Slated

by Teri Terry

  I stop by the log at the top. ‘This is the lookout,’ I say, and grin. ‘You can see the whole village.’

  Ben stops. ‘You’ll have to help me out. Which way is it?’

  I turn him in the right direction and he peers down the hill. A few of the taller trees almost poke out of the low mist, ghostlike and indistinct. The fields and houses below are invisible.

  ‘Ah, yes. Impressive view.’

  I hit him on the arm. ‘Well, usually it is all right. You can even see our back garden.’

  ‘What now?’ he says, and he smiles a slow smile that says he has a few ideas, ones that make my stomach flip.

  ‘Uh, we wait. For Amy and Jazz to catch up. Or maybe we should go back down? They might want to call it quits in this weather.’

  ‘Let’s wait a little,’ he says, and smiles again. Steps closer.

  I’m not sitting on a fence this time, and Ben is so much taller. He leans down but instead of looking up I bury my face in his chest. His arms close around me and banish the cold.

  ‘This is why Mum and Dad don’t want me to be alone with you any more,’ I say, and sigh.

  ‘No. Really?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘But they’re not watching, now.’

  ‘I thought we agreed to do what we’re told and be good. Until we are twenty-one.’

  ‘Five whole years without a kiss? I don’t think so.’

  Ben the rebel. At least as far as kisses go.

  I relent. ‘All right. Just one.’

  With the mist all around, the world is muted, has receded, disappeared. What you cannot see is more dangerous.

  But as I tilt my face up, and Ben smiles, and leans down, there is a small noise. A snap.

  ‘Well, well, what have we here.’

  We spin around. And standing there is Wayne Best.

  ‘Kyla, isn’t it?’ he says, and grins.

  I take a step back. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘Well now, you went and visited my brother. Met his dog Brute up close and personal, I hear.’ He laughs. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’

  ‘I’m Ben,’ Ben says, and smiles. Unaware of the undercurrents.

  ‘Hi there, Ben,’ he says, and holds out his hand. No, Ben! But it is too late. Ben holds his out and Wayne sees his Levo. Drops his hand back without a handshake.

  ‘Another Slated! You lot must grow on trees.’ He spits on the ground. ‘And here I was about to warn you off hanging around with a Slater Slut like that.’

  ‘Now just a minute,’ Ben says, finally getting that Wayne isn’t Mr Nice.

  ‘Shut up!’ Wayne snarls and shoves Ben backwards on to the log. ‘Sit there and be quiet. I want to…chat with Kyla.’

  And Ben starts to stand again, his face alternating between confusion and anger. I shake my head slightly. ‘Stay there. It’s all right.’

  ‘What about?’ I say to Wayne.

  ‘Well, I think my brother chased you off too quick. Why’d you want to talk to Phoebe’s mum?’

  So they don’t know I spoke to her. They don’t know Phoebe has been Slated.

  I stare back at him, mind blank yet convinced I shouldn’t tell him. If Phoebe’s mum thought they shouldn’t know, I’m sure she had good reason, and I’ll not say. Ben keep quiet, I plead silently.

  ‘I got ways to make you talk. You might enjoy them. Then again, you might not.’ He steps closer.

  Ben stands, pushes between us. His Levo vibrates, loud. ‘Back off,’ he says. But his face is white, contorted with pain. No, Ben!

  Wayne laughs. ‘What are you going to do about it, Slater? Might as well just sit there and watch.’ He pushes Ben who tries to take a swing at him, but his Levo vibrates louder and he shudders, slumps to the ground.

  ‘Leave him alone!’ I scream and kick at Wayne, hard, but he moves, and I miss my target and just get him in the leg.

  ‘Ow! Bitch. You’re going to be more fun than I thought.’ And he moves forwards but I can’t run, I can’t leave Ben, and I’m scared but more I’m angry. Something inside is shaking and kicking, screaming to get out.

  But then Wayne looks over my shoulder, backs away and runs.

  ‘Kyla? Kyla!’

  Jazz bursts up the path, Amy on his heels.

