Enemy of Gideon

by Melissa McGovern Taylor

  Mrs. Penski turns to me. “So is your mom working late again?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she say.

  “Those factory jobs are merciless,” Chief Penski says.

  I swallow my last savory bite and lay my fork across the plate.

  “Geez, Rais,” Ogden says, “were you starving?”

  My plate is bare, practically clean. I didn’t mean to eat so fast, but the food tasted better than anything I’d swallowed all week.

  “Ogden, don’t be rude,” Mrs. Penski says and turns to me. “Would you like more, dear?”

  In my head, Mom tells me, “One plate is enough. Don’t be greedy.” So I nod. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Penski says. “Help yourself.”

  I reach into the center of the table and reloaded my plate. Mrs. Penski, a sugary version of Mom, nods at me with a grin, which she has a habit of doing, sometimes adding a dainty laugh.

  “I’ll send a plate home with you,” Mrs. Penski says. “Your mother can eat it when she gets home tonight.”

  “Don’t embarrass the woman,” Chief Penski says through a cheekful of chicken. “Some people don’t want your charity. It makes them feel like beggars.”

  “It’s only a gift from friend to friend.”

  He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  The dining room noise resorts to chewing and forks clicking on plates. I daydream, drifting across the day’s events. Arkin’s words hang over me like a rain cloud: “I’ll pray for your sister.”

  “Mr. Penski, what does pray mean?” I ask on an impulse.

  “Prey? Something that’s being hunted,” he says.

  I shake my head. “Not that prey. I mean, like ‘I’ll pray for someone.’”

  Chief Penski’s brow furrows, and Mrs. Penski stops chewing.

  “Where did you hear that?” the chief asks, sitting up in his chair.

  “I thought I heard someone say it in the hallway at school,” I say. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s against the Code. Who said it?” Chief Penski asks.

  I shake my head and swallow. “I couldn’t tell who it was.”

  Chief Penski’s jaw tightens. “We need to crack down on this EP. It’s getting around.”

  “They checked for it a couple of days ago,” Ogden says.

  “Time to check again,” his father says, relaxing again.

  Mrs. Penski frowns. “Those enemies are finding new ways to spread it.”

  Something stirs inside of me. Arkin might be breaking the Code. He could get into serious trouble if he got caught with EP. Does he have any? If so, how did he get it? I had to talk to him—to let him know how much trouble he could get into.

  My thoughts swirl like a tornado as Og and I share a glance across the table. His expression is unexpected—one of suspicion.

  ►▼◄

  My head heats up when Hailey Crossford loops her arm around Arkin’s. He slinks away from her, pasting on a polite smile. How does he do it? Most guys drool over Hailey’s curves and beg for her attention. Being the captain of the JV cheerleading squad for the last two seasons earned Hailey high popularity status and a fan club of two other snobs from the squad. They follow her everywhere she goes. If those three have their sights set on me, it’ll be a bad day.

  Arkin picks up his pace. “I’m too busy for a girlfriend.”

  Hailey never gets angry with the guys who play hard to get. She twists her reddish blond hair and shrugs. She sidles back up to him, her allies following like shadows.

  “You know you can’t dodge me, Arkin. I’ll win you over,” she says.

  He laughs and shakes his head.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, cutie,” Hailey says.

  Should I head outside to wait for him? I tried to catch Arkin after school all week to warn him about saying words like pray. How can I tell him with the cameras everywhere, watching and listening to our every move? Where could we go? I try my best to blend into the crowd as he passes me, but his eyes meet mine as if he’s searching for me.

  “Hey, you,” he says, a smirk curling his lips. “Want to walk home with me?”

  I scan the crowd behind me for Hailey Crossford and her entourage. They’re gone.

  “Sure,” I say with a fake shrug.

  Side by side, we step out into the blustery street. I search the scenery for some topic of conversation. Why can’t I think of something hilarious or witty to say? How can I impress a guy like Arkin Pettigrew? What’s he even doing walking with me? I’m a nobody.

