by Sue Wallman
“I miss him,” I say, surprised by my candour. But I’m too sad to care what she thinks about it.
Greta tilts her head. “Aw, that’s sweet of you.”
“For someone who’s supposed to be in Pattonville for a summer session, you drop by a lot,” I say.
“I don’t drop by, Mae. I book my visits in advance with admin,” says Greta.
This is news to me. “Why?”
Greta pulls her head back as if I know nothing. “So they can update my schedule. Tell the kitchen to cater for me. That sort of thing. If you want to know when I’m going to be around, all you have to do is ask them for my schedule.” She twists her mouth into a half-smile. “I expect you have to be on full privileges though.”
“If I was here so often, I’d be worried about failing my summer session as well as my first year exams,” I say pointedly.
“Oh, whatever. The Creek paid for a new sports building a couple of years ago, so I’m going to get a degree whatever I do.” She laughs at my surprised face. “What are you so shocked about? I told you that when I first got in.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. I remember her telling me about a Hummingbird Sports Hall, kitted out with the same top-of-the-range equipment as our fitness complex, but I didn’t really think about the name.
Dad believes in supporting health and fitness in the wider community. It says so in the prospectus. It’s why we’re very occasionally allowed to go on sports trips outside the Creek. Who knew that it could buy you a place in a college?
“So you don’t need to worry too much about your lessons,” says Greta. She glances over at my booklet and I snap it shut. She leans towards me dramatically so that her dress gapes at the top. It reveals the silver hummingbird at the end of her necklace that was a leaving present from her parents when she went to college. “D’you want to know the real reason I’m here?” she whispers.
“You hate college?”
“I’ve just had a meeting with your dad,” she says. She watches my face to see if I knew anything about it and, satisfied that I didn’t, she continues. “He’s offering me vacation work after my summer session finishes and said that he’ll give me a full-time position when I leave college.” She waits for a reaction.
“You’re coming back here – permanently?”
Greta smiles. “Yes. I’ll be given my own apartment in Hibiscus.” The thought, which obviously excites her, depresses me beyond anything I’ve ever imagined for myself post-college.
“Which department will you be in?” I ask.
“Admin.” Greta walks to the door. “But I’ve said I’m more interested in teaching if a slot becomes available.”
I hand Ms Ray the essay, sandwiched in the middle of the booklet. The others have all gone to lunch. “I probably haven’t written what I’m supposed to,” I say as she scans the first paragraph. I’m starving, so I’m eager just to drop it off and move on to lunch.
Alongside the posters on the walls in the schoolroom are big tatty sheets of paper with words I don’t recognize written out in different coloured felt-tips. There’s foreign music coming from her antique CD player. I think it might be Spanish.
“The criteria I’ll be assessing it on is how well you’ve written it,” says Ms Ray. “Whether you can back up your argument. How convincing you are. Not the actual content.”
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to me that she might give it a good mark even if she disagreed with what I wrote.
“What d’you think of the solar system we made today?” She points to a mobile hanging above the sink, made from different-sized balls.
“It’s great. You’re still doing the booklets though, aren’t you?” I check. “In case anyone asks.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’m just adding in extra things here and there.”
I picture Greta in here, enforcing rules, sticking rigidly to the booklets. Teaching kids things she doesn’t understand herself, with no room for persuasive arguing. The wall displays would be schedules and charts. She wouldn’t be able to stand anyone being too smart, but she’d be hard on anyone failing to make progress.
Why do I care, though? By the time she gets to be a teacher – if it ever happens – I’ll be long gone from here and it won’t make any difference to me.
Right now, all I can think about is lunch.
“Here,” says Ms Ray. She hands me a math textbook and a play called The Crucible. “Read the first six chapters of the textbook by tomorrow. Make sure you understand it. Read the play and write an essay for me explaining the impact of fear on Salem society.” She yawns, then apologizes. “Please forgive me. I’ve been studying too. It’s tiring.”
I’m at the door of the schoolroom when she calls out, “By the way, Mae. Have you had trouble with blurry vision lately?”
What are you going to do if I say yes? “Er…”
“Ben and Luke have been complaining of it, and I noticed Zach rubbing his eyes today.”
“It could be the air conditioning,” I say.
“Or allergies,” says Ms Ray. “I was just worried. You know, what with that patient suddenly not being able to see. Austin was his name, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Austin.” For a moment it’s as if the room sways. I steady myself by reaching for the wall. Are we getting what Austin had?
“Do you know if he’s OK, if he’s back yet?” I ask.
“No, I haven’t heard anything. At least everyone’s health is so closely monitored here,” says Ms Ray. “That’s something.”
At lunch, I wolf down my order too quickly, and it isn’t enough. But somehow it fuels me through an excruciating afternoon exercise session with Mick, and when it’s finally over and I’ve taken a shower, I lie on my bed, wrapped in a towel, and work my way through the first chapter in the math book. After a bit I chuck it on the floor and lie on my bed, aching more from missing Drew than the day’s exercise. Nothing will ever be the same without him.
I’ll never forgive Dad for firing Drew’s parents. I think about his conversation with Peter. Were they experimenting on Austin? How – and why – would they do that?
