by Zoe Cannon
“Who was that, anyway?” asked Heather.
If Heather didn’t know who Jake was, that meant he hadn’t approached her. Good. “He’s that guy I told you about before. The one who might be spying for Internal.” She unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open.
The old Heather would have been worried, or confused, or curious, or something. The new one just nodded. “Thank him for me.”
They walked inside.
Not ten feet from where they were standing, Becca’s mom had told her she had killed Heather’s parents. Becca squirmed as though Heather could see the conversation playing out in front of her.
She had to get out of here, away from the ghost of her conversation with her mom. She hurried toward her bedroom. Heather followed.
In Becca’s room, they sat down on the bed together, like they had so many times before. Like they had when they had found the note. Becca glanced across the room at her desk. She had buried the note in the bottom drawer, under a stack of old homework. Even hidden there, to Becca’s eye it blazed like a neon sign.
They sat like that for a moment, not quite looking at each other, as the silence grew around them.
Enough. There was too much that she was avoiding, that they were both avoiding. It had to stop.
“We need to talk about…” Becca lowered her voice, even though her mom wasn’t home. “About what we found.”
Heather went rigid. “You mean, that my parents were—” Her voice broke. “I know, okay? I get it. They were dissidents all along. I don’t need to sit around and talk about it.” She flicked a piece of dust off Becca’s bedspread like it had offended her.
In all her thinking about the note, Becca had barely considered what it meant for Heather. For Heather, it wasn’t a source of doubt, but something all too black-and-white. Again Becca wondered: what kind of a best friend was she?
“We don’t have to.” Becca tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Nothing felt right. “Whatever you want. But just so you know, it doesn’t make a difference to me. No matter what your parents were, I know you’re not a dissident.”
Some of the tightness went out of Heather’s body. She lay back and stared up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t matter in the end. You might know I’m not a dissident, but everybody else thinks I am. Laine is right—eventually Internal will decide they made a mistake and come back for me. Didn’t you say they already have someone spying on me?”
“They can’t arrest you just because some idiots at school are saying things about you. You haven’t done anything wrong.” But neither had Anna. And now, because of Becca’s lie, Anna was gone.
Which led her right back to the note, and what it had said. What if Internal didn’t care as much about truth as she had always believed?
“The stuff in the note… do you think—” She couldn’t force out the rest of the sentence. I’m just talking to Heather, she reminded herself. She read it too. She’s not going to turn me in. She started over. “Do you think it could be true?”
“Of course it’s not true!” Heather frowned in confusion. “Why would you—” She jerked up from the bed, her movement so sudden it made Becca jump. “You… you’re trying to…” She took a step toward the door, then back toward Becca. “You believed me when nobody else did. You defended me when nobody else would. And now you’re turning on me too?”
What had just happened? “I’m not turning on you. Why would you even think that?”
“There’s only one reason you would say something like that. You’re testing me. To see if I’m a dissident after all.” She balled her hands into fists. “I thought I at least had one person on my side.”
For a moment, Becca couldn’t speak. “You really think I would do something like that?” she said when she had recovered her voice. “We’ve known each other for ten years! I went to 117 to find you!”
“Only a dissident would think any of that could be true,” Heather said, like she didn’t understand why she had to state the obvious. “But you’re not a dissident. So why would you ask me whether I thought it was true unless you were trying to set me up?”
Becca swallowed her angry words. Heather did have a point. Only a dissident would even consider believing what the note had said.
She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground eroding around her.
She shook her head, and the image disappeared. “I wasn’t trying to set you up. I promise. I was… confused, that’s all. Forget I said anything.”
Heather didn’t answer.
Becca stayed where she was, quiet, hoping. Like coaxing a wild animal to her hand.
Heather sagged. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I thought something like that. You’ve stuck by me since this started, and I…”
“It’s okay.” With everything Heather was going through, it was understandable for her to get a little crazy sometimes. Besides, Becca would rather let it go than think through the implications of what Heather had said.
Only a dissident would think any of that could be true.
“I was so sure they were innocent.” Heather spoke so quietly that Becca could hardly hear her. “If they could be dissidents, anybody could.” She took a shaky breath, and another. “I keep thinking about that note we found, and wondering if there’s some way we got it wrong. Maybe it didn’t say what we thought it said, or maybe somebody else put it there… but I can’t come up with anything that makes sense.” She fixed her eyes on the carpet. “Not that it matters anymore. They must be dead by now.”
Becca would never find a better time to tell her.
The silence stretched on too long. Heather pounced. “You know something.”
Becca’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. “There’s something you need to know.”
Heather stumbled back to the bed. She sat at the edge, not looking at Becca. “They’re dead.” It wasn’t a question.
