in the atrium. Everyone will be there. You skipped the past two years. I’m not letting you miss this one, too.”
My mind churns ahead. Everyone will be there—they always are. It is a break in schedule. We don’t have to be in our quarters, don’t have to clock in at 22:00 for bed. It’s an event that is probably tame for the Burn but almost borders on riotous for all of us down here. It is the perfect chance to slip to Mr. Klein’s office without being seen.
“Okay.” I try to seem casual.
Jessa looks at me like I’ve swallowed too much seawater. “Serious?”
“Yes.”
“No way.”
“Yes. Serious. I promise.”
Jessa claps her hands, then promptly makes her way over to Red Head. His eyes flicker over to me a couple times, and the blush that creeps up his face turns the dusting of freckles across his cheeks dark red. Then a huge smile breaks out on his face. He comes over to stand in front of me, and holds out a hand that is mostly long, skinny fingers.
“I’m Matt.”
I almost laugh but bite my tongue. No one down here is named Matt. Too common of a Burn name. Dad will love this.
“Terra.”
“Hi, Terra. I’m glad to meet you. Do you want to go to the dance? Tomorrow night? With me?” He’s unsure of himself as the questions come tumbling out. The transport lurches to a stop at the living quarter. We amble out.
“Sure, that’d be nice.” I turn toward the corridor that leads to our house. He smiles.
“I’ll come by at 7.”
“Great.” I hardly look at him. I hope that isn’t too weird. But he must be fine with it, because he lopes off down another corridor.
Jessa bounces alongside me. “That was so perfect! This is going to be the best dance ever. I’ll be with Brant, you’ll actually come. Maybe I can convince Dad not to give another long, boring speech, and it will be the best dance ever.”
The corridor is softly rounded so there are no corners and everything looks fluid. Front doors of quarters line the walls on either side of us, recessed a few feet by archways. Mr. Klein told me the Burn has similar living arrangements. They’re called apartments.
We stop at ours and Jessa holds her palm to a white, glass panel to the right of the door. A light flashes across the surface of the glass, scanning her hand. Then the door slides open.
Our quarters have one big common room with a couch, desk, and multi-purpose monitor. There is a big window with a view of dark ocean. There are a few plants hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen and washroom arch off on one side, and the three bedrooms arch off on the other. Jessa throws her bag on the couch.
“Hey, Gram. We’d better be making something easy tonight because I want time to pick out dresses for us. This is going to be amazing!”
“Welcome home, girls,” Grandma calls absently. She stands in front of the monitor. There is an image of a meal being prepared, and that same monotone female voice as the transport tube says, “Tuesday’s nightly meal. Whole wheat macaroni and cheese with steamed vegetables and fish fillets. All nutritionally balanced for your health and perfectly seasoned for your taste. You will find the ingredients have been delivered to your refrigeration unit. Please leave the monitor on while I guide you through the preparation.”
Gram zooms in on a picture of the ingredients. She shakes her head. “Milk. So many of these meals have milk. I really ought to speak with the nutritionists. Surely they could design a meal schedule that includes milk-free options instead of just offering a supplement capsule. Last Wednesday’s breakfast required milk, and now this one. It’s hard when your father is lactose intolerant.” She mumbles a minute more, then looks up and smiles. “Just in time to help.”
Jessa flits into the kitchen. I sigh and drop my bag next to hers. I better get dinner over with so I can plot my deviousness that is scheduled to take place tomorrow night.
Gram measures out our prescribed servings of mac’n’cheese, and Jess
a and I lay the forks and knives out when Dad walks through the door.
Dad is tall. He is taller than most of the colonists, and it helps his job as Speaker. He is physically imposing, and it is amazing how many people respect that. Sometimes people listen to him just because he is bigger than they are. I told Dad once that’s what bullies do, and he laughed it off.
“But I don’t bully them, Terra. They just talk themselves into feeling bullied. The last thing any of our colonies need is a bully. We’re not like the Burn. We live off of unity, equitable compromises, and peaceable decisions.”
Then suddenly the corners of his mouth fell and the creases around his eyes drooped and he went to his room for three hours. He only has one picture of my mom that he kept after she left. I’ve never seen it because he guards it like a treasure in his room. But sometimes I think he goes in there and talks to it.
Does it help, talking to her? He’s the one who made her leave.
Dad puts his bag in the cubicle by the door. Then he reverently removes his Speaker’s sash and hangs that next to the cubicle, carefully brushing out the wrinkles with his hands. Gram’s eyes burn with pride as she watches her son take the proper care of his position that she taught him. I snort. But quietly, of course.
Dad sniffs the air. “That smells great, but my secretary told me it has milk in it tonight. She promised to speak with the nutritionists. We have diverse enough dietary needs that Food Prep really needs to make more specialized meals. Enough of this prescribed dinner for everyone.”
I smirk. “But Dad, equity for all?”
It is a smart-aleck comment, and I know it. But I can’t help myself. Gram eyes me icily, but luckily Dad doesn’t catch the sarcasm.
“Equity doesn’t always mean we all have the exact same thing. As long as we all receive the same nutrition to meet our needs, it is equitable. And I’d really love to eat something that didn’t make me feel like vomiting.”
He ruffles my hair. Since he won’t be eating the mac’n’cheese, Gram sets his supplement capsule next to his veggies and fish.
“So, girls, tell me about your vocation today.”
We spend a few minutes in idle chatter, me telling him the monotonous details of irrigation and Jessa more animatedly telling about pruning and then the Juice Deck with Brant. Then she goes in for the kill.
“And Terra’s coming to the summer dance with me and Brant tomorrow night.”
Dad almost shoots a piece of broccoli out his nose.
“Terra at the dance?” Gram says, bewildered.
Jessa nods, positively beaming. I show a sudden interest in my whole-wheat elbow noodles.
“Terra, is that true?” Gram asks.
I nod and put a big piece of fish in my mouth so I won’t have to immediately answer any questions.
“Are you going with anyone?” Gram says. My dad still hasn’t recovered and is coughing into a napkin.
I nod and chew slowly.
“That’s wonderful. Isn’t that wonderful?” she says. Dad’s whole face is red, but he finally clears his throat.
“Yes, quite. Your mother would be pleased. Who are you going with?”
That is the question I’ve been dreading. I have no idea what to tell them about Matt.
“Umm, he’s this kid, Matt, that Jessa and I met on the transport.”
“Matt,” Dad says, turning the name over in his head. He taps his chin. “Matt.” He puts his fork down and leans back in his chair. “Uncommon name down here. What’s his last name?”
I shrug. “Don’t know.”
“Is he your age?”
“Maybe a year or two older.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s tall and skinny with red hair and freckles.”
“Hmm. Red hair is pretty rare too. Think I’d remember that one. Maybe he’s a recent transfer from another colony. I’ll have to look into it.”
I just about die. The last thing I need is my dad getting the file on the random guy I am using as a decoy on the night I am going to hack Mr. Klein’s computer.
“Oh, please, Dad! My first date in I don’t know how long, you don’t need to call security on him.”
Dad smiles, but it isn’t all teasing. “Just looking out for you, Terra.” He stabs another piece of fish and slowly puts it in his mouth.
Every word implies that I am the liability in the family. I am the rebel. I express the most interest in the Burn, I haven’t found a vocation, and now I am going on a date with a mystery boy who doesn’t seem to fit in. If only my dad knew how much of a rebel I am considering becoming. I spend the rest of the meal studying my plate.