  “Where’s your friend from the nineteenth floor?” he asks, searching the sidewalk.

  “Ogden? How do you know about him?”

  He smirks. “I know a lot more than you think, Raissa Santos.”

  “Og is sick with a stomach bug or something,” I say.

  “I hope he feels better soon,” he says, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his wool coat.

  The smell of fresh fruit dances on the air when we approached a fruit cart on the sidewalk. The vendor scans a woman’s wristband and then hands her a grape basket.

  “Those look so good,” I say, my stomach aching from hunger.

  “We have some grapes at home,” he says. “Why don’t you come over? We can hang out.”

  I nearly trip over my own feet. I immediately steady myself but not without notice.

  “You okay?” he asks, grabbing my arm.

  I release a nervous laugh. “It must’ve been a rock or something. I almost tripped.”

  He laughs, freeing my arm.

  “How do you have grapes?” I ask.

  My real question “Why do you want to hang out with me?” remains idle on my tongue. Such a question might convince him to take back his offer.

  “My parents bought them. How else?” he says.

  “I mean, they’re so expensive. It’s only me and my mom, so we don’t have a lot of credits.”

  He frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did your dad … pass away?”

  I shake my head. “He left us a long time ago.”

  “That has to be tough for you.”

  “My sister helps us out when she can,” I say. “She brought beef home a few weeks ago.”

  And we haven’t spoken in days. Why won’t she tell me anything?

  After another block, we arrive in front of Building D7.

  “So you never answered my question,” he says, pausing before the staircase. “Do you want to come over?”

  My heart raced. Is my throat closing up? “Sure.”

  “I live three floors above you,” he says, heading up to the building’s entrance.

  I follow him up. How does he know which floor I live on?

  The inside of the apartment building smells like dust and old carpet even though the hallways aren’t carpeted. The peeling, beige paint on the walls reveals the original scroll wallpaper underneath it. Residents moving boxes and furniture in and out have left scratches on the walls here and there decade after decade.

  The main floor holds several apartments, mostly efficiencies for single, low-paid residents. Janitors, restaurant servers, and factory line workers make their homes there. As the floors go higher, so do the income levels. High-ranking government officials live on the top floor. Their apartments are much larger with interior decorating and updates to the fixtures and flooring. Ogden’s apartment has all the latest updates and decor.

  In front of the elevator, he stops and reaches into his inside coat pocket. He pulls out a gold key.

  “You have an elevator key?” I ask, not hiding my surprise.

  “Don’t you?”

  I shrug. “I guess my apartment isn’t high enough.”

  He inserts the key into the hole under the elevator buttons on the wall. It turns with ease and the Up arrow glows. As we wait in front of the silver door for the elevator, something strikes my mind: the apartment elevator has no camera! Weeks earlier, someone broke the camera while bringing a refridgeerator up. They removed the camera fr
om the elevator and still haven’t replaced it. If we’re on the elevator alone, it could be the perfect place to talk to him.

  The elevator door finally opens, and a man emerges not wearing a standard-issue coat but a long, suede one which only the upper class citizens can afford.

  Arkin waves. “Hi.”

  The man walks past us without even so much as a glance.

  I grimace at the man’s back. Thinks he’s better than us.

  We board the elevator, and Arkin pushes the button for the sixth floor. Each of the top corners stand empty. No camera. The doors close, and the elevator jerks upward with a loud groan.

  “Remember what you said about praying for my sister?” I ask.

  His eyes grow wide and shoot up to the corner. “Where’s the camera?”

  “It’s gone. Listen. Don’t you know you can’t say that?”

  “I told you I know a lot more than you think,” he says.

  “Og’s dad is chief of Code Enforcement, and there are other officers in this building. You can’t go around talking about enemy stuff. Is your family into that?”

