Anathema (11 page)

I lose sight of Alexander in the lobby. The
Showdown
people have created a virtual barricade around the fence ringing the school. The only thing I can figure is that the video of Alexander attracted attention from the show’s producers.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Amanda decides, watching clips from the show on her phone. “They’re not after you for sure. You’d be a terrible gladiator. You’d die in two seconds.”

“Thanks, Mandy.”

When I reach Comp Sci that afternoon, Alexander slips in only after class has already started. We have a midterm today, and the code I’ve been working on all month is due. Tension grips me as he sits next to me. I strive to focus on my screen, knowing how important it is that I pass this test. It’s hard not to shoot him a questioning glance and wonder how he’s coping with the mass of hunters waiting outside the school for him.

When I do steal a glance, he looks as aloof and uninterested as usual. He silently watches me scroll through the program, searching for any last-minute errors.

The program doesn’t work when I run it. It returns a value of null. Frustration rips through me, but we’re reaching the last minutes of class. I just have to turn it in now.

“Wait,” Alexander says, before I can send it to the teacher. His hand grabs mine before I can click ‘Send.’

His touch is warm and firm, his long fingers encasing my hand. We both pull back, the nerves under my skin leaping. He meets my eyes with his clear blue ones, then holds up a finger.

And then he begins scrolling through my code.

“What are you—” I whisper furiously.

The objection dies on my lips as he begins typing, correcting my code, cutting out segments here and there, deleting extra periods. Shock sweeps over me. He’s been watching me this entire time. And he knows how to do this.

“I wanted you to have a chance to learn for yourself,” he says simply.

And then he runs the program.

It works.

It actually works. I stare in disbelief at the partner who’d been silent until now, hiding his secrets. He knew all along how to do it. He didn’t sit back there because he was stupid or lazy.

“When do you learn this?” I ask him.

He flicks me a brief glance. “I have this vague plan in the distant future to save myself using tech skills.” He shrugs a shoulder. “It probably won’t happen.”

“You mean an H1An visa?”

Mom read about it in
Not a Citizen? Not a Problem!
Anathemas with highly in-demand tech skills are often recruited by companies and given H1An status. Anathemas go for it, because H1An status means they’re temporary citizens. They can’t be killed by hunters.

Of course, there are downsides. They’re virtual hostages to the companies that secure H1An status for them. Since companies can revoke their H1An status anytime, they have to work long hours for low pay. They’re not allowed to shop around for better jobs because changing companies means temporarily losing H1An status. There are hunting guilds that specifically target anathemas between H1An jobs, since H1Ans drive down wages for regular citizens.

“Wow,” I murmur. “Guess that option won’t be mine. I suck with computers.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You did most of this,” he points out.

And it occurs to me suddenly that he didn’t step in to tweak the code until the very end. I did the rest. Was Alexander doing me a favor, being so hands off?

“You really were trying to help me, weren’t you?” I ask him, a smile tugging at my lips.

He raises his eyebrows. “Learn by doing, Kathryn.”

Then he sends our project to the teacher. I already suspect we’re both going to get an ‘A’.

My thoughts dwell on him that afternoon. I lost him in the crowd surging from the computer lab, and I haven’t seen him since.

I’m jittery as I wait through dance squad practice. My friends are driving me home. I’m leaving my car in the parking lot. My parents will have to pick up my car when they get back from work. They’ll be furious with me for driving to school without a citizen.

There’s a cold breeze today. I sit in the stands of the football field, rubbing my hands over my arms. I’m trying to do my reading for history. The football team is in the distance, doing calisthenics. Conrad, Russell and Derek are all conspicuously missing. Closer to me, the dance squad is practicing formations for the next game.

I don’t pay much attention to their exercises, or even notice the brand new dumpster someone has wheeled out onto the field. Occasionally I glance up to watch them tumble and flip. Amanda is steering them closer and closer to the dumpster. If she’s not careful, someone will hit that.

Then someone does.

