by C. J. Harper
‘Who’s this?’ I say.
Ilex looks down at her and his face softens.
‘This is my sister, Ali,’ he says.
‘Hello, Ali,’ I say.
She stares up at me.
‘Ali is no talking,’ Ilex says.
‘Do you mean she’s shy in company or that she’s a mute?’
Ilex shoulders tense and he repeats firmly, ‘Ali is no talking.’
‘Okay, okay. I was just asking why not?’ I’m thinking that maybe those stories about the inbreeding between factory workers producing sub-normal children are true. But I notice Ali’s bright eyes flicking between me and Ilex. She’s paying attention.
Ilex struggles for words. ‘I don’t think she likes it here.’
I almost laugh. Does anyone like it here? ‘Do the little kids have to fight too?’
‘All Specials fight,’ Ilex says.
I look at Ali. I can tell by her face she doesn’t enjoy fighting either. She’s got pathetically thin arms and her eyes are massive in her pale face. I don’t think she’s getting enough to eat.
‘I’m not doing any more. I don’t care about their ranking,’ I say.
‘You should think about ranking. If you’re a good-ranker then it’s more good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Some more foods. And the Reds don’t hit you. You can be a Hon Red and go to their meetings.’ He leans in close to me. ‘They have food there too.’
‘Delightful as that sounds, it seems unlikely that I’m ever going to be a high-ranker – so what’s the point in me fighting?’
‘They hit you if you don’t.’
‘I’m going to get hit if I do.’
Ilex spreads his palms. ‘I fight to not be bottom-ranker. It’s not good to be bottom-ranker. No Special likes you. And they make you do things.’
‘What things?’
‘Things that make trouble with the enforcers. And one time or two time I’m thinking that Specials the Reds don’t like were sent out to the Wilderness.’
There are lots of stories about who gets sent to the Wilderness. Crazies and criminals and even terrorists who are plotting to overthrow the Leadership. There’s probably some truth in those rumours, but I refuse to believe that a bunch of school kids have got the power to have other kids sent into the Wilderness. I’m too tired to even think about it at the moment.
I look around the room. The girl called Dom is on her feet, shouting to the fighters. She’s one of those girls you can’t help looking at.
Ilex follows my gaze. ‘All the boys think she’s crimson.’
She’s got very long legs. Her hair is shiny and her breasts push up against her shirt, but there’s something strange about her torso.
‘I don’t know, she’s a bit of a funny shape. Her belly . . .’
‘She’s got a baby belly.’
‘A what?’ I look again at her rounded abdomen. ‘You don’t mean? She’s not . . . she’s not having a baby, is she?’
Ilex nods and turns back to the fighting. How can he be so casual about something like that? I stare at Dom. I’ve never seen a pregnant teenager before. I thought babies were always born to married parents. I don’t even know anyone who’s had sex. At the Learning Community having sex would have been completely impossible. Firstly, you’d never have found a girl willing to sacrifice everything to do it with you and secondly, as soon as you were found out, that would be your whole life ruined.
Ilex doesn’t even seem to realise how serious this is. Or maybe it’s not so serious here. They do say that Academy kids are wild and reckless. Or perhaps this is another Red thing? One thing is for sure, when the enforcers find out, Dom will be in big trouble.
I’m jolted by a blast on the whistle. The fighters are finished and Rex is holding up the arm of the tall girl with ginger hair and freckles.
‘The winner is our Red, Shannon!’ Rex says.
I look at Rex and the Red girl and then at Dom and I remember what Ilex said about being born a Red. My mouth drops open.
‘Ilex,’ I say, ‘what did you mean when you said you’re born a Red?’
‘When you are a baby they know it. Reds have—’
‘Red hair,’ I finish.
This is crazy. The Academy hierarchy is based on hair colour. It doesn’t matter how smart I am, I won’t ever be successful here because I’m not ginger.
‘That’s stupid,’ I say to Ilex. ‘Being red-headed doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good fighter.’
