The Blemished

by Meredith Bond

  “Mina, your tea is ready,” he called up the stairs.

  “Okay, just a sec,” I replied before hastily splashing water on my face and rubbing some soap into my palms. I quickly changed into jeans and a t-shirt, hoping that we didn’t have any more visitors. It would be a pain to have to run upstairs and change back into a tunic and headscarf.

  “Ah,” Dad said as I come down the stairs. “I do like to see you out of that dreadful uniform.”

  “It’s not so bad.” It wasn’t a lie. I truly had become accustomed to the Blemished uniform. At least it marked us as separate from the GEMs and their tiny, immodest outfits.

  “You should be allowed to wear whatever you like,” Dad said softly. “I only wish you were born before all this happened, or better yet, that it never happened in the first place.”

  We walked through the lounge and into the kitchen together. Dad tended to say this a lot, and I understood why. But couldn’t help thinking that just saying it wasn’t going to change anything. We sat down together, the food already on the table. The aroma of tomato and basil whetted my appetite and I tucked straight in.

  He laughed. “Don’t they feed you at this school?”

  My head was down close to the bowl and I paused, spaghetti sauce on my chin. “Sorry!”

  He waved his hand. “Don’t be sorry. I like to see you like this.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Happy.”

  I put my fork down and thought for a moment. Was I happy? GEM bullies wanted to flush my head down the toilet and I had a secret that I couldn’t tell anyone. But then I had a great dad who cooked for me, a house which could one day be a home, and on my first day at school I made a new friend – a friend who, in time, might be able to accept me for who I am. “Yeah, I guess I could get used to it here.”

  “Well, that’s great,” Dad said, chewing food. He swallowed and continued. “Because there is something I want you to do.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to train to use your gift.”

  5

  “You want me to train?” I stared at my dad incredulously with a forkful of spaghetti frozen in front of my nose. “But you said––”

  “I know what I said.” Dad idly turned his fork in the spaghetti, his eyes down to the plate of food. With his head bent I noticed the lines on his forehead. The clothes he wore, a plain shirt – the Symbol of the Blemished stitched on the pocket – and corduroy trousers, had not changed for over a decade but his hair sprouted more greys every day. Dad didn’t work. My grandparents left Dad enough money for us to be comfortable, a small fortune that Blemished families should not own – another reason to avoid attention. “You’re old enough to master it now. It was harder when you were a child.”

  I nodded. The gift first manifested shortly after my twelfth birthday. Mum had left me and my dad for the Resistance long before. I barely remembered her. He was burdened with a daughter on the cusp of pubescence, which is bad enough, but coupled with a superhuman power, it’s even worse. I couldn’t be around people; I was too much of a liability. But I had to go to school because it was the law. I spent the hours at school trying desperately not to think, not to feel and especially not to get emotional.

  “You’re old enough now and I believe that if you try to use it in private then it won’t be so bad for you in public.” Dad reached across the table and took my hand. “Maybe then you can have a normal life.”

  “But where can I practice?” I put my spaghetti down, suddenly losing my appetite. “You said that…” I trailed off and glanced around us, “…that they… watch us. Through the screens.” My head indicated the direction of the lounge where the dull chitter-chatter of evening programmes could be heard. Dad’s eyes followed.

  Most families spent their time together in front of the screens hooked on reality shows. But we never watched. Despite all the bubbly presenters and beautiful girls with their bright friendly smiles, there was a more sinister side to the TVs – according to my dad anyway. The Ministry controlled everything on the screens and Dad always said that he didn’t trust anything we weren’t in control of. He believed the Ministry used it to track us and could even see us through the screens. I wasn’t so sure but I still heeded the warning.

  “There’s a reason why I bought this house, Mina,” Dad said. He commenced eating again.

  “The yellow door?” I asked with a smirk.

  He glowered at me. “No. The basement. I’m going to have it renovated and turned into a room where you can train.”