A shriek arises from the girls, and laughter. I look up sharply, just in time to see the lid to the dumpster being slammed closed. Several of the girls on dance squad are frantic like there’s been some sort of mishap. Others are laughing, and pointing at it.

But Amanda has hopped up on top of the closed lid of the dumpster and seated there calmly like it’s a throne and she’s queen of the world. She’s saying something I can’t hear.

“What’s going on?” I yell down at them.

No one answers me, so I run down the steps of the bleachers.

Amanda’s voice reaches me. “… confession cleanses the soul.”

“I didn’t do it!” The voice is muffled, but very definitely familiar. Siobhan’s.

“Liar. Hit it, girls.”

And then, laughing, a few girls on the dance squad pound the flats of their fists against the sides of the dumpster. It dawns on me that Siobhan’s inside it. That noise must be deafening to her in there. My mind flashes to their last formation, a pyramid formation with Siobhan on top. It would have been easy to unbalance the top girl, send her dropping wherever Amanda chose.

“What are you doing?” I cry, running over to Amanda.

The wind whips her chestnut hair about her. She grins proudly. “We did such a bad thing, Kat. We accidentally dropped Siobhan. You know, the way she dropped you once? Luckily, this comfortable dumpster was here to cushion her fall. I figured while she’s in there, she can admit she started the deathwatch group.”

“Amanda, let her out.”

“I’m not letting her out until she admits it,” Amanda says, her voice hard. She kicks her heel against the dumpster. “Admit it, Siobhan, and you’ll be out. Just say it. Three little words. ‘It was me’.”

“Amanda, stop this!” I tell her. “You can’t force someone to admit this. She’ll say anything to get out of there.”

“This isn’t just about you, Kat,” Amanda snaps, her eyes flashing. “She’s lying to me, too. I know it, you know it. She has to confess or she stays in the dumpster.”

“Okay!” comes the muffled voice.

I freeze.

“Okay, okay, it was me. I did it, okay? Let me out!”

Triumph floods Amanda’s face. She hops off the lid of the dumpster and pops it open. Siobhan scrambles out, her hair littered with bits of paper, tears smearing the mascara down her face. She recovers her feet, trembling all over.

“I hate you so much!” she shrieks. Not at Amanda, but at me. Then she runs from the field.

Most of the dance squad hangs back from the tumult. Amanda and her co-conspirators laugh and jeer after her. Amanda throws an arm around me. “I told you she did it.”

I throw off her arm. “Don’t pretend this was for me now.”

“Fine, it was for me. And it got results, didn’t it?” She flashes a smile. “Oh, and I think she’ll really get the point when she realizes there are no clothes to change into in her locker.” With that, Amanda twirls away, and claps her hands. “Okay, girls. Let’s get back to practice!”

Siobhan’s sobs float on the air as I walk down the concrete steps into the locker room. I find her huddled before a fogged-up mirror. She’s picking dumpster debris out of her hair.

“Are you okay?”

She glares at me. Her eyes are smeared black with old makeup. She obviously scrubbed her face. “Go away.”

“Do you need to borrow some clothes? Amanda said—”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Her voice is raw, her eyes full of hate. She’s begun sorting through what she can find of her stuff. Her backpack lies on the floor, her clothes scattered throughout the locker room. “You’ve done enough.”

“That wasn’t me. I haven’t done anything to you, Siobhan.”

“Oh, right. You’re like Mother Theresa.” She rears back, a contemptuous smile on her face as she stares at me in the mirror. “You think you’re so wonderful and saintly because you’re just so nice to everyone. The truth is, you don’t need to be nasty because you have Amanda around to do it for you. She fights all your battles and you just look the other way then pat yourself on the back for being so above it all.”

It’s such a staggering outpouring of hatred. How have I missed the way she feels for so long?

“Is that what you think I do?” I’m genuinely curious. It’s not often I get a chance to hear someone else’s unvarnished opinion of me.

She flips her dark hair, combing it with her fingers. “You totally do. I don’t get why I’m the only person who notices it. At least Amanda is honest when she goes on the attack. You’re the one who makes me sick. I still remember when I first came to this school. You completely screwed me. I
was
Amanda at my old school. I owned that place. Thanks to you, though, I’m like the plague around here. I have nothing.”

