“Greg?” I begin. “Is this a good idea?”
I don’t think he heard me. They lay Serafina down in between all the feet. I follow them and put my hat under her head so that her hair isn’t resting on the floor of the van, and climb aboard myself, squeezing in beside the other girl. The doors bang shut and then the only light is from the sliding window into the front. The van shudders into motion.
It careens around the bends much too fast, and I’m thrown against Greg more than once. Under the seat, wooden bats and other weapons roll against my heels. A gasoline can and bottles. Who are these people? What was the explosion we heard? We’re in a van full of Brotherhood activists. Who knows what else they’ve done? I look at Greg, but he’s just staring straight ahead. Does he know them? Is he one of them?
“Got to hurry,” says the boy who helped carry Serafina. “The police will come, now that we’ve shown up.”
I can still hear the explosion ringing in my ears. What will the police think if they stop us? How will Greg and I be able to prove that we weren’t fighting the protestors too?
WE DRIVE IN silence. When we stop, the man from the front seat opens the doors to reveal the back of a hospital where bins are lined up behind a screen. I see the Gatesbrooke logo above the door.
“You’re on your own now,” he says to Greg. “Gotta go. We always drop off here, no cameras. Take her through that door . . .” and he points to a fire door wedged open with a brick. “There’s usually some wheelchairs just inside. Follow the green line.”
He helps Greg lift Serafina out. I grab my hat and follow. He’s right about the wheelchairs. Greg pushes Serafina through the corridor and I keep one hand on her shoulder to stop her falling out. When we reach the waiting area, a passing nurse in green clothes sees Serafina’s unconscious blood-streaked face. He immediately takes the wheelchair from Greg, pushing it toward the swinging doors while we hold them open.
But before we can follow, the woman behind the reception desk snaps: “Not you!” Her eyes run over our Brotherhood clothes as we turn back. “You can give me the details.”
We wait at the counter while she goes out to the room behind. I hear her say, “Hoods.” Then she picks up the phone.
I look at Greg in shock. Even here, in the hospital?
He shrugs. “What did you expect? She’s probably calling the police. I’ll call Brer Magnus.”
That will really help, I think. I can’t say anything.
“You can wait over there,” the woman says as she comes back out.
What if Serafina doesn’t regain consciousness? I imagine waking up in the morning and seeing her neatly made bed, instead of the usual hump of blanket and the flinging off of sheets and fluffy animals. Even in the short time I’ve known her, I’ve realized Serafina is never still.
I let my hat fall over my face and press my knuckles hard under my nose. Greg gets up and goes over to the vending machine, his phone in his hand. While he has his back to me, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose and push my hair behind my ears.
He comes back carrying two plastic cups. “Hot chocolate,” he says. “I know you like tea, but it looked really orange.”
“Thanks,” I say, though I like orange tea. He’s trying to be kind.
He sits down beside me, and the sleeve of his shirt brushes against mine. It’s nice. I want his arm to stay there.
“I phoned Brer Magnus.” He pauses when I don’t reply.
What can I say, when I don’t know what to think? Suddenly I blurt out: “Was that a bomb? I heard a bang. Was it them?” When he doesn’t answer, I carry on: “I saw the bottles and the gasoline can.”
Greg drinks some hot chocolate. “They torched one of the cars,” he says. “Nobody was in it.” He balances his cup carefully on the sloping seat beside him. “Brer Magnus said not to say we were there. He’s coming, to explain that we’re just students who were out of school at the time. Otherwise . . .”
I nod. I glance at his troubled face.
He turns to me. “You did a good thing.”
I look at him, but his brown eyes just look serious.
“And it’s good you were there,” I say. “I couldn’t have carried her.”
But what was he doing there anyway? Close behind me again. He should have been in the auditorium.
We wait. Greg’s arm is still against mine, but that’s OK, because there’s not much room in this row of chairs. I’m starting to get warm now and it’s quite nice not to feel alone. We look like two Brotherhood kids, and some people give us the evil eye as they pass. I eye them back from under my hat.
