The Infinite

by Patience Agbabi

  ‘Now, now,’ says Le Temps. ‘Save your accusations. She came in early but felt unwell. She had to leap home. She was too ill to drive.’

  I don’t believe him. Season loves her car almost as much as Big Ben does. She wouldn’t leave Fiona even if she were vomiting like she was after the party. Ama lowers her eyes at Le Temps but says nothing. Once she realises I’m not going to say anything else, she rises to get her breakfast.

  I watch Ama at the serving counter. And, guess who’s on the other side, throwing rashers of bacon onto white bread rolls that have been torn rather than cut in half? Mange-Tout! Why are they here? It’s supposed to be a robot-free zone. Mange-Tout wasn’t on the introductory film. Does Millennia know about this?

  I’m hungry but can’t eat a thing. Le Temps has broken the rule. The only time you’re allowed meat in The Beanstalk is on a leap day, and even then you can only transport it through the café to cook outside. You can’t cook and eat it on the premises.

  Ama sits down and begins eating her roll bursting with two large rashers, grilled so the fat’s gone all crispy.

  ‘You have to eat,’ she says, taking a large bite. She pushes a plate in front of me with two white rolls on it. ‘Or you’ll get sick.’

  She sounds like Grandma. I know Ama’s being kind but I just can’t swallow anything. My stomach’s gurgling with hunger but I’m not going to eat. Ama shrugs her shoulders and says something about giving them to Eve. Everything about this day is wrong. I’ve been looking forward to baking bread ever since I saw Season in the film and now it isn’t going to happen.

  As if he can read my mind, Le Temps bashes a spoon on a cup and everyone goes quiet, even Jake.

  ‘You will know by now, Season is unwell today so I’m standing in with some assistance. We’re low-staffed today.’ He nods at Mange-Tout, who smiles the metallic smile, and I remember the announcement that our teachers are spending the day with Millennia on Missing Leapling Alert. MC2 has the day off but he’s working secret solo to find Noon. Maybe Mange-Tout is allowed on the premises to help because you have to have at least two members of staff. That’s the rule.

  ‘However, we shall still bake bread. Not in The Beanstalk kitchen but outside.’

  There are a few cheers. Even I’m happy to go outside. It’s warm and sunny now the fog has lifted, the first day it hasn’t rained. Le Temps asks us to go back to our chalets to pack our raincoats in case the weather turns. And our Chronophones. We should reassemble in the café at 9 a.m.

  Back in the café, Le Temps announces the second Oops.

  ‘Terribly sorry,’ he says, ‘but you have to hand in your Chronophones. Millennia’s orders.’ His mouth turns up at the edges but I don’t think he’s smiling. There’s some chatting and one or two pupils swear, so I can’t repeat what they say but I understand they’re angry about the Oops. Most of the pupils hand in their phones. I hand in my Chronophone but I know my TwentyTwenty is safe in my bag. Le Temps doesn’t know about that. Big Ben and Ama just look at him.

  ‘Why? It’s our right to have protection,’ says Ama. Her mouth is a dash – and she gives him the bull’s-eye.

  ‘Exactly, young lady. There’s been a report of cyberbullying so we have to monitor your phones for your PROTECTION.’

  ‘I left mine in the chalet,’ says Ama.

  I don’t believe her but say nothing in case I say the wrong thing and Ama gets angry with me again.

  ‘Then I suggest you go back to the chalet for it.’

  His voice sounds like his mouth is too big for the words and they echo in it. Ama grabs her bag and leaves the room. She makes the café door slam behind her and we all jump. I didn’t think doors could slam here. I thought they invented them to be quiet. I’m scared Ama’s going to get into trouble.

  I look at Big Ben. The sun’s shining through the window on him like a spotlight. He’s muttering under his breath and it’s hard to hear what he’s saying but I think he might be counting. Le Temps’s eyebrows dip into his eyes.

  ‘Ben. Your phone, please.’

  Big Ben looks at the ground. Le Temps turns to me.

  ‘Maybe you could persuade Ben to hand over his phone?’

  Big Ben stops muttering. It’s worse now because I don’t know what he’s going to do next. Is he going to throw a chair? But he doesn’t throw a chair. I think his Anger Management strategies are starting to work. He rummages in his bag, produces his Chronophone and aims it across the room at Le Temps like he’s throwing a javelin. Le Temps catches it mid-air. It’s a good catch and Jake whoops. I don’t know whether he’s whooping the throw or the catch or both. Le Temps shakes his head at Big Ben.

