by Ally Condie
The inside of the dining hall looks nicer than a regular meal hall, too. “Look,” Xander says. Flickering lights in the center of each table simulate an old romantic system of lighting, candles.
People look at us as we pass among the tables. We’re clearly the youngest patrons there. Most are our parents’ age or young couples several years older than Xander and me, couples newly Contracted. I see a few people who are probably Singles out on recreational dates, but not many. The Boroughs in this area are primarily family boroughs, full of parents and contracted couples and youth under the age of twenty-one.
Xander notices the staring and stares back, his arm still linked with mine. Under his breath he whispers to me, “At least everyone at school is pretty much over our Match by now. I hate the watching.”
“I do, too.” Thankfully, the Official doesn’t gawk at us. He leads the way through the tables and finds one marked with our names near the back. The waiter arrives with our food almost as soon as we sit down.
The simulated candlelight flickers across the round black metal table in front of me. No tablecloths, and the food is regulation food—we’ll eat the same thing here that we’d eat at home. That’s why it’s necessary to book in advance; so the nutrition personnel can get your meal to the right spot. Obviously dining here doesn’t compare at all to the Match Banquet at City Hall, but it’s the second-nicest place I’ve ever eaten in my life.
“The food’s good and hot,” Xander says as the steam escapes from his foilware container. He peels back the lid and peers inside. “Look at my portion. They want me to bulk up so they keep giving me more and more.”
I glance over at Xander’s portion of noodles with sauce. It is enormous. “Can you eat all of that?”
“Are you joking? Of course I can.” Xander acts offended.
I peel back the foilware and look at my portion. Next to Xander’s, it seems minuscule. Maybe I’m making this up, but my portions seem to be smaller lately. I’m not sure why. The hiking and running on the tracker keep me fit. If anything, I should be getting more food, not less.
It must be my imagination.
The Official, looking even less interested than before, twists the noodles from his container on a fork and looks around the room at the other patrons. His food is exactly the same as ours. I guess the myths about certain departments’ Officials eating better than anyone else aren’t true. Not when they eat in public, anyway.
“How’s hiking going?” Xander asks me, popping a bite of noodles into his mouth.
“I like it,” I answer honestly. Except for today.
“Even more than swimming?” Xander teases me. “Not that you ever did much of that, I guess. Sitting there on the edge.”
“I swam,” I tell him, teasing back. “Sometimes. Anyway. I do like it more than being at the pool.”
“That’s not possible,” Xander says. “Swimming is the best. I heard that all you’ve been doing at hiking is climbing that same little hill over and over.”
“All you do at swimming is swim around the same little pool over and over.”
“That’s different. Water’s always moving. It’s never the same.”
Xander’s comment reminds me of what Ky said in the music hall about the songs. “I guess that’s true. But the hill is always moving, too. The wind moves things, and the plants grow and change ...” I fall silent. Our neatly pressed Official tilts his head, listening to our conversation. That’s why he’s here, isn’t it?
I move my food around and the motion makes me think of writing with Ky. One of the noodles is curved like a C. Don’t. I have to stop thinking about Ky.
Some of my food stubbornly refuses to wrap around my fork. I twirl the utensil around and around and finally give up and shove some noodles into my mouth, the ends sticking out. I have to slurp them in.
Embarrassing. For some reason my eyes fill with tears. I put down my fork and Xander reaches over to straighten it. As he does, he looks straight into my eyes, and I can see the question there as though he speaks it out loud: What’s wrong?
Shaking my head slightly, I smile back at him. Nothing.
I glance over at our Official. He’s momentarily distracted, listening to something on his earpiece. Of course. He is still on duty.
“Xander, why didn’t you—you know—kiss me the other night?” I ask suddenly, since the Official isn’t listening right at this moment. I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I want to know.
“There were too many people watching.” Xander sounds surprised. “I know the Officials don’t care, since we’re Matched, but, you know.” He inclines his head slightly toward the Official next to us. “It’s not the same when you’re being watched.”
“How could you tell?”
“Haven’t you noticed all the Officials on our street lately?”
“Watching my house?”
Xander raises his eyebrows. “Why would they be watching your house?”
Because I read things I shouldn’t read and learn things I’m not meant to know and I might be falling in love with someone else. What I say is, “My father ...” I let my voice trail off.
Xander flushes. “Of course. I should have realized . . . It’s not that, at least I don’t think so. These are basic-level Officials, police officers. They’ve been patrolling a lot more lately and not just in our Borough. In all the Boroughs.”
Our street was full of Officials that night and I didn’t even know. Ky must have known. Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t come up the porch steps. Maybe that’s why he never touches me. He’s afraid of being caught.
Or maybe it’s even more simple than that. Maybe he never wants to touch me. Perhaps to Ky I am only a friend. A friend who finally wants to know his story, nothing more.
And at first that’s who I was. I wanted to know more about this boy who lives among us, but who never truly speaks. More about what happened before. I wanted to know more about my mistaken Match. But now I feel like finding out about him is one of the ways I find out about myself. I did not expect to love his words. I did not expect to find myself in them.
