by Rachael Craw
She nods at the floor. “I better get dressed or we’ll be late.”
I want to touch her, hug her, force her to be okay. Instead, I turn to the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
BRUISES
“Are you allowed to do that?” Lila straightens up, one trainer tied.
I stop digging in my bag, following her gaze to Kitty. I shoot to my feet. “What are you doing?”
She stands there in her gym gear, bare-necked, the foam support in her hands. “I’ve had enough.” She stuffs the brace in her locker and closes the door, a metallic clap.
I shake my head. “You’re putting that back on.”
“No, I’m not.”
I can’t stop staring at her neck, naked and unprotected. “You’re being ridiculous. Put the damn brace on.”
Her grey eyes aren’t as dark as her brother’s but there’s steel in them now. “No.”
A quiet gust of outrage parts my lips, but what can I do, wrestle her to the ground? Her eyebrow arches; she knows I won’t do anything in front of the others. “Gym?” I snap. “Really? That’s the best option for going without your brace?”
“What if someone bumps you?” Imogen says, putting her shirt on.
“Exactly!” I nod at Imogen and round on Kitty. “What then?”
“I’m fine.” Kitty bends to tie her laces. Her hair brushes forwards. I see the chaffing on the vulnerable curve of her neck, where the brace has rubbed her skin.
I glare, but she keeps her head down.
Imogen and Lila exchange looks.
I clench my teeth so tightly a bone clicks in my jaw. I yank my T-shirt off and throw it in the locker.
“Jeez, Evie. What have you done?” Lila touches my wrist and my pins and needles zip-zap. I had forgotten about the state of my arms, dark blooms from wrists to elbows. My mind blanks and my mouth opens and closes. I can feel the other girls turning towards me. I pull my gym shirt on to stall.
“She slipped on the stairs,” Kitty says, briefly meeting my eyes. “Carrying a bloody great box of books and landed on her arms.”
“Um, yeah,” I say. “Hurt like hell.”
Lila grimaces. “Looks like.”
“That’s what you get when you think you have to do everything yourself,” Kitty mutters.
Out in the gym, Mrs Jenner blows her whistle.
I step onto the courts, aggravated at feeling nervous. Will Richard be there? He arrived in the foyer that morning with his nose taped, a black-eyed scowl, and surrounded by sympathisers. I’d caught sight of him from a distance and braced for a day of smart-assed remarks.
Thankfully, he doesn’t appear from the locker room, though his friends glower, a campaign of intimidation. One of them hisses through his teeth, “You wait.”
“Piss off,” Angelo steps in front of me, as well as another couple of kids wearing the blue screen-printed T-shirts. Richard’s friends sneer and turn away, not so much backing down as biding their time.
“You okay?” Angelo slings his arm around my shoulders, a casual squeeze, just as Jamie emerges from the boys’ locker room. Jamie stares. Angelo doesn’t see him and reaches for my wrist. “What happened to your arms?”
I repeat Kitty’s excuse and pull away. “I’m fine.” I look up but Jamie has moved away and my stomach swoops.
After Mrs Jenner takes the roll, we begin jogging laps. Angelo and a few of the blue T-shirt crew keep pace behind Kitty and I, a buffer against Richard’s cronies. It feels weird having people I don’t even know defending me. I wish they wouldn’t – I hate the attention. I glance at Kitty, jogging glum-faced on my right. I imagine every step jarring up through her spine.
“Is this my punishment?” I keep my voice low, eyes forward. “You endangering your life?”
She sighs, huffy with impatience. “Yes. It’s all about you, Evie.”
“Point made. I suck. Now put your brace back on.”
“I’m self-actualising,” she says. “Taking charge of one small portion of my life. I realise it’s probably not something you can comprehend, being essentially an indestructible cyborg and all, but having your life dictated to you rather grates on the nerves.”
My face grows hot and I fight to keep my voice down. “That – that doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s my neck.”
We keep jogging.
I keep fuming. “You think I’m self-actualising? You think I’m the boss of my life?”
