***
I DON’T SEE CORAL until two days later. They stay in the Medic’s Cabin for a whole day, and I’m so busy with my training countdown that I hardly have time to even think about her.
Five more days, then four. Dylan is back to being our trainer again, thankfully. Gideon was okay when Dao had won a Demonstration, but in between he was cranky and sniping and made so many comments about Alixis’ weight that I wanted to take the plastic sword he held and whack him round the head with it.
I still hate those words, ‘persistence and resistance,’ but as I ran through that wall Dylan keeps talking about this morning it kind of made sense. Persist with your goal. Resist the pain.
I also made it to thirty-seven laps. Yes, it killed and yes, I’m aching but I did it. Also, when I fought Dylan I would have grazed his stomach had I not been distracted by how gorgeous he looks when he’s concentrating.
Anyway, I’ve thought of a signature move, although how feasible it will be on the sands I’m not sure.
Now I’m sitting in between Alixis and Dylan in the refectory, my hair still damp from the Wetpod. There’s a flicker of thick, red hair in the entrance.
Coral makes the white uniform look like it was designed for her lithe figure. She stands, hand on hip, assessing the room like it’s not good enough. I could almost laugh at her act; where else does she think she’s going to eat? I load a forkful of brown mush into my mouth.
Watching from the corner of my eye, I see Coral deliberate over which of the identical foil boxes to pick up, before finally choosing two: one each for her and Jamey. She surveys the hall once more.
I don’t look away quick enough.
‘Why is that girl staring at you?’ Dao asks through a mouthful of food.
‘We kind of know each other,’ I mumble.
‘Did you see her tryout?’ Gideon asks from the other side of the table. ‘She was one of the best I’ve ever seen. Good endurance, fast reactions, fights with cunning. How do you know her?’
‘We’re best friends, aren’t we, Sola?’
That sleek voice sounds from behind Gideon. I tense, hating my name in her mouth. It doesn’t belong there; she’s stolen it from me.
When I look up, she glances to Dylan, curling her mouth into a smile. I’m wishing with all my might that she’ll get the hint and go away, but she slides her foil box onto the table and sits down delicately next to Gideon. Instead of tucking her legs underneath the table, she crosses them slowly to the side for us all to see. Poor Jamey hovers behind her. There are no more free seats.
‘Nice to see you again, Dylan.’
Dylan doesn’t even react, simply keeps eating his food as if she had never arrived. I smile inwardly.
‘Do you know how rare it is to have people from the same city survive the tryouts consecutively? Not to mention the fact that you’re friends,’ Gideon remarks with raised eyebrows. ‘You could probably get Shepherd Fines to put you in the same pod, you know.’
Alixis looks to me sharply, narrowing her eyebrows.
‘Er, no thanks,’ I reply. ‘Jamey, isn’t it?’ I speak past Coral, making Jamey start when I say his name. He nods. ‘You can have this seat, I’m nearly done.’
‘Yep.’ Coral continues as if no one has spoken in the meantime, ‘Sola and I have loads in common. Now I’m an orphan, too, I guess we have even more.’
I narrow my eyes, unsure what game she’s playing. Whatever it is, I’m not going to enter into it. Dao looks surprised. ‘I didn’t know your parents had died, I’m sorry,’ he says to me.
Heat rises in my cheeks. Some of the other Demonstrators are glancing our way. I guess they could pick up on the tension from a mile off.
‘They haven’t,’ I say to Dao. ‘Well, my mum passed a while ago.’ I pause, the words still hurting even after all this time. ‘But my dad is very much alive. He works for the Shepherds, actually. Well, he’s not a Liaison or anything but he’s working his way up.’ I smile. Talking about him feels good, not painful like I expected. Imagining him with his briefcase and that worried face he pulls when he’s thinking, I decide that as soon as I get away from this table I’m going to check his Debtbook profile.
Coral’s eyes widen, her face changing. The facade seems to fall away, revealing her open, anxious expression. She chews on her bottom lip.
‘Oh, no,’ she whispers. ‘I-I thought they would have told you.’ She looks up through her long lashes at me. My body goes cold. I swallow, and the clink seems to echo around the room.
