by Sue Wallman
“Hi, Mae,” says Noah. He offers me some popcorn and whispers, “This stuff is utterly tasteless, isn’t it?”
I nod but take a handful, and settle into a comfortable position.
After offering some to Thet, who declines, he turns to watch the film. He laughs in all the wrong places.
At the end of the movie, while the credits are rolling, I say, “What did you think?”
“Predictable plot. Terrible dialogue. But at least it was distracting. That scene on the train, though. The doors would be locked in-between stations, or is it different here?”
“Er…” Stupidly I hesitate, instead of agreeing with him.
Noah says the words I’m dreading. “Wait. Seriously? Have you never been on a train?”
Piper’s talking to the person on her other side, so I shake my head and spit it out in one go. “I haven’t been on a train. Or a bus or a boat.” I’ve been on a plane, once, from England, and I’ve travelled in cars. That’s it. I know this is odd for patients and grad students to hear. They’ve always done lots of travelling, so I don’t usually tell them stuff like this.
“Have you ever seen the sea?” asks Noah. He says it gently, not in a mocking way.
“You mean the ocean?” I shake my head. I don’t tell him I’ve never seen a lake either, unless I saw one in England that I can’t remember. Embarrassment flickers underneath my cheeks. “But it doesn’t matter. When I’m older, I can do all those things.”
Something stings my cheek, then lands in my lap. Popcorn. “Excuse me,” I say. I step past Thet and make my way to Drew’s row, picking up stray pieces of popcorn on the way, and after I’ve reached him, I pull the neck of his T-shirt and stuff it all down his top.
Drew squeals and squirms, knocking Will’s sweater off his lap, and I catch Will’s eye and he knows I’ve seen what was underneath: him and Austin holding hands.
“Mae Ballard,” calls the orderly. “Sit in your seat until the credits have finished.”
TWELVE
“Drew – d’you ever have a prickly feeling in your neck, like pins and needles?” We’re walking across to the schoolhouse on Monday morning.
“Occasionally,” he replies. “Dr J told me it’s a growing thing.” He catches my puzzled face. “You know, your body growing a bit too fast. He says it happens a lot with teenagers.”
“But Mom has it too sometimes,” I say. “Even now she’s officially better.”
He considers this a moment before saying, “Maybe we’re being poisoned?”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious. I’ve heard Dad talk about pesticide problems with Mom because he’s instructed the gardeners to use organic products so we get some sort of certificate. But outside the perimeter fence are acres of crops that stretch so far the only thing beyond them is sky, and they’re regularly sprayed with something.
Drew places his hand on top of my head, moving it back and forth really fast so that it messes up my hair, and runs ahead. “Another thing for my list of reasons to get the hell out of here!” he shouts.
I’d catch him up and do the same to him if I wasn’t carrying a tote bag over my shoulder, weighed down with books from Ms Ray’s car.
In lessons Ms Ray talks about the new pictures she’s put up on the wall. It turns out she’s been to all the places they show, but she isn’t boasting, she’s explaining little details that surprised her. I recognize the wavy feeling inside my stomach as excitement. One day I’m going to be someone who’s seen breathtaking sights and trodden in dusty orange earth.
As we walk to the restaurant for lunch, Drew hangs back and says, “D’you want to meet up later and see if the lighter has anything left in it?”
I check my schedule on my watch and we agree a time after my three-monthly sight test, followed by swim technique clinic.
“Golf course?”
“Meet you by the buggies.”
Will and Austin are sitting next to each other at lunch, engaged in deep conversation. Relationships between patients are forbidden. If caught, they’ll find themselves separated for every activity, or even asked to leave. Will’s been here for a long time and never been in trouble despite being so involved in the black market; as far as I know, admin has never discovered its existence. Punishments can be as severe for patients as they are for staff kids, but Will says it depends who your parents are, and how long they’re prepared to keep paying for you to be here. I don’t think this can be true. It’s just he hasn’t been caught.