Becca wished she could tell Heather that her parents weren’t dead, that someone had planted that note in their photo album, that Internal had let them go and they were waiting for her at home right now. “When I asked Mom about them for you, it was too late. She had already…” Her voice trailed off. Even now that Heather knew, Becca couldn’t say the words.
Heather raised her head slowly. “She?”
Too late, Becca saw her mistake.
“You said ‘she.’ Not ‘they.’ Not ‘Internal.’”
Becca saw it coming in slow motion, saw the exact moment when the realization hit Heather.
“Your mom killed them.”
Why did Becca suddenly feel like she was the one who had pulled the trigger? “She had to do it. There was evidence… they had confessed…”
“I’ve known her for years. I’ve slept over here hundreds of times. I helped her figure out how to redecorate your room for your birthday last year. And she—” Heather gagged.
Becca placed a comforting hand on Heather’s shoulder. Heather jerked away. “How long have you known?”
“A few days,” Becca admitted.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
All Becca’s rationalizations melted away under Heather’s accusing gaze. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I wanted to wait until the right time.”
Heather’s eyes burned through Becca. “And when, exactly, would be the right time to hear that your mom killed my parents?”
“It’s not like she had a choice. They were dissidents!” As soon as she said it, Becca wished she could take the words back.
“I can’t stay here.” Heather ran for the door.
Becca opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Before she could figure out what to say, Heather was gone.
* * *
Only a dissident would think any of that could be true.
Becca rolled onto her side and pulled her blanket over her head, as if it could block out the words. She had to get to sleep. School would start in just a few hours. She drew the blanket tighter and tried to think about something else.
Something that had nothing to do with her conversation with Heather, or the note, or Anna.
Only a dissident would think any of that could be true.
Sleep obviously wasn’t going to happen. With a sigh, she stumbled out of bed. Then, with bleary resolve, she strode to the door. As long as she was awake, she was going to answer this question once and for all.
She tiptoed down the hallway to her mom’s bedroom. The door was closed, giving no hint as to whether or not her mom was home. If she was, Becca would go back to her room, try to fall asleep, and forget about this idea.
Please be home, she found herself whispering in her mind as she eased open the door.
She peered into the dark room. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. The covers of her mom’s bed lay flat, the blankets pulled all the way up to the pillow the way she always left them when she wasn’t home. Becca snaked her arm inside and flicked on the light. She squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden brightness, and had to squint until her eyes adjusted all over again.
She didn’t let out her breath until she saw for certain that the room was empty.
Still, it took her a minute to move, to make her way across the room to her mom’s computer.
She knew her mom had work files on there. Some nights her mom would get home late and then spend a couple of hours poring over prisoner files before finally going to bed. There had to be something on there that would give Becca the information she needed.
She had never betrayed her mom’s trust like this before. Had never even considered it.
If the information in the note was true, her mom had lied to her first.
And if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter what she saw in the files, because her mom had nothing to hide.
Her mom had given Becca her password a couple of weeks ago, just a day or two before Heather’s parents had been arrested, so Becca could get some pictures off her computer. She probably hadn’t changed it since then. Why would she? She trusted Becca.
Becca sat with her hands poised above the keyboard, paralyzed by what she was about to do. Going any further would be admitting—if only to herself—that she didn’t believe what her mom had told her.
Only a dissident would think any of that could be true.
But it wouldn’t just be an admission of her doubts. It would also be dissident activity. Accessing an Internal agent’s files without authorization—it would get her arrested if anyone found out.
Nobody would find out.
She had to know.
Becca typed in her mom’s password, hoping it wouldn’t work, hoping her mom had changed it. The password let her in as easily now as it had the last time she had used it.
Her mom hardly kept anything on her computer, so Becca easily spotted the icon that would lead to her work files. She let her cursor hover over it for a second before closing her eyes and clicking. When she opened her eyes again, the Internal logo filled the screen, and a small window in the center prompted her to enter a code. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS PROHIBITED, read the warning below the blinking cursor.
Becca had seen her mom do this often enough. She reached her right hand down to open the top desk drawer, and felt her way past carefully arranged pens and notecards. Her fingers closed around her mom’s security fob. She brought it out, her hand shaking.
It wasn’t too late to turn back.
She watched the blinking cursor for a second, then typed in the six numbers displayed on the thin silver fob’s small display. She held her breath as the window disappeared. The code changed every sixty seconds; what if she had missed the brief window of time when it was valid? Would some alarm go off in Processing if she entered the wrong code? She didn’t breathe again until a seemingly endless list of files appeared on the screen.
Each file was labeled with nothing but a date and a long number, with the most current files at the top. Becca’s relief gave way to frustration as she scrolled through the list. How was she supposed to find what she was looking for? After all that, she didn’t even know where to start. What was she supposed to do, search for “false confession”? Assuming there was even a way to search at all.
