“There are three more kittens.” I pick up one as dark as soot. “How about Hope for this one?”
He nods. We name the calico Faith and the one with white socks Charity.
Sam holds Grace for half an hour. By the time she squirms away to rejoin the others, the crease between his brows has smoothed away. After we climb out of the bushes, he touches my sleeve.
“Will they be okay?”
“I think so. No one else knows they are here. Just you and me.”
“I hope they don’t get separated from their mother. That would be…”
I reach out to squeeze his hand. He lets me.
Chapter 30
Riley
* * *
Xoey finds me sprawled on my bunk after dinner. Everyone else is outside, soaking in the warm spring weather. Their voices travel through the empty halls. It’s all laughter and bright conversation. Unfamiliar sounds.
She sits on the floor next to me. “Hiding?”
“Tired.” I roll over and face the wall.
“Is this about Adam?”
I ignore her.
“Or Reed?”
I roll over again and glare at her. “Does it look like I want to talk about it?”
“No.” She tilts her head toward the door. “But to all the world, it looks like you and Adam are—”
“Together.”
She nods.
Adam. Holding my hand after dinner. Staring at me as if…
I groan and sit up. “Why did I agree to this?”
“Oliver can be pretty persuasive.” Xoey frowns and picks at the edge of her fingernail. “But he should not have pushed you into it.”
I sigh. “Well at least it worked.”
Footsteps pass in the hallway, along with giggling voices. Leaning forward, I lower my voice. “Reed has only been working at the train yard for a few days and he’s already gotten access to the schedule, laid out a map, and timed the Sentribot movements and blind spots.”
Xoey’s eyes widen. “You talked to him?”
“No.” I study my hands. “Paisley fills me in.”
Not long ago, I would have welcomed any excuse to stay away from Reed Paine. Now I feel… I don’t know. But there’s a lump in my throat and I can’t stop thinking about the night we raised the flag together. Or how his eyes met mine later when he told us his plan to steal the Liberty Bell.
Of course, that was when I thought I would be part of it, not just a pawn used to trick Kino.
“It just seems wrong. Especially since Adam seems to think…”
“It’s real?” Xoey nods. “I see it. The way he gazes at you.”
“He doesn’t gaze at me!”
She nods. “He gazes.”
I shake my head. “This better be worth it.”
“Do you think Reed’s plan will work?”
Familiar fear grips me. When I think of all the things that could go wrong, I am overwhelmed. “I don’t know.”
Why are we even considering this?
But I know why.
I’ve seen the American flag scratched on the bathroom doorpost and lab tables, even in the dirt around the new flowers. I’ve heard students muttering in the chow line. So many angry eyes, like mine. Refusing to forget Zak and the flag.
We have to do something, they seem to say.
Plans for the president’s upcoming visit only feed the fire. When Middlebrooks arrived, she brought more than plans for a prettier courtyard. New texts updated our curriculum the same day. The list of banned books increased and they disappeared from our virtual libraries, along with access to hundreds of websites, now blocked by the UDR.
Just another day at the House. Another layer to our brainwashing.
We also got new federal exercise rules, increasing our daily step quota. Now every morning, the entire student body marches around the restored tackle field and into the courtyard, our legs and arms in sync, forming straight columns and rows. Reed calls it “goose stepping.” I didn’t get a chance to ask why. Middlebrooks surveys us from the front, Kino from the side.
“When the president’s helicopter lands on this field,” Middlebrooks said, “he must be met with perfection.”
She’s not kidding either. Every misstep is noticed. The first mistake means an extra kilometer around the field. The second means a beating, though Haak has been told not to leave bruises where they are visible.
“Why would the president want to visit here anyway?” Xoey asked at dinner when Middlebrooks first arrived.
“Good question,” I said.
“I think I know why.” Paisley’s voice was quiet. She didn’t even look up from her stew. “People are grumbling in the Sand, and President Amaron’s popularity is faltering. There’s a general in the UDR army who is making speeches about using more force to stop the Resistance.”
“He criticizes the president? I didn’t know that was allowed.”
“No, he’s careful to praise Amaron, but some are reading a passive message in his words, one suggesting Amaron isn’t demonstrating enough control. He’s gaining popularity too. Some say he should be running the UDR. Others say it should be split into two independent states, an Eastern and Western Sand, and the Dirt in between should be abandoned.”
“Where did you—”
“On the dark net. Floodlight is still being updated by anonymous writers.”
“What else did it say?”
“People are criticizing the education system. Sagging completion stats, lots of alcoholism and drug use, poor skill levels and less motivation when graduates are assigned to their guilds. Some wrote about corruption, saying guild assignments are rigged.”
“Of course they are,” I say.
“When our grandparents were young, they were promised social justice, free college, jobs, health care, and security for all. A healthy economy managed by an efficient state,” Reed says. “It hasn’t turned out like that, has it?”
“I still don’t understand why he’s visiting the House.” I pushed my bowl away. “A prison school filled with children of his enemies? How can it help his popularity?”