Noah’s sitting next to Thet on a different table. I wish I was with them, listening to their conversation instead of eating alongside Drew, Ben, Luke and Zach, the four of them bickering about which new PlayStation game in the games room is better.
I stare out of the window – at the brightness. It hasn’t rained for a couple of weeks, but the lawns are still a vivid green because of the overnight sprinklers. I have to make the most of summer. It won’t be so easy for Drew and me to smoke in winter. There’ll be more rain, not just occasional showers. Cold winds. Storms. And by then Thet will be gone. I’m going to miss her.
I think back to Drew’s comment about how we might be being poisoned and the weirdness in my stomach intensifies. We all take vitamins. What if the vitamins are poisoning us? What if they are interacting badly with Mom’s other medication?
This thought whirls through my mind as I ace the sight test and swim fifty lengths of the indoor pool, working on my backstroke.
I walk out of the little gate in the pool area and collide with Noah.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” he says. His nose and the skin under his eyes are slightly sunburnt. He’s dressed for tennis and is carrying a Creek-logoed tennis racquet. It might just be me misremembering, but he looks as if he’s muscled up a bit in the last ten days or so. “Did I tread on your foot?”
“Yes, but I’m OK. It was probably my fault too. I was thinking about something.”
“I was heading for … um, a place,” says Noah. “A nice little hideaway that’s not covered by the security cameras. You could come with me?”
I think of what I saw on his patient referral form when I was in reception with Jenna. Noah Tinderman. Paranoia. Anxiety. In need of a calm, nurturing environment. He’s one of those patients who thinks everyone’s out to get him. “It sounds very undercover. You’ve checked out the cameras?”
“Of course. But you must know where they all are.”
There have always been cameras at the Creek, and new ones are installed all the time. Parents are reassured by them. They’re there for everyone’s protection. I’ve never gone round actually searching for them, though Drew and I always check before smoking in a new place. A few years ago Drew, Greta, Zach, Ben and I were taken to the security building by Earl, head of admin and security, and shown the huge display of monitors for the security cameras. We thought it was the coolest thing.
“Tell me where,” I say.
“You’re in?”
And I have some time until I meet Drew, so why not? “I’m in.”
“OK. This might be a secret place that even you don’t know about.”
“You really think so?” I gaze around. Perhaps he’s found a climbable tree by the perimeter fence that’s not overlooked by a camera.
“OK,” says Noah. “Meet me at the back of the security building, in the middle where the two corner cameras can’t pick you up as they sweep round. Make it look as if you’re heading for the sensory garden, then scoot off the path. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
The two-storey brick security building is operational twenty-four hours a day. I used to find that comforting when we first moved here, and the security manager was a big teddy bear of a guy. Now it’s Earl. He’s either in admin or this building, and I avoid both places unless I have a very good reason to be there. He scares me with his unsmiling staring expression, as if he’s waiting for me to step out of line, and his long fingers that may or may not have strangled someone.
I follow Noah’
s directions until I’m standing right up against the back wall of the security building, as if someone is about to throw knives round me. When Noah comes over, he points at the fire-escape ladder. “You ever been up here?”
“Nope.” I would never have dared even if it had occurred to me.
Noah goes first, and I follow, copying the way he makes as little noise as possible on the metal structure, by taking more than one step at a time, and pulling himself up at an even speed, careful not to bash the tennis racquet on the rails.
I step on to the flat concrete at the top, and gasp at this new view of the Creek. It’s like being on the roof terrace of Hibiscus but being able to look out in all directions. There’s a waist-high brick wall, and a strange little fire-escape exit for the building which has its own overhanging tiled roof.
It’s a forgotten place. There are weeds growing out of the concrete, little pieces of broken brick and dusty leaves that have blown in from the trees by the perimeter fence.
“Wow,” I say softly. Noah really has found a secret place I didn’t know about.
“A security building that doesn’t have a camera trained on its fire escape. Ironic, don’t you think?” says Noah. “Can’t believe you never came up here.”