‘Shh,’ Ilex says and looks around to see if anyone is listening. ‘Reds say that they’re different. That they are made different, more gooder.’
‘You don’t think that, do you?’
‘The thing isn’t what I think. The thing is what the Reds think. They’re in charge.’
‘Let me tell you, when you leave the Academy and go out into the real world it won’t be like that.’
‘We don’t go real worl’. We go to the factory.’
‘Yes, of course, most of you—’
‘No. All Specials go to the factory. All Specials same working.’
Of course I knew that Academies provide factory workers, but I think I imagined that Academy Specials would be matched with a job in the same way that Learning Community students are. Ilex seems to disagree.
‘You know that the Reds won’t be in charge at the factory, don’t you?’ I ask.
Ilex looks me up and down as if he suspects I am winding him up. ‘Where do you go when you are seventeen at your brainer place?’
‘We don’t leave school at seventeen like Specials. We leave when we’re twenty-one. Then we get jobs in the Leadership.’
‘Is it no Reds in charge there?’
‘No.’
He shakes his head like he doesn’t quite believe me.
I lean back in my seat. Suddenly the hall falls silent. Everyone’s attention is focused on a dark-haired boy who has just walked in. I stare too. His face is purple and swollen. He looks even worse than I do. His eyes are slits in the swelling and his nose is puffed up like a balloon. Out of the silence comes a faint tapping sound. I swivel round, trying to locate its source. It gets louder. A chinking. Metal on metal. Then it’s all over the hall. I look at my neighbours and see that they’re tapping together little bits of metal. Everyone is doing it. Even Ilex and Ali.
The Red who has just won her fight walks over to the purple-faced boy and lifts his arm. The hall erupts in cheers. Then the boy is led to a seat and the next fight is introduced.
‘What was that?’ I say.
‘What?’ says Ilex, as if nothing unusual has just occurred.
‘Who is that boy? Why did you make that noise?’
‘He is Lanc. We do the . . .’ He taps a metal washer against a nut that has been driven through his belt and fastened with a bolt. ‘We do the thing to say we think he is not scared.’
‘Not scared of what? Falling on his face?’
‘Enforcer Tong hit his little brother.’
‘From what I’ve seen of Enforcer Tong, I can well believe it.’
‘Lanc hit her back,’ he adds.
I suck in my breath. I’ve been here long enough to know that hitting an enforcer would mean big trouble. ‘Did Tong do that to his face?’
Ilex shakes his head. ‘The impeccables. Maybe Rice too.’
I think about being locked in a room with Rice and a brute squad.
‘You mean he’s brave,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘When you did your tappy tappy, it’s because he’s brave. When someone is not scared to do something like that, it’s called brave.’
‘I’d like some brave,’ he says.
I look down at Lanc in the front row. I gently touch my own sore eye. I wonder if getting your face kicked in hurts less when you’re brave.
‘I need to sleep,’ I say. Ilex nods.
I raise my hand to Ali. ‘Bye, Ali,’ I say and, to my surprise, she raises her hand in reply.
/>
Back in the dormitory I curl up under my stinky blanket. I’ve been here a whole day, but I’m no closer to knowing how I’m going to get out of here. I need to think. It doesn’t hurt to understand the Academy, I tell myself. It’s important to know your enemy. I have to survive here while I work out what to do. I’ve got to get out, but I can’t go back to the Willows. I’ll have to go to my mother. I’ll be careful. I’ll find the right moment and then I’ll break out and I’ll head to Mother’s flat.
Suddenly, P.C. Barnes’ words come back to me. If it’s true someone is out to get me, will I be safe if I leave the Academy? Will they track me down?
I shiver. How the hell did I end up making escape plans like some sort of criminal?
My thoughts are disturbed by the blonde girl jumping on her own bed and saying, ‘You’re not a good fighter.’
‘And you’re not terribly bright,’ I reply. I’ve had enough of today.
She blinks.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I thought we were taking it in turns to state the blatantly obvious.’
Her expression doesn’t change. She’s got no idea what I’ve just said.
