by Sara Grant
“Effie has been fired.”
“Fired?” I rest against the door, it opens, and I stumble farther into the room. I have never heard anything so preposterous in my life. “But why?” Being too efficient. Caring too much about her job. I can’t imagine Effie stealing a paper clip.
“She misused GovNet,” he says as if it’s a question.
My stomach drops as if I’ve been hoisted up and it’s been weighted down. I used Effie’s computer yesterday. Effie is missing and it’s all my fault. “What… w-what does that mean?”
“She had been sharing government information with a group that is suspected of unpatriotic behavior.” He’s saying the words, but he doesn’t seem to believe it.
“Effie? Are you sure?”
He nods and stares off into space. “I trusted her.”
My guilt subsides. This was not my fault. “What will happen to her?” Effie a rebel? I can’t believe it.
Dad clears his throat and that faraway look is gone. He is tense and in control again. “She will be replaced as soon as possible. Until then, you will be responsible for all of Effie’s nonconfidential duties. We’ll have to forget this happened and get back to work.”
He means forget Effie. He must be good at erasing people from his life; he’s had enough practice.
I sit at Effie’s desk. They come and take her computer. They empty her desk. There is not one single personal touch in or on her desk, not even a scrap of paper with a doodle or partial grocery list. It’s as if she were never here. They plug in a new computer for me. When I turn it on, the only icon on my screen is for the history book. That’s it. There’s no GovNet, no nothing. My search is over. I could scream.
Strange, but I miss Effie. Her efficiency and unwavering belief in her job and Homeland were the backbone of the office—and it was all an act. Dad walks aimlessly between his office and Effie’s desk, my desk now. He comes out of his office or looks up from the book or papers he’s reading when I come in his office and it’s as if he realizes Effie is gone all over again. His face softens and then creases in a frown.
It’s lonely without her exasperated sighs and steely looks of disapproval. I’m getting requests for information from all over the government. The Minister of Exchange’s office wants an inventory of all stories related to recycling programs. Someone from the Minister of Health’s office calls to remind Dad about some doctor’s appointment. I organize the requests and work up the courage to ask Dad what to do.
I tap on Dad’s office door and hope he doesn’t answer, even though I know he’s in there. “Come!” he shouts.
I step one foot across the threshold but keep most of my body on my side of the door. He’s slumped behind his desk so that I am talking to his bald spot. Papers and folders are stacked haphazardly around him and threaten an avalanche. He’s poised over a thick report with a highlighter in one hand and a pencil in the other. His wild, wiry hair vibrates as he scribbles on the paper and then makes broad yellow strokes with his highlighter. “Um, Dad, I was wondering, if, well—”
“What is it, Neva?” he barks, looking up from the stack of papers in front of him. He’s done an even worse shaving job than usual. He’s got stubble on his chin and his sideburns are uneven.
“I don’t know what to do.” That was the wrong thing to say. His jaw immediately clenches and his eyes narrow.
“What I meant was… I’ve made all the edits you’ve approved to the history. Effie didn’t tell me anything about the rest of her job. I’m getting requests from all over and I don’t know how to respond to them.”
His face relaxes a smidge. “Give them to me, and I’ll deal with them.”
I hand him a series of folders. “I’ve organized them by deadline and importance—anything from one of the other Council members is in the first file.”
He looks almost pleased.
“The Minister of Health’s office called to remind you about some doctor’s appointment.”
His expression darkens.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Neva. It’s just…”—he pauses—“routine.”
“Dad, I want to help.” I approach his desk. “I could arrange this for you,” I say, gesturing to the mess of papers scattered in front of him. I pick up a thick folder with Women’s Empowerment Center scribbled in my dad’s cramped handwriting. WEC. That’s one of the acronyms in Nicoline’s file.
“Don’t touch that!” He snatches it from me. His voice is unnecessarily loud. I stumble back to put distance between us.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to…” I want to get out of here.