Oliver shrugged. “What better way to demonstrate control? We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, away from our families, and under constant threat of labor camps or war. If they can whip us into model students and show us off to the world…”
“You think people back in the Sand might buy that? Hoping if the president can get results here, he can do even more in the Sand?”
“The cameras will film us in new uniforms and orderly lines, or whatever else Middlebrooks has in mind,” Reed said. “Then they’ll twist it to make us look like something we’re not. Bright hope for the future, disciplined students ready to contribute to society. All that.”
“So, what if it doesn’t work? I mean, suppose they air their show, make us all like robots, but we still don’t disavow our parents. We still don’t reeducate? What then?”
No one had an answer. Since then, I’ve been analyzing everything Middlebrooks tells us about the president’s visit. It seems Xoey is too.
“So, what do you think about this dance?” she says tonight.
I sigh and sit up. “It seems like something from one of those old teen movies we’ve been watching in the Hidden Library. I mean, are we supposed to get excited about pink or green? Satin or lace?”
Xoey shrugs. “It’s just another show for the cameras, isn’t it?”
Middlebrooks made the announcement this morning in the cafeteria. We knew something was up as soon as we walked in and saw the far pixel wall lit up with a test configuration. By the time we got our food, Mr. Haak and Monica had wheeled in a podium. All the teachers were gathered on one side while Middlebrooks and Kino conferred over her tablet. I dug into my oatmeal but kept my eye on them. Ms. Lura, who kept shifting closer to Middlebrooks; Mr. Surino, who still seemed dazed, like he has ever since the lab explosion; and Mr. Patrick, who leaned against a post with his arms folded, frowning at his shoes. The re
st stood still, their faces reflecting a mixture of boredom and worry.
Middlebrooks stepped to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Her nasal voice echoed off the ceiling. “All eyes on me, please. I have a special announcement to make.” She cleared her throat. “We have all been impressed...” She turned to the teachers, nodding her encouragement. Only Ms. Lura nodded along. “So impressed with your hard work. You’ve made this facility sparkle and have come a long way in your studies. So! As part of President Amaron’s visit, and as an extension of our great nation’s fiftieth anniversary celebration, the school will be hosting a dance!”
All the girls in the Short Timer loft squealed and clapped their hands. For a minute, I thought Ms. Lura was going to join them. I wish I could say no one else showed the slightest positive reaction, but a swell of happy noises passed through the student body.
Reed sat behind me, muttering. “Give them enough food for a few days and they forget you were the ones who starved them in the first place.”
“I know you have all had a difficult time.” Middlebrooks walked along the rows, her eyes heavy with sympathy. “To be lied to by your families and returned to the nurture of the state… Well, of course you’re confused about your future. I’m sure many of you have mistaken the necessary discipline of this facility as uncaring. But let me assure you, we care! We only want what’s best for you. For you to regain your place in society without restrictions, without embargo. That’s what this dance is about. A time of renewal. A time to cast aside your worries and remember something you may have forgotten: you are young and have your entire lives ahead of you! This can be the first step toward creating the best memories of your life. All you have to do is seize the opportunity!”
Middlebrooks moved back to the podium. The cafeteria lights dimmed and the pixel wall lit up with videos and photos of parties in the Sand where people wore colorful formal clothing. Dresses and suits like I’ve only seen in movies.
“This is what I want for you.” Middlebrooks swept her hand toward the pixel wall. “Just look at these images! Young people dancing and laughing, enjoying parties. Proms and homecoming—”
“I’d rather celebrate ‘home going,’” a boy said from the other side of the cafeteria. A few students snickered or gasped. We all turned to see who it was. A new shell, of course.
Middlebrooks’ joy evaporated. She paused the vid and stepped away from the podium, her face blotchy. Kino put her hand up to stop her, then turned and walked toward the boy herself.
“You want to make jokes? How about if I make this extremely clear to you.” She pivoted and raised her voice. “Clear to all of you. You are here instead of labor camps. Instead of fighting terrorists, because of the benevolence of our president.” She pointed to Middlebrooks. “So if she wants to dress you up in uniforms and have you march, you’ll march. And if she gives you fancy clothes and tells you to dance, you’ll dance. And if anyone has a problem with it, by all means, let me know. There’s a bus waiting at the gate with a one-way ticket to the front line. Any takers?”
The boy said nothing, but Kino leaned toward him and put her hand to her ear. “What’s that?” She straightened and smiled. “I think we have our first volunteer.”
With a jerk of her chin, she signaled Haak, who dragged the kid out the south door, ignoring his cries of protest. We all watched in silence. Kino turned back to Middlebrooks.
“Please continue, Madam Secretary.”
Middlebrooks nodded and continued her presentation as if nothing had happened. She promised us lessons on how to dance, workshops on applying makeup, arranging our hair, and the etiquette of asking for a date. For the next half hour we watched videos about old fashioned balls and promenades, dances from the twenty-first century, and more modern forms of dancing, popular in the clubs that line certain dark streets in the Sand. I’ll admit I found it fascinating, watching the partners move closer together over the centuries until they weren’t so much dancing as clinging to each other for dear life.