I get dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and go on to the roof terrace, where I lean over the railings. I want to find out more, to make sense of what little I already know, but I feel so helpless, just going through my usual routine. Exercise and living in the now. Not talking, not questioning, not reacting to the terrible thing that’s just happened.
It’s not wellness; it’s torture.
From here, I can see someone jogging near the perimeter close to the security building. Noah. I bet I know where he’s heading. Sure enough, he seems to disappear. I glance at my watch. Dad and Mom will be busy. I go back into my room and change into clean sportswear. No one will look at me twice if they think I’m going to do exercise. It’s risky, still being on zero privileges, but I think I’ll get away with it. At the last minute, I stuff my math book into a backpack.
I scale the fire-escape ladder as stealthily as I can. The Creek is quiet. Work on the cycle track has finished for the day. There’s just the occasional shout from the outdoor swimming pool, and the squawks of the jays in the trees by the fence.
The second to top rung of the ladder clanks, and I say softly, “It’s only me, Noah,” as I step on to the roof.
Noah is standing by the fire-escape exit, hands over his mouth. “Oh my God, Mae. You almost sent me into cardiac arrest.” He drops his hands, and sits down. “We need to get a system sorted. A series of three taps on the handrail or something.”
I nod. “I’m sorry.” I go over and sit next to him, wincing as I lower myself down.
There’s a long but comforting silence, then Noah says, “I heard about Drew. It must be tough.”
“It is,” I say. “All these years I thought we’d leave the Creek together but now I don’t even know where he is.” I tell him how frustrated Drew was. How I always stood up for Dad and now – well, now I hate him.
Then I tell him about Thet, h
ow she’s going to leave too. I’ll be left with Joanie and Greta. I’m so sick of my life. But as soon as I say that I feel guilty because I remember Austin, and my stomach lurches at the memory of yesterday. I ask Noah if he knows anything.
“He’s been released from the medical suite. He’s much quieter than before, but he can see again.”
“That’s good,” I murmur. I think of the word Dad used to describe what happened: fascinating. It’s cold and mean.
“I’m not going to lie,” says Noah. “The Creek’s weirder than I was expecting, and believe me, I was expecting weirdness. I thought at first it was because patients were here so long but now I think it’s just a very odd place.”
I open my mouth to argue but instead I say, “I’ve had nothing to compare it with.”
Noah gives me a half-smile. The sunburn on his nose is peeling. It distracts from the fact that he has very long eyelashes, and interesting curvy creases either side of his mouth when he smiles. To stop myself staring, I open my backpack and pull out my math textbook.
“Would you mind talking me through some of this stuff?” I ask. “Ms Ray says I’m behind on maths, and I’ve got five more chapters to understand before tomorrow.”
Noah takes the textbook. “Sure.” The curvy creases shoot outwards.
He’s good at explaining, though he’s frustrated at not having paper and a pen to make his points. We storm through three more chapters before I mock-collapse sideways away from him, on to the concrete. I am so tired.
“We need some cushions,” I say, righting myself again. “I might take a couple from the juice bar. They won’t be missed.”
Noah flips the textbook shut, and stretches out his legs.
“You have such pale skin,” I say.
“This is pretty tanned for me,” he says.
I manoeuvre into a cross-legged position. “Tell me more about your life.”
He talks about his family. Parents who he mostly gets on with, an older sister, a dog. Endless cousins who come and crash at their house in London.
I tell him about my English past, learning about my relatives there, and finding the photo of Frank and the horses.
He explains what it’s like to do exams in a hall, and how he had to force himself to do them, not because they were hard, because he actually found them easy, but rather because he was bunched up with anxiety. He says he has a love-hate relationship with his brain. “I like to have places where I feel safe and calm,” he says. “Like up here.”
It’s strange that an ugly strip of broken concrete and weeds above a security building can be that place. Noah stands up, but I notice he stays in the middle of the roof so he’s less likely to be seen. “I came up here last night to get away from it all,” he says. “The main building was floodlit. It looked dramatic, like an abandoned movie set. And kind of creepy.”
I blink. I’ve seen the main building floodlit on birthdays and last night it must have been in honour of Peter. It’s not about the floodlighting. It’s how Noah succeeded in not being caught. “How’d you manage that?” I ask.
“I’m not locked in – that’s all part of the Creek trust thing, right? Though yeah, there are orderlies, cameras and security guards. No one checks up on me in the night. I’m not high-risk. The orderly on duty was that dopey one with the gelled hair.”
“But Larkspur has cameras at the entrances, doesn’t it?”
Noah nods. “Most of the entrances have two cameras, but the entrance opposite the main building only has one, and it swivels. I timed it right, and dodged the other cameras on the way here. Perhaps I was just lucky and the security guys weren’t checking the monitors very carefully, or they were out on patrols. They can’t be expecting anyone. Staff would use the underground walkway at night, wouldn’t they?”
I’m speechless at Noah’s nonchalance. His bravery. Drew and I thought we were brave, but we never even thought to try anything at night.
“You should come up here with me one night to experience it. If you can escape. It’s worth it. It makes you feel alive and free.”