  “Oh,” I said. Then I had a thought. “Are you employing someone to do that?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I’ve contacted a lad who is good at woodwork.”

  I exhaled, relieved. That would clear up the mystery of the guest in our kitchen.

  “I’ve contacted a local builder and he’s going to spare this lad for a few days. His name is Daniel. He’s local and lives in the ghettos. Had quite a tragic life by the sounds of it. His father ended up executed by the Ministry and his mother ran off. A local woman and her daughter took him in.” Dad continued.

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “Did you say his name is Daniel?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “What’s the matter? Do you know him?”

  “No,” I said. We finished our food in silence.

  *

  “Mashed potato bunny?” said Angela, pointing to the huge tray of lumpy potato. She’d shaped it into an uneven rabbit. It was the kind of resemblance where you had to squint and poke yourself in the eye to see it.

  “I wouldn’t call it a bunny,” I said with a laugh. “Maybe a sheep, or a cow, but definitely not a bunny.”

  “Huh!” she replied. “I spent ages making that.”

  “You should be proud,” I said with over the top sarcasm.

  Along with the rest of the Blemished girls, we were lined up beside the serving aisle of the canteen waiting for the GEMs to arrive. It was lunchtime the next day and I was finally beginning to fit in. I’d successfully avoided any toilet incidents and the GEMs had left me alone. But as I thought about facing Elena and her friends again, my forehead felt hot underneath my headscarf and I swallowed dryly.

  Angela stood to my right with her mashed potato. Despite spending the morning together we still hadn’t talked about our walk home from school. I’d been nervous, imagining various conversations in my head, but she just started acting like nothing had happened and I followed suit.

  “Oi, Dixon,” Billie said harshly to Angela. “Mush that thing down, they’ll be here soon.”

  “All right, keep your hair on. I was just trying to have a laugh,” said Angela, with a roll of her eyes. “Things are so morbid around here.”

  Billie glanced at her sister, Emily, who nervously stirred a huge pot of gravy. I’d found myself watching Emily all morning. The girl tended to stay silent and frequently disappeared to the toilet. She moved in an odd way, almost like a waddle.

  “What are you looking at?” Billie said to me.

  “Nothing,” I murmured, before turning back to my job – arranging the pork chops under the lights on the serving aisle.

  High-heels tapped on the floor-boards. The GEMs approached. Clicking shoes were followed by perfectly manicured toes peeking from around the canteen wall. Slender calves led to smooth, hairless thighs and a tribe of miniscule skirts of all colours. Oh, they were colourful all right – it made up for their lack of personality. Red hair, blonde curls, yellow jumpers, pink cheeks, gold shoes, all shining like a sequined rainbow, made their way into the narrow food hall. White teeth on show. Laughter, smiles and inane chatter. I fiddled with my headscarf, the sight of their flesh making me feel frumpy and uncomfortable.

  “Right then,” Billie said behind me. “Play nice and serve.”

  I straightened. My muscles tensed. There was something about serving the GEMs at lunch time which made my skin crawl. Everything else I could cope with: the uniform, the classes, and th
e way they looked at us. But to stand and serve them the food I had prepared always seemed the lowest of the low. I thought about the way Dad cooks for me and the intimate feeling you get from sharing food. It should be personal, and with love. Not forced.

  “Ew, mash? Calorific. Gimme an apple,” said the one in front, her voice too soft and drawling, soaked in honey. The tone of her voice did not match the attitude of her words.

  As I handed her the apple I couldn’t stop myself staring, I never could. There was a perfect symmetry to her face and flawlessness to her skin that seemed so unnatural. She had large blue eyes and thick eyelashes. Our hands touched briefly and she recoiled.

  “She’s tipped for London,” Angela whispered into my ear as she walked away. “She’s gorgeous. I think she can make it.”

  “Why do you care?” I responded. “What does it have to do with us?”

  She looked shocked. “Area 14 hasn’t had anyone accepted for years. We’d get extra food. And better TV.”