“GREGORY. VERITY.”
I look up. Brer Magnus is striding across the waiting area.
Greg springs to his feet, so I stand up too, suppressing the little shiver that Brer Magnus’s presence always gives me. I wish I’d asked Greg not to tell Brer Magnus about the hole in the fence. But now it’s too late.
“So, Verity.” He fixes me with his ice-blue gaze. “Mr. East only opened the gates for Serafina. How did you get over the fence?”
Before I can reply Greg speaks. “Verity found a way out.”
Here it comes. I dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand. It’s over.
“There was a gap,” Greg continues. “Somebody must have cut a hole in the fence. The rioters.”
I look at Greg, but he’s staring straight ahead at the reception desk.
“I’ll get Security to look into it,” says Brer Magnus. “We can’t leave the school unprotected. Not with the increased threat from the majority.”
The doors to the treatment room open and the nurse in green walks toward us.
Greg still doesn’t look at me. His fist is clenched on his knee. There’s a dark smear on the denim that I think is blood from the wire. Why didn’t he give me away? Is he angry now, because he lied to Brer Magnus? This is the second time he’s covered up for me. Why? I’m sure he doesn’t trust me, and I don’t even think he likes me. Does he want something in return?
Brer Magnus goes to meet the nurse. After a short conversation, he beckons me over. “Verity, Serafina is conscious now.” His eyes sweep over me. “She’s asking to see you.”
I FOLLOW THE nurse through the doors. Serafina is in a cubicle with green curtains. She’s sitting up, leaning against a pillow. Her head has a huge white dressing on one side, but her face breaks into a smile when she sees me.
I sit on the plastic seat beside her bed. “Are you OK?”
Serafina grabs my hand, and I find myself squeezing back.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
She may be Brotherhood, but now that I know she’s all right, relief floods through me. “What about your arm?” There’s no plaster, so it can’t be broken.
“I dislocated my elbow. They put it back in its socket.” She makes a face. “That’s what woke me up.”
“Ugh. Poor you. Does it still hurt?”
“Not so much.” Serafina lowers her voice. “But Verity, there’s something I want to ask you. A favor.”
“Of course.”
“It’s . . . I’ve got . . .” She stops, and looks anxiously toward the corridor. “Open the curtain a bit so I can see if anyone’s coming.”
I do that.
“I have a secret,” whispers Serafina when I sit down again. “It’s about my boyfriend.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Emanuel’s face flashes into my mind.
“Shh. Yes. I was coming back from meeting him. And my parents will be here in a minute, and I don’t want them to know.”
They must live pretty near if they can get here so quickly. Why doesn’t Serafina live at home? I’m intrigued now. “Who is it?”
“Nobody,” she says quickly. “He’s not at the school. He isn’t even Brotherhood.” She looks at me, her forehead creased in a frown. “You’re shocked, aren’t you?”
“I’m not shocked.”
But I am. Not because Serafina’s boyfriend is a citizen, but because she has a secret. At the I
nstitute they all seem to follow the rules.
“I guess I thought maybe you wouldn’t be,” says Serafina sadly. “Because you had to grow up with them and everything.”
Them. My mind starts racing. If Serafina knew who I really was, would she maybe understand? Then we could be real friends.
“Everyone has secrets.” I lean in closer. “I might tell you mine too.” I shouldn’t have said that out loud.
Serafina’s voice cracks. “I had to talk to someone, before I end it.” Tears gather in her eyes. “Of course it’s got to end. I can’t let my parents know. They’ll disown me if they find out.”
I lean back.
“Surely they’d come around, Serafina?”
But she shakes her head, and then stops, wincing. “No. They could never, never accept it. They would never even allow a nonbeliever to cross their doorway.” She pulls a tissue out of the box on the side table and blows her nose. “I’m going to break it off.”
Serafina’s parents sound like Grandma. “Couldn’t you keep seeing him secretly?”
“It’s impossible.” Her voice catches. “Especially after today.” Tears spill from her eyes. “They hate us so much, Verity. There’s no future in it. It’s oil and water.”
