The New Girl (Downside)

by S. L. Grey

  What the hell does that mean? A mascot like in a baseball game? Like the Mets’ Mr Met or something? God, Tara thinks. Poor Jane. With a mother like this, no wonder she has trouble fitting in. She reaches for something to say. ‘Um. Your house, it’s very... interesting.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Unusual.’

  ‘Tara?’

  She looks over her shoulder, sees Martin hovering nervously at the doorway that leads into the entrance hall. ‘I’m coming,’ she says to him. ‘Go back to the car.’

  Martin stares at the woman for several seconds, then does as he’s told.

  She’s reluctant to leave Jane in the hands of this woman, but what else can she do? Looking like a freak isn’t a crime, is it? And to be honest, she’s desperate to get out of here. She turns back to the woman. ‘I really should go now, but—’

  She jumps as the muffled sound of a scream penetrates the room.

  ‘Tara!’

  It’s Martin.

  Chapter 9

  PENTER

  Penter finds Jane sitting in front of the television, watching one of her favourite upside movies, Revenge of the Driller Killer III. The violence isn’t to Penter’s taste. She’s not delicate – she was a recycling apprentice before her redeployment to Upside Relations – but she prefers the movies that end with weddings and parties and laughter, even though she knows this partiality for upside fancy verges on disregard. In the normal world, movies are only for the eyes of Shoppers, but up here she’s allowed to indulge in these non-factual story-documents as part of her research.

  The more she watches, the more non-facts she finds in upside documents. They seem so concerned with vague abstractions like worshipfulness, symbolic currency, concepts like values and national pride. How can browns spend so much time and energy on perpetuating this nonsense when there are beans to grow? When they could just go out and look at the sky?

  Father says that the most accurate reflection of brown life is found in the product advertisements, and he keeps encouraging her to spend more time watching these. But he must be mistaken. If the advertisements are a true reflection of society in the node, female browns always eat yogurt together. She tried the glutinous substance once; it made her projectile. The women also talk about detergents and cook while singing. If this is true, then she understands them less every day.

  Before she makes dinner she needs to file a report about the brown educator’s unexpected arrival in the kitchen, but she’s unsure what to say. She’s sure she interacted with the educator according to protocol, but its offspring behaved in a grossly disregardful fashion. She doesn’t know whether she caused offence in some way, or whether she should take offence. Despite this, she imagines wearing lightweight apparel, talking about yogurt and detergent with the educator, or maybe discoursing about love.

  This ‘love’ is the most interesting upside abstraction, and it is the subject of several movies. In the name of research, she used the computer in the television room to investigate the concept. She has memorised the definition she found: ‘Love is both an action and a feeling. The action of love generates a blissful feeling called by the same name. When the action stops, the blissful feeling is replaced with pain. Every person is capable of great love (and its opposite, fear, which generates all painful emotions such as hate, greed and jealousy).’

  Penter wonders if she is capable of blissful love, or even fear. She supposes that it is possible now that she has gone several days without a penetration renewal. But how will she know if she does feel it? She doesn’t think it can be like regard – which she has felt many times, of course. Regard is what makes the world function. According to her research, the greatest love is supposed to be between a Mother and an offspring, although Penter cannot understand how this could be. In many documents, like the ones entitled Love Actually and Pretty Woman (a disconcerting title as the female protagonist in it is unsightly even by brown standards), love is nothing to do with offspring and everything to do with violent debate, naked parasitism, speeding around in upside machines and festivities that make Shoppers’ cocktail sales look like halfpints’ vat-leaving parties.

  She looks away from the television as a man strapped in a chair starts screaming. ‘Jane,’ she says, ‘can I talk to you?’

  Jane does not lift her eyes from the screen. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did you bring that brown to the house?’

  ‘Father asked me to interact with it.’

  ‘Why?’ She knows that questioning Father’s instructions could be seen as disregard, but she is curious.

  ‘I don’t know. The educator says it is my chum.’

  ‘Chum?’

  ‘A friend and a buddy, you know? And I thought it would be interesting to converse with it.’