‘I’m so sorry, Sola, but your dad died two weeks ago.’
HER VOICE suddenly seems far away. Like I’ve heard the gate again, but much, much worse.
Someone lets out a strangled howl. It starts rich and full of pain, but trails off as a breathless whine. Empty, void of energy, emotion, pain, hatred.
It’s mine.
The table is dirty. I see every speck on the white surface like the grainy sands of the Stadium. I think I might be choking because I can’t breathe. I hope I am. I want to faint; I wait for the oblivion. Yet the world is still the same around me. Alixis has covered her mouth, eyes wide and full of sadness. Dylan is shaking his head, scrambling around on my digipad left on the table. Coral still faces me, her bottom lip red and raw from running her teeth over it.
Then I’m not thinking about Dad. I see the news report of Mum’s murder, interrupting our Debtbook profiles on the screen in the kitchen. I see the body first, before they say her name. Her favourite fur coat draped on the cement. I giggle nervously, and ask Dad why Mum’s sleeping outside although I’m old enough to know better. There’s the smash of his mug against the kitchen floor.
‘Sola!’A hand on my shoulder, shaking me. My head swims as I turn to Dylan.
‘He’s not dead. He’s alive.’ I think the words come from my mouth, but Dylan is repeating the sentence, pounding the rhythm into my mind. He shoves my digipad in front of me. Dad’s image stares back at me. There’s a status underneath his name:
Roberto Herrington is at Juliet Harvest Hall (work)
It’s dated today.
I gasp; my body craving air. My senses rush back to meet me. It’s like I’ve woken from a nightmare; I’m in that millisecond when you realise there wasn’t a killer in your flat or you haven’t seen someone you love fall from a great height.
‘Oops, my mistake,’ Coral says through giggles. ‘I guess it’s just me who’s an orphan then.’ She stabs her fork through the lid of her box.
Silence. My shoulders heave as I suck in breath. Everyone’s eyes are on me, and it’s like I’m on fire—a horrid heat infecting my face. Anger is spreading through me like a rash, itching and mauling at my skin.
Seconds pass. Coral’s deliberate eating seems like the only movement in the room. I know she, too, is waiting for my response, but I won’t bring myself down to her level. Wishing I had something to bite down on, I swivel my legs from under the table and stand slowly.
‘See you,’ Coral says, like it’s only natural I should leave. Leave my place and my food and my friends. She doesn’t even look up from her meal.
That’s when I flip.
That animal inside me claws its way out and I’m not going to stop it.
Faster than I’ve ever reacted in training, my hand closes around my cutlery knife. At the same time I launch myself onto the table. Skidding on my knees for less than a second, I swing my leg underneath me and give Coral a sharp kick to the shoulder, knocking her to the floor just as I knew it would. Before she has time to react I’m bearing down on her, pinning her arms underneath my knees, holding the dirty knife edge millimetres from her throat.
Gasps surround me. I don’t care. Someone yells something about a Herd officer.
‘Say one thing about my family.’ My voice is practically a growl. ‘Go on. Say it. Another trick about my dad. Maybe that my mum deserves to be dead?’ The knife is shaking with the force of my grip. Coral’s determined eyes stare into mine, and I know she’s assessi
ng whether I’m serious or not. As I press the knife closer, her gaze flickers down, trying to see it. A tear which I hadn’t noticed lands in a fat splash on Coral’s cheek. She flinches. Even now, Coral still manages to seem repulsed by me.
‘I’m giving you your big chance. You don’t have anything to say?’ I whisper, leaning my head down.
It takes a second. Her gaze darts around, mouth open, taking tiny breaths. Everyone is either too interested in what’s happening or too scared of startling me to intervene. Coral looks back at me. Her mouth sets, her eyes narrow and finally, she makes a tiny shake of her head.
It’s enough.
I withdraw the blade, and in the most controlled movement I can muster, slide it across the floor. It skids, makes a clinking noise as it hits a chair leg.
When I get to my feet, Coral leans up, rubbing her shoulder. I step over her.