  He steps closer to me, lowering his voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t come over.”

  I swallow, wishing I kept my stupid mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “So then my secret is safe with you, right?”

  I nod. “I haven’t told anybody.”

  “Good. Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  “But it’s against Code,” I say.

  “Have you ever taken the time to ask why it’s against the Code? Or what it is that is actually against the Code? Has anyone even bothered to explain that to you?”

  His words stir up fear and anxiety inside me, much like the questions which plague me in the middle of the night.

  “Well?” he asks.

  The elevator comes to a halt at the sixth floor. He pushes the Close Door button and holds it.

  “As citizens of Gideon,” I say, “it’s our duty to follow the Code without question.”

  The words are not my own but ones I was raised to say, memorized right along with the individual codes.

  He shakes his head. “You have a lot to learn, Raissa.”

  He releases the button, and the elevator door slides open. Still staring at me, he backs into the hall.

  “But we’ll save it for another day,” he says.

  Then he disappears behind the silver door.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Street B-9 Citizenship Center opens its doors every Tuesday evening for dinner and activities. Ogden and his family are members, so Og often invites me and I rarely say no. I can’t pass up a free meal, especially from a citizenship center. A free meal in exchange for half an hour of boredom never sounds too bad.

  On this particular Tuesday, I sit in the pew beside Og, watching the citizenship center director, Mr. Paulsen, speak from a lectern at the front of the meeting hall.

  I slouch down in my seat, my belly grumbling for the meat lasagna I would soon devour. Mom made meatless lasagna sometimes, but it’s not as satisfying. I release a heavy yawn, stifling it behind my cupped hand. Beside me, Ogden gives me a sharp jab with his pointy elbow. I make eye contact with him—and then with his gruff father beside him. Chief Penski frowns at me. I slide myself up in the seat, straighten my back, and pretend to listen to Mr. Paulsen.

  Every Tuesday, Mr. Paulsen goes on and on with the Code this and the Code that. All of the citizenship centers are the same: places where citizens gather to make friends, enjoy a game of basketball or tennis, and get motivated to follow the Code. Most citizens are members of one, but the Code doesn’t require memberships, so my family never joined one. Every member has to pay a hefty number of monthly credits. They allow one guest per week per member for a free visit.

  “You might ask yourself, ‘What is the best response to my situation according to the Code?’ That’s a very wise question to ask,” Mr. Paulsen says, waving his pointer finger in the air.

  A burden fell on my shoulders. What would the Code call for in my situation? The Code requires me to inform CE about what Arkin said to me. After all, citizens are forbidden to even question the Code. By the Code’s standards, Arkin could be labeled an enemy of Gideon.

  Enemy. I repeated the word again and again in my mind. How could a guy as clean-cut and handsome as Arkin Pettigrew be an enemy of Gideon? The enemies are filthy, ugly, gaunt people from the outskirts. Granted, I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard the stories, the rumors, in citizenship class all my life. Those captured from the outskirts are severely punished for denying citizenship and violating the Code. They’re considered a threat to the city-state. As a citizen, I pledged to protect Gideon from them.

  I know the Code well, have every word of it memorized, but now I have to live it. I squeeze my eyes shut. Mr. Paulsen’s words invade my head, and I don’t like it. Arkin’s questions haunt me …

  “Have you ever taken the time to ask why it’s against Code? Or what it is that is actually against Code? Has anyone even bothered to explain that to you?”

  No, there has been no explanation of pray. Why is it so wrong? I still don’t even know what the word means. I can’t use my wristband to research it because CE monitors all wristbands. Right now, the meaning doesn’t matter, though—only how deeply I get involve with Arkin matters. If I continue to hang around him, I might be putting myself at risk.

  “Please stand as we close with the Pledge,” Mr. Paulsen says.

  My body rose from the pew on its own without my mind telling it to. The words automatically tumbled from my lips like sand blowing in the wind. Voices from everywhere in the hall join my own in one monotone chorus.