His creased brow smoothes. “I’m sorry, Neva. I’m a bit lost without…” He tucks the Women’s Empowerment Center folder into his desk drawer. “I deal with confidential information, and you do not have a security clearance.”
“What do I need to do to get clearance?” I’d love to know what’s in that file and the other secrets my dad is keeping.
“That’s not possible.” He straightens the piles of papers and folders around him. His touch causes one tower to topple. I rush forward and shuffle papers into folders as best I can.
“What is a Women’s Empowerment Center?” I ask as if I’m reading it off one of the files.
He scoops the files from my arms before I even register his movement. “None of your business.”
“I could get security clearance. I could be an even bigger help to you.” I could find The Missing.
He studies me. “Not with your history. The only reason you were allowed here in the first place was because I promised Effie”—he pauses at her name and clears his throat as if to erase the very thought of her—“I promised we would keep a close eye on you. I had to call in a lot of favors to get you sent here rather than…” He clears his throat again.
I would love to know the end of that sentence. The graffiti and my interrogation seem so long ago. I feel helpless.
“That’s all, Neva.”
Dad locks himself in his office for the rest of the afternoon. I leave at five o’clock on the dot without Dad. I call Sanna from a phone booth. I tell her to get everyone together. I am coming right over. We’ve got to do something.
What’s happened to Nicoline and Effie? Why does Dad have a secret hiding place? I am a guppy swimming round and round in a glass fish bowl. Sanna wants to meet at “our place.” That’s code for where we first met. She’s right. Of course, she’s right. We can’t meet at her house, not with her patriotic guardians listening at doorways.
The playground feels empty, but Sanna’s already here. I can hear the squeak of the merry-go-round as it slowly turns. A trio of swings hang perfectly parallel. The slide stands like an outstretched tongue. The first time I saw Sanna she was playing on this merry-go-round. She held on to one of the bars and ran as fast as she could, then dived on. As her spin slowly dwindled, she’d jump off and race around again. She’d scared all the other kids away with her mad dashes. I watched her for a while until I knew the rhythm. Then as the merry-go-round slowed, I hopped on. “Whatcha doin’?” I’d asked when she looked at me as if I were the one with the dirty bare feet, the mud-streaked face, the ripped skirt, and hair barely restrained in four ponytails. I scooted into the center of the merry-go-round where the pull of the spin was less fierce.
“Spinning,” she replied.
“Why?” I braced myself as she started to run.
“It feels a-maz-ing.” She jumped onto the merry-go-round and held on for dear life. She let the force pull her away.
“It makes me dizzy.” I only felt the tight rotation at the center.
“Yeah,” she said, hopping off. “I love it.” She fell to the grass laughing. I waited until the merry-go-round stopped and slowly walked over to her.
“Lie down and close your eyes.” She patted the grass next to her. She didn’t know who my dad was and didn’t care that the rest of the kids kept their distance. “You can still feel it.”
I laid down an
d closed my eyes. I felt wild and dizzy, but it wasn’t from the merry-go-round. That was from Sanna.
Sanna is slowly spinning on the merry-go-round, smoking a cigarette, creating a halo of smoke. This is the only way I ever know Sanna is anxious. She’s a stress smoker. One foot is tucked under her and the other bare foot lazily pushes the ground away.
“So,” I say as she circles by. My feelings for Braydon have changed everything. Even if she doesn’t understand it, she feels it.
“So,” she repeats when she comes around again. She flicks her cigarette to the ground.
“Where is everyone?” I say, and check my watch.
She digs her heel in the dirt and the spinning stops. She’s facing away from me. I sit down on the opposite side of the merry-go-round facing away from her. The wood and the metal feel less solid than when I was a kid. The wooden plank seems to sag under my weight.
“Nev.” I hear the click of her lighter and her deep inhale and exhale. “It’s over.”
My heart stops. Did she break up with Braydon?
“Our rebellion,” she whispers the words.
“What?”