‘I was just having a giggle, Sola,’ she calls after me, and I smile at her genuine annoyance. Alixis is by my side within seconds, clapping her hands together in my honour. A protective gaggle of Demonstrators cluster around Coral, but the people sitting at our table give me a mixture of nods and wry smiles as I pass through the refectory. Although I’m desperate to reach the exit without looking behind me, I’m just not cool enough. I bite my lip and sneak a backward peek at Dylan.
The boy I can’t help but adore sits watching Coral try to brush off what just happened. He scoops up the last of his food, pops it into his mouth, and chews as if he were enjoying a snack during a good film.
The creature inside me laughs at his devilish grin, and I do, too.
‘DO YOU STILL STAND BY WHAT YOU SAID?’ Dylan asks me, his head cocked to one side. We’re leaning against the old oak tree after an intense day of training. I haven’t even hit the Wetpod yet, although Alixis limped there over an hour ago.
‘What did I say?’ I ask, smiling. There’s only an inch between us; since Coral’s tryout, that uncomfortable silence has disappeared. Maybe it has something to do with my first Demonstration being tomorrow afternoon—we’ve run out of time to be awkward.
‘That, she isn’t that bad really.’ He inclines his head towards where Coral trains with Gideon on the other side of the field. When he tries to do my accent, I crack up.
Still smiling, I shrug. It’s been easy to keep out of Coral’s way since she ‘joked’ Dad had died; I’m training all day and so is she, albeit a little obsessively.
‘When did I say that?’ I ask. Dylan grins, that cute, embarrassed grin that gives him a little dimple.
‘The night that—the night that I met you.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ There’s silence now, but I kind of like it. We’re both smiling and avoiding each other’s eyes. I pick at the grass in between us.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ I offer, ‘but with Coral it feels like there’s . . . unfinished business. Like all our lives there’s been something which connects us, whether it’s friendship or hatred or whatever. And that’s still there.’
I can almost sense Dylan raising his eyebrows.
‘Just think about it. Coral’s here because her parents chose me for the Debt which happened because . . . well, because of something I did to annoy her, which she reacted to because she hates me and she hates me because we used to be friends, I think.
‘So I guess there’s always been this link between us since we were really little.’
‘Aye, I understand that, but I still think she’s a nasty piece of work,’ Dylan says.
‘Aye, me too,’ I try to do his accent but I just sound like a pirate from an old film. He looks over as I laugh, seriously unimpressed.
‘How are you feeling about tomorrow?’
‘Okay actually,’ I lie. ‘I completed my forty laps this morning, I have my signature move and—’ I sneak a side glance at him. ‘—I can beat you in a parry. I’ll be fine.’
Dylan purses his lips as though he’s considering this.
‘Hmm. I’m not so sure you can beat me in a parry, Sola. But, for what it’s worth, as long as you remember to ANTICIPATE, I think you’ll be fine. The Shepherds wouldn’t have re-done your profile if they thought you’d lose.’
I’m about to ask what the Shepherds have done to my profile when something occurs to me. I grin.
‘Have you checked my Debtbook profile?’
Dylan turns to me sharply.
‘No. Well, aye, but I have a right to. You know, as your trainer.’ He holds his head up a little too high. I can’t help it; I burst into laughter.
‘I can’t believe you’re pulling the trainer card on me!’
He holds his stoic expression, a blush crawling up his cheeks, before giving in and letting out a low chuckle.
‘I’m just putting you in your place,’ he replies, then pauses. ‘That sounded a little weird, didn’t it?’
Oh no, I think I’ve got the giggles. I cover my mouth with my hand and cackle, nodding my head. He must think I’m such a little girl, but who cares? He’s chuckling too, shaking his head slightly so that his hair brushes his forehead.
‘Tell me something,’ he says, still smiling. ‘Do I make an idiot of myself every time I see you, or just on the odd occasion?’
Never, I think, but I pretend to ponder, counting fake numbers on my fingers. I nod, as if I was delivering bad news.
‘I’m sorry, but it’s every time.’
