And then the graffiti started up again.
It wasn’t me or Z who created the spray-painted letters, all in red, shouting at everyone from everywhere: PROTEST TONITE 2100. It was bigger and braver than anything I’d ever seen. Or attempted to do. As soon as we walked out of the apartment block we saw it – sprawled right across the road. And on signs and fences and buildings, and even on our school. They’d sprayed it right across the main doors. People in fluoro overalls tried to scrub it off or blast it away with high-powered hoses or paint over it. But it didn’t matter. There was way too much of it and they couldn’t get rid of it fast enough to stop us from seeing it.
‘This is incredible,’ I said to Z. He put his arm around me and I put mine around him and we slowly walked to school. I longed to reach up and kiss him, like I would have done in the past. But something stopped me. It always did.
In the hallways and in the bathrooms it was all anyone was whispering about. PROTEST. Mrs Rook banned the word, but that didn’t stop people from talking about it.
The screens in our school hallways made no mention of the graffiti. There were just the regular warnings about not using prohibited words or being in groups of four or more and reminders to Always Be A Good Citizen! (Their words, not mine.)
In class Mrs Emery made us do a dictation test. Back before all of this, someone would have made an immature but kinda hilarious joke about dictation and the rest of us would have laughed. But not anymore. We sat quietly and wrote out the sentences as she spoke them, and it wasn’t until she started throwing in the word tonight that I realised what she was doing. They were looking for someone to blame the graffiti on.
‘Tonight I will watch the News with my family,’ she said. ‘Tonight …’
Seriously? I couldn’t believe the teachers thought that would work. There was no way the people responsible would slip up and write ‘tonite’ in a stupid dictation test. And there was absolutely zero chance that a high school student in Low Stream with poor spelling skills was going to be the mastermind behind that huge graffiti attack. I snuck a look around the class to see if anyone else thought this was bullshit. They were all heads down, as usual. Doing the right thing. Except the girl behind me. She had never looked at me before. I don’t think I even knew her name. But at that moment she made eye contact and half smiled and raised her eyebrows as if to say, What the hell? And I nodded and shrugged and felt a little less alone in that classroom.
Mrs Emery banged her ruler on my desk, making me jump. ‘Stand up,’ she said.
I slid my chair back and stood. So did the girl behind me, even though she didn’t have to. ‘Sorry, Mrs Emery,’ I said.
‘No,’ the girl said. ‘I’m sorry. It was my fault, Mrs Emery. My pen is out of ink and I just –’
‘I just, I just,’ Mrs Emery mimicked her. She laughed and looked at the class so they’d laugh, too. Some of them did. ‘That’s enough. Sit down. And next time, detention. For all of you.’
I heard her sigh as we sat back down.
‘Give her a pen,’ Mrs Emery snapped at me as she returned to the front of the class.
I kept my eyes down and put a pen on her desk. I wanted to say, Thank you, or smile, but I put my head down and carefully wrote out the next sentence: Magnus Varick shall make a formal address to the Citizens tonight.
I was washing my hands when I heard someone trying not to cry in one of the cubicles. I thought about ignoring them, just heading back outside to eat lunch with Z, but it hadn’t been that long since I’d sat there, and I remembered how much Imara’s company had meant to me that day. I knocked and Tash said, Go away.
‘Tash?’ I said.
There was no response.
‘I know it’s you,’ I said. ‘Let me in.’
She must have been desperate because eventually she unlocked the door and I pushed it open to find her sitting on the lid of the toilet pulling apart what might once have been a sandwich.
‘Come eat lunch with us. They haven’t banned groups of three … yet,’ I said.
‘Seriously?’ she said. Her mascara had run a bit. She looked so pathetic it was hard not to feel sorry for her.
‘If you don’t mind being seen with me,’ I said. ‘And my boyfriend.’
‘You worked it out?’ she sniffed.
‘We did.’
‘That’s good. That’s really good, Santee,’ she said, and suddenly she was crying again and I handed her some toilet paper. ‘Why are you being nice to me?’