Is falling in love with someone’s story the same thing as falling in love with the person himself?
CHAPTER 18
Another air car sits on our street, this time in front of Em’s house. “What’s going on?�� I ask Xander, whose eyes widen with fear. The Official with us looks interested but not surprised. I resist the urge to grab his shirtfront tight, wrinkling it in my hands. I hold back from hissing, “Why do you watch us? What do you know?”
The door to Em’s house opens and three Officials come out. Our Official turns to Xander and me and says, almost abruptly, “I hope you both had an enjoyable evening. I’ll file the report with the Matching Committee first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I say automatically as he turns back to the air-train stop, although I don’t know why. I don’t feel grateful.
The Officials at Em’s house walk across her yard and go to the house next door. They hold a container, something Society-issued, and they’re not smiling. In fact, if I had to say how they looked, I would say they looked sad. I don’t like it. “Should we go see if Em is all right?” I ask, and as I do, she opens her front door and looks out. She sees Xander and me and hurries across the yard to meet us.
“Cassia, it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault!” Em’s voice shakes, and tears mark her face.
“What’s your fault, Em? What happened?” I glance next door to make sure the Officials aren’t watching us, but they’ve already disappeared inside. Em’s neighbors opened the door before the Officials had to knock, as though they were expected.
“What’s this about?” Xander’s voice sounds harsh and I send him a look, trying to tell him to be patient.
Em’s face grows even paler and she grabs my arm. Her voice is hushed. “The Officials are collecting all the artifacts.”
“What?”
Em’s lips tremble. “They said that I’d been seen wit
h an artifact at the Match Banquet, and they’d come to collect it. I told them it wasn’t mine, I’d borrowed it from you and given it back.” She swallows and I remember the night of the green tablet. I put my arm around her and glance at Xander. Em keeps speaking, her voice shaky. “I shouldn’t have told them. But I was so scared! Now they’re going to take it from you. They’re going house to house.”
House to house. They’ll be at mine soon. I want to comfort Em, but I have to try to save my artifact, futile as the effort might be. I have to go home. I give Em a hug. “Em, it’s not your fault. Even if you hadn’t told them, they knew I had an artifact. It’s registered, and I took it to my Banquet.”
Then I remember something, and fear washes over me. Ky’s artifact. I still have it tucked away in my closet. The Officials might know about my artifact, but they don’t know about Ky’s. It could get us both in trouble.
How can I hide it?
“I have to go home,” I say, out loud this time. I pull my arm away from Em’s shoulders and turn toward my house. How long do I have before the Officials get there? Five minutes? Ten?
Em starts crying harder, but I don’t have time to reassure her again. I walk as quickly as I can without drawing attention. A few steps later and Xander is next to me, linking his arm in mine as if we have been on a normal outing and are on our way home.
“Cassia,” he says. I don’t look at him. I can’t stop thinking about all that could be lost in a few short moments. Ky is already an Aberration. If they find out that he has an artifact, will he become an Anomaly?
I could cover up for him. I could say that it’s mine and I found it when we hiked in the woods. Would they believe me?
“Cassia,” Xander says again. “I can hide it for you. Say you’ve lost it. Make your story convincing.”
“I can’t let you do that for me.”
“You can. I’ll wait for you outside while you grab the compact. It’s small enough to fit in your hand, right?” I nod. “When you come back out, act like you’re crazy about me, like you hate saying good-bye. Throw your arms around me. Drop it down my shirt. I’ll take care of it after that.”
I’ve never seen this side of Xander before, I think, and then I instantly realize that I have. When he plays the games he’s like this. Cool and calm and full of strategy and daring. And in the games at least, his risks almost always pay off.
“Xander, this isn’t a game.”
“I know that.” His face looks grim. “I’ll be careful.”
“Are you sure?” I shouldn’t let him do this. It’s weak to consider it. But still: He can take my compact for me. He would save it for me. He would risk this for me.
“I’m sure.”
Once I close the front door behind me, I run down the hall to my room as fast as I can. No one from my family sees me, for which I’m grateful. With shaking hands I tear open my closet door and push the sets of plainclothes along the rack until I find the pair where I’ve hidden Ky’s artifact inside the pocket. I open the brown paper envelope and tip it so that the arrow in its case slides out. I shove the envelope into my pocket; I grab the compact from the shelf and look at the two items in my hands.
Golden and beautiful. In spite of myself, I’m tempted to give Xander my compact instead of Ky’s spinning arrow, but I put the compact onto my bed and close my hand over Ky’s artifact. Saving my compact would be selfish. It would only save a thing. But saving Ky’s artifact saves both of us from questioning and him from becoming an Anomaly. And how can I let them take the last piece of his old life?
This is safer for Xander, too. They don’t know Ky’s artifact exists, so hopefully they won’t miss it. My compact will be accounted for and taken away, as expected, so they won’t look for it or wonder if I’ve given it to someone else.
I run back down the hall and open the front door.
“Xander, wait!” I call out to him, trying to make my voice light. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good night?”
Xander turns, his face open and natural. I don’t think anyone else could see the glint of cunning in his eyes, but I know him so well.
