I buried my head in my pillow to block out the noise and wished I didn’t have to face the day.
‘Good sleep?’ Astrid said.
‘No.’ I watched her tuck her sheets into hospital corners. She was always trying to teach me to do that. Her bed, like her, looked perfect.
‘Feeling better?’ Astrid said.
‘Nope.’ I rolled over to face the wall.
‘That’s cos you’re hungry, idiot. Come on.’ And she whipped the blankets off me and hurried out of the room before I could throw something at her.
Mum had made me a bowl of porridge, which she never usually did. And she’d even put cinnamon on it like Dad used to when I was little and couldn’t do that sort of thing myself. I mumbled, ‘Thanks,’ and Mum squeezed my shoulder.
‘I couldn’t handle losing you, too,’ she said gently. ‘I want to keep you safe. That’s all, honey.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. And it was true.
‘You’re still grounded,’ Mum said. She kissed the top of my head before rushing off to iron her uniform.
The not-angry-just-disappointed version of Mum made me feel so much worse inside. The porridge felt like a rock in the pit of my stomach. I ate slowly and flipped through my sketchpad and tried to pretend I didn’t have to go to school. The last sketches I’d done were of trees and leaves and stuff like that. I’d discovered this little hidden spot at school where I could sit and draw and think and be somewhere else for a moment while the others gossiped and laughed and did whatever it was they did at lunchtime. My sketches were kind of boring, the sort of thing you’d expect old people to draw, but I was trying to work on shading and capturing light. It wasn’t really working. I hated everything I’d done. I decided I’d go back to my spot today to get some more practice in. Knowing I had that place to myself made the thought of school a little easier. Made me panic a little less.
‘What are you looking at?’
I jumped. Mum was right behind me, peering over my shoulder. ‘Nice work,’ she said. ‘Now move it.’
‘How about we take the day off? Go to the beach? Hawaii, maybe.’ I grinned. Mum didn’t.
Despite everything, we were OK, the three of us. We fought and argued but we also told each other I love you and we meant it and we gave the neighbours very little to talk about. Well, Mum and Astrid held up their end of the bargain on that one. I tried, more or less. Mum was always worried about what they’d overhear but I didn’t think it mattered cos they made up shit all the time anyway. Last month the guy from number four vanished, bam, like that, and all the neighbours said he’d been a Threat and was plotting something (they never said what – their imaginations weren’t that impressive). But we all knew, deep down, he was a nice guy who always said, Good morning, and swept his balcony and jogged in the afternoons. Maybe it was the jogging they didn’t trust. Or the clean balcony. Who knows? The neighbours stuck to their version of the man from number four being a Threat and we never stood up for him. We didn’t say, No, you’re wrong, he’s OK. Mum said it was better not to get involved. I asked why and she said, Don’t start. So I didn’t. But I still thought about him now and then. Wondered if there was someone like me waiting for him by the prison gate.
Since the incident with the man from number four the neighbours had increased surveillance to ensure no other Threats appeared in our building. But I figured if none appeared they’d just make something up anyway cos, like they said, they were Good Citizens.
Mum stood in the bathroom doorway, watching me and making that impatient tch-tch noise she did. ‘You’ve got two minutes,’ she said.
I was trying to deal with the toothpaste I’d dribbled down my shirt and hair that wouldn’t do what I wanted it to do. I only had to pull it back into a ponytail. Nothing fancy. You wouldn’t think it would be so damn difficult.
Mum had this thing about the three of us walking to school together every morning. I’d never admit to Mum, but I kinda liked it. Walking with her meant the Unit was less likely to hassle us. And it meant I had company for a bit. It could be lonely at school, which was part of the reason I had to talk to Beth. I had an appointment with her that morning, which meant I’d miss part of double maths. So things weren’t going to be entirely awful.
I hurried to the front door, chucking my books into my backpack as I went.
Astrid tried to stop me. ‘Let me fix your hair,’ she said.