  ‘We thought we heard you scream. What’s wrong?’ he says.

  Don’t tell them.

  ‘It’s Ben,’ I say, already on the ground next to him. ‘His levels. Ben, Ben, are you all right?’ His Levo vibrates again.

  ‘What is he?’ Amy says, breathing hard from running.

  I hold his hand, look at his wrist. ‘3.2,’ I answer, terror twisting in my stomach.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she says.

  Ben groans. ‘In my back-pack. Hurry. Pills,’ he mutters.

  Pills? I fumble in his pack through a water bottle and spare socks, and my hand finds a small bottle, pulls it out. But the label says headache tablets?

  I look at Amy; she shrugs. ‘Can’t hurt,’ she says.

  ‘Now. Give me one now,’ he gasps.

  I do and he swallows it dry, not waiting for the water. I wrap my arms around him, pleading inside for him to be all right; Amy sits on the ground with us, alternately stroking my hand, and Ben’s, and Jazz is on standby to run for paramedics. But Ben soon stops shuddering, the colour starts to come back to his cheeks bit by bit. His levels start to rise.

  He whispers to me the pills were from Aiden.

  Aiden’s Happy Pills.

  It is a while before Ben can walk. He nearly blacked out. My fault. Somehow I convince Jazz and Amy to go ahead, just a little, so we can talk. But I make sure to keep them in sight.

  Ben’s arm is over my shoulders, leaning a little, walking slowly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I wanted to protect you. I was useless.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’ There is an uneasy pull in my stomach; I knew he’d get there eventually. ‘How come your levels were all right?’

  I shrug. ‘Honestly? I don’t know. They shouldn’t have been. Don’t tell anybody, whatever you do. Or I’ll be gone.’

  Ben pauses, digests this and finally nods.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Amy and Jazz what happened? We have to tell someone about that man. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘No. We can’t. It would lead back to Phoebe, that I told her mum that she has been Slated.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘These are not the actions of a good little Slated. I’m being monitored and watched, remember? If they start chipping away at what happened, they might find out something about me that they don’t like.’

  ‘All right,’ Ben says at last. ‘But promise me you will never walk up here on your own. Ever. Promise?’

  And I do.

  Jazz drives Ben home, just a few miles away from us. His house is detached, brick, with a big garden. Bicycles lean against the side, and there is a dog in the front. But she is nothing like Brute. Skye is a beautiful, bouncy golden retriever who leaps about Ben and the rest of us, tail wagging. Ben’s parents gave her to him as a puppy when he first came to live with them.

  Ben’s mum comes out of the garage in overalls. Younger and prettier than I expected: thirty or so, maybe, long dark hair tied back.

  When Ben introduces us her eyes light with recognition. ‘This is Kyla? Oh pleased to meet you.’ She takes Jazz, Amy and me into her garage workshop, full of shiny machinery, scrap metal, sculptures. She is finishing one of an owl: loops of twisted metal for talons, nuts for eyes, salvaged interlocking fan blades for feathers. Metal scraps discarded as worthless have become a wild creature, that looks as if it could take off in flight. ‘Like my drawing,’ I say, and that is when I see it: my owl drawing that Ben asked if he could have, pinned to the wall. She was copying it.

  We leave Ben there and I watch out the car window as he waves, then disappears back inside the garage.

  Ben’s li
fe used to be happy, uncomplicated. The easy affection between him, his mum, even that overgrown puppy, is so in evidence. No MIA, no Happy Pills, no deranged footpath attackers.

  No me.

  That night Amy comes to my room for a chat. I knew she would.

  ‘Look, Kyla. I’ve been thinking. Maybe Mum and Dad are right.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About you, and Ben. I’m guessing you had some sort of argument or something, and that is why he nearly blacked out. Whatever it was, if he can’t handle it – if you can’t – then maybe it is too soon. I don’t think you should see him any more. At least, not for a while.’

  ‘It’s not that!’ I protest.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  I don’t want to lie to her, so what can I say? ‘It’s not that,’ I repeat.

