When We Wake (11 page)

“My name is Abdi,” he said in a lilting accent that was nothing like Dalmar’s Australian English. “I don’t know this
Dalmar
.”

“You look just like him,” I said, because my brain was still coming back from a century ago.

It was the worst thing I could have said. The contempt in his eyes deepened.

“I am Abdi,” he said definitively, and turned his face away.

That hurt so much that it shot through my haze. I looked up. The classroom was packed, thirty people at least, and every person in it was staring at me. Soren was gleefully typing something into his computer. Bethari was looking at me and wincing.

I’d just completely lost it in front of my new classmates.

And, oh god, worse—I was a white girl who’d called a black boy by the wrong name and insisted he looked just the same. Like he was interchangeable. Like he wasn’t a person in his own right.

“Bazza,” someone whispered.

Facebreaking
, I thought, the word like little splinters of glass in my head. The school day hadn’t even started, and I had broken my face into bits.

“I’m sorry,” I told Abdi. “I’m really—oh,
god
.”

And then I ran away.

Even in the future you have to have a place to put your cleaning supplies.

My eyes were tearing up, but as I rushed out of the classroom and down the corridor, I could still make out the mop symbol on the little door. I yanked it open and ducked inside.

The air in that little room was even hotter than it was in the corridor, and it was dense with the scent of pine and lemon. I crouched on the floor, wrapped my arms around my shoulders, and tried to rock myself into something resembling calmness.

I had just done something awful
and
made a fool of myself in front of all my new classmates. I tried reminding myself that worse things could happen, and, in fact, several of them had happened to me, but it wasn’t that helpful.

I started going through the Blue Album in my head, my fail-safe, surefire calm-downer, but it all turned to mush, and the repetition of one name, over and over, to the beat of “Hey Jude.”
Dal-mar. Dal-mar.

Dalmar, Dalmar, Dalmar, who’d been truly mine for only one day. Who’d married someone else, who’d forgotten all about me except as a tragedy in his youth. He’d gotten white-haired and fatter and happier over six decades.

But to me, he was the boy who two months ago had kissed my earlobes and whispered words of love into my palms, and ghosted his calloused fingers just above the surface of my arms, so that the hairs there had shivered and my skin tightened,
trembling. I thought I’d seen him again. I’d been ready to accuse the government of lies, conspiracy, and deception. I’d been ready to march up to Dawson and slap the truth right out of him, to hold them all accountable for their horrible misdeeds.

But that boy wasn’t Dalmar. Dalmar was dead.

I remembered again the dislike in Abdi’s stare. I deserved it, but I was glad his eyes weren’t the same color as Dalmar’s. I couldn’t have borne it if Dalmar’s eyes had looked at me with that chilling contempt.

I could hardly bear it now.

“I really suck,” I muttered.

“Suck what?” a voice said from the darkness before me.

The only reason I didn’t scream was because the voice sounded genuinely puzzled and interested in my reply. Still, I jerked backward, nearly biting through my tongue.

“It’s an expression,” I said. “Uh, I thought I was alone in here.”

“Nope,” the voice said. “I’m here, too. Hi. Lights on.”

I had to blink hard in the sudden flare of brilliance. When I could see again, I was staring at a slim girl my own age, with shaggy, light brown hair and skin a few shades darker than mine. She was wearing a purple dress that reached to her knees and cuffed leggings under it that went halfway down her calves. She was sitting in the lotus position, bare feet resting casually on her thighs, and the light was coming from her computer, which was draped over her shoulders like a cloak. “I’m Joph,” she said. “What does ‘I suck’ mean?”

“I’m Tegan,” I said. “Teeg. It means that I’m a terrible person.”

Joph thought about that. “You don’t look terrible, Teeg.”

I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Of all the weird conversations I’d had over the previous weeks, including the one where Marie told me I’d been dead for a hundred years, this was a really strong contender for the weirdest.

“It’s okay,” Joph said. “You can stay here with me.” She gestured at her tiny domain as if it were a gift she was presenting.

“I’m not sure that would work,” I said. “But it’s tempting.” I was beginning to suspect that some of Joph’s serenity came from less-than-natural causes. I’d thought her eyes were black, but closer inspection showed a ring of light brown around the edge of the iris. Her pupils were really dilated.

There was a scratching noise outside. “Teeg?” Bethari called. “Can I come in?”

“Is that Bethi?” Joph asked. “Stellar.” She gave me another of those beatific smiles.

“Sure,” I called back, and wriggled a little closer to Joph to make room.

Bethari edged around the door, not opening it more than necessary, and then stopped when she saw I wasn’t alone.

“Ah,” she said. “I should have known.” She shook her head at Joph, who waved amiably back. “How do you feel, Teeg?”

“Stupid. Stressed. Embarrassed. Facebroken.”