“Neither can I,” I say. This will be the hands-down most perfect smoking place for me and Drew if we can be sure the smoke can’t be smelt from the ground. I won’t tell Drew until Noah’s gone home though, so we don’t invade his private space.
Noah points at the fire-exit door structure and says, “If we sit over there, we’re in the shade, and totally hidden from view.”
I sit, and he settles next to me. Not too close, which is good. He’s a Boy. And a Patient.
“So what shall we talk about?” asks Noah. “The ‘something’ you were thinking about earlier?”
I’m not going to talk about the vitamins. “I don’t remember.” I lean back against the brickwork.
“Tell me about you,” Noah says. “Like, what d’you do when you don’t have an exercise session or you’re not doing those funny little booklets in the schoolhouse?”
“How d’you know about the booklets?”
“Your teacher came into my class at Larkspur and showed the teacher a few. She wanted his opinion on them.”
“And?”
“He said if she wanted to change anything, she had to go through your dad.” He shrugs. “She seemed nice, though, your teacher.”
“She is.”
“So,” says Noah. “What d’you actually do here in your own time?”
“Watch TV… Spend tokens in the spa.” I see he’s expecting something more exciting. “Er… I hang out with Drew,” I say. “You ever smoked?”
“Yeah. Weed a few times.” He grins at my shock. “And no, my parents don’t know. Mum found my stash of alcohol that I hid up the chimney in my room though. There was a bit of yelling about that. But mostly because my sister had bought it for me.”
I’m appalled. But envious.
A light breeze judders a dried leaf across the roof towards us.
“What do you do when you’re not at school – when you’re back in England?” I ask.
“You don’t want to know, it’s too embarrassing,” says Noah. “Computer games. Maths. That’s math to you. But I like most subjects. I play the trumpet. Play in a rubbish band. Muck about composing stuff. Hang about with a small group of friends. Standard stuff. Not very interesting.”
It’s interesting to me.
He sighs. “But my head’s a crowded place. My parents thought it would be good for me to get away for the summer. Do sport. Forget about exams.” He places the racquet between us. “I’m involved in this human rights charity too.”
Human rights?
“There’s stuff I read about… Things that humans do to other humans, and not just in wars. It set something off in me… I went through a dark time. I got depressed and for a while I felt pretty paranoid.” He picks up the racquet again. “I’m nearly out the other side. Being here,” he says in a brighter voice, “is supposed to be a way of getting some distance from all that. Literally.” He swipes at the air with the racquet as if he’s reaching for a shot. “It was that or be shipped off to a family cottage in Ireland with all my cousins, who are either moaning about the weather, discussing captions for Instagram or bitching about celebrities. Doesn’t seem so bad now, in retrospect, given how strict this place is. You know, what with the tracking device they call a watch, and all the cameras.” He sees my face and frowns. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was being sarcastic.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “Your world’s different to mine, is all,” I say.
He tells me more about the cottage and his cousins, making me laugh, though I’m conscious of keeping the noise down. After glancing at the time, I stand up. “I have to go and meet Drew.”
“OK.” He nods, then smiles. “Nice chatting to you.”
“Yeah.” I smile back and think how if he wasn’t just here for the summer, he might turn into a good friend.
I descend the ladder as fast as I can and hurry across the parking lot towards the golf buggies. My mind’s churning. Alcohol up chimneys, cigarettes, potato chips, pesticides, Irish cottages. Life outside frightens me. But I suddenly want it so badly.
THIRTEEN
I tap my four-digit pin code into the stand so that the front wheels of the buggy are released and my token is deducted. Drew appears from the side entrance of the main building. He’s been to the sports-equipment room to pick up a couple of golf bags.
He slings the bags into the back and we set off.
At the Woodland Gardens, Drew jumps out and I wait while he unearths our smoking kit, then we drive on to the far side of the golf course, where I park the buggy behind a clump of bushes, in the shade. The place is deserted. The patients have a group activity, Joanie’s gone home to watch Creek cartoons, and the other boys are probably wasting tokens in the games room.