‘Thought so.’ He sucks in a deep breath. Coral and Gideon are now nowhere to be seen, leaving us surrounded only by the evening air, grass, and the occasional falling leaf. The sound of Dylan breathing next to me is like a warm breeze, one which carries me to a different, perfect place. He starts to pick at the grass in between us, too, our hands centimetres apart. There’s not going to be any greenery left at this rate.
‘While we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about what I said, that time in the Medic’s Cabin,’ I say, taking the plunge.
‘I was about to say the same thing,’ Dylan replies.
‘Oh, okay. Well, I wanted you to know that I know you must have a good reason for staying.’ Wow, that’s a lot of knows.
Dylan murmurs, ‘I do now.’ My heart leaps, but he swallows and gives a small shake of his head. We both stop picking the grass. His blue eyes stare hard into mine and, although he doesn’t change his expression, I know he’s thinking about something important. His eyes get that edge—angled, yet soft all at once.
‘Everyone who stays has their reasons. I’ll tell you mine, one day.’
I like that. I like the way it sounds and its implications and the way he’s looking at me, head angled to the side.
‘Yeah, one day,’ I repeat because one day isn’t today and it isn’t tomorrow. One day is far in the future.
He holds my hand then.
One day.
DON’T THINK AHEAD. That’s what Dylan told me before we parted last night, and that’s what I’m doing. The trip to the Medic’s Cabin is easy enough. The old lady I dashed past a couple of weeks ago checks me over and declares me fit to fight before handing over a pile of clothes to change into. I look at her quizzically: Demonstrators always fight in white uniforms, not this bundle of red, black and white.
‘That’s what I’ve been given,’ she croaks out before gesturing for me to go behind the curtain.
As soon as I put on the white shirt, I recognise the outfit: My old school uniform. Or should I say ‘new’ old school uniform. It’s an exact replica, not torn and blood-stained from my tryout, but fresh and pristine. The fabric’s cold against my skin.
I guess it figures. Shepherd Fines told me that my school uniform was quite a hit in the tryouts. I was such a late choice for the Debt that they didn’t have time to prepare me in those brown potato sack things that the others wore.
My Demonstrator brain forces me to think about the pluses of being a novelty act. The crowd will recognise me; I’ll get more followers, and as Alixis reminds me daily, the more followers, the less sinister the twist in my final fight.
> Don’t think ahead! I reprimand myself.
I broke that rule this morning anyway when I tapped out a status update on Debtbook.
Thanks to all my followers for their support. It’s you I’ll be thinking of when I fight.
Hopefully, Dad will see it and catch on that it’s meant for him.
Once I’m in the uniform, a young girl pulls the curtain back and stands there admiring me for a moment. Her skin is puckered with spots which lie underneath a thick layer of foundation. The nude colour smothers her lips too, making her look ill, while her dyed-black hair has been curled all the way down her back. I’ve never seen her before. She carries a Tupperware box full of paints, grips and bands and if I didn’t recognise some of the stuff, I would think she were here to torture me.
‘Oh, I like it when they give me a semi-pretty one,’ she says to herself before dragging some colours from the box. ‘You need a bit of colour in your face though. Maybe some fake eyelashes.’
‘I don’t mean to be rude, but if you come near with that stuff, I can’t be held accountable for what I do in self-defence.’
The girl scowls, but doesn’t seem at all surprised.
‘Up to you. But if you don’t sell as many tickets for your next Demonstration, don’t blame me.’ She goes on tiptoes and surveys the mess which is my hair before indicating for me sit in the plastic chair next to her.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she mimics my jibe, ‘but that isn’t a request. I have specific orders to do your hair, and you aren’t fighting until I’ve done it.’ She smiles again and I know in that second that I like her. I sit.
Five minutes and a lot of painful brushing later, something scrapes against my scalp like a ghost running its fingernail over my head. I shudder, knowing Mum’s four-leaf clover hairpin must decorate my hair.
‘How long have you worked here?’ I ask, mainly to distract from the tugs at my nape.
After the Fear (Young Adult Dystopian) Page 11