‘You big-need to learn to fight,’ she says.
‘And you’re offering to teach me?’ I roll my eyes. She’s built like a bird and around five-foot nothing. Her pale hair makes her look young, although I suppose she must be the same age as me since we’re in the same class. Her arms are delicate and I can see that her legs are thin even through her trousers. I look at her little boots and realise that they seem oddly familiar. Last time I saw one of those boots, it was sending Deon sprawling. King Hell, how embarrassing; some scrap of an Academy girl is trying to look after me.
‘I saw what you did in the fight,’ I say.
She shrugs. ‘I can think-back my first fight.’
I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn’t. ‘Well, it’s nice that I’m bringing back tender memories for you, but I really don’t need your help,’ I say.
‘What’s “help”?’ she says.
‘What?’
‘What’s “help”?’
I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed that I had to have help from a girl in a fight and I’m annoyed that no one here understands basic English. ‘Oh, my life,’ I say. ‘King Hell on a sunny day. You’ve got a really, really basic vocabulary haven’t you?’
I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but she obviously picks up on the tone because she sticks her chin out and stands up to leave.
‘It’s doing something for someone,’ I say. I sound like Facilitator Johnson when he thought we were being dim. ‘Help is . . . aid?’
She shakes her head.
‘Assistance?’
And again.
‘Oh for efwurd’s sake, you won that fight for me! You did a thing for me. You were being nice.’
She tilts her head. ‘I didn’t do a thing for you. I don’t like Deon. I didn’t want him to win,’ she says.
‘Listen, in future, just remember, I don’t need your help.’
‘You do need help,’ she forms the final word carefully. ‘But I won’t help you.’ She walks away and calls back over her shoulder, ‘And I’m not nice.’
I try to stay awake, but I’m worn out and my whole body is aching from both my recent beatings. The last thing I remember is listening to the dormitory door slamming shut and wondering if they were locking us in for the night.
I end up sleeping through until a buzzer wakes me. All around me Specials clamber out of bed. I peer out from under the blanket to see how they manage getting dressed. Most of them seem to disappear to the bathroom and re-emerge fully clothed, but some of the boys don’t seem to care. I could really do without starting the day with a view of some boy’s hairy backside.
The blonde girl leans over my bed. ‘Get up time,’ she says.
‘What if I don’t want to get up?’ I say. ‘What if I just stay here? What can they do?’
‘Okay. You stay and find out the thing they do.’
I suppose I’m not getting any closer to getting out of this place by just lying here. So I get up. I feel grubby from rolling around on the floor yesterday and sleeping in my clothes. I need a hot shower.
The showers are strangely empty, which probably explains why the Specials have their own interesting smell. I open up one of the cubicles. The shower head is crusty with rust. The drainage hole is clogged with hair and there are splatters of black mould up the tiles. I try the next one, it’s no better. I turn on the squeaky tap and I’m blasted with icy-cold water. I shrink back against the door, hoping it will warm up, but it doesn’t. I have a quick splash and then give up. I’m in such a hurry to get my clothes on before anyone else comes in that I end up with my trousers sticking to my damp legs.
I follow the stream of Specials down to the dining room. Breakfast is the same horrible nozzle-sucking business. I don’t eat from the one with the sedative, or whatever it is, in it. The best part of the meal is a piece of bread which has been left in each pod on the drainage tray. After I’ve eaten I realise I probably should have saved the bread. If I’m going to break out of here I’ll need supplies. Food, water and something to carry them in. I’ve got to take my time and get properly organised.
The day goes by in a blur, and the next few days pass in much the same way. I can’t see how I’ll ever be able to escape. During the day the enforcers keep us locked in the grid and the rest of the time there are patrols of impeccables watching our every move. I spend a lot of time observing. I keep quiet and try to blend in.
