by Rachael Craw
Deactivation?
The woman: “You have not disclosed your status, Mr Gallagher?”
Jamie: “It didn’t seem important.”
Deactivation?
The woman: “The state of your signal is very important. Tesla takes his program seriously and–”
Miriam: “Tesla? Ethan Tesla?”
Jamie: “Ethan knows I’m here.”
Deactivation?
The woman: “I will have to verify this with Tesla, Mr Gallagher.”
Jamie: “Certainly.”
Silence.
Jamie? I can’t find your signal.
The woman: “It is a concern to me that we could not identify you at all until we cross-referenced the address. How is it that your Marker has been allowed to degrade?”
Jamie: “My Watcher is Kaleb Kent.”
The woman: “Is he aware of your return from Berlin?”
Jamie: “No.”
The woman: “Would you like me to file a negligence report about Mr Kent?”
Jamie: “Yes, I would.”
Silence.
The woman: “There’s a niece on your file, Ms Everton. Carolyn has made note of her relocation.”
I hold my breath, the siren in my head.
The woman: “And her mother has died. Trauma is often a precursor to Priming, and with exposure to your signal–”
Miriam: “No. There’s been nothing.”
The woman: “Still, you should be alert.”
Miriam: “Of course.”
Silence. Movement.
The woman: “Do either of you require any other assistance at this juncture?”
Miriam/Jamie: “No.”
The woman: “Before we go, Mr Gallagher. It is my opinion that it would be better for you to remove yourself from the premises until Ms Everton has completed the assignment. The blurring in your signal is quite severe, as though it has divided or multiplied in some way. Even with Tesla’s permission for leave, I doubt he would be pleased with your current reading.”
CONSEQUENCES
I ache. Shoulders, back, thighs, calves, my bones generally. I trail Kitty through the double doors to the Senior Common Room. Dark-panelled walls, casement windows, roll armed sofas gathered in huddles around fading Axminster. I yawn and rub my eyes. Thankfully, I’m back in stretchy denim and Chuck Taylors; no more of Kitty’s restricting designer get-ups for me.
I scan the room, partly for Kitty’s sake but mostly for my own. Only a handful of people. No sign of Richard, but we’re early.
“Relax, he’s probably off having plastic surgery.” Kitty pokes me with her elbow, towards a clutch of sofas. “You’ve successfully duped an international underground organisation, doesn’t that make you happy?”
“Delaying the inevitable doesn’t make me happy. Thinking about what will happen to Miriam and Jamie doesn’t make me happy.” I bite my lip. Kitty has enough on her plate (target of the genetically deranged). I struggle to smile. “Staying with you makes me happy.”
She isn’t convinced. “They’ll be in trouble?”
I had lain awake half the night, between nightmares, worrying about what Affinity Project discipline looked like, among countless other things, like how long would it take Doctor Sullivan to compare samples, and what the hell was a deactivation program? A cure? Wouldn’t Jamie just say? He was so cagey about it. If Miriam hadn’t taken off straight after the Warden left, I might have asked her.
I don’t answer Kitty, lowering myself onto the couch, wincing at the collective cry of my musculature. I needed several hours in the gym, post-Warden, to calm down enough to sleep. Not that the sleep I’d had was any comfort, dream-stalking Kitty with sick, twisting hate. In the end, I fought my way back to consciousness at four, sobbing uncontrollably. I’m starting to think I need an exorcism. I try to focus on the positives. Leonard will have delivered my shirt to Doctor Sullivan by now. Who knows, he might already have Richard pinned under a microscope.
“I hate it.” Kitty slumps next to me, frowning at her hands. “Everyone’s lives screwed over because of me.”
“No.” I grit my teeth. “There is not a single shit thing about this whole DNA fiasco that isn’t the fault of the megalomaniac sons of bitches who conjured it up in a lab.”
“Too many double negatives for me to follow, Evs.”
“It means, I forbid you to blame yourself. It’s ridiculous, like apologising for being short.”
“I’m sorry about that too.”