“Everyone’s heard about your interrogation. They know you are working for the government. And… Nicoline’s… you know… no one’s seen her since you and she…”
I slowly sidestep, stretching one leg wide and bringing my legs together. We turn slowly. I can hear Sanna’s feet responding, sliding in the dirt and gravel beneath our feet. My face cuts through her cloud of smoke. “I know. That’s what I was going to tell you. She’s gone. They’ve taken her somewhere. She’s missing. Missing just like your dad and my grandma and… when everyone gets here… I’ll tell them. We’ll think of something…. We can…” My thoughts are coming faster and faster. I can’t speak quickly enough to get everything out. I’ve got to make her understand. We are spinning faster.
“Nev.” She digs her heels in and stops the merry-go-round. “You’re not listening to me. Everyone thinks… well… Nic’s gone and you’re here…”
I can’t believe what she’s implying. They think I’m the enemy. “I didn’t have anything to do with Nicoline’s disappearance.” I kick at the dirt. “No more than you did.”
“I know that, but they’re scared,” she says softly, defeated. I hear her grind her cigarette out. “I’m scared.”
“I’m scared too, but we’ve got to do something.” Even though the merry-go-round has stopped, I still feel as if I’m spinning. “Did you tell them it’s more important than ever that we fight back? Any one of us could be next. Have you heard of something called a Women’s Empowerment Center? What does that mean? My dad has a secret room—I haven’t told you that yet. There’s got to be something in there…” I ramble on and on and on because my secrets are eating away at me. “Maybe we should try to find Nicoline, but I don’t know how.” I put my head in my hands. “And not just Nicoline. Effie’s missing too. They say she was working to undermine the government. Effie! Maybe she knows something. If Effie’s working against the government—straitlaced, by-the-book Effie—then certainly we…” I grind my palms into my eyes, trying to make everything stop. “I can’t stand by until everyone I love is missing, can I? ’Cause that’s what it feels like.”
Sanna stands and my side of the merry-go-round sinks even lower. Someone is tugging at the merry-go-round, trying to make it spin. I lift my feet but keep my eyes shut tight. I rotate toward Sanna.
“Nev,” she says softly. When I open my eyes, Sanna is now flanked by Braydon and Ethan. I close my eyes. This can’t be happening.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
They know. They all know. That’s all I can think when I see the three of them lined up in front of me. My boyfriend who wants to be my husband. My best friend who has finally found love. And the love of her life, Braydon, who I can’t stop thinking about. The three of them stare down at me. My eyes flick to Braydon. He’s wearing a pressed white shirt and tight black jeans. His long hair is smoothed away from his face. I lower my gaze and focus on their feet—Ethan’s dingy tennis shoes, Sanna’s bare feet, and Braydon’s red pointy-toed boots.
“Neva.” Ethan sits down next to me. “We are worried about you.”
Sanna kneels in front of me. “You’ve got to stop this. It’s too dangerous. We don’t know what happened to Nicoline…”
“And we don’t want anything to happen to you.” Braydon finishes her sentence and sits next to me. He puts his hand on my thigh. I stare at it. His skin is smooth. His fingers extend over the hem of my dress so he’s touching my leg. It feels as if everything is channeled into his touch, as if everyone is staring at the place where his fingertips merge with my bare skin.
Ethan rests his arm on my shoulders. I want to shrug it off, but I can’t move. “Neva, we need you to promise that you are going to stop searching for people you think are missing.”
“They are missing,” I insist.
“You work for the government, your father.” Ethan pulls me toward him. “Sanna says she thought you might want to plan another protest. Neva, you can’t be part of anything like that.”
“You mean you can’t,” I say, and glance at his wrist. They could be watching us now.
“None of us can,” Sanna adds. “Nev, please. This is for your own good.” She makes a fake stern face. She’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not working.
They are conspiring against me. They are asking me to give up. Ethan and Braydon are huddling closer and closer to me. Their thighs are pressed against mine. I don’t mean to, but I look at Braydon.