  ‘Well. We’re not going to help you see Ben any more. So whatever you do or don’t do, that is up to you. Goodnight,’ she says, and goes back to her room.

  Sebastian jumps up. ‘Looks like it’s just you and me, cat,’ I say, and he flops down and purrs, evidently happy with his lot.

  No more kisses until you’re twenty-one.

  Huh.

  Though I can’t deny Amy’s conclusion, even if her reasoning is faulty. Ben would be better off without me.

  Ben will be better off without me. No matter how much it hurts inside, I’m getting out of his life before I do any more damage.

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  * * *

  Next morning I get to biology before Ben, and consider changing seats, to sit with someone else. But Hatten is still there as our substitute teacher: I don’t want to get any closer to him. So the usual back row with Ben it is.

  ‘I need to talk to you at lunch,’ Ben whispers when he arrives.

  ‘Can’t.’

  His eyebrows rise. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Busy.’

  ‘You want to hear this. And there is something I need to tell you, about Miss Fern. Meet you by the library, all right?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Quiet everyone,’ Hatten says. ‘Hope you all had as good a weekend as I did.’ He grins in a way that suggests he spent it up to no good, and a few of the girls giggle. He leans against the front bench. Tight black trousers, a dark shirt, unbuttoned more than most teachers. It drapes on his body. Is it silk?

  Ben needles me in the ribs. ‘Quit staring at him,’ he says. I jump, then look around the room, instead. Every girl in the class – a few of the guys, as well – seem transfixed by our replacement teacher. Me, I’m just nervous.

  ‘Today, class, we will carry on with our study of the brain,’ he says, and I’m even more nervous.

  But he goes through our worksheets from last time: corrects errors. Puts up endless slides of brain scans and drawings, and the class passes, minute by minute. Nothing happens at all until he winks at me as we leave.

  But this time a few of the girls see him do it. The jealous look they give me suggests I’ll pay for that, later.

  Curiosity won’t let me stay away. Ben waits, outside the library.

  ‘Well, what is it?’

  Ben looks at me, something crosses his face. ‘Not here. Come on, let’s go for a walk.’

  I follow him across the school grounds. We look both ways and duck out the gate to Cuttle Brook Woods. Where Phoebe drew her robin: it seems a long time ago, but it isn’t, really. Not quite three weeks. We walk in silence along the main path, then branch off into denser woods on a faint trail. Still Ben does not speak. Whatever he wants to say has deserted him. His face is dark and unreadable.

  ‘What about Miss Fern?’ I prompt him, finally.

  He sighs. ‘All right; her first. I told you my dad is a primary school teacher? Another teacher he works with went to college with Ferny – that’s what they called her – and they went to visit her in hospital yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She will be. Multiple fractures: she’s trussed up in some traction thing.’

  ‘Was it a car accident like they said?’

  ‘It happened in a car. But it was no accident. She says someone forced her off the motorway.’

  I gasp. ‘Was it Lorders?’ I whisper.

  He shakes his head. ‘No. They’re investigating it.’

  ‘But if it’s not them, who else would do something like that?’

  Ben shrugs. ‘I’ve no idea. I just thought you’d like to know.’

  ‘Is that it? Because I need to get back, and—’

  ‘Kyla, listen. I promised you I wouldn’t do anything without talking to you first, so here I am. Talking to you.’

  ‘What about?’ I say, uneasy. Something is wrong.

  ‘This,’ he says. He pulls up his sleeve, exposing his Levo. A bright circlet of metal, digital numbers in the green at 7.8. Why so high? He doesn’t look that happy. He reaches with his other hand and savagely twists his Levo. His face contorts with pain.

  ‘Stop it! What are you doing?’

  ‘Look,’ he says and holds his Levo in front of me, but it is still in the green. 7.6. Twisting it like that should have made his levels plummet.

  ‘I don’t understand. How did you do that?’