  ‘Was it interesting?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How is the scouting going?’ When she asks Father anything about the project, he tells her she doesn’t need to know.

  ‘Fine.’ Jane watches as the screaming brown’s eyeball is popped by the tip of a whirring drill.

  Penter smiles brightly like she’s seen the Mothers do on the television. ‘And how was your day?’

  ‘Motherfucking typical,’ Jane says. The halfpint absorbs language from the television like a root-fibre rag. Penter’s envious of Jane’s young, flexible mind. ‘Mother, can I have a pet?’

  ‘A pet?’

  ‘A creature who will be my constant companion, like a My Little Pony only not so much scum. Can I ask Danish to scout me one?’

  ‘I’ll ask Father for you.’

  Without taking her eyes off the screen, Jane intones, ‘Thank you, Mother. I love you, you are the bestest awesomest raddest person in the whole world.’

  Penter knows that Jane is just replaying the upside cant she’s seen in the movies, but shouldn’t those words still make her feel blissful?

  ‘I love you too, Jane,’ Penter tries. She feels nothing. Perhaps she has a subviable heart.

  She goes out into the precinct to look at the beans. Yes, when she touches the little green shoots she feels a shift in her chest. She taps the bony nodule just below her neck, listening to the hollow rap. She touches the beans again, but the feeling is gone.

  Aware of the luxury of the act, she pulls a bean off its stem and places it in her mouth. The victual documents always show the servant rinsing the produce under running water, as if their stomachs cannot process soil. This must be an affectation of the browns, and such a waste of fresh water. If there’s one thing a real downsider is used to, it’s soil. The Ministry research report confirmed that downsiders’ constitutions are more robust than the frail systems of upsiders, although whichever Ministry drone typed this report has clearly never tried youngberry-flavoured yogurt.

  She plucks another bean, rubs it against her face. She likes how it feels; a whole, viable living thing that has sprouted out of nothing. The documents talk of miracles, which seems to be a catch-all term for everything their intellect cannot encompass. If she were retarded she might, today, standing in the produce patch, rubbing a bean on her skin, believe in the meat tree.

  ‘Mother,’ she hears Father say behind her. ‘I thought I’d find you lurking in the garden.’ She turns to face him. Danish is shuffling behind him, carrying a basketful of coloured packages. ‘We have selected two primary viables, faster than I anticipated. All is slick.’

  ‘Primo news, Father.’

  ‘Yes.’ His smile falters. Penter knows what this means. If the primaries have been selected, it cannot be long before they return home.

  ‘I have brought you a gift,’ Father says as Danish places the basket at her feet. It’s full of plastic packets of soup like the kind on the advertisements, and icy boxes labelled ‘Chicken Nuggets’, ‘Hash Browns’, ‘Cheesy Corn Dogs’, and ‘American Fries’.

  ‘Tasty and convenient victuals to make your Mother work less odious,’ Father says. ‘Father knows best!’

  ‘Thank you.’ The food in the bas
ket doesn’t look appealing. It reminds her of the scum traded at McColon’s and Bleed back home. In fact, she would far rather eat a bowl of unwashed beans than a cheesy corn dog, but as the Mother, she must prioritise the needs of the family. And, she reminds herself, this gift is a sign of Father’s regard.

  ‘I must report to the Ministry,’ Father says. ‘And you must go chain yourself to the kitchen sink.’

  ‘Father... Jane brought a brown to the house today.’ She watches his face – by anyone’s standards he’s scenic, although, like her, he has had only limited modification – and tries to interpret his expression. He looks unfazed. ‘Why did you ask Jane to interact with her?’

  ‘That information is on a need-to-know basis, Mother. And you don’t need to know.’ Penter has wondered what Father does while he locks himself away in his office for all those hours. Evidently watching upside movies is among his duties.

  ‘Is it a new regulation from the Ministry? I am... not sure what to say in my report.’

  ‘I’ll handle the report. It is not in your purview to do so.’