“Well, you’ve decided who Jamie’s allowed to love and what I’m allowed to write, and Miriam had to pull a rabbit out of her arse before you’d forgive her and clearly you think you know better than I do what’s good for me. So, I’d say, yeah, sounds pretty take charge to me.”
I stop in my tracks, but Kitty keeps jogging, Angelo and the blue shirts dodging around me. “You okay?” Angelo calls, jogging backwards.
I wave him on. “I’m fine.”
Jamie jogs past, his eyes brushing over me, taking in the bruises on my arms. He doesn’t stop. Gil, a few steps behind, frowns and looks at me questioningly. I try to produce a smile and shrug like nothing’s wrong but I can tell he doesn’t buy it. Neither do I.
I drop my satchel on the floor and lean against the locker, closing my eyes. Two classes down and my endurance has waned. I wish I could wall out the noise of students congesting the corridor and wonder if I can persuade Kitty to ditch calculus.
Kitty closes her locker. “Permission to use the restroom?”
I bite back a retort and crack an eye open. “Looks like a queue.” Girls are crowding in there. She doesn’t reply but walks away. I close my eye and mutter, “I’ll be right here.” I concentrate on the pulse of the tether, one ear on the bandwidth. Someone stops by me. I keep my eyes closed hoping they’ll get the hint.
“My dove?”
I open my eyes and Gil leans his wide frame, one shouldered, against the locker beside me. “My dove?” I say.
His eyes glint. “I’m trying it out.”
I shake my head. “Nooo.”
He shrugs, turning his body to assume the same posture as mine. “Lot on your mind?”
Quietly hysterical laughter shakes my shoulders. “A bit, yeah.”
“Skip seems rather … preoccupied himself.”
You’ve decided who Jamie’s allowed to love. “It’s complicated.”
He nods a slow, contemplative nod. “I’m loath to undermine my own campaign, but you know you’ve kind of been Jamie’s dream girl since he was eleven, right?”
I brace my hands against the locker, a lump forming in my throat. “Seems unlikely given we argued most of the time we were kids.”
“You know what they say about that.” He lowers his voice. “I won’t break tree house confidentiality, but you do remember that he dragged you from the river?”
“He knocked me in.”
“I’ll admit the details are a little sketchy but, trust me, an experience like that works its way deep into a young man’s psyche.” He presses his lips together and pushes himself upright. “Just saying. See you later, Sweet Pea.”
“Gah.”
He shrugs. “I’ll work on it.”
My insides ache. If Gil has picked up on the weirdness between me and Jamie, how long before the rest of them do too?
The bandwidth crackles.
I freeze and scan the crowd.
Down at the other end of the corridor, Aiden turns the corner. Even from here he looks pale and exhausted. I straighten up, my pulse hammering. I reach into the static. It grows loud, but that always happens when I get worked up. I know I’m supposed to be keeping an open mind, but I remember my spike in fear when we walked from the principal’s office. My spine zip-zaps.
DNA.
Get his DNA.
But what should I do? Stab him with a pencil? Scratch him with my nails? My mind turns chaotic flips. He might have hair on his collar.
You’re over-thinking. Read the bandwidth.
But I’m so unreliable.
I
t’s the perfect opportunity.
With Kitty only yards away and out of sight – if I could stall him, talk to him, test the bandwidth at this proximity, maybe I could … An idea seizes me. KMH. Miriam’s warned me it doesn’t work on civilians, so if I can harvest something, anything from him, won’t that be proof?
Oh crap, oh crap.
I remember his hand on my shoulder, that casual touch. I could do that, couldn’t I?
He doesn’t look up as he trudges towards me, shadows under his eyes, frowning like he has a headache. Is it a reaction to Kitty’s nearness? I act before I have a chance to chicken out, stepping right in front of him. I grip his arm, a split second of heart-stopping contact. I reach into the bandwidth and slip into a black hole. I see nothing, hear nothing, not even the white noise I’ve become accustomed to when scanning for signals. I grope in the emptiness, blind and deaf.
Aiden pulls away.
“Sorry.” I shake off the disorientation and try for a breezy laugh. “You’re just the person I was hoping to see. How’s it going?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been conscripted to PA for Dick, since he’s been ‘incapacitated’.”
