Chapter 9

We’re sitting so close to each other on the rec room recliner, we’re almost on top of each other, Rosalin on my left, the twins on my right. Jaela’s elbow is linked through mine and Rosalin’s head is on my shoulder. Jacobo’s leaning against the armrest with his legs draped across our laps. We’re like a human twister puzzle.

We’re watching a soap serial on the wall monitor. A vapid drama set in an Osiris medic center. The doctors are treating riot patients.

A doctor with a chiseled jaw is talking to a blonde, pony-tailed trainee.

“They don’t know what they’re doing,” he says. “All they’re doing is hurting each other. It’s pointless.”

The girl looks at him with wide eyes. “They must believe they’re doing it for a good reason.”

The doctor scoffs. “Well, they’re wrong. They have no good reason except for causing trouble. They’re going to suffer the consequences. If they don’t end up in here, they’ll end up exiled.”

The trainee gasps and shakes her head. “That’s awful.”

“This is crap,” Jacobo says. “State produced propaganda.”

Jaela shushes him. “You don’t have to watch it,” she says. He sighs dramatically but doesn’t move.

We watch the doctors as they patch people up, sealing closed wounds and consulting complicated looking instruments. Two of their patients require extensive surgery, a handful are cured with heal-gel, one of them repents for his involvement in the riot and one tries to attack the medic workers and is walked away in mag cuffs.

When the credits roll, Jacobo slides his legs to the floor and stretches. I realize how tall he is now. At almost six feet, he has at least two inches on his twin. That must drive her crazy.

“I’m going to bed,” he says. “You girls enjoy the rest of your soap opera rubbish.”

The three of us stay on the couch. We’re not usually allowed to stay up late but the proctors have relaxed the rules. We’re taking advantage of it and cramming in as much mod screen content as we can. I settle in between my friends and lose myself in the next tele-drama, thinking of nothing.

The four of us are seated at our usual table, shoveling a springy white substance into our mouths.

“Has any one heard from Henrik?” Jaela asks.

“Nothing,” Rosalin says, pushing her meal away.

“I heard some of the other kids talking about him,” Jacobo says. “They were arguing over who would get the stuff he left behind.”

“Why would he leave his things?” Rosalin asks.

“Maybe his new family bought him a bunch of new stuff?” Jacobo shrugs like it’s obvious.

“It’s seriously cold of him to say nothing about leaving,” Jaela says.

“Yeah, and leaving us in the lurch with handball,” Jacobo adds. “At this rate we won’t even make it to the semi finals.”

Rosalin and I are back in our room, waiting for the overhead lights to flicker. I have mouse on the top bunk with me and I’m turning him in circles with a small protein crumb. He follows the morsel eagerly as I move it slowly above his head, his little black nose twitching.

Rosalin is fussing over her plants, pulling off dried debris and smoothing leaves between her fingers. She fiddles with the vitamin lamp so it’s shinning directly on a wilting cactus.

I’m not sure why she goes to all the trouble, keeping the plants alive in this airless box, but it is nice having something other than grey walls to look at. They add a cheeriness to the small space.

“Do you think Jacobo’s been different lately?” Rosalin asks. Her head is down so I can’t see her face.

I consider for a moment. “I guess his temper seems worse than usual,” I say.

Rosalin’s quiet for a moment and I peer over the edge of the bed and look directly at her. “Why?”

She looks up at me and I see color rising into her cheeks.

My eyes go wide. “Rose! No you don’t! You have a crush on Jacobo?” I bark out a sound of laughter and then slap a hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”

Rosaline sits back on her heels and makes a face at me. “It’s not a crush… exactly.”

“I can’t believe it. Since when did this happen?”

She shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with her water sprayer. “I don’t know. A while. But it doesn’t matter. I know he doesn’t feel the same way.”

I’ve forgotten mouse on the bed spread and when I glance back at him, I see he’s devouring the small pile of crumbs I was saving as incentive. I’ll have to collect more at breakfast.

“How do you know?” I ask.

She shrugs and the color in her face deepens. “I don’t know. I just do.”

I sit back and consider how I missed this one-sided romance. I’ve been spending too much time in the library, hunting down old world technology.

“Why don’t you tell him?” I ask.

She looks at me in horror. “Why would I do that?” she says. “I would just about die of embarrassment.”

I frown at her. “What if he likes you too and just won’t say it?”

She shakes her head. “I’d know if he liked me,” she says. “I can always tell what people are feeling.”

I tip my head to the side considering. I never know what people are thinking. I’m better suited to figuring out algorithms than people.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It’s not like we can do anything about it anyway.”

And she’s right about that. Relationships are strictly forbidden at TWOC. Boys and girls are allowed to mingle in the common areas and platonic interactions are encouraged but if there’s the slightest rumor of romance the proctors swoop in to remedy the situation. It’s just another reason I can’t wait to be free of this place.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” I say and grin at her. “You can woo him with your good looks and charm.”