  ‘I’ve taken another one of Aiden’s pills, and no matter what I do, my levels won’t drop. I’ve tried all sorts of things: they stay up.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Don’t you see? The link between Levo and brain is blocked by the pills. It can be removed without blacking out, without any effects.’ Ben’s face is shining, his eyes bright and over-excited. Like someone with a fever. Or on drugs.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ I say, but my mind is scrambling with the possibility. Is he right? The Levo reads emotions, by communicating with a chip surgically implanted in the brain. Too low and this activates a cascade that briefly interrupts blood flow to the brain, giving a blackout; lower still, the interruption is permanent, causing seizures, and death. Yet, if levels are unaffected?

  ‘Yes! It all adds together: what Aiden said, about the AGT removing Levos. The pills block the link between brain and Levo. They must.’ He catches my hands in his, his eyes search mine. ‘Think about it, Kyla: what it would be like to just be ourselves. Feeling what we want.’

  He gathers me in, holds me. His closeness makes my heart beat faster, my skin tingle, my body want things it doesn’t even know. All the things I’m told to avoid because of my Levo. What would it be like without it? We could be whoever we want to be; stay together. No one could say we were destabilising our levels. We could be as happy or as sad as we like.

  But this is a fairy tale. There would be no place for us, here, in this world.

  I pull away. ‘What are you planning, Ben,’ I whisper.

  ‘I’m going to take a few of these pills, then cut off my Levo and destroy it.’

  Fear twists inside. No Ben, no. ‘What? Are you insane?’

  ‘No. I have been insane; buying into what I was told. Now I’m saner than I’ve ever been. Aiden was right, though he didn’t go far enough. This is wrong, what they’ve done to us. Look at what happened yesterday. If Jazz and Amy hadn’t been there, then…’

  And he doesn’t finish the sentence. My mind shies away, also. Last night I escorted that particular memory to a little door in my brain, kicked it in and locked it up, tight. I don’t want to think about it in case it finds a way out.

  ‘No Ben, you mustn’t!’

  ‘Aiden said the AGT have done it: it has worked.’

  ‘But he also said they had a lot of failures. You don’t know how they did it. And the pain, Ben: you still felt it when you twisted your Levo. I saw it on your face. Not all the links are cut.’

  He shrugs. ‘I’ll get through it.’

  ‘If you get it wrong, you could die.’

  ‘What is the point in being alive like this?’

  ‘You don’t mean that. And you can’t just cut a Levo off with a pair of scissors: they are almost impossible to damage.’ />
  ‘Mum’s workshop has stuff that can cut through anything metal. I help her all the time, I know how to use it.’

  My mind casts about, desperate for an argument he will hear. ‘Wait. What about after? If you can get it off, what then? You can’t stay with your family, or at school. Everyone would look at your wrist and know what you’ve done. The Lorders would come for you.’

  ‘I have a plan,’ he says, but when I question him, he says nothing.

  He said Aiden’s way wasn’t far enough. He wants to join the terrorists.

  ‘You’re not thinking…no. You wouldn’t. Not the AGT.’

  And there, in his beautiful eyes, is admission, confirmation. He wants to be a terrorist. My throat clenches. He doesn’t know the things they do, he couldn’t and still be thinking of this.

  ‘It’s the only way to make the government listen, to change things. Don’t you see?’

  I shake my head, back away. Is this Ben, or is it the pills? Have they made him think like this?

  ‘Look at you,’ he says. ‘After yesterday, you didn’t even want to look at me. You didn’t want to talk to me, nothing. I was six feet of useless.’

  ‘That wasn’t your fault, and it’s not that!’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘You’re just proving it all over again.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’d be better off if you never met me.’

  ‘How can you say that? Kyla, don’t you know how I feel about you?’

  But I don’t want to hear. If how he feels makes him kill himself, what good is it? Nothing.

  ‘No. No! You mustn’t do this. Promise me you won’t.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I have to think for myself; you can’t do it for me. As much as you might like to.’

  And I stare back at Ben in shock. Smiling, uncomplicated Ben, who I thought needed my protection. He’s not smiling now, and he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to know what I think, or the impact his actions might have on me. Nothing.

  What else is there to say?