“Ugh.”
Gil shoulders his way into the common room, brandishing an alarming bouquet of orange flowers. He props the door open and the rest of the guys follow, looking damp from the rain after their meeting down at the boatsheds. Jamie brings up the rear, an amused, long-suffering curve to his lips.
People turn to stare at Gil. He puffs his chest, drawing chuckles and comments. I snort and shake my head until Gil’s eyes land on me and his expression becomes ominously gleeful. “There she is!”
I sink into the couch. “Oh no. He’s not?”
Kitty quakes beside me, bumping my shoulder as she laughs. “Oh, but he is.”
Gil hurdles a sofa, landing on a sunken seat opposite me, laying the flowers on the coffee table, the perfumed waft as eye-watering as the colour. “On behalf of Gainsborough Collegiate, thank you for the best first day of school ever.”
“You said that yesterday.” I let my hair swing out beside my face to block the rubberneckers watching from the couches next to ours. “And what am I supposed to do with these all day?”
Abe and Pete land either side of Gil, grinning with the same evil glee. Pete settles in for some prolonged eye contact with Kitty. Jamie sits beside me on the armrest. “Endure?” Jamie says. “As I do, when my best friend gives my girlfriend flowers.”
“About that,” Gil leans forwards, bringing his fingertips together in a dramatic flourish beneath his chin. “In light of recent nose-breaking events, I would be willing to forgo said friendship. I propose a transferring of affection from your current boyfriend to someone who might on first appearance seem an unlikely candidate but who, given time, may be found to have many endearing qualities.”
Jamie sighs.
Gil raises his palm for silence. “I may not have much to recommend me–”
“True,” Abe says.
“Not a single scar or tattoo.”
“I could give you a scar,” Jamie says brightly.
“I am but a humble man, of humble means–”
“In that his father owns the largest sawmill in the Northwest,” Pete says.
“With little grace, polish or sophistication–”
“Also true.” Abe nods.
“However.” Gil lifts his chin. “What I can offer is a lifetime of unwavering devotion.”
Jamie groans.
“For breaking one nose?” If I play along, it might be over sooner. “I’ll think about it.”
Gil clasps his hands and closes his eyes.
Lila and Imogen appear in the growing crowd, Kaylee behind them. I dig my nails into my legs. I haven’t seen Kaylee since yesterday’s creeptastic encounter in the corridor where Richard pawed her hair. Given I’d burned my bridges with Kaylee in chemistry, I’m not sure I can take more drama. She doesn’t say anything but slides neatly onto the last couch with Imogen.
Lila leans beside Abe. “What’s going on?”
“The Bishop is campaigning to displace the Skipper,” Abe says.
Lila laughs. “And how’s it going?”
“She’s wavering,” Jamie says.
Lila shrugs. “I’d waver.”
Gil’s head whips towards her, his face lighting up.
“Hmph,” Jamie says.
Lila pouts and nods at me. “Like I could compete with that.”
I pretend not to hear and mutter, “Unwavering devotion has a short attention span.”
Behind the boys, on the other side of the room, a group has gathered around a large cardboard box. I
recognise Angelo, grinning behind his blond hair as he flips the lid and pulls out a neatly folded blue T-shirt with a flash of yellow printed on the front, inspiring immediate laughter. Several of the group look over and smile at me. Some even give me the thumbs up.
What the hell?
I try to tune in but there are too many voices talking over each other for me to hear anything distinct. The crowd around Angelo grows, the laughs and looks multiply, boys and girls dig in their pockets and packs, fisting out cash.
I rise to my feet and brush past Jamie, making my way slowly towards Angelo’s customers. A boy turns with the T-shirt fitted over his button-down shirt. Emblazoned across his chest are the hastily screen-printed words, Not without a mint, a volleyball arcing above it. “Wanna sign it?”
My jaw clicks. “No.”
“Straight off the press.” Angelo squeezes through the group, green eyes sparkling. “It was a late night, but worth it. This is my second box. Should have seen them go in the parking lot – selling like hotcakes.”