I skip down the steps and he holds out his arms to me. We embrace, his hands at the small of my back and my arms around his neck. I place my hand just under the collar of his plainclothes and open my fingers. The artifact slides down his back and my palm lies flat against his warm skin. We look each other straight in the eyes for a moment and then I lean close to his ear.
“Don’t open it,” I whisper to Xander. “Don’t keep it in your house. Bury it or hide it somewhere. It’s not what you think.”
Xander nods.
“Thank you,” I say, and then I kiss him right on the lips and I mean that kiss. Even though I know I’m falling for Ky it is impossible not to love Xander for everything he is and everything he does.
“Cassia!” Bram calls from the steps.
Bram. He’s going to lose something today, too. I think of Grandfather’s watch and anger rises in me. Do they have to take everything?
Xander breaks away from our embrace. He has to hurry to hide the artifact before they get to his house. “Good-bye,” he says with a smile.
“Good-bye,” I call back.
“Cassia!” Bram calls again, fear in his voice. I glance back down the street, but I don’t see any Officials yet. They must still be in one of the houses between mine and Em’s.
“Hi, Bram,” I say, attempting to sound casual. It’s better for us all if he doesn’t suspect what Xander and I have done. “Where’s—”
“They’re taking the artifacts,” Bram says, voice shaking. “They called Papa in to help with the collection.”
Of course. I should have realized. They need someone like him to help determine if the artifacts are real or false. Another fear strikes me. Was he supposed to take our artifacts? Did he pretend mine was lost? Did he lie for Bram or me? How many stupid mistakes is he willing to make for those he loves?
“Oh no,” I say, trying to act as though all of this is new to me. Hopefully Bram won’t find out that Em told me earlier. “Did he take ours with him?”
“No,” Bram says. “They won’t let anyone collect from their own families.”
“Did he know this was going to happen?”
“No. When the call came over the port he was shocked. But he had to report right away. He told me to listen to the Officials and not to worry.”
I want to put my arm around Bram and comfort him because he is about to lose something, something important. So I do. I hold onto my brother and for the first time in years he hugs me back, tight, the way he did when he was a little boy and I was the big sister he admired more than anyone else in the world. I wish I could have saved his watch, but it was the wrong color, silver instead of gold. And the Officials know about it. There was nothing I could do, I tell myself, trying to believe it.
We hold on for a few seconds and then I pull away and look Bram in the eyes. “Go get it,” I say to him. “Go look at it for the last few minutes you have and remember it. Remember it.”
Bram doesn’t pretend to hide the tears in his eyes now.
“Bram,” I say, and I hug him again. “Bram. Something bad could have happened to the watch even without this. You could have lost it. You could have broken it. But this way you can look at it one last time. It’s never really lost to you as long as you remember it.”
“Can’t I try to hide it?” Bram asks. He blinks and a tear escapes. He brushes it away angrily. “Will you help me?”
“No, Bram,” I say gently. “I wish we could, but it’s too dangerous.” What I risk has a limit. I won’t risk Bram.
When the Officials arrive at our house and come in the door they find Bram and me sitting on the divan side by side. Bram holds silver; I hold gold; we both look up. But then Bram’s gaze flickers back to the polished silver surface in his hands and I glance down at the gold one in mine.
My face looks back at me, distorted by the curve of the compact’s surface, the w
ay it was at the Match Banquet. Then, the question I asked myself was: Do I look pretty?
Now the question I ask is: Do I look strong?
As I look at my eyes and the set of my jaw, it seems to me that the answer is yes.
A short, balding Official speaks first. “The Government has decided that artifacts promote inequality among members of Society,” he says. “We request that everyone turn in their artifacts for catalog and display at the Museum in each City.”
“Our records indicate that there are two legal artifacts in this residence,” a tall Official adds. Does he stress the word legal, or is it my imagination? “One silver watch, one gold compact.”
I don’t say anything and neither does Bram.
“Are these the artifacts?” the bald Official asks, looking at the items we hold. He seems weary. This must be a terrible job. I imagine my father taking artifacts from people—old people like Grandfather, children like Bram—and I feel sick.
I nod. “Do you want them now?”
“You may retain them for a few more minutes. We are required to do a quick search of the house.”
Bram and I both sit quietly while they go through our house. It doesn’t take long.
“Nothing valuable here,” one of them says quietly to another in the hallway.
My heart is on fire and I have to keep my mouth shut tight so that I don’t try to burn these Officials with the flames. That’s what you think, I say to myself. You think there’s nothing here because we’re not putting up a fight. But there are words in our heads that no one else knows. And my grandfather died on his terms, not yours. We have things of value but you can never find them because you don’t even know how to look.
They walk back into the room and I stand up. Bram does, too. The Officials wave detection instruments around us to make sure we haven’t concealed anything on our persons. Of course, they find nothing.
The female Official comes forward and I see a pale band of skin on her finger, where a ring must have been. She lost something today, too. I hold out the compact, thinking about how my artifact has traveled from a time before the Society, from one family member to another, to me. And now I have to let it go.