The mention of Richard coincides with an immediate spike in my pins and needles. Hostility grips me and I struggle to process my body’s fight instinct. “But I saw him this morning.”
“Apparently, he needs ‘support’ till he’s fully recovered.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, reddening. “They can’t make you do that.”
“I pretty much don’t have a choice unless I want to ‘undermine my contractual obligations’. Not that I don’t like your work, but the nose job hasn’t improved his personality.” Aiden shrugs and shifts from foot to foot. “I’ve got history.”
“Wait a second.” At that moment, Richard appears at the bend in the corridor, stopping to talk to two other boys. We both stare at him and frustration burns me up. How can I read the bandwidth now? I won’t know who I’m reacting to. I clear my throat and rush on. “You helped Kaylee that night at the ball, right?”
He tenses. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
He rubs the back of his neck, blinking rapidly, then jams his fist back in his pocket. “I’m not trying to protect him. He could make life very difficult for Kaylee.”
“I get it. I’m glad you were there for her.”
His eyes flick from wall to ceiling to floor. “I’m not a stalker.”
“I wasn’t suggesting–”
“I only followed them because she could barely walk and I know what he’s like.”
Did Aiden stop to assault Kitty on his way to check on Kaylee? The idea seems ludicrous. I study his face, my chest tight with uncertainty. I can’t tell if the subject or his proximity to Kitty agitates him. “Must have been scary.”
“She was crying. I didn’t really think, I just dragged him off her. He ran for it.”
Richard ran for it. Where to?
Did he unleash his frustration on Kitty as she passed the side of the house? The scene paints itself too easily. I watch him at the end of the corridor, managing to look cocky even with his black eyes and taped nose. “But you didn’t tell the cops?”
“She begged me not to.” He grinds his teeth and small beads of sweat appear above his lip. “Maybe I shouldn’t have listened.”
We both sigh in the same way at the same time and look at each other.
“And I have to apologise to him.”
“Dignity’s not everything.” Aiden gives a grim nod. “I’m going before Dick makes me carry his books.”
Richard walks towards us. Aiden slopes away, looking more depressed than when I stopped him. I would have felt guilty if I could have felt anything clearly. Kitty appears from the restroom and the leap of adrenaline contracts the muscles in my arms and legs.
She frowns. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
Richard seems to walk in slow motion, the bruising around his eyes pronounced. He swings his pack to one shoulder and pauses to eyeball me. “See you Friday.”
Miriam’s strike flashes in my mind but my defence comes too slow. She wrenches my arm, flinging me over her head. I land on my back with a terrific oof, winded, gasping. At least heat and exertion mask my embarrassment – Jamie stands at the edge of the blue mat.
“You’re not concentrating.” Miriam bends over me, grabs my hand and hauls me up.
“Kung fu is hard,” I moan.
“Kung fu is a tool.”
“I’m a beginner.”
“You’re a genetically engineered weapon,” Miriam says. “You’ve already learned more in two days than a civ could manage in months of daily training. Quit your bellyaching and tune in.”
Kitty sniggers on the swivel chair, glancing up from Miriam’s desk where she fiddles with her phone. I’m glad she acknowledges me, even if it’s to laugh. I screw my nose up at her to keep it light.
“It’s purely psychological,” Miriam says. “You’ve been blocking like a pro for weeks. Your speed is outstanding, your somersaults are almost as good as mine. You beat the crap out of the sparing dummy and throw knives like a damn sniper. There’s no reason you can’t master this. Now, you registered my intent in the bandwidth before it came.”
“Yeah.” I lean, hands on thighs, trying to get more air. “But I’m too slow.”
“You’re thinking about defence instead of attack,” Jamie says.
I glance up, surprised he spoke; I thought stony silence was his bag now.
“Exactly.” Miriam smiles, an encouraging, let’s smooth things out smile. I can’t tell if she’s being generous or smug, given she must be thrilled we’ve broken up. “When you look to strike rather than ward, precognition not only allows you to access your opponent’s intent but it releases your attack impulse. Forget about avoiding pain. You don’t care if you get hurt. You care about overpowering your opponent.”