My head whirls. “What are you talking about? I’m the whole reason you have any friends at all. I got you on dance squad.”

She whips around, her slim body quivering with fury. “Sure, you did. Then two weeks later, you told Amanda everything I said to you about her. I trusted you and you betrayed me. You’re the reason Amanda hates me.”

“You trusted me?” I laugh incredulously. “Funny you’d say that, because Amanda also told me everything you said to
her
about
me
. Amanda and I are best friends. We watch out for each other. I’m sorry you missed that when you tried to turn us against each other.” I shake my head. “I tried to give you a chance. Back then, and even just now. I really did come down here to help you.”

“Wow, you’re a saint.” Siobhan whips out a tube of lip gloss. She begins smearing it over her lips with an air of pride like she doesn’t have big blotches of mascara smeared under her eyes. “If you really want to help me, you’ll just go die.” Her scarlet lips pull into a smirk in the fluorescent lights of the locker room. “At least I’ll probably get to see that happen real soon,
anathema
.”

Leaving school is nerve-wracking today. The hunters still ring school property, surveying everyone driving out. I am huddled in the middle of Amanda’s car, bathed in sweat, as we pass their infrared sensors. They have no legal authority to stop the cars of citizens even if someone is smuggling Alexander openly. Most cars ahead of us willingly stop to let the hunters peer inside. There are horror stories about anathemas hiding in people’s backseats, after all.

Amanda announces: “Here’s the game plan: we don’t let them in the car. Simple as that.”

I feel a surge of gratitude mingled with anxiety as we roll forward towards the infrared sensors. For some reason, Siobhan’s words are bouncing around in my head. I do feel safe around Amanda, with her in the lead. In moments like this, she’s brave where I’m not, bold where I’m meek. Is Siobhan right, though? Do I look the other way too much when Amanda is involved?

I stare out the window, lost in thought. Despite the consequences, I took some pride in the fact that I stood up for Noelle. What good is that, though, if I shut my eyes to what my own friend does?

Maybe Siobhan is right. Maybe I am a huge hypocrite.

So I’ll change. I’ll speak up more. Even to Amanda

Then I forget it all, my heart wrenching into my throat when the hunters wave us to a stop. The show’s producers and employees peer into the windows.

“Get away from us,” Amanda snarls through her open window.

I don’t hear the reply, but she grows angrier.

“You’ve already gotten us stuck in this parking lot for twenty minutes. Get away from my car. Don’t even touch it.”

She’s too vehement. She’s perfectly in her rights, but I can tell it’s stirred suspicion. And then it happens. One of the camera crew points at me, and others gather about, peering in at us. They recognize me. The girl who helped Alexander escape them earlier. I begin to tremble.

“I am a citizen,” Amanda shoots back at someone. “If you touch my car, I am taking you to court. Now tell them to get out of the way. Tell them! No, don’t film me. I’ll film
you
!” She whips out her smart phone and points it at them spitefully.

When they finally clear out of the way, she stamps her gas, shooting past them fast enough for several to jump back. But they’re watching us. Amanda keeps her cell phone trained on them until we disappear around the corner. A single car peels off from the rest, trailing behind us. I peer anxiously behind us, my stomach a mass of anxiety.

“They’re following us. Amanda, they’re following us.”

“We’ll get you to your front door, Kat. It’s okay.”

I scrape my sweaty palms through my hair. “What do they want?”

“They probably think you know where Alexander Metz is hiding.” Amanda peers at me in the rear view mirror. “Where is he, anyway? How could he possibly have escaped school through this?”

I shrug.

She rolls her eyes. “If I just knew where he was, I’d tell them so we wouldn’t have to deal with the security barricade again. This is so annoying.”

“It’s just an inconvenience for you,” I say quietly. “It’s life or death for Alexander
.
”

Amanda looks at me, puzzled by my words. “I know, okay, Kat? Don’t get all self-righteous on me.”