  Then it’s silent. Like the whole café’s on pause. No one says a word. Everyone, even Jake, is looking at the floor. Then Big Ben stands up, stays standing like a statue for ages, like he isn’t sure what to do with his body. I think he’s grown two inches this week alone. And runs out of the room.

  He leaves as Ama arrives back, Chronophone in her hand. She doesn’t throw it like Big Ben. She hands it in, sucks her teeth like Grandma does when someone tries to charge her too much in the market and walks slowly out of the room with her head in the air. Le Temps shows his teeth like an advert.

  ‘Thank you for your cooperation,’ he says.

  I’m surprised he doesn’t tell her or Big Ben to come back. I’m scared they’re both going to get into trouble later today when the teachers and Millennia are back. Le Temps isn’t like a normal teacher at all. Maybe because he plans the land, he breaks the rules. I don’t know what to do because I’m angry Le Temps humiliated Big Ben, and scared Big Ben and Ama will get into trouble. I want to walk out too and do running but I definitely don’t want to get sent home from Leap 2048 for breaking the rules. It would be a disgrace. I hear some buzzing in my bag. I know as soon as I hear the buzzing it must be my TwentyTwenty. What if it’s another Predictive? But I can’t check it. I have to keep my phone a secret. Especially now.

  ‘Today we shall bake stokbrot, also known as stickbread. Forget yeast. Forget cosy ovens. This is survival food.’

  It’s fun. I find it hard at first because it isn’t exactly what it said on the timetable. But it is still breadmaking and I’ve been looking forward to it all week. Though Le Temps might be lying about Season, has confiscated our phones and has an assistant robot with metal teeth, and is bad, he IS a good teacher. He helps us make the dough out of all-white ingredients – flour, baking powder, sugar, salt, oil and water – wind it round a stick and cook it on the campfire.

  It’s the best bread I’ve ever eaten.

  The workshop is so good I forget to check my phone. It would be difficult anyway because when Le Temps isn’t looking straight at me, Mange-Tout is. I think it’s deliberate. They’re watching me all through the workshop, especially when I’m eating the bread. After that, they aren’t watching me quite as much and I remember but I don’t want to risk it. Maybe it was SOS L. But if it were SOS L, it would be too early. It’s still morning. SOS L is supposed to happen at 11 o’clock this evening.

  It’s only on the way back to the centre once the workshop’s over and I manage to get behind the workshop leaders that I’m able to look at my phone deep inside my bag. I don’t want to pull it out in case one of the other pupils sees it and tells Le Temps. A message has come up.

  Come to chalet after workshop. Delete this. Ama.

  Ama, Eve and I are sitting in the chalet. GMT’s nowhere to be seen. They’ve spent all morning talking about Kwesi. When I opened the door, they were sitting cross-legged on the rug, giggling. I felt sad. Maybe Ama was best friends with Eve now. But Ama grabbed my hand immediately and almost dragged me into the room. I didn’t complain. This must be her way of saying she likes me.

  ‘We’ve cracked the code,’ she says.

  ‘What code?’ I perch on the edge of my bed. ‘SOS L?’

  ‘No. SOS L’s history.’ She rolls her eyes anticlockwise. ‘LEAP 2100. Where Kwesi said he was going.’
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  ‘It’s not a leap year!’

  ‘Exactly. But it’s important. Eve says Kwesi mentioned it to them too. Said there was something odd, he was leaping to 2100. He MUST be there!’

  ‘We think darling sis is there too.’ Eve rearranges her legs on the rug. I notice she’s wearing purple and green leggings with matching trainers. Ama’s.

  ‘Elle, if you were leaping to 2100,’ says Ama, ‘what date would you leap to?’

  ‘The Olympic Games. I don’t know the date, they haven’t announced it yet!’

  Mexico City was the 12th of October because of the climate. I don’t say this because Ama’s giving me the bull’s-eye.

  ‘THINK, Elle,’ she says. ‘Not Olympics. General. What date would Leaplings leap to?’

  ‘They wouldn’t leap.’

  ‘What d’you think, Eve?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest. Not sure I have the skills. When I leapt here, I almost ended up in 2050.’