“Well, you’re getting the vocabulary down.” She smiled at me.

“Yeah?” I said, unwilling to smile back. “What does
bazza
mean?”

Bethari hesitated.

“That’s a racist white Australian,” Joph said helpfully.

“Right,” I said, and slumped down again.

Bethari shot Joph a glare, then shrugged at me. “I could explain to people. About Dalmar. I mean, they might understand why you did it.”

“No,” I said. I couldn’t bear the thought of people pawing over my memories of him, the same way they’d pawed over my image in that interview, endlessly dissecting every word I’d said and gesture I’d made, making judgments about who I was and how I felt.

Ironic, right? Here I am, serving up all my memories on a platter, just begging you to listen, to discuss, to make your own judgments.

So ask yourself—if I wouldn’t do it then, why now?

Is it really so important that you understand where I’m coming from?

I think so. But you’ll have to decide for yourself.

Bethari wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I know it probably doesn’t help,” she said, “but everyone says stupid things that hurt people.”

“As stupid as that? I thought things were better here, but it looks like I brought the bad with me.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just hugged me closer.

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“Zaneisha’s standing guard outside.”

Of course she was. I groaned. “Does she hate me?”

“Who can tell?” Bethari said. “Her face never moves.”

“You’re helpful,” I told her.

“Was I helpful?” Joph asked, my sarcasm apparently passing her by.

I laughed. “You were, actually.”

“Oh, good. I like you, Teeg. You want pop, scene, color, you come to me.”

Bethari’s face scrunched up.

“What’s pop, scene, color?” I asked, just to poke her. As if I couldn’t tell Joph was talking about drugs, even if I had no clue which ones she meant. In a century, they’d probably come up with dozens of new ways to fry your brain and a hundred new names for all of them.

“Let’s just say Joph’s specialty is chemistry,” Bethari said.

Joph’s smile was slow and sweet. “If you wanted one, Bethi, I’d give you a freebie, too. For old times’ sake.”

“The past should remain in the past,” Bethari told her, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she said through her fingers.

“It’s okay,” I said.

She took her hand away. “Well, at least that’s proof that anyone can say something stupid.”

“If only you’d said it in front of your new classmates on your first day at school,” I said, but I did feel better. If even
self-possessed Bethari could make careless mistakes without thinking, I could forgive myself for putting that look in someone’s eyes.

Maybe. In a while.

Whether Abdi could forgive me was another matter, but one I had to face. Besides, it was steaming hot in that janitor’s closet. My top was sticking to my skin, and I was pretty sure that Bethari had to be sweltering under her headscarf.

“Come and visit me anytime,” Joph said as we got up.

“You’re coming to class,” Bethari said firmly.

“I can learn in the closet,” she protested. “The school network works here.”

“Classroom,” Bethari said. “Socialize with your peers.”

“Aw,” Joph said, but she got up anyway. “I guess I’d better. When was the last time I was there?”

“Last Wednesday. You fell asleep.”

“Might do that some more,” she said thoughtfully. “Naps are nice.”

“Get,” Bethari said, and shooed her out the door. I had the satisfaction of seeing Zaneisha’s eyes widen a tiny bit at Joph’s unexpected appearance, before Bethari closed the door again and we were together in the hot dark.

“I have to tell you something about Abdi,” she said, her breath tickling my ear. I could hear her fidgeting beside me, the shushing sound of her light dress as it whispered over her body. “He’s not Australian.”

“Oh,” I said, meaning
so?
, and then caught up. “Wait, but the No Migrant thing—”

Bethari nodded. “He’s here because someone from this big tubecasting company saw him singing in Djibouti City, and they sponsored him on a Talented Alien visa. Talented Alien is weird—it’s all, ‘oh, look how nice and generous we are, training some of you people, but don’t forget, you can’t stay!’ As soon as he graduates, he’s gone. And people are nasty, you know? We’re mostly okay at Elisa M, but even some of the people here call him a thirdie, or talk about how No Migrant should mean no one should be coming in for any reason.”

I didn’t need to ask the meaning of
thirdie
; she’d explained that last night. It meant someone from the developing world. Someone from nations that didn’t pursue low-emissions energy, or restrict cattle-herding, or heavily tax large families who consumed more resources and pressed against the world’s already enormous population.

“So… oh crap. He thought me calling him Dalmar was part of that?”

“Maybe. I really think that if I explain—”

I shook my head. “He sings?”

Bethari snorted. “No. That’s the thing. He was sponsored because he sang, and he entered Elisa M with a music specialty. But he showed up the first day with a flute. He’s good with it, but it’s not what he’s famous for. I guess he didn’t want to be exploited.”

I could definitely empathize with that point of view. I wasn’t very keen on being used myself, and people like that Soren guy were obviously eager to use me.

“Okay,” I said. “Time to get this done. Let’s go.”