  “Yeah, of course.” I frowned, wondering if Angela really believed that.

  I kept my promise to Billie, dishing out soggy vegetables and pork chops to the GEMs with a frigid smile on my imperfect face. I stayed polite and subservient just like a good Blemished girl should.

  “Elena’s coming,” Angela said in a hushed tone. “Don’t worry, she won’t do anything here.”

  “Are you sure?” I said. My palms itched and I longed to be anywhere but there, anywhere but about to go face to face with the bullies who almost drowned me.

  Elena approached. Around her huddled the other girls – the girls who had just stood there and watched. Elena fronted them, their ring leader and tallest by several inches. She had dark hair which rippled in luxurious waves to her slender shoulders. She pouted with down-turned, full lips. She glared at me with oval eyes, an icy shade of blue.

  “Rumour is her genes are based on an old film-star,” Angela whispered in my ear.

  “Hey, it’s the new girl. Did you enjoy your shower, Blem?” Elena said to me, her mouth twisting into a cruel smile. The girls behind her laughed. To her right stood a curvaceous blonde, to her left a caramel skinned girl with red hair and behind her a tall and very skinny girl with black hair.

  I swallowed. “What would you like to eat? Pork chops? Mashed potato? The vegetarian option––”

  “Screw the vegetarian option.” Elena leaned forward so that our faces were close – between us the food, lights and mantel. “I don’t know…What would you eat?”

  “Well, maybe the pork-chop.”

  She turned to her friends, acting up to an audience and loving every second. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Maybe the… potato? But, you know, I really can’t decide. Maybe if you tried it first?”

  “Me?” I fiddled with my headscarf, wanting to back away.

  “Yeah, you!”

  “I can’t e-eat the food.” I stuttered.

  “Then smell it,” she replied. “Get right down there and smell the potato.”

  “I-I don’t want to do that.”

  Elena’s face turned rigid. “If you don’t do it I’ll tell Murgatroyd that you hit me.”

  “What?” I said, aghast. “Why would you do that? I’d be arrested.”

  She said nothing, only stared me down. Behind her the girl with caramel skin clapped her hands in delight. Abject humiliation for me turned into great entertainment for them.

  Tears pricked my eyes but I held them back. Heat tingled in my cheeks. Next to me Angela stiffened but like the other Blemished girls – she didn’t speak up. I didn’t blame them. I leaned over, moving my face closer and closer to the potato.

  “This is amazing,” Elena said to her friends, “she’ll do anything I tell her!”

  The familiar sensation prickled at my finger tips and I knew this time I couldn’t hold it back. My mind focussed into one singular thought which ripped through my anger. Just as my nose reached the potato her food tray flipped, slapping her straight in the face.

  6

  Elena rubbed her forehead, glowering at me like an angry panther. Her group huddled closer, checking her face for bruises and cooing. I almost laughed and when Angela turned to me with a knowing smile on her lips. I let out a tiny snort.

  “You did that!” Elena said pointing a shaking finger at me.

  “What you talking ‘bout babe?” said the curvaceous blonde girl. “She was nowhere near it.” The girl flicked her hair back and pouted.

  “I’m sorry about your face,” I said innocently. “Would you like your mashed potato now?” I took a scoop and lifted it up, ready to place on her food tray.

  “You Blemished bitch! I know you did that!” Elena grabbed the scoop from my hand and flung the potato at my face. It slapped me cold and wet on the cheek. “I know you did it but I don’t know how!”

  I scraped off the potato and slopped it onto the counter. The starchy smell turned my stomach. Angela passed me a towel. All I could see were faces staring at me. Gawping. Even the Blemished stared. I’d never wanted the floor to swallow me up so badly before.

  “Hey! You can’t do that to her!” A GEM boy pushed through the queue and my eyes widened when I saw that it was Sebastian.