‘I can’t let you eat in the toilet. You always told me it was unhygienic,’ I said.
‘I think I said more than that.’
We sat at our table because even though it was cold, it was better being outside than stuck in the building with teachers and security cameras listening in. As soon as Tash was out of the bathroom she changed – she was all chirpy and chatty as if she hadn’t been crying at all.
‘It’s this whole groups-of-four crap, that’s all,’ she said. ‘There’s too many of us in the group so I offered to leave … you know …’
‘Really?’ Z said.
‘Yeah.’ Tash flicked her hair the way I’d always hated her doing. But at that moment I just felt sorry for her. She still thought she had to be that fake Tash. Or maybe she had been that version of herself for so long she’d forgotten what the real Tash was like. I hadn’t forgotten. And I realised how much I wanted her back.
‘Tash,’ I said. ‘You can tell us the truth. It’s just us.’
She relaxed her shoulders a bit and dropped the fake smile and stared into space for a while. ‘They don’t want me in the group anymore. They kicked me out … because Dad is on the other side,’ she said. ‘With my aunty. And that makes him and me and all my family Threats. According to Chloe.’
I waited for the apology. For the, Now I know what I put you through, Santee, and I’m soooo sorry bit. But it didn’t happen.
‘Can I fix your hair, Santee? It looks terrible,’ she said.
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Go for it.’
Back in class with my Perfect Ponytail (Tash’s words, not mine), I only half listened to whatever Mrs Emery was droning on about. It was a bit of a relief when the alarms sounded and we all moved into lockdown mode. No-one laughed about it anymore. We’d gotten really efficient at closing blinds and locking doors and hiding under our desks. I smiled at the girl who sat behind me. She mouthed the word PROTEST and I nodded and she gave a thumbs-up and so did the guy who sat behind her. I looked around, which was harder than it sounds when you’re crouched under a desk. Most of the class kept their heads down or their eyes closed but the ones who didn’t passed on a thumbs-up sign. Around and around it went.
We were going to protest.
The fireflies burst back to life in my stomach.
CHAPTER 41
Mrs Rook spoke over the loudspeaker to inform us that a very real, very serious warning had just been issued. ‘All after-school activities have been cancelled. Early Curfew is enforced. Citizens are to go directly home and await further instructions,’ she announced.
The sky was alive with drones and helicopters. The ground crawled with Unit Officers. People crowded the paths and roads, impatiently trying to get home. It wasn’t easy with cars and buses jamming the streets and Officers stopping anyone they wanted for random checks. A car backfired and everyone screamed and dropped to the ground. Including Z. I helped him to his feet.
‘You all right?’ I said as he dusted himself off.
‘I just wanna get home,’ he said.
As we walked I got lost in thoughts of the protest. The fireflies were going mad in my stomach, excited and eager to burst out and do this thing. But another feeling kept tugging at my brain. The memory of the last time I’d attempted a protest. And how badly it had ended. But this was different, wasn’t it? I mean, this time I wouldn’t have my dad’s anti-Varick placard and I wouldn’t be alone and even though it was a risk, it was worth it. Right?
At home we were greeted by b
ooming classical music, which meant Mila and Pip were discussing something important.
‘She won’t let me go,’ Mila said as soon as she saw us.
‘What?’ I said.
‘To the protest. Protest tonight nine o’clock. You saw it? Yes? You’re going? Everyone is going. It’s important.’ She was talking super-fast, her words falling over themselves.
‘Yeah, I’m going –’
‘No-one is going,’ Pip said. ‘It’s dangerous.’
I started to argue but she did that annoying humming thing. I wanted to shout at her, tell her just how frustrating she was. But I didn’t. I took a deep breath and went to the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the cold tiles. I closed my eyes and tried to think of the right words to say to make Pip change her mind. No shouting. No slamming doors. I was going to use my words – Beth would have been impressed at my progress.