My heart chills. If she thinks that, then she’s not the rebel I imagined. I hope she wasn’t listening when I mentioned I had a secret too.
“Does anyone else know?”
“Just you,” says Serafina. “It was easier to tell you, because I haven’t known you for so long.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t,” she says. “But there’s something I have to ask you. It’s a big thing. It would mean you’d have to lie.”
“What is it?” I should be able to manage one more.
“Can I tell my parents that I was meeting you? In case they ask why I was outside the school? I could say I was going to show you the Trembling Rock.”
I smile. “Of course. Is that in the grounds near where you fell?”
She smiles back. “Thanks, Verity.” She hesitates. “No, the Trembling Rock’s outside the fence. It was OK telling Mr. East I wanted to go for a bike ride but my parents are way too suspicious. Anyway . . .” She makes an effort to brighten her voice. “What’s your secret?”
My thoughts race. What can I say? I’m a secret citizen, an enemy agent? I’m oil to your water?
“It’s OK,” says Serafina. “I’ve guessed it anyway.”
My heart starts thumping and my mind goes blank. If I get through today without giving myself away, it’ll be a miracle.
The curtain jerks open, and the nurse appears. “Serafina? Your parents are here.”
CHAPTER 13
I’M WITH THE others at our table by the long canteen windows, watching Greg, Celestina, and Emanuel getting ready to leave. Every week they go to a State school in the New City—Math lectures for gifted pupils. It’s part of the Reconciliation process to integrate schools. Brer Magnus hates the idea of integration, but if he doesn’t want his school closed down he has cooperate. It suddenly dawns on me—was Greg at the station on the day of the bomb because he was going to his advanced Math class? Maybe I’m just looking for reasons to trust him.
“Can I come with you?” I ask suddenly, as Greg picks up his tray, ignoring me. “To Gatesbrooke, I mean?” Maybe I can find Oskar there. I have so many questions.
“Why not?” Emanuel smiles at me. He’s been very friendly since I helped rescue Serafina. He obviously doesn’t know about her boyfriend.
But Greg pauses, tray in hands. “You’ll have to ask Brer Magnus.” Greg’s kept away from me since the hospital, as if he doesn’t know what to think of me. He didn’t tell Brer Magnus about the hole in the fence, but now he seems angry.
“I’ll go and see him.” Of course I have no intention of actually doing it, but Greg walks out of the canteen with me.
“I’ll come with you,” he says. “I need to see him too.”
We cut across the grass to the main building in silence. Brer Magnus’s office is down a wood-paneled corridor by the stairs that lead to the Meeting Hall. I glance up as we pass. Is there any chance the visitors’ book is still there? Greg knocks on the door, but when Brer Magnus calls “Enter,” he stands back to let me go in first. The room takes up the whole width of the building, so that through the two windows Brer Magnus can see both the gates and the canteen.
“Yes?” Brer Magnus peers across his desk.
“I wanted to know if it’s all right for me to go to the city this afternoon.” I hate having to ask permission just to get out. I think longingly of the hole in the fence.
“Why do you want to go?”
“I’ve got some shopping to do. I don’t have lessons this afternoon.” I’m supposed to do dance though, so he’ll probably say no.
“I don’t see why not,” he says instead. “Gregory?”
Greg glances at me. “I’ll catch up to you,” he says, staring at me until I take the hint and walk out of the office, leaving him alone with Brer Magnus. It’s as if rescuing Serafina together never happened.
I’ve got my bag, and I always have the hat with me now, so I go through Reception and out to the parking lot where Celestina and Emanuel are waiting. Mr. East, the groundskeeper, lumbers out from the trees, with a bag slung across his body and a roll of heavy wire under one arm, his spaniel beside him. “The fence is done,” he says to me, letting the wire fall to the ground in front of the lodge. “Just the graffiti now.”
So that’s my escape route gone. The dog ambles toward me, tail wagging slowly from side to side as I walk up. At least there’s a dog here.
“What’s his name?” I say to Mr. East.
“Raymond.”