“Really?” I say. “I’d love that.” Excitement zigzags through me. I’m not sure if it’s only the thought of being up here at night illicitly, or if it’s also because he’d be here with me.
But I’m also worried about getting him sent away. Everyone I grow close to gets sent away.
“How hard d’you think it would be for you?” asks Noah.
I chew my lip. “Don’t know. The doors aren’t locked in Hibiscus but…”
“We’ll make a plan sometime,” says Noah. He glances at his watch. “I’ve got a group session in a minute.” He scoots across to me. “Mae? You might think I’m being paranoid…” He pauses. “It’s occurred to you that we can be located by our watches, yeah?”
I think about how Dad found me and Drew smoking. “Mmm,” I say, playing for time. I don’t know how much I should feed his paranoia.
“I’ve been thinking that leaving my watch off when I come up here might be a good idea,” says Noah. “But then how would I know how much time has gone by?”
“You shouldn’t risk setting off the alarm by removing it,” I say.
“Who gets notified by the alarm?” asks Noah. “Is it the medical staff or security?”
My dad? Dr Jesmond? “I don’t know. You get into huge trouble, I know that. I mean huge.”
“Has it ever happened to you?”
I shake my head. “It’s the biggest rule. Patients have been sent to solitary for it.”
“You’re too scared to take your watch off?”
“It’s about missing out on data. Health data can literally save lives.”
“Right,” says Noah.
“And I’d be frightened to, yes.”
NINETEEN
When I wake up I have a message from Earl to say I’ve been moved up to quarter privileges, which means I’m allowed to initiate conversations and have lessons and do sport with others, but I’m still banned from unscheduled activities. I can now earn tokens, though I still can’t spend them.
I move from being semi-oblivious about security cameras to looking for them. I want to be just as aware of them as Noah is. For days, I’ve perfected a technique of pretending to swallow my pills then transferring them into my pocket to dispose of down the toilet.
At morning exercise the grad student taking our session bursts in through the door with her laptop and bottle of water, and says, “You’ll have to bear with me today, guys. We’ve got new software. It might take a bit longer than usual until I get the hang of it.” She sits cross-legged at the front of the studio. “Form an orderly line, please.”
I’m nearest to her so I’m there first, and I crouch next to her. Technology’s not her thing. She’s logged on but her cursor is all over the place. The home screen has changed. She finally opens something called Health Data, looks up and says, “Mmm, Mae Ballard. Let’s find the bs.” With the previous software, the instructor typed in a name.
She scrolls fast but I see there are hundreds of names before mine. My name is near the beginning of the alphabet. Does that mean there are thousands of names on this list – including people who aren’t at the Creek any more?
“Okaaay.” Before she selects my name, I see a menu bar at the top. That’s new. There are headings: Detailed Medical Records. Groups. Schedules. Data Graphs. I also see Mom’s name above mine, but not Dad’s.
“Soooo, let’s have your heart-monitor reading.”
I show her my watch and she squints at the figure, then inputs it into the box.
There’s another box below it. The wording next to it says: Appearance of subject using the Energy Scale (rate from one to ten).
I want to see what rating she gives me. But she swivels the laptop round. “You lot aren’t allowed to see this. It’s confidential medical data.”
“But it’s my data.”
She shrugs. “I don’t make the rules round here. Next, please. We need to speed this along.” She
stands up and balances the laptop on one arm, and uses her free hand to input data, so that Zach who’s behind me can’t see what she’s doing.
I see Austin as soon as I walk into the breakfast café. He’s sitting next to Will, subdued and pale, as if he’s been made to get out of bed too early. Will is chatting to him but I can tell by the way he’s watching Austin mash a banana repeatedly with his fork that he’s concerned.
Noah isn’t there, but Thet is. I want to talk to her about Austin, the vitamins, about Peter, the cameras, the watches. All of it. She knows this place from the patient side. She’s known it far longer than Noah. And I can trust her completely. “Wait for me when you’ve finished?” I murmur as I walk past her with my breakfast tray.
I time eating my slices of multigrain toast and honey with Thet and her sugar-free strawberry-oat muffin. We leave a few seconds apart, and meet outside.
“I’ll walk with you to Larkspur, but via the tennis courts,” I say.
“Are you OK?” she asks.
I start with the vitamins and my worries about them.
“But we all take them,” says Thet. “Vitamins are one of the building blocks of health.”
“What if they’re not actually vitamins?”
“What else would they be?” She looks at me. “You sound like one of the paranoid patients. You know I’m supposed to report paranoid behaviour?”
My gut twists.
“Of course I wouldn’t report you,” says Thet when she sees my expression. “I’d never do that.” Thet’s grandmother taught her loyalty and silence. When Thet’s parents were killed for being on the wrong side of the war, her grandmother brought her to the States as a baby, where she changed their names and built up a massively successful hair product business.
“There was a visitor in military uniform the day Austin went crazy. Was he linked to any of the patients? Did anyone say anything about him?”
Thet shakes her head slowly. “Military? No. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say, but I don’t add anything more. Am I leaping to the wrong conclusions – seeing conspiracies that aren’t there? I rub my eyes, fighting back drowsiness.