Pip turned on the News. It didn’t mention the graffiti that had blanketed the city. Instead, it was filled with endless stories about the Serious Threat.
‘For your safety, all Citizens are required to stay indoors. Anyone found breaking the emergency Curfew measures will be arrested on sight,’ the anchorman said. The reports continued. There was something about the Safety Border requiring further reinforcement and another informing us that random house checks would take place. Tonight. For our Safety and Security.
The report ended and the power went off and Mila lit the candles and the clock said nine and I thought, It’s now or never. But as I went to recite the speech I’d prepared, we heard shouts and bangs from the street below and Mila raced to the window to see what was happening. A handful of people were walking down the street, heading towards the park. Some carried candles, others banged pots and pans, and they all shouted, Down with the Regime! People were shouting the words we could barely write. They were saying it, out in the open, loudly, so everyone could hear. Down with the Regime! A helicopter rattled overhead. Close. Watching. Always watching.
There weren’t many people out there. They wouldn’t get far before they were arrested. Or worse. And then the whole thing would be written off as another Threat incident and they’d put some new laws in place and our lives would go on getting smaller and smaller until there was nothing left. It felt like they were trying to suffocate us to death. And succeeding.
I turned away from the window.
‘What?’ Z said.
‘I’m going outside.’ I didn’t care that nobody else had bothered to show up. I just knew I needed to be out there, doing something.
‘No,’ Pip said. ‘I can’t let you do that, Santee.’
‘I think Diggs would want us there. Don’t you?’ I said.
It wasn’t quite what I’d rehearsed but it was all I was able to get out. Because at that moment, we could hear a mass of voices and shouts and whistles and horns and noise, noise, noise. A huge crowd. Fireflies.
‘Diggs would never forgive us if we missed this.’ I tried again. ‘Please.’
‘Please, Pip,’ Mila added.
Pip studied our faces, as if she were afraid she might forget what we looked like. It felt like the minutes clicked by – one, two, three – as we waited for her permission. The crowd got louder and bigger and I was just about ready to jump out the window to join them if I had to.
I watched Pip as she watched the crowd. Watched her eyes get a little teary. Watched the creases in her forehead relax. ‘Diggs should be here to see this,’ I said, echoing her own words from before. It was a cheap shot, but it was worth a try.
‘We’d better get moving, then,’ Pip said. Finally.
Mila wrapped the ends of the candles in old dishcloths so we wouldn’t burn our hands cos she was Mila and she thought about stuff like that. Pip gave us three rules: Stick together, leave when I say we’re leaving, and no arguing. We agreed and ran downstairs and Pip yelled behind us, Wait, what did I say? So we stopped at the entrance and Mila hopped from foot to foot as we waited for Pip to make her way down the stairs. Our neighbours opened their door. We all noticed it. They didn’t come out but others from our building did. I knew their faces. Recognised them from months and months of sharing a staircase. Pip greeted them all by name and introduced us properly and it felt almost like a party.
The protest was one of those things that once, a long time ago, people would have taken photos of and shared with their friends – Hey, I was there too! A river of candlelight flowed through the park and merged with more and more people until there was an entire ocean of light rippling through the city. It felt like there were thousands and thousands of us.
We made our way past the apartments and office blocks and boarded-up storefronts. No-one stopped us. Some joined in. Some just watched. Others stayed away from their windows and locked their doors and pretended nothing was going on.
I could hear bits of conversation shouted between old friends or partners or complete strangers over the noise of crowd: About time we did something. Enough is enough. How did this happen? I heard someone say, I don’t know what took us so long, and when I turned to find out who’d said it I saw an old man, much older than anyone else there, leaning heavily on his walker, which he’d decorated with a string of fairy lights. The man who shuffled along next to him nodded solemnly and then they both shouted, Down with the Regime!