“Hello, Raymond.” I stroke his floppy ears. “Can I take him for a walk sometimes?” If I can do that, maybe it’ll be a way of getting out of the Institute.
“Why not? Mind you, if you start, you have to keep going.”
“That’s fine. I can come at lunchtime.” It’ll be nice to have an excuse to get away on my own.
Mr. East looks toward the road. “Is it safe to go to Gatesbrooke, after what happened the other day?”
Celestina’s mouth sets in a hard line. “We have to carry on as normal,” she says. “Otherwise they’ve won.”
Raymond licks my hand, and I stoop down to stroke his silky ears again. Through the Reception doors I see Greg running across the quad toward us. Celestina presses a button next to the gate, which swings open. Would it open like that for me? The camera follows us along the drive.
The bus stop is across the road, but it doesn’t have a timetable posted on it. Maybe I can find one in town. When the bus comes, it’s quite full, so I head for the back, where there are enough empty seats for all of us. But Celestina and Emanuel perch on the high seats next to the luggage rack in the middle. Greg swings himself on just as the bus is pulling away. He stands in front of them with his backpack hanging off one shoulder, leaning down to laugh at something Celestina’s saying. I don’t know why he minded me coming with them, because I’m on my own anyway. Outside, rain begins to fall from the dense sky.
The bus rumbles through the Old City, over the bridge and into the terminal, which is on the edge of the Central Station square.
“Where are you going, Verity?” Emanuel asks me as I climb down, holding my long skirt up.
“I’m going to see if there are any letters at my old halfway house,” I improvise.
Emanuel pauses. “You’ll be OK? Things aren’t good at the moment . . .”
Celestina grabs his arm. “She’ll be fine!” She throws me a smile. “She can look after herself, can’t you, Verity?”
“Yes, of course I—”
Greg interrupts. “Come on! We need to go.”
And they’re gone, with just a “Bye, Verity!” from Emanuel.
I jot down the times of the buses, in case I can get out of the Institute again.
Last week the others came back on the latest service. But that could have been because there was another bomb scare. I don’t have to go back with them anyway. They’re not real friends, I tell myself. They’re just people I happen to live with while I trick them by pretending to be somebody else.
I feel a touch on my shoulder.
It’s Greg. “Forgot my Math file.” He leans forward to catch his breath. His jacket is wet from the rain already.
I look up at the bus. “That’s not the one we were on.”
He runs off again, calling over his shoulder, “We’re getting the six o’clock bus back, OK?”
I don’t have to get that bus just because Greg said to. But at least he didn’t ask me where I was going.
I cross the square with my bag bouncing against my side. I’ve grown to like it, with its tassels on the corners and the wooden fastener that holds it shut.
I can’t help smiling when I see Fred’s Cafe. The windows are cozy and yellow, all steamed up. Even if Oskar’s not there, I’ll have a cup of strong orange tea and get warm. I can read the newspaper. I’ll remember the first time I talked with Oskar and the couple of afternoons we spent poring over the Manual, chatting and drinking tea. I’ve never told anyone else the things I told Oskar; something about the way he listened drew out my life story.
I push the door open, and the smell of fried bacon and coffee greets me. And then I remember too late that Fred will be surprised to see me dressed as a Brotherhood girl, from my hat to my pumps that let in the rain.
But it’s all right, because I don’t know the man who is filling the coffee machine behind the counter. He looks up, and his smile hardens.
“No Hoods!” he shouts. He edges out from behind the urn. “I said no Hoods.” He fixes his eyes on mine.
Of course he means me. Look at how I’m dressed.
He steps forward.
I slam the door shut behind me and run from the cafe so that I don’t have to look at the cold hate in his eyes. After a few minutes I force myself to walk, while my heart hammers against my ribs, and my wet skirt slaps against my legs. It’s not really me he hates; it’s not me, my feet pound. But when I reach the other side of the bus depot and look back at the yellow lights of the cafe, I know that it is. I am the stranger he wanted to hurt. I catch my breath under a bus shelter. A “Hood.” It’s as if I’m not a person.
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