Rosalin rolls her eyes at me. “You’ve no idea how it works do you?”

I laugh. “Nope. That’s why I’ve got you to tell me.”

“The best thing I can do is ignore him,” she says and then returns to her plants.

I’m having my second proctor interview in as many days, but this time with Mr. Smit. It’s my quarterly study check up and I’m afraid it’s not going to go well.

He’s seated behind a metal desk his tablet untouched in front of him. He isn’t taking notes. He’s watching me carefully and it makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.

“You have quite the aptitude for mathematics and logic,” he says. “Have you requested an allotment in Programming?”

“I haven’t submitted my preference yet.” I hold his gaze, daring him to look away first. He does and I smile at my small victory. He unclasps his hands and lays them on the desk. His fingers are long and thin. They look vaguely like claws.

“You have an attitude issue to deal with,” he says. “And until you do, I can’t recommend you for anything.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“If you’re not qualified for an allotment then we keep you here until you are.”

“What? You can’t do that.” I sit up straighter in my chair.

“We do what’s best for the community,” Head says and smiles so the tips of his teeth poke through. It looks like a snarl. “You have a few things to learn about being a contributing citizen and you need full time monitoring while you do it.”

I feel the heat rising through the top of my head and I struggle to keep my mouth shut. I want to reach over the desk and slap the smug look off his face, but I keep my fingers gripped tightly around the armrests of my chair.

“Your course work is suffering, you’ve barely completed the basics in ethics and your essay work is less than enlightening. You won’t graduate from here on a good math score alone. TWOC prides itself of developing well rounded students.”

“That’s one class, a few essays.”

“Yes, and what about your attitude problem. You’re defiant. Osiris doesn’t tolerate defiance.”

“I’m not defiant,” I say.

He laughs, a high-pitched giggle that makes me cringe. “You make your own rules and you think you can get away with it. I’m telling you now that things have to change. It’s time for you to focus on being a contributing neighbor. Do you understand?”

I look down in my lap. I grind my teeth. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” Head says. “Then this interview is over.”

I get up from the chair and leave Head’s office. I feel his dark, ominous eyes on me like a physical weight. I hate him so fiercely in that moment I wish I could slam the door shut and leave TWOC forever. But I can’t. I’m legally bound to welfare until I’m fifteen and awarded my graduation. Without that, I could be stuck here forever.

I find the twins lounging on the recliner in the rec room and throw myself down next to them.

“What happened to you?” Jaela asks.

“Head,” I say and they both nod in commiseration.

“He’s worse than usual this week,” Jacobo says. “The riots have really got him worked up.”

“He told me I might not graduate,” I say and the twins stare at me wide-eyed.

“No,” they say simultaneously and I’m struck again, how they sometimes appear to be one person instead of two.

“Legally he can do it,” I say. “He can declare me unfit for community and Government won’t give me an allotment. Without that I can’t leave.”

“Why would he do that?” Jaela asks. “He hates you as much as you hate him. Wouldn’t he want to get rid of you as soon as possible?”

“You’d think so,” I say. “Looks like he’s more interested in revenge.”

“What are you going to do?” Jacobo asks.

“Well I’m not going to sit around here,” I say. “He thinks he can bully me, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”

We sit for a moment in silence and I consider my best options for retaliation. I need something that will distract Head long enough that he forgets his vendetta and gives me enough time to secure the allocation records in the network. Then he won’t have any control over my graduation.

“Where’s Rosalin?” I ask.

The twins exchange a glance.

“What?” I ask.

Jacobo jerks his head to the left and I follow his gaze.

Rosalin is sitting at a small table talking to Yakov. He’s explaining something that requires extravagant hand gestures and she’s laughing, her head thrown back so the long expanse of her neck is exposed.

Why is she talking to him? He’s such a nimrod.

“We didn’t want to say anything.” Jaela says. “They’ve been friends for a while.”
“A while?” I ask. “What’s a while?”

“They started talking three weeks ago,” she says. “They are on the same handball team. They hang out in here when you’re gone. I don’t think she wanted to tell you.”

I scowl in their direction and Rosalin looks up and meets my eyes. She starts a little, turns to say a quick goodbye to Yakov and then walks over the join us. I wonder if she’s trying to make Jacobo jealous. I look at him but he’s busy picking at something under one fingernail, his face perfectly neutral.

“How was your meeting with Mr. Smit?” Rosalin asks. I flick a glance in Yakov’s direction but he’s already talking to someone else. I can tell he’s conspicuously ignoring Rosalin’s departure and that gives me some small satisfaction.

“Not good,” I say and repeat the interaction.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“I have a few ideas.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 10