  ‘But it is part of my protocol to—’

  ‘Do not concern yourself, Mother.’ He smiles at her gently and turns away.

  Confused, she watches him return to the house. She wonders what it would be like to feel love for him. For Jane. To be part of an upside family. Then she shakes her head and reminds herself who and what she is.

  She’s the Deputy Node Liaison for the Ministry of Upside Relations, Penter Ulliel, not a yogurt-eating, love-prattling brown.

  Chapter 10

  RYAN

  Ryan can’t sleep. He gets his phone and dials Ziggy. He needs to know if Alice is okay; he needs to know if he blew it with her last night.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ziggy. Hi, it’s Ryan.’

  ‘Jesus... It’s... six o’clock in the morning.’ Ryan hears the distorted rustle and creak of Ziggy getting out of bed, creeping out to the hallway. He’s always suspected that Ziggy has a crush on him. Ziggy doesn’t want to lie in bed next to his boyfriend and talk to Ryan, but at the same time, he’s not going to hang up. ‘What do you want, Ryan?’ he says now, in a quiet voice.

  ‘When Alice came in last night, how was she?’

  ‘What do you... Do you mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘They don’t stay here any more. They moved out.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About three, four months ago. Yes, New Year’s Day.’

  ‘Where did they go? How could Karin—’

  ‘She’s doing well, Ryan. She’s got a permanent job. At a bank. Perks and everything. You mean you seriously don’t know?’

  ‘No. So where are they staying now?’

  ‘I’m not telling you that. You weren’t even supposed to know that they had come to stay with us. After what you did, I shouldn’t even be talking to you.’

  ‘Jesus, Ziggy. Don’t start that. You know I never hurt Alice.’

  ‘I think I do. That’s why I’m talking to you. But you need to give up. She’s moved on, she’s doing well. Don’t drag her back.’

  ‘I’m not the one who’s fucking dragging her back. Karin’s the fucking—’

  ‘Stop, Ryan. She’s my sister, and I’m on her side. You may not have hurt Alice – that I believe – but there are reasons Karin doesn’t want to be with you, doesn’t want Alice near you. They’re compelling reasons and there’s no chance you’re getting them back. You must give up and forget about them.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I don’t know what else to say. I’ve been quite clear.’ The phone muffles again and Ryan can hear Ziggy talking to someone. ‘I’m going now. Thanks for waking me up, by the way. This is the problem with you, Ryan. There’s a missing piece somewhere in the empathy department. Just give it up.’

  Ziggy cuts the call before Ryan can say anything. There’s nothing to say, though, is there? ‘Something missing’? Didn’t Julie say something like that yesterday? All of a sudden he’s surrounded by shrinks, by holier-than-thou saints who know what his fucking problem is? They’re his fucking problem, that’s what. He slams his phone onto the bedside table, knocking over a half-empty coffee cup. Fuck!

  He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. It’s only then that he remembers going outside to get some fresh air, and... What in hell possessed him? Tess lives next door, for Christ’s sake. It’s only a matter of time before her father finds out, and Ryan doesn’t rate his chances against Fransie.

  Ryan’s panic doesn’t flitter and zing, it curls up and stiffens like an animal playing dead, waiting for the moment to run. Because that’s what he’s going to have to do. He’s going to have to cut and run. Again.

  What in hell possessed him?

  While he was with Tess in her little hideaway, he kept thinking of the new girl down at Crossley College, the strange one, that pale one who looks like she has so much hidden deep inside; pain, fear and, yes, a sort of uncanny confidence. He wants to get beneath her skin, but somehow he can’t even come close. And now he’s fucked it up again, because of her. He’s going to have to leave, take what he can grab, and go. All because of her.

  He showers and gets dressed quickly and heads straight for the school, darting a look at Tess’s house as he passes. Even this early, Fransie’s father’s sitting there on his rocker, watching him as he passes. He watches everyone, Ryan tells himself. He watches everyone. Would Tess have told her father already? He hopes that the normal rules will apply, just for a couple of days. Even though they did nothing wrong, she’ll believe it’s wrong, that somehow she was to blame – she approached him after all – and she won’t want to get him into trouble. But sooner or later Fransie will find out, and he can’t be here when that happens.