  “I pledge loyalty to the city-state of Gideon. In times of war and times of peace, I will uphold the Code of the land to preserve the city-state and protect it from our enemies. I pledge to seek punishment for the enemies of Gideon for the sake of the well-being and safety of its loyal citizens.”

  The pledge, an unnatural hiccup in the situation, ends, and then we’re all ourselves again, gathering up our coats, talking, and laughing.

  “Time to eat,” Og says.

  “Finally,” I mutter.

  The crowd makes their way from the meeting hall to a dining room filled with a dozen round tables. A vase of fresh-cut poinsettias adorns the center of each table on top of black table cloths. The white flooring reflects dainty chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, making the room’s appearance bright and almost dreamlike.

  An elderly man sits at a grand piano in the corner and plays the Gideon anthem, a hard, repetitive, and unpleasant song. He will cycle through all of the citizenship songs, some upbeat and some sluggish, throughout the meal. The music often prompts citizens to their feet with proud expressions, but I only rise to the music when instructed to do so.

  The Penskis and I sit at a table with the Guzmans. Mr. Guzman and Chief Penski trained as CE officers, resulting in a long-term friendship between the families. Og and the Guzmans’ daughter, Beatty, have never quite hit it off, in spite of the hopes of both sets of parents. Even at a young age, they fought over toys and argued.

  Beatty eyes a woman serving lasagna to another table. “Isn’t she supposed to serve us first? She’s violating the Code.”

  “It’s not a code, only a gesture of respect,” her father says with a chuckle.

  Beatty gives her father a frown, and he relents: “I’ll mention it to her later, princess.”

  This satisfies her, and she returns her attention to the salad. She wears blue eye shadow and dark eye liner, luxury items for the upperclass. That’s how you can tell the poor girls from the rich ones in school.

  “Raissa, how’s your sister these days?” Mrs. Penski asks.

  The question makes me freeze with the fork halfway to my salad bowl. I carefully bring it down. “She’s doing fine.”

  “When did she last visit?” Chief Penski asks.

  “A month ago.” It has a
ctually been twenty-six days. “We had hamburgers.”

  “That sounds extravagant,” Mrs. Penski says.

  I know what that means. We all do. My cheeks grow warm as I stare down at the table. Everyone else pushes their lettuce around inside the bowls like they are preparing the salad rather than eating it. None of them truly understand hunger, not like I do. At the end of some months, Mom and I eat two or three slices of bread throughout an entire day for three or four days until the credits come.

  The Code has all the answers for what is acceptable and unacceptable in Gideon, but it never addresses the problems in the career and credits system. I hate the system. I hate how Mom works and works the same job and never makes more credits from year to year. Meanwhile, citizens like the Penskis and Guzmans, those with the right connections, can choose their own careers, make more and more credits each year, and live in updated apartments.

  “When are you going to get a membership here?” Beatty asks me. “You’re always a visitor. They should set some kind of limit.”

  “Beatty, that is inappropriate,” Mrs. Guzman says as she turns to me. “Please excuse my daughter’s boldness.”

  I wouldn’t call it boldness.

  “When I’m able to earn my own credits, I’ll join,” I say to Beatty.

  Beatty rolls her eyes and finally becomes bored enough with pushing her salad around to set her fork down. I clinch my fist around my fork. Citizens like Beatty surround me all day, every day. They’re the people who get everything they want without lifting a finger, and worse yet, they think they deserve it all.

  A portrait hangs on the wall over Beatty’s head. The plump, bearded face of Ulysses Arbela Gideon stares stoically into the room, his acrylic eyes following me. The city-state founder’s serious, almost accusing expression would make any child shy away. In recent months, I’ve stared back at Gideon, examining his features, even sometimes questioning the dead man. After all, he founded the city-state, established the Code, and declared Gideon “The City of Human Perfection.”