She scrolled through yesterday’s files, and the ones from the day before, and the day before that. Watching the dates count down to the night that had started all this. The night Heather’s parents had been arrested.
The night her mother had killed them.
If she went just a little further down the list, she could—
Bile rose in her throat. She scrolled back to the top and hurriedly opened the first file on the list.
Her eyes glazed over as she scrolled through page after page of information. Internal knew everything about this dissident, from his pets’ names to where he had gone to kindergarten. So much information, but none of it helpful to Becca.
Maybe she couldn’t find what she was looking for because it didn’t exist. Maybe her mom had told her the truth after all.
Maybe she should just assume that was the answer and go back to bed.
She was about to close the file when the next paragraph caught her eye.
Matches 80% of criteria for Public Relations request 10843-A. Requirements: police officer, male, 30 to 45 years old, unmarried. Necessary role: Part of a conspiracy within the local police force to help dissidents escape the notice of Internal Defense. Purpose: The rivalry between the police force and Internal Defense, particularly the Investigation division, is impeding our ability to find and apprehend dissidents. If police officers are concerned about being seen as part of this conspiracy, they will be less likely to interfere with our efforts.
Becca might have stayed frozen there forever if she hadn’t heard a key in the lock.
She closed the file and shut down the computer. The security fob was still lying on the desk; she grabbed it and shoved it back into the drawer. She made it to the doorway and flicked off the light just as the apartment door opened.
How would she explain it if her mom caught her in here?
She peeked her head out as far as she dared. Her mom didn’t look Becca’s way as she massaged her temples. When her mom turned around to lock the door, Becca took her chance. She hurried across the hallway as silently as she could. She counted the seconds—one, two, three, four, five and she had made it. But had she made it before her mom had turned back around?
She drew her bedroom door shut and waited for the knock, for her mom’s questions about what she had been doing.
The knock didn’t come.
Her mom hadn’t seen her.
She crawled back into bed and lay there, heart racing. Trying to forget what she had read.
Chapter Six
Heather avoided Becca all day at school. Becca saw her once in the hall, but she ducked into a classroom before Becca had a chance to say anything. Becca was pretty sure Heather’s next class was at the opposite end of the school from that room. In Citizenship class that afternoon, Heather’s desk stayed conspicuously empty, prompting the Citizenship teacher to make a few pointed remarks about dissident families.
Becca needed a chance to apologize. To make things okay between them.
And, more importantly, Heather needed to know what Becca had found.
So when she left the school that afternoon, she passed her own bus and got onto Heather’s instead.
She practically tiptoed past Heather on her way to her seat, afraid that Heather would tell the bus driver she didn’t belong there. But Heather, intent on scraping a piece of dirt off the window, didn’t even look her way.
Becca slipped into a seat two rows back from Heather and across the aisle, where she could watch Heather without much danger of being spotted. Not that she needed to worry about that. Heather stared out the window for the entire bus ride, barely moving except for a slight twitch whenever someone said her name.
If Becca hadn’t been watching her so closely, she would have missed the stop. Heather had lived in Internal housing for as long as Becca had known her. Becca had a hard time imagining he
r living on a quiet street like this, in a little house in a row of little houses, each with its own yard and metal fence.
She squinted. This street looked familiar somehow.
If she didn’t move now, she would have to find her way home from the next stop. She hurried after Heather. Heather glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw Becca, but she didn’t say anything as they left the bus.
As soon as Becca stepped out onto the sidewalk, she remembered. Of course. That was why it looked familiar. She had spent the first few years of her life here—if not on this exact street, then somewhere in this neighborhood. Her dad had insisted on it. He hadn’t wanted to live in Internal housing. Becca could still remember the fights—although the ones about the house hadn’t been the worst ones, not by a long shot. Becca could almost see a younger version of herself sitting on the sidewalk with her chalk, driven out of the house by her dad’s yelling and her mom’s icy words.
Heather’s voice jolted her out of her memories. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” First things first. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about your parents as soon as I found out.”
“You didn’t know what to say. I get it.” Heather unlatched the gate and stepped into the yard.
“Wait!” Becca pushed through the gate after her before she could close it. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
Heather waited.
Having this conversation outside, where anyone could hear them, was a bad idea. But going inside would be worse. At least Internal couldn’t bug the yard. Becca glanced around; she didn’t see anybody nearby. She stepped closer to Heather so she could talk softly.
Heather stepped back. “So? What is it?”
“I looked in my mom’s work files last night.” Becca lowered her voice even further, until she was almost whispering. “The stuff in your parents’ note… it’s true.”
Heather’s face hardened. She took another step back. “I thought you were done with this.”
“You don’t understand. I saw it.” Becca cast another furtive look around. “The dissident’s file had instructions from Public Relations about what kind of confession to get. They wanted him to confess to being part of some conspiracy inside the police force, so the police would—”