‘Hurry up, we’re gonna be late,’ I said in my best Astrid impression, and slipped past her.
‘Your hair!’ Astrid said.
‘Don’t care,’ I lied.
A Unit Officer walked up the stairs towards us. Our stairs. His head bent down, his long legs taking two steps at a time. My heart stopped. A visit from the Unit was bad news. Like what happened to the guy from number four. And other things. I wondered if the neighbours had reported me for missing Curfew. I wouldn’t have been surprised. I was ready to tell them exactly what I thought of them when the officer looked up.
It was Peter.
I’d never seen him in uniform before and it didn’t look quite right. I waved at him and went to say, Good morning, but Astrid pulled my arm down.
‘Stop it,’ she said, squeezing my hand tight. ‘We’re not talking to him.’
Mum shook her head. It was nice that she was disappointed in someone else for a change.
Peter bounded up the rest of the stairs like a puppy. I imagined him licking Astrid’s face when he got close enough. But Astrid pushed past him and stormed off. I wondered what the hell was going on with them. I mean, of course things had changed – the three of us were older now and no longer played stupid games on the slab of concrete we called the yard. Plus, we barely saw Peter anymore when once, not that long ago, we saw him all the time. But then Peter moved out and joined the Unit, while Astrid stayed and went to university. She was smart. He wasn’t. That’s the way it went.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Is it?’ I said, because he looked so sad that I couldn’t help myself.
Mum elbowed me. ‘We haven’t seen you in such a long time. We miss you, don’t we, Santee?’ she said, and I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. ‘You visiting your parents, love? I’ve been meaning to pop in and see them but you know how it gets, don’t you? Anyway, I’m sure they’ll be pleased to see you.’ Mum was doing that chatty, chirpy thing she always did when she got nervous. She just talked and talked.
‘Just, um, finished night shift, thought I’d drop by.’ He was being polite but he wasn’t really with us. He kept looking over his shoulder in Astrid’s direction.
‘Well, it’s lovely of you,’ Mum said, but before she could really start up again Peter took off after Astrid.
He’d been chasing after Astrid since we were kids. And not just when we play tag, I used to joke. Even though the chasing thing wasn’t really a joke. That was serious. That was love. Mum knew it. I knew it. Astrid ignored it. I’d never had anyone like me like that. Unless I counted the kid in grade three who ate glue and decided I was his girlfriend without asking me. I pushed him over at recess and that was it – over.
I tried to hear what Peter and Astrid were saying as they stood together in the so-called yard. Astrid’s hands flew around like crazy birds while Peter studied his polished shoes.
‘You have a choice …’ Astrid said and she pulled Peter further away and dropped her voice so we couldn’t hear. I tried to follow them but Mum stopped me. She was listening too, but trying to look like she wasn’t. The neighbours, however, weren’t quite as subtle. A few had emerged onto their balconies to catch the action.
‘Good morning, Mrs Jackson,’ I shouted, and waved with heaps of fake enthusiasm.
Mrs Jackson gave me a weak wave and disappeared from view.
‘Santee,’ Mum said.
‘What? I’m being a friendly neighbour!’
‘Let me fix that hair.’ Mum turned me away from Astrid and Peter and started pulling at my ponytail
. ‘This hair, just as crazy as your father’s …’
She went quiet. I wanted her to keep talking about Dad but I didn’t want to upset her again.
‘Did you bring a brush?’ Mum said.
I laughed, Yeah right, and then she laughed and kept trying to get my hair to look decent.
I looked out through the security gate and onto the street and watched people going who-knows-where to do who-knows-what. Heads down, shoulders bent. No-one looked at the sky. Today, I thought, I will look up when I walk. I didn’t want to become one of those people, broken by a day that had not quite begun.
‘What’s going on with you guys?’ I asked Astrid when she finally joined us. There was no sign of Peter. I wondered if she’d melted him down into nothing with the same look she was giving me.
‘Your hair looks better,’ Astrid said.
I tried to pretend that I didn’t care, but I did. A little. It was hard not to at my school.