“Angelo, are you trying to ruin me?”
He claps me on the shoulder, making my spine zap. “Trust me, it’s already urban legend.”
Jamie appears beside me. “The governor will love them.”
Angelo retrieves his hand. “Until ‘The Man’ shuts me down, it’s all supply and demand.” His eyes linger on me. “And demand is hot. See you in gym, Evie.”
Numbly horrified, I watch him push back through the crowd.
“Bloody hell,” Jamie says darkly. “He’s keen.”
“This is bad.”
“I’ll take one, if you have it in extra small.” Kaylee steps past me, slipping a twenty-dollar bill from her purse. Her eyes met mine and she gives me a small reluctant smile.
I squint at the whiteboard, stifle my hundredth yawn and arch my back, grateful at least for the ease in my muscles after the stiffness of the morning (score for rapid regeneration). Mr Fenton’s diagram has taken on the indecipherable quality of hieroglyphics. I lean over to look at Kitty’s work, but she copied it exactly right. Why doesn’t mine look the same?
The sound of light feet approaches in the corridor and I look to the door. A frightened freshman runner enters with a note. Mr Fenton opens it and looks at me.
My stomach plummets.
“Principal Hawker wishes to see you in her office.”
“Can’t I go after class?” I hate the thought of so many corridors between me and Kitty.
Mr Fenton peers over his glasses with a bewildered frown. “Your dedication to economics is duly noted, Miss Everton, but if the principal is asking for you now, then now you shall go.” He turns back to the whiteboard.
Murmurs of speculation rise around the room. I’m not the only one who expects me to fry for yesterday’s incident.
Kitty taps her watch under the desk, like high-tech gadgets are a comfort.
“Fine.” I snap my folder closed, scrape my chair and stalk out the door, sniggers rippling behind me. My pulse pounds in my ears. The immense stupidity of allowing myself to be dragged away from Kitty!
The tether stretches until it evaporates at the turn in the last corridor. I ball my fists and replay breaking Richard’s nose to comfort myself. The crunch. The satisfaction.
The principal’s welcome is austere. “It is a very great shame, Miss Everton, to see you so soon in the semester and for such an unpleasant matter.”
Stay calm. Look repentant. Getting back to Kitty is all that matters.
But it’s a lengthy speech about the Deans’ “important relationship” with the school. Finally, she lays it out. “You are required to visit the governor’s office, at the end of the week, to make a formal apology to Richard in the presence of his father.”
I am too slow adjusting my face.
Ms Hawker leans forwards, pressing her elbows on her gleaming desk. “You will make your apology, Miss Everton, and you will be grateful that you are not suspended between now and then. The governor has made it quite clear that your failure to comply will result in legal action.”
“It was an accident.”
“There are witnesses who say otherwise.” She sits back with a sigh. “The best advice I can give you is to swallow your pride and be done with it. The governor does not make idle threats.” She slides a small white business card across the desk, and I pick it up with numb fingers. She nods me out of her office.
I close the door and walk head-down into someone’s chest.
The bandwidth blanks, like dead air, then bursts back to life as I step away. “Sorry.” So much for lightning reflexes.
It’s Aiden. “That look doesn’t bode well.”
I hold up the governor’s card.
He grimaces. “Busted, huh?”
“It was too much to hope it wouldn’t come back to bite me.”
“Is Chuck in there?”
“Chuck?”
“My nickname for the governor. Not a very respectful attitude, is it, given the man’s responsible for my current good fortune?”
“I could think of worse names.”
“Helps defuse resentment.”
“What do you call Richard?”
He grins and we both say, “Dick.”
“Governor’s not in there,” I say. “Just the card.”
“Hard labour in the salt mines for you then?”
I explain about the apology.
His expression sobers. “And what if you don’t?”
“They’ll press charges.” I shake my head and Aiden surprises me by putting his hand on my shoulder, muting the bandwidth. It’s the strangest sensation – like coming up against a wall – but I can’t think past the frustration and anger burning in my chest. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”
Aiden frowns and withdraws his hand, digging it in his pocket.