“It’s not self-righteous. It’s just something that needs to be said.” But I’m not sure she hears me as we continue to drive to my house, the car on our tail the whole way.

The car lurks outside our house all day, long after my parents return. Then it finally drives away. When it’s been gone several hours, Mom makes up her mind. She orders me to wait in my panic room while they retrieve my car from school. I agree. My ears are still scalding with her blistering words when she found out I’d driven to school on my own. I have a feeling she won’t leave the keys anywhere I can find them again.

My mind keeps turning as I sit in what was once my closet, staring up at the sword Mom bought me, my back against a month’s supply of water. There’s even a bucket if I have to relieve myself. The heavy locks on the sturdy door could probably protect a bank vault.

I can’t stop thinking of those cameras, those producers. People just doing their jobs. Treating me, treating Alexander like objects for their entertainment. Stalking our every step, and for what? So some people can drink beer and watch him fight to the death between commercials?

It’s like those people commenting on the YouTube video. The people joining my deathwatch page for laughs and guessing on the date of my demise. The casual hunters, even those like Conrad and his friends. It’s all a game to them. A way of networking. A leisure activity.

It’s
my life
and it’s nothing to them. Alexander’s life, his sister’s life, and it means nothing to them.

I stare at my closed laptop, thinking of the pleasure I’d discovered last year writing dumb, fluff articles. I felt like I was changing the world. But I wasn’t. One person can’t change the world. One person can’t even help another person, really. Stepping in for Noelle hadn’t actually saved her. It just ruined my life. Helping Alexander caused the fight with Conrad and the arrival of the
Showdown
producers.

We’re just small pieces, all of us, and a great hand of fate can descend and flick us off the board at any moment. We don’t even know it’s coming until it’s too late.

I think of my Susan B. Anthony poster. If she’d lived now, she’d be an anathema. Losing citizenship would have neutralized her before she could crusade for changes. That’s how our justice system changed, after all. In school, we read all about the chaotic forces associated with the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s. Free markets took over.

Perhaps Susan B. would have the strength to overcome her anathema status, but I don’t think I do. How did I ever imagine I had the courage or the strength to change the world? I don’t even stand up to my best friend.

Mom and Dad are planning to drop me off at the school parking lot an hour and fifteen minutes early just so I’m safely on school grounds. I shower and dress blearily at an obscenely early hour, and Dad pours me a cup of coffee.

“Welcome to our world, kiddo.”

I yawn as they bustle about, getting ready for work. I’m not sure what I’ll do at school with an extra hour, but this is how it will have to be until the
Showdown
people leave town.

The garish van with Ezra and Ezekiel’s faces on the sides is parked outside the school. The people on duty for the show scrutinize us as we drive past them.

“Don’t stop,” Mom orders Dad, her arms folded, challenging gaze fixed on the Hollywood people as we pass them.

Though a couple point at me, and nod – identifying me immediately – they make no move towards the car. The car never returned to my house, so obviously they’re not staking me out anymore.

“Now, you promise us you won’t step foot beyond the parking lot unless you have a big group of friends surrounding you,” Mom says sternly as we stop before the darkened lobby.

“I promise. Believe it or not, I have no desire to get killed.”

Dad cranes his head around so he can peer back at me. “And you have to be in a car. I don’t just want you walking with your friends. I want you to have two tons of steel separating you from those people.” He nods towards the hunters.

“Dad, of course. I’m not stupid.”

Mom and Dad exchange a weary look, as though silently telling each other it’s just the rest of this school year. I feel a pang of regret.

I’ve heard them talking when they think I can’t hear it, pouring over finances, trying to figure out if Mom should quit her job to serve as my full-time bodyguard. They’ve concluded they’d have to sell the house. They’ll do it if they get desperate. I hate the idea of it. Mom loves her job. They love this house. I’m ruining their lives, too.

I wave to them as they pull away, and stand there on the sleepy campus beneath the dull sky of early morning. In the distance, beyond the parking lot, the
Showdown
crew still moves back and forth. Their eyes are boring into me.

With a shudder, I step into the darkened school.