I wasn’t entirely sure where we were going, we just moved along with the crowd. The four of us linked arms and walked in time and it reminded me of Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the Lion and the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. The four of us skipping down the yellow brick road, except with less singing. There’s no place like home looped over and over in my mind. I wanted to explain what I was thinking to Z but the noise had gotten way too loud for talking and the crowd seemed to tighten around us, so we unlinked and Mila took my hand and we all tried our best to stay together.
Everyone stopped outside Parliament. A place where Citizens had once been allowed to enter and watch debates and voting and see decisions being made, until they decided we weren’t welcome there and fenced it off and patrolled the perimeter with guns and barking dogs so that, over time, it became Strictly Off Limits and no-one went near the place. Except that night. That night, it felt as if we’d surrounded Parliament and could send our message straight to the heart of the Regime, right into Magnus Varick’s ears. ‘Down with the wall,’ the crowd shouted in time and we added our voices to the chorus. ‘Down with the Regime!’ And we raised our candles high so Varick and his friends could see the light, the fireflies, enclosing him. We were a crowd of strangers but, at that moment, we moved as one and it made the air … electric.
‘Amazing!’ I shouted to Z and then immediately wanted to stuff the word back into my mouth cos I wasn’t one of those people who said amazing but he grinned that grin and, before I’d even realised it, I kissed him. Right there. My lips tingled and the electricity from the air whooshed through my entire body.
He tried to tell me something but everyone was shouting and chanting and I couldn’t hear him and he kissed me again and we clapped and shouted and cheered and danced. It felt like cracks were appearing – not in the wall itself, but in people’s belief in the Regime. There was a warmth inside me. I’d felt the same thing when we’d watched the other side protesting, but there, in the midst of this crowd, it grew even larger. A glimmer of something. An image of Mum and Astrid and even Dad, somehow, and Diggs and my home and all of us living happily ever after. Something like that. Something amazing.
And then they turned their guns on us.
And fired.
And the cheers became screams.
We dropped our candles. A helicopter shone its searchlight back and forth across the crowd. Crack, crack, crack, the guns blared. Rubber bullets, they’re rubber bullets, people shouted and held their ground and put their hands above their heads but still it didn’t stop and I saw a flash of Pip’s panicked face and I spun around and around and there was Z but where was Mila? People were shoving and pushing and runni
ng over the top of each other. Something hit my leg and my knees buckled and a sting spread up my body and Z held me up and I kept saying, I’m OK, I’m OK, because if I said it maybe it would come true.
‘Mila!’ we screamed and pushed against the retreating crowd.
She had been right there with us the whole time. Hadn’t she?
The sound of guns and screams filled the air. And there, in a flash of the searchlight, a man stood in front of me holding his head and the blood poured from between his fingers and his mouth hung open and I felt a wave of vomit rush up my throat. Those bullets weren’t rubber. Another flash of light and there were people on the ground, people in each other’s arms, people screaming and holding onto their faces, their legs, their chests and all of them were gushing red. Blood. Everywhere.
‘Mila!’ I screamed.
People were carried out like sacks of meat or left crumpled on the ground and still the shots continued. At every crack we ducked as if that was going to save us. In the next flash I saw a tiny figure. Mila? I tried to run but my feet kept slipping. She was just standing there in the thick of it all. Someone scooped her up and ran, head down, and as they passed me I realised it wasn’t Mila at all.
Something hard and sharp hit my back with a whack. The air emptied out of me. I couldn’t breathe. There was nothing. I gulped and gulped. It felt like I was on fire, like something was burning across my shoulderblade. I saw those kids from the wall with their trolley of missiles even though they couldn’t have been here. They couldn’t have thrown that … and then I don’t remember anything.
CHAPTER 42
Someone was talking to me. A voice I didn’t know. I wanted her to stop talking. I wanted to go back to sleep and stay there, in the dark, forever, but she wouldn’t stop. Santee, she kept saying in this soft sing-song voice, wake up now, Santee, and I finally forced my eyelids open and the woman smiled and said, Good girl, and I wanted to shove her right in the face but I couldn’t lift my arm.
Everywhere Everything Everyone Page 19