My ears pop and the bandwidth crackles back to life.
“The governor enjoys his power. He’ll want to see you eat some humble pie.”
I heave a sigh. “You got an appointment with Hawker?”
“Needed my boarding fees signed off.” He sounds distracted. “The principal’s secretary’s photocopying my form.” On cue, the secretary returns and hands Aiden the slip of paper like it’s an unseemly transaction. “Thanks.” He folds the form twice, tucking it in his back pocket. We both turn towards the door and Aiden automatically opens it for me.
“I guess the scholarship came with a few strings?”
“What? Oh, right. Yeah. You could say the governor’s favour comes on hard terms, for sure.” He falls back into his thoughts as we make our way out into the gilded corridor. “He likes gratitude,” he says, finally. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. But it’s a drag having to show it all the time.”
As we near the end of the hall, my anxiety spikes and I look at my watch. How long have I been away from Kitty? I picture her sitting safely in economics, but conjuring her face only increases my anxiety and I quicken my stride. Aiden keeps pace with me and there’s an awkward pause. I can’t concentrate enough to come up with conversation.
When we round the next corridor and the tether snaps to life, I expect to feel relieved but instead I feel an alarming rise in fear. Aiden stops beside me, staring at the floor like he’s dropped something. I skitter a few steps ahead.
“Actually … I forgot.” He pats his pocket where he has tucked the fees printout. “I needed to ask the principal something.”
I wave him goodbye and actually jog the remaining distance to the door.
Aiden makes a fast track back down the corridor.
I hit the handle too heavily, the door springs open and every head turns towards me. I zero in on Kitty like I’m looking down a long tunnel. Someone is in my seat. Someone leaning close to her.
I freeze, scanning for the threat but can’t lock on anything. White noise buzzes in my head.
“Don’t just stand there, Evangeline,” Mr Fenton says from the whiteboard.
Kitty pales, r
eading the tension in my posture.
I glare at the boy sitting next to her.
“Thanks for your help,” he mumbles to Kitty, picking up his textbook, not meeting my eye.
It’s an effort to bend my joints to sit. Kitty puts a clammy hand on my arm and the fear in her eyes pierces me. “Can you feel something?”
“It’s okay.” I stare down at the blurred page of notes. “I was just freaking out.”
I force myself to focus. I picture Aiden, his face, his hands as he talked. I focus on the electric tension that rose in me, now ebbing away. What if I’m overreacting? Worse still, what if I’m not?
MIRIAM
“This is cool!” Kitty lifts her voice above the wall of music, bumping down the metal stairs behind me. “Miriam has a lair!”
The combination of two days at school without being murdered and last night’s victory over the Affinity Project seems to have given Kitty a bolstered sense of morale. Either that, or Pete flirting with her by her locker at the end of the day has worked wonders.
We clear the ceiling and look down on Miriam hammering the sparing dummy. Her arms and legs blur as she strikes the wooden limbs. Thwack, thwack-thwack! My bones ache in sympathy. Violent Femmes grind from the speakers and I brace against the volume and the sense memory: the song is one of Mom’s old favourites. Miriam’s upset.
I turn Jamie’s keys in my hand and wonder if it would have been better to stay at school and wait while the boys practised for time trials. But the day, the drama, the attention for being the angsty girl dating the hot guy with the scars and ink had wiped me out. With so many things on my chest that need unloading, I jumped at the offer to drive Kitty home and take a detour to see Miriam without Jamie. I wait by the stairs, not wanting to get in Miriam’s way. Kitty wanders over to the display of knives and martial arts paraphernalia.
Miriam finishes her workout with a series of somersaults, landing before me, sweaty and flushed, her eyes wary. “What’s going on?”
It’s hard to look right at her. “I wanted to talk to you and I wasn’t sure if you were coming to the Gallaghers’ tonight.”
She glances at Kitty, who’s now on the treadmill.
“She knows about the kiss.”