  Ama shakes her head like a dog shaking off water after a swim, stands up and starts doing pacing.

  ‘Don’t they teach you Leaplings anything? How I understand it, you can leap to any date but it’s easier to leap on a leap day. Or the equivalent. The 28th of February or the 1st of March.’

  ‘Leap 2100 doesn’t exist,’ I say. ‘So why do you think they’re there?’

  ‘For the rendezvous, of course. Or it’s a commune.’ She sounds like GMT. I wonder where GMT is. She won’t be at lunch eating dead animals in bread.

  ‘Are we going to leap there?’ I say.

  ‘I can’t,’ says Ama. ‘But you or Eve can.’

  I look at Eve and she looks back at me without blinking. 2100 is an anti-leap year so it’ll be extra hard to do the trip alone. It could be dangerous. The furthest I’ve leapt solo is two hours ahead. Neither of us volunteers.

  ‘Shall we talk phones?’ says Eve.

  ‘Why? To change the subject?’ says Ama. ‘You Leaplings do my head in. What’s the point in having The Gift if you don’t use it?’ She sucks her teeth and walks out of the room, slamming the door for the second time today. I feel sad Ama’s so angry.

  Eve looks at me, takes a deep breath and talks phones. When Ama went back to the chalet this morning, she told Eve we had to hand in our Chronophones. Eve reminded her she still had hers. Le Temps doesn’t know about Eve’s phone. We can use it for emergencies. They put the Time Squad number and all our contacts onto Eve’s phone. So Ama felt better about handing her Chronophone back. We must have a strategy with the phones, now we know my TwentyTwenty’s still working. The text this morning came through no problem.

  ‘Elle, let’s swap. You have mine. It’s off their radar; they don’t know the number. I’ll camp here with the TwentyTwenty. Any problems, text me.’

  I can’t imagine Eve camping in the chalet all afternoon. It’s a warm day and she’s got more energy than all of us put together. Even her words spark with energy. I bet she’ll get bored and leap to 2100 and find Kwesi and Noon. And I don’t like the idea of swapping phones. Though I haven’t used it all week, I want to keep my own phone in my own bag. Eve’s Chronophone is silver. I wish it was white. But things are serious now. Kwesi, Noon and Season are missing. If Le Temps is cutting off our communication, what will he do next?

  Eve gives me her Chronophone. I take it in my right hand. I’m still holding the TwentyTwenty in my left. She raises her eyebrows. I move my left hand towards her but can’t bring myself to let go. My phone = my life. Even though I got trolled in 2020. Even though it can’t make calls in the past or the future. The present is 2048. It works in the present. Eve holds out her hand. She smiles at me.

  Kwesi, Noon and Season are missing.

  I hand over the TwentyTwenty.

  My lifeline’s in her hands.

  Chapter 18:00

  SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST

  The afternoon workshop is also held outside. Le Temps says the weather has been kind to us but I don’t agree. It’s munny – muggy and sunny at the same time – hot as June, not like March at all. The air feels heavy, the sun harsh. The sky is a sickly yellow.

  The workshop is running round the grounds, excluding the woods. There’s a flat field behind the centre where the Annuals did jumping yesterday when I was taken ill. I think the original plan was to kill animals in the woods but Le Temps is trying to be nice to us. He doesn’t want any more arguments. I see him yawning. He must be tired, running two workshops in one day. Thankfully, Mange-Tout isn’t there. I hope they’ve been locked away in a metal cell, where they belong.

  Le Temps says my running style is superb but I don’t answer him. I’m running with my bag on my back because I’m scared if I put it down my phone will buzz and Le Temps will confiscate it like they do in school if you use your phone unauthorised in lessons. Eve’s the kind of girl who sends loads of text messages, especially as no one else can send texts in 1924. She’d do it for light amusement, darling. I hope she doesn’t, though. We agreed the phones are for emergency use only.

  I notice Big Ben watching me running. I miss him. I hope he wants to run with me again tomorrow. But I don’t say anything to him, because if I say the wrong thing he’ll go from 0 to 10 and do something bad and get sent home. Ama’s also ignoring me. But when I’m running I forget how scared I am when people are angry with me. When I’m running, I get into the zone. My brain stops playing things over and over, like the film for Leap 2048 when Season is kneading the big lump of white dough. Although I play things I like, sometimes I want them to stop but my brain refuses and keeps playing scenes in a loop. When I’m running, I don’t even think about Bob Beamon. I don’t think at all. I just run.