There were schools closer to home than the one I went to. But the Quinns were smart. Or at least, Astrid was, and I got taken along for the ride. Plus, it helped that I was a fast runner – the school liked that because it made them look good. I could also draw, but the school didn’t care so much about that. Anyway, Astrid made it into the good school on the nice side of the city and because of Opportunities (their word, not mine) I went there too.
We passed the identical apartment blocks that lined the roads. I looked up into the endless windows. Some people had put up colourful curtains or decorated windows with stickers or had bright flowers hanging over their balconies, as if they wanted to stand out. We didn’t have anything like that. Mum liked it better if we blended in. It was safer that way.
There were more Unit Officers around than usual. In their patrol cars and on foot, walking around in small groups making everyone feel like they’d done something wrong. They were always watching. So were the cameras attached to buildings and streetlights. So were the helicopters that chopped up the sky. And the drones that quietly whizzed by. It felt so crowded living there among all those eyes. Even when I was alone I felt surrounded and on display. It was as if I was trapped in a glass cage and all these people were watching me, waiting for me to screw up. I wanted to stand in the middle of the road and yell something. Anything. But I couldn’t, not with all those eyes on me, and so the feeling just grew and grew.
The garbage collectors hadn’t been again and the bins on the footpath were overflowing. Even though it was early it was already hot and the smell had started to seep into everything and I was sure I was going to stink by the time I got to school.
Ahead of us, in the park with the graffitied slide I may or may not have added my name to last summer, a group of guys about my age had been stopped by the Unit. One officer was going through their bags and asking stupid questions while another patted down their arms, their legs, their chests. The guys were being so polite, all, Yes sir, and, No ma’am, and things they’d never say in real life.
Mum said good morning to an officer who was standing back, watching the scene. I don’t know why she bothered, but then Mum was one of those people who smiled and nodded and said hello to everyone. Humans, dogs, stray cats. She’d comment on the weather to complete strangers. Tell parents their baby was beautiful. That kind of thing. I’d stand beside her, silently dying inside. I never understood how she could be like that with people she didn’t know. Especially Unit Officers. This one just looked right through her. Blank-faced. Serious. I wondered if Peter was like that when he was out here, patrolling the streets in his stupid uniform. I couldn’t imagine it.
We got to the part where Mum said goodbye and because she liked what she called Proper Goodbyes, we hugged and kissed cheeks and said, See you tonight, cos we all thought we would see each other tonight. We always did. I watched her walk away, shoulders bent, feet shuffling. Suddenly she seemed old.
Once, Mum would have come with us. She’d been an artist and had taught at the university with Dad. But then everything changed and Magnus Varick decided we didn’t need art teachers anymore. So they gave her a job at the grocery store instead. She came home smelling like cabbage, her feet aching, her uniform stained with sweat. She would say things like, A job’s a job, and, The bills won’t pay themselves. She was right, but it didn’t make it any better. Astrid and I always said we’d take care of her. One day. And then she could paint again and no-one could stop her.
‘Poor Mum,’ I said.
‘I know,’ Astrid said. ‘Let’s go.’
We headed off to catch the bus that would take us closer to school and university. Usually Astrid would stride ahead and yell out for me to keep up, but not that morning. That morning she walked slowly, arms crossed, head down. It was weird.
‘You OK?’ I asked.
She nodded without looking up. She’d been quiet since that whole thing with Peter and it was killing me not knowing what they’d said.
‘How’s Peter?’ I said as casually as I could.
‘How’s maths going?’ Astrid countered.
She was good, but I wasn’t about to change the topic. ‘You seemed kinda pissed off at him, that’s all.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I just feel … disappointed in him, you know?’
‘Tell me,’ I said eagerly. Astrid never opened up about this sort of thing. Ever.