“Neva and I are going to get married and start a family,” Ethan announces. I whip around to face him. He hugs me away from Braydon. “Isn’t that right, Neva?”
“Is that right, Neva?” Braydon asks. He rests his hand on his own thigh, but the tip of his finger moves ever so slightly so he’s touching me. He knows what he’s doing.
Ethan nuzzles in close, and I feel the burden of his happiness. I feel the pull of Braydon. And Sanna is kneeling in front of me, silently begging me to let her boyfriend go. I am being torn apart.
“Yes.” I choke back the real answer and respond louder this time. “Yes. I’m going to marry him.” It’s the only answer. They won’t leave me alone until they think I’ve given in. In books and movies they lead you to believe that lying is difficult—that a lie gets caught in the throat. But this lie is easy.
Ethan kisses my cheek. Sanna gives me a huge hug. “Nev, that’s big news. Congrats.” She hugs Ethan too. She pulls Braydon to his feet and gives him a comically noisy kiss.
I’d rather step outside the Protectosphere and take my chances than step into this ordinary life with a man I don’t love in a job that I hate with a future that will end too soon.
Ethan walks me home. He tries to make casual conversation, but I can’t pretend that any of this is normal. Mom comes out the front door as Ethan and I approach my house.
“Hi, Mrs. Adams,” Ethan calls a little too enthusiastically.
“Oh!” she says, hand to heart. “You frightened me.” It’s the first time I’ve seen her hair down in months. I almost forgot how her hair curls in spirals around her face. She looks younger. She holds her overcoat closed in her fist. “I thought Sanna said you were going to be out tonight.”
“Change of plans,” Ethan pipes up when I remain silent.
“Are you okay, Neva?” Mom asks, and places her hand on my forehead. “You don’t look like you feel well.”
“I’m okay,” I say when she kisses me on the cheek. Since when are we the same height? Her lips and my forehead used to meet perfectly.
Mom opens her purse and checks for her wallet and keys. “Right. Your dad won’t be home tonight. He’s traveling up North on urgent business.”
“What?” He didn’t mention anything to me.
“It was some last minute thing.” She fluffs her hair. “I’ll be home late.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
/> “Out,” she says, and leaves before I can ask a follow-up. We used to tell each other everything, but I’m starting to feel as if I’m not the only one with secrets.
Ethan waves at my mother. The minute she turns the corner he leads me into the house. “Oh, Neva, you’ve made me so happy,” he says, snapping me to him like a rubber band. His mouth is on my mouth. We are twisting and turning down the hall but still connected. I wish it was Braydon, and for a moment I pretend that it is.
We fall onto my bed. He is on top of me. The sun is setting and the light from my open window gives his outline an eerie glow. He grabs my wrists and slowly raises my arms above my head. My dress inches up. The rough cotton of his trousers rubs my thighs. He kisses me and I try to kiss him back, but it’s as if I can’t get the rhythm right. His lips travel to my cheek and then my neck. I try to lower my arms. I want to tug at the hem of my dress, but he is stronger in a way I have never experienced before.
He is kissing me, but not softly and sweetly like at our Dark Party. His lips feel hard. He is crushing me. He releases my arms. Now he’s twisting each button on the front of my dress between his fingers until it slips from the loop. I squirm under him, but I am trapped. His bicep is near my face, and I can see the curve of the muscle. He buries his face in my neck, kissing the line between my ear and collarbone. I grit my teeth.
We’ve done things before in this very room. We’ve kissed and taken things to the edge and back. But he’s more aggressive and urgent. He’s never been like this before. Ethan is usually gentle and patient, always asking if each action is okay. This Ethan seems possessed. We are nose to nose. I press my head into the bed and gain a few more inches of space between us. Ethan’s face is in shadow. His eyes are dark sockets. “Ethan, stop.”
He stares at me, confused. “Neva, I thought you…”
I push away and scoot up the bed until my back is pressed against the headboard. I pull my quilt over me.
“We’re getting married,” he says, and sits on the side of the bed. “You said yes and I thought…”