I jerk upright. “I’m not afraid of getting hurt.”
Miriam narrows her eyes. “Then you’re afraid of hurting me.”
I open my mouth to argue and then close it.
“Fight Jamie.” She shrugs. “He’s a tank.”
I turn my back so Jamie won’t see my face, giving Miriam a baleful glare.
“You two can put aside your differences for training.”
“I’m not … I don’t care.” I blush. “Fine.”
Jamie steps onto the mat. I try to concentrate on loosening my knees and assuming the relaxed stance Miriam taught me, but I’m distracted, anticipating Jamie’s scent, his strong arms, the way his muscles move beneath his skin. All the things I’d deprived myself of over the last two days. My hands tremble, like low blood sugar tremors, which is ridiculous. Jamie’s not a drug; I don’t need a fix.
Stop staring at his mouth, you pervert.
“Ready?” Jamie asks.
The bow of his top lip, the full curve of the lower.
I swallow and nod.
Jamie’s body blurs and the bandwidth opens up. I see the strike of his arm before it comes and my block is ready; sense the sweep of his leg before he turns and I leap; read the swing of his elbow and arch my back bringing my leg up and over in a roundhouse kick, catching him in the shoulder blade. Our eyes connect in that moment, and something flares in my chest. We separate and I turn to Miriam. “He’s letting me win!”
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile.
Condescending bastard!
I don’t wait.
I lunge.
Miriam’s right, as soon as I take the initiative it’s all there. Jamie’s intent arriving with my supplied strategy like the prongs of a zip knitting together, question and answer, strike and defence. We move back and forth across the mat, sometimes tumbling, sometimes leaving the ground, the sound of skin and bone, thudding, slapping, jarring, thumping. I’m sloppy, but my advantage lies in lightness and flexibility – soaring, diving, spinning and then strikin
g.
Jamie flips backwards, twisting in the air. I picture how he hopes to land and roll away. I spring, bringing my knees high in the upward trajectory, dropping squarely onto his back, driving him into the mat with a crunching thud.
I smile, seeing that Kitty has turned to watch, but then she flips upside down and I lose all my oxygen again.
Jamie pins me, both arms above my head, his weight grinding my hips into the floor, his eyes boring into mine.
“All right, all right,” Miriam says. “We get the point.”
G-DAY
“G-Day”. That’s what the Bishop has taken to calling my appointment with the governor. After school we have an entourage of supporters on our way to Jamie’s car. Gil squeezes into a Not without a mint T-shirt, several sizes too small. I still have no clue what my approach will be, but people keep insisting on giving me advice.
“Don’t be intimidated, Van.” Gil walks beside me, his meaty arm strapped round my shoulders. “Look the son of a bitch in the eye, say ‘Sorry’ and leave it at that.”
Pete nods. “Don’t grovel.”
“Sweet Cherry Pie doesn’t grovel,” Gil says.
“Seriously?” I mutter, “I prefer Van.”
“Let us know how it goes, okay?” Lila pats my arm. Imogen smiles. I’m a little overwhelmed to see how they’ve all taken me under their wing.
I barely register the thirty-minute drive to Concord. Next thing, we’ve pulled up in the parking lot of a diner. We kill time over burgers and fries, conversation stilted, none of us in the mood to really talk, with things awkward between me and Kitty, and worse between me and Jamie. I spend most of the time hyper-aware of my knees, only inches from his beneath the table. By the time we have to meet Miriam and Leonard, the sun is beginning to set.
Then I find myself outside the car, behind the security gate in the governor’s office parking lot. Miriam, already beside me, fidgets with her handbag; no doubt riding with Leonard was uncomfortable. He sets a wide warm hand on my shoulder, filling the vacant dad space inside me with an achy sort of yearning. “Evangeline, you look beautiful – and tall. Very situation-appropriate.”
I’m not sure my lips will work to form sentences, but at least I’ve dressed carefully, changing my high-tops in the car for black stilettos. A risk if it means pursuing Kitty’s Stray, but I’m banking on being in a well-guarded place with witnesses to discourage that possibility.