We choreograph a pretend sword fight with our putters for about five minutes before sitting on one of the landscaped earth mounds, against a tree. The shade feels good. I’m thirsty but we forgot water. I’m not really in the mood for a cigarette, but I sniff the tobacco and the smell conjures up happiness and the touch of Drew’s skin.
I kick off my flip-flops and we roll our cigarettes with pleasurable concentration. In a minute I’ll ask him what he thinks about my vitamin theory, and I’ll tell him about the photo of Frank. And how my mom must have been brought up with or near horses, which makes sense because when the riding school comes to the Creek, Mom’s always the first one to sign up. She knows how to be around them. I’ve watched her sniff a horse’s neck, closing her eyes as if it’s the best smell in the world. Maybe she’d be like that with other animals too, but pets aren’t allowed here because they smell and cause mess.
“Look! Still got a flame.” Drew holds the lighter in front of me.
“Yay,” I say as I light my cigarette.
As the smoke curls down my throat, I hear, “Mae! Drew!” It’s too close. Too fierce. I peer round the tree and see him, maybe ten paces away.
Dad.
I cough. I can’t stop. I choke, gasping for air.
“On your feet.” Dad’s in front of us.
We stand in a split second. I have bare feet. I can’t drop my cigarette and grind it out, so I hold it behind my back, the incriminating smoke and smell coiling round me.
“Look at me,” says Dad, each word over-pronounced. It’s impossible to misread the fury in his eyes. “Explain yourselves.”
“We were curious, sir,” says Drew. He speaks quickly. “We found a bag of supplies buried in the Woodland Gardens. Today we thought we’d see what smoking was like.”
Dad’s lips tighten. “Don’t take me for a fool, Drew.”
“He’s right,” I say. We would both rather live the rest of our lives in solitary than get anyone else into trouble over this. But I add, “We’ve tried it out a fe
w times though,” to make Dad think he’s won more of a confession. That we don’t take him for a fool.
Dad looks at the smoke and says, enunciating each word, “Put that cigarette out.”
I crouch to the ground and he adds, “With your foot.” There’s spit at the corner of his mouth.
I’m barefoot. He wants me to burn myself? I grab my flip-flop and pound the glowing cigarette end, as if it were a poisonous insect. Ash flies up into my eyes and makes them water. I won’t cry.
Dad swallows. It’s one of the things they talk about in Coping Skills group, which I’m scheduled to attend once every couple of months. Swallowing helps you think before you speak, to regain control. “Maintaining optimal health is at the heart of everything Hummingbird Creek stands for,” he says. “You both disgust me.”
Smoking’s bad, but this seems like a massive overreaction. I push my feet into my flip-flops and flick a glance in Drew’s direction. He’s avoiding eye contact.
Dad’s so close I can smell his sour breath. “Let me tell you, there will be consequences for this deceitful behaviour. To ensure this never ever happens again.”
We look at the ground and nod.
“Now go home,” says Dad. “I can’t stand the sight of you any longer.” He bends to pick up our plastic bag and smoking equipment.
We scramble to pick up our golf clubs and stuff them into the golf bags. I look round for his buggy. He’s parked a little way away. That’s why we didn’t hear him coming.
Our buggy is behind the bushes. How did he know we were here? The golf course is huge and wooded, and we can’t have been easy to spot. Is there a tracking device on the buggy? Or on our watches?
FOURTEEN
We don’t talk much on the drive back to park the buggy.
“I hate him,” says Drew when I’ve turned on to the main track. He slams his fist into the leather seat.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I’m sorry this has happened to us, that my dad is so strict. He’s probably not going to let us spend time on our own together for a while after this.
“I bet he was spying on us,” says Drew. We’ve almost reached the buggy stands, and he leaps out early. He grabs one of the golf bags and he’s gone, off to the sports equipment room in a rage.