  I rubbed the towel over my face, hoping that Sebastian wouldn’t notice my blushed cheeks. He was every bit as attractive as I remembered and a part of me resented how my legs wobbled and heartbeat quickened. My gaze trailed from his easy smile to the well-fitting sweater and back to his dark eyes.

  “It’s Elena isn’t it?” he said.

  “What do you want, new-boy?” she replied.

  “I just think you should leave her alone.”

  “Since when did GEMs stick up for Blems?” Elena spat.

  I watched with dread as the serving area filled with spectators. I only needed Mrs Murgatroyd to walk in to make this day even worse.

  “When you bully them for no reason,” Sebastian said. He held his hands out in a pleading and nonchalant way that seemed to actually calm Elena down. There was an ease or naturalness about him, something which made people trust him.

  “Whatever, new-guy,” Elena said, picking up her tray. She scowled at me and moved on, getting Billie to serve her the vegetarian option and a desert.

  “Thank you, Sebastian,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, with a bright smile.

  “I think he likes you,” Angela whispered in my ear.

  I watched him walk away with a shrug. “It’s impossible, I’m Blemished.”

  *

  After school I walked with Angela. She wanted to introduce me to her mum and I needed to ask Dad first. I spotted a GEM with his Plan-It, tapping away on the tiny piece of plastic. They all carried them. A device through which they were all connected. Of course the Blemished weren’t allowed Plan-Its. We had to organise our social life face to face.

  Dad loved Angela as I knew he would. When we left he beamed proudly at me as though he had never expected me to make a friend, and that was what made up my mind for me. Angela had been silent about what happened the day before but I knew that she was waiting for me to explain in my own time. And so I decided to tell her about my gift, and then, when the time was right, I’d tell my dad that she knew and that we could trust her. Then I didn’t need to keep secrets from two people in my life. Secrets made me tired.

  On the way to her house I told her all about our escape from Area 10, how we disappeared on the night bus. I told her about Christina, my one and only friend and how she figured everything out and then treated me like I had a disease. She threatened to tell the authorities and then we had to leave. Each word lifted a tiny weight from my body – but it was a short journey and I only had time for half the story. I missed out the part where Mum left us for the Resistance and how I would never see her again. But just as I was thinking of it we entered Angela’s tiny terraced house and the moment was over.

  “Mina, would you like some mint tea?” Angela’s mu
m asked.

  We sat in Angela’s kitchen, a room small enough to be cosy but large enough for a round table and four chairs. I liked Angela’s house because it exuded the same approachable warmth as her personality. Everything chintzed and clashed; the table cloth was worn and patterned with birds, the chairs and sofa covered in tatty doilies. But it had a charm. I felt welcome and comfortable.

  “That would be nice, Mrs Dixon,” I replied.

  “Oh, please, call me Theresa.” She smiled warmly and busied herself in the kitchen.

  “Angela?” Theresa asked as she mashed up mint leaves.

  “Yes, Mum, I’ll have one.”

  I watched Theresa grind the mint leaves with a pestle and mortar. “Do you grow the mint?”

  She turned and smiled. “Yes, we do. We have a small patch in the garden. Have you just moved into your house, Mina? You must need seeds and cuttings.” She turned back to her work, the pestle moving rhythmically in her fingers. “It’s March in a few weeks and you can start planting things out. We have lettuce, mint and rosemary seeds.”

  “That’s very kind, thank you.” It was a generous offer. The Ministry restricted sales of anything the Blemished could grow – they liked to control our food.

  “You know, you seem like just a lovely girl, Mina. I’m glad Angela has finally found a friend,” she said with a wide goofy grin like her daughter’s.

  “Mum!” Angela said aghast. “Don’t embarrass me!”

  Theresa laughed. “Oh, darling. Don’t be silly.”

  I was taken aback by Theresa’s kind words. It had been a long time since I’d heard praise like that. My cheeks warmed at the surprise.

  “How are you settling into the school?” she asked as she pulled another handful of mint from the kitchen plant and tossed it into the small marble bowl. She poured a little water into the bowl and continued to grind.