  I’m halfway round the field when we hear it, see it. The sky lights up like a blank screen. A few seconds later, a crack of thunder so loud I jerk mid-stride. Rain like needles. No wind at all. I keep on running. It’s actually OK running in the rain. When I was younger, I hated rain and refused to walk to school on wet days. Grandma had to phone the school to get them to collect me in a car. But now it’s OK. When it’s raining, it’s like running in the shower. You don’t get so hot and sweaty. If you want, you can lift your head up to the sky and drink it so you don’t get dehydrated. I hope future rain is safe to drink. I look up at the sky and open my mouth. A few black spots move slowly overhead.

  As I get back to the centre side of the field, I see Le Temps waving at me. I don’t wave back. I keep on running. He’s broken the spell. I was in the zone and now my brain starts thinking again. Thinking about Kwesi and Noon and Season and GMT and Big Ben and Ama and Le Temps and Robert Beamon jumps. Now he’s shouting, so I have to think about why he’s shouting. Then I realise everyone else has gone in. I’m the only one still outside. Le Temps’s tracksuit is totally wet. He looks at me with dead-fish eyes.

  ‘Do you understand the word stop, Elle? What is it with you?’

  ‘I was in the zone.’

  ‘Well, the zone is now the Common Room. If you’re not there in two minutes, I’ll . . .’ He looks up to the sky and blinks against the rain. ‘Give you detention.’

  ‘This isn’t school, it’s Leap 2048,’ I say, and his mouth curves up at the edges but I don’t think he’s happy. He rolls his eyes clockwise.

  ‘Indeed,’ he says. ‘Indeed.’

  I don’t like the way he’s staring at me like he’s laughing at me, so I run inside to the Common Room.

  I enjoy watching the storm. It’s like a film of a storm when you’re inside and can’t feel the rain. We’re watching it through the big glass windows that look out onto the field. The sheet lightning makes the grass look like cartoon grass, bright with black edges. Then the thunder comes. Then lightning and thunder at the same time. I feel like the storm’s in my head. Maria starts crying. I never knew she hated storms. I wish Mrs C Eckler was here to look after her. I’m scared she’s going to reach 10 in panic. Le Temps’s eyebrows drop to his eyes like rainclouds.

  We’re all sprawled across seats and bea
nbags and the big circular rug in the Common Room. GMT’s back. Her hair’s dry so she must have been indoors somewhere. I wonder where she went. Le Temps has given up trying to teach us anything. But he’s not allowed to leave us all on our own. Even he keeps some of the rules.

  Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think. Maria’s crying louder now. GMT’s trying to comfort her with a cuddle but not doing a very good job. Maria says something in Portuguese like she does when she’s angry. But this time she’s scared. I put my hands over my ears. Her crying’s making my heart pound. Le Temps suddenly stands up, rigid as a statue like Big Ben does when he’s gone from 0 to 10.

  ‘Shut up! It’s only a storm!’

  GMT looks angry. ‘It’s your fault,’ she says to Le Temps. Everyone stares. We wouldn’t talk to a grown-up like that. But GMT’s 4-leap now. That makes her a grown-up.

  ‘My fault, indeed? Who made her weak? Her parents. Should have put her out in a storm as a baby. Look at her now. Pathetic.’

  ‘Not Maria. The storm, man! You think it’s cool to eat meat and dump waste. You drowned London, New York, San Francisco. We’re all gonna—’

  But she doesn’t finish her sentence. Le Temps interrupts.

  ‘I may be called Le Temps but I don’t play God. Nature does what she likes. Nothing to do with man.’

  Everything goes into slow motion. This can’t be happening. His words echo in my head and my mind is right back in my 2020 classroom, Pete LMS humiliating me, echoing the words of his dad. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe it. Le Temps is Pete LMS’s dad! My legs and feet have a mind of their own. I’m standing up and speaking before my brain has caught up.

  ‘You’re Pete LMS’s dad,’ I say.

  ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ says Le Temps. But unfortunately he isn’t at home, in 2020. He’s here, in 2048. In this room.

  ‘A factory farmer. His son was a bully. IS a bully,’ I say. ‘He goes to my school.’