And she wasn’t about to now. Instead, she started walking at a more Astrid-like pace and launched into a boring monologue about the value of mathematics. Astrid was all about numbers and equations and stuff I hated. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it, I just didn’t want to. Astrid didn’t think I had a choice. Not if I wanted to go to university, which I wasn’t sure about – though the other options weren’t so great either. If it wasn’t university I’d have to work and there was no way I wanted to work at the deli for the rest of my life. Astrid loved studying and numbers and being organised. All the stuff they liked in a university student. One day, there would be a photo of Astrid like the one we had of Mum and Dad wearing black gowns and funny hats. Smiling. Proud. Astrid was smart, like them. And even though I knew she was looking out for me (in her own way), I was not in the mood to hear all the reasons why I needed to Try A Little Harder at school. Just being at school was hard enough.
‘I don’t want to talk about maths,’ I interrupted. ‘Tell me what’s going on with you and Peter.’ I touched her arm, but she pulled away.
‘You know you’ve got toothpaste on your shirt, right?’ she said.
We were standing at the bus stop. A crappy wooden bench under a tin shelter that got boiling hot in the sun and leaked when it rained. I slumped onto the bench and waited for Astrid to say something. Anything. She didn’t.
‘Was it something about Dad?’ I said.
‘No,’ she said, like that was the end of it.
‘Peter might be able to get information about him, didn’t you say that once? Weren’t you going to ask him?’
‘No,’ she said again.
‘Come on, Astrid. If there’s something going on I have a right to know. I’m not a kid. Tell me.’
But she said nothing. She was so frustrating. And hypocritical. She had to interfere with my life, had to know every little detail, but she never let me in on hers. It made me want to throw my school bag at her. Shout at her. Pull her hair. Anything to get something out of her – something other than, No. I tried to do Beth’s stupid breathing exercises but my leg kept jittering, up and down, up and down, so I took a marker from my bag and started drawing on the bench instead. It wasn’t one of Beth’s techniques but it helped me calm down a bit. I drew my sister’s face. I gave her mean eyes and was about to add some devil horns when Astrid noticed what I was doing and demanded that I stop.
‘No,’ I said in the same voice she’d used on me.
She didn’t find it funny – my impersonation or the drawing. She snatched my marker and threw it onto the road. I jumped up to get it but she held me back, hard. Harder than she had
to.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ she said.
‘Leave me alone,’ I said, and tried to pull out of her grip.
‘Stop being a little shit,’ she hissed in my ear. ‘You’re going to get us all in trouble. Again.’
Everything stopped for a moment, and my eyes stung.
‘Bitch,’ I shouted in Astrid’s face and she finally let me go.
I sat at the back of the bus, Astrid sat at the front. I knew I’d said the wrong thing but so had she, and I wasn’t going to say sorry until she did. I watched the back of Astrid’s head. Her shiny hair. Her stupid ribbon. Why did she still wear a ribbon? Wasn’t she supposed to be an adult? I decided I’d cut all her pathetic girly ribbons into tiny pieces and throw them all over her neatly made bed. She was too old for ribbons anyway, I’d be doing her favour.
But then I saw her rest her head on the window and wipe her eyes and I knew she was crying. She always did that. Cried when it was her fault so it all became my fault. So I looked like the bad one. Seeing her like that twisted me up inside. How was it possible to feel sorry for her and angry at her at the same time? She was so frustrating. I closed my eyes and imagined the clouds and counted, slowly, slowly.
When I opened my eyes she had gone. She’d gotten off the bus earlier than usual so she could walk the rest of the way in the burning sun, just to make me feel even worse about everything. I imagined her that night, sunburnt and sad, telling Mum all about it. Mum would be disappointed in me. Again. I looked out the back window as the bus pulled further away. She kept her head down like all the other broken people around her. That was my fault. I’d done that to her. I pressed my head to the window and as I watched her get smaller and smaller, my chest felt tighter and tighter. I took out my phone and tried to text her: Sorry. But the message wouldn’t send. I tried again and again and it still wouldn’t go. And that’s when I realised the bus had stopped, just like that, in the middle of the road.
Everywhere Everything Everyone Page 2