  What the fuck is he going to do? Where is he going to go? He’s got nothing left.

  ‘Hello, Mr Ryan.’

  Oh, Christ, not now. She’s ambushed him from behind the wall, just like she did last night. ‘Oh, Tess. Hi. How are you?’

  ‘Okay. I’m just... I was just...’ She’s already in her school uniform.

  ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘Well, have a good day, okay?’

  ‘Uh. Um... Mr Ryan... You want to come visit again later?’

  ‘I...’ Ryan’s about to refuse. He wants this girl to be under no illusions, there’s no fucking way he’s going to ‘visit’ her again. But if he can keep her onside – keep her from talking – for today at least, it will work in his favour. ‘Uh, sure, okay. But not so late, all right? You should get more sleep.’

  Her face lights up in a big smile and the clump inside Ryan lightens a little with it. The girl’s happy. That’s all he ever wanted.

  ‘And Tess...?’ He lowers his voice.

  She moves closer to him, replies softly, taking his lead. ‘Yes, Mr Ryan?’

  ‘You can’t tell your father, okay? He won’t understand. You’d get in big trouble.’

  Her face becomes serious for a moment, and then she smiles again. ‘Of course, Mr Ryan. See you later,’ she says as she skips back into the garden.

  Ryan darts a look back up at the veranda; the old man shows no sign of having heard anything. And then he remembers something: Cinderella turned back into a kitchen girl at midnight; it wasn’t the other way around. She didn’t turn into a princess like he said. Alice would have challenged him, she would have told him he was talking rubbish, but Tess just smiled and accepted it. Christ, she’s ten years old. Of course she’d know her fairy tales better than he does. Did Tess believe him, or does she just think he’s stupid? Is she secretly laughing at him?

  Whatever, he’s got more important things to worry about. He had thought getting himself straight would give him the chance to get Alice back into his life. But if what Ziggy says is true, that chance evaporated months ago. Besides, there’s no way he can keep the job now. Fransie will easily find out where he works; Ma Beccah would tell Fr
ansie in a minute if she heard what he did. Seeing Karin last night was a shock: how clean she looked, how... responsible. Maybe deep down he knew it was over when he saw her. Maybe this thing with Tess was just his mind running ahead of him, forcing him to move on.

  So today’s the big break. He’s got to take what he can and disappear. He runs through his inventory. It’s a quick exercise; he’s got nothing to his name. He can’t steal from Ma Beccah – she’s got nothing either – so he’s going to have to take something from the school and burn that final bridge too. When life gets beyond you like this, it’s sometimes comforting just to go with the flow, cede all control.

  So what should he take from the school? They don’t hold much cash, as far as he knows. He hasn’t noticed a safe in Duvenhage’s office, and there wasn’t anything of instant value in his desk when he looked through it the other day... Hang on. He’s got the copy of Duvenhage’s flash drive. It was Duvenhage’s urgency that gave him the idea to copy it; there might be some valuable information on it. Ryan’s not especially practised at blackmail, but these are extraordinary circumstances.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Fontein,’ he says with his best smile. ‘I wonder if you could help me.’ He holds up his flash drive. ‘My daughter typed out this essay at her mother’s house and she forgot that I didn’t... well, I don’t have my own computer to print it out for her.’

  Sybil Fontein glances across the hall at Duvenhage’s closed office door. ‘It’s not long, is it?’

  ‘No, no. Just a few pages.’ He smiles again and Sybil brushes the front of her blouse. ‘She put so much effort into it, and I really hate to let her down.’

  ‘Of course, of course, Ryan. You can use Cheryl’s work station. She’s not in till later.’ Sybil Fontein leads Ryan behind a partition and logs into the computer at the admin assistant’s desk.

  Ryan sits and slides the drive into the port. Sybil hovers behind him. He looks up over his shoulder at her. ‘It might take me a while to find the essay. All this other stuff on here. You know how teenagers are.’