In the grid we mostly study electronics, I’m surprised by how advanced some of their work is, but it all has a practical basis, so I suppose they’re preparing the students for work in an electronics factory. To my horror the other main lesson is Physical Education. Most afternoons we’re taken to the drum-shaped room and are expected to run and jump and generally throw ourselves about. Enforcer Tong keeps telling us how we need strong, healthy bodies to make our contribution to society, but I’ve never felt more weak and exhausted in my life.
Secretly, I keep expecting someone to appear and take me away from this place, but it doesn’t happen. No one wants to listen to me when I tell them I don’t belong here. Ilex is the only person who talks to me, but he spends a lot of time with Ali in the kids’ dormitory.
Mostly, I sit around thinking about food and watching the blonde girl. I notice at mealtimes that she doesn’t drink from the first nozzle either. I wonder if she’s getting food from somewhere else. Last night I woke up when she got up to go to the bathroom and she didn’t come back for a really long time. She’s definitely up to something. So tonight I’m keeping myself awake.
Just when my stomach cramps are fading and I’m starting to get warm and sleepy I hear the squeak of a bare foot on the tiled floor. I open my eyes. The girl is creeping down the dormitory. She swerves into the bathroom. I wait a moment and then I follow. The freezing bathroom is deserted and silent except for the echo of a dripping tap. The stalls are all empty. The girl has gone. In the corner there’s a tiny strip of light around the edge of a door that must lead on to the corridor. I try the handle. It’s locked. I can just about make out a keypad next to it. The girl must know the code. I remember the impeccable typing CLASSROOM into the grid door-pad, on the day I arrived. Maybe all the codes are ridiculously simple. I tap in CORRIDOR. But nothing happens. I try LANDING. There’s a high-pitched beep and the door clicks open. Incredible. I can’t believe Specials aren’t pouring in and out all night long. I slip out of the door, squinting at the brightness, even though the lights are on a night setting. There’s no sign of the girl. I decide that I may as well take advantage of my freedom and head for the kitchen.
I sneak down the stairs and round to the dining hall. I tiptoe between the shadowy rows of feeding pods. I keep expecting someone to emerge from one. I find the door that I’ve seen kitchen workers use and lift my hand to the punch-pad, but the door is we
dged open with a chunk of wood. Someone else is already in the kitchen. I put my eye to the crack. It’s too dark to see. Slowly, I open the door till there’s enough room to creep in.
Inside, it’s vast. Everything in the Academy is on such a big scale. Sometimes I feel like a marble rolling around in a box. There are no windows. The only light comes from a lamp on top of the largest fridge I have ever seen. Knelt in front of it is the girl. The room is a mass of shadows; darkness pours out of the corners. I creep towards her. Down the centre of the room is an extremely long, seamless metal block which must serve as a preparation table. Opposite me, against the wall, are the same troughlike metal sinks we have in the dormitory bathroom. The fridge is at the far end of the room. I tread lightly up the length of the kitchen. The girl’s hair looks white in this light.
As I get closer I can hear a wet chewing. I wince. She’s cramming food into her mouth. My stomach contracts painfully. It’s been a long time since I had a decent meal. I stop a few metres behind her, feeling awkward; should I clear my throat? Say good evening?
Suddenly she springs up, turns around and raises her fists, all in one move.
I take a step backwards and half raise my own fists.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘It’s you.’ And she turns back to the fridge.
My arms droop like wilting flowers.
‘Did the impeccables see you?’ she asks.
‘What impeccables?’
‘There’s an impeccable patrol. Lots of nights.’
‘Oh. No, I didn’t see any impeccables.’
‘It’s bad you’re here,’ she says through a mouthful.
I draw in my breath to say something, but let it go again. There’s no point getting cross. ‘Why?’ I ask.
‘Specials can’t go in the kitchen,’ she says.
‘Well, we can because here we are. I suppose you mean we’re not allowed. What will happen if we get caught?’
‘We get cor?’ she repeats. ‘If they see us we’ll be put in the LER room.’
I don’t know what that means, but the way that she freezes with a slice of ham halfway to her mouth and looks off into the shadows suggests to me that I really don’t want to find out.