Ever since, the girls at Windmill Bay have been talking of little else, which is one of the reasons I am hiding in my dorm room tonight.
I don’t think my father would have approved of dancing. His culture was historically strict, prohibiting men and women from touching each other before marriage. “An old fashioned idea,” Baba once told me, “but a practical one.” He turned toward my mother, who was across the room at her desk, writing a report for work, and his dark eyes softened, like they always did when they rested on her. “None of our friends understood how we could marry, never knowing each other beforehand. But it was our tradition, a piece of our culture lasting for centuries, despite modern ideas. And we learned to love each other, isn’t that right, hayati?”
Mama put down her tablet. “Yes, my love. We did.”
I blink back tears. Sometimes I wish I just didn’t remember them. Scooting to the edge of my bunk, I cross my arms over my chest.
“I don’t want to go to this stupid dance.”
“We have no choice,” Xoey says. “Besides, I think Adam will expect you to go with him.”
“But do I have to agree?”
Xoey frowns. Her voice softens. “Don’t you like him at all?”
“Yes.” I nod. “I do. I just don’t like being manipulated. Besides, I can’t think about boys like that. Not right now.”
“Maybe you should talk to him,” Xoey says. “Make sure he understands. Before this gets out of hand.”
“Hey you two.”
Paisley leans against the doorframe.
“Twenty minutes until curfew,” she says brightly. “Come outside and see the sunset. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes volley between mine and Xoey’s, and I know there’s more to her invitation.
“Sure.” I haul my shoes out from under the bed and we follow her to the sidewalk. She stops us there, leaning close to whisper.
“Sam found something he wants to show us and he’s super excited. Come on!”
Chapter 31
Adam
* * *
I wait for Riley near the girls’ dorm. She doesn’t come out until it’s almost dark. Xoey and Paisley are with her, whispering. I start to walk toward them but stop myself.
She’s not looking for me. Of course not.
A quick scan of the courtyard tells me where Reed is, bent over his tablet by the fountain, unaware of anyone but himself. Typical.
Riley doesn’t look his way either. I breathe easier.
I’m not an idiot. I know this thing between Riley and me is just for show, part of the plan to get one of us in the train yard. But when Riley ran toward me, when her arms tightened around my waist, it felt good. So good. The first good I’ve felt since my mother said goodbye.
I don’t hope for more. I try not to, anyway.
“But a little nudge doesn’t hurt,” Oliver said. We were at the bathroom sinks, where I was washing Reed’s blood off my hands after our fight.
“You think?”
Oliver shrugged. “You don’t know until you know. You know?”
I turned away and focused on the blood. Fighting Reed felt good. Too good. I think I’ve been wanting to hit someone for a long time. It’s not always Reed. Sometimes, though, when we are in the Hidden Library and everyone is listening to his latest brilliant idea, nodding and smiling like he’s a genius, it just comes over me. Something I’ve never been proud of. Fury.
“Manage your temper, Adam.”
My father said those words often when I was little. I can still hear it like he’s standing next to me. The tone of his voice, the way it softened on my name, even when he was pulling me off another kid at the playground.
I was too young to separate my father from his uniform. I thought everyone in the military was like him. Strong, quiet. Calm and sure. I wanted to be like him, but didn’t know how. Once, when we went to a medal ceremony on base, I worried I would have trouble behaving. Or disappoint him.
“If
you stand up straight and be good, your father will be so proud.” My mother buttoned my jacket.
I practiced in the mirror, hoping I looked like him, even if my stiff suit wasn’t as special as his uniform. But after the ceremony, I stood quietly by my mother’s side, watching my father, watching the other officers.
They didn’t act like him. Not at all. Boisterous and loud, they talked fast. They clapped each other on the back, laughing and joking about things I didn’t understand while my father stood at the edge of their group, smiling, but separate.
He was different there than he was at home. Smaller, somehow. Sometimes he would open his mouth, half smiling, then close it again and study his drink. When he did get a word in, he didn’t sound like the others. No one laughed or clapped him on the back. The laughter died down. One officer rolled his eyes.
Later when I was living in the state home, when my father was dead and my mother was gone forever, I blamed those officers for everything. My memories of that day were strong. Somehow my kid brain had tied them up with his execution. As I grew older I understood more. And less. I figured out my father was part of the Resistance, but wondered how he got involved. How he got caught.
Did it start because he never fit in?
Some days my anger seems worse than ever. Maybe my father was never admired for talking big like Reed, but he was a good man. A hero to me. I think of those officers, still gathering for ceremonies, still joking. Do they see the place where my father used to stand? Do they feel bad about what happened, or are they glad he’s gone?
I try to be reasonable. Everyone seems excited about Reed’s plan to steal the Liberty Bell, but I think it’s pointless. A risk without reward.
“What will we do with it after we steal it?” I asked Reed the night he told us his idea.
“Hide it in the tunnel maybe?” He shrugged. “Who knows? As long as they don’t get to sell it. As long as it stays here, where it belongs, I’ll be happy.”
Stealing Liberty Page 19