‘Here you go,’ Diggs said and shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand. ‘Temporary ID.’
I stared at the little square of paper and wondered how something so small could, possibly, save me from something so big. I unfolded it, and there was the Drivers’ address, which was now my address, too.
‘What are these Processing Centres?’ I asked him.
‘Just more of Varick’s bullshit,’ he said. ‘What’s for dinner?’
He always tried to change the topic like that and usually I wouldn’t let him off so easy. But he looked tired and I knew it was my fault. Stressing him out. Making him ask for favours and who-knows-what to get me this ID.
‘Thanks, Diggs,’ I said and stuffed the paper into my pocket.
‘Think nothing of it,’ Diggs said and tried to sound like his usual self. But he didn’t. He sounded defeated or something.
We all fell silent for a moment. There were crumbs on the table. Mum would have lost it if we’d left crumbs on our table. She was such a clean freak. That’s where Astrid got it from. Usually it drove me crazy. But now I swept the crumbs into my hand.
‘Thanks for doing all that, Dad,’ Z said finally.
I dusted the crumbs from my hand into the bin.
‘It’s fine. Just don’t think I haven’t noticed you two lovebirds, all right?’ Diggs said, and laughed.
‘Lovebirds? Dad! No-one has said lovebirds since the 1950s.’ Mila whacked her dad playfully on the arm.
‘What? That’s what they are,’ Diggs said, and did stupid kissy noises, which made Mila shriek with laughter, and he chased her around the house.
I looked at Z. Were we? It felt so wrong to even think about love when all this shit was happening around us. I desperately needed to talk to someone about it but there wasn’t anyone. Mila was mature and super smart but that would be way too much information for her. I didn’t really have anyone else. Not like that. What I really wanted was to tell Mum and Astrid about him. To stand around in our kitchen while we made dinner and talked and joked and gossiped about the day and then just casually mention it – So, I have a boyfriend now. And Mum would ask me a heap of questions and Astrid wouldn’t approve but she would when she met him cos he was Z and they’d love him. That’s what I wanted to have happened. That’s how it should have been.
‘I’m keeping an eye on you two,’ Diggs said as he lumbered back into the kitchen, out of breath.
‘Dad, no, what the hell?’ Z said.
‘No sneaking into each other’s rooms at night. Doors open. Always. Except the bathroom. And when you do go to the bathroom, you go there on your own. You hear me?’
‘Dad, please, stop talking,’ Z said.
Diggs started going on about being careful and not getting carried away and using protection. Protection? He actually said that and I almost died and we covered our ears and sang really loudly to drown out him and his awkward advice. It was embarrassing but it was also kinda nice that he seemed to care, and that we were all joking around again.
Even with Diggs’s parental advice fresh on my mind, I hoped Z would sneak into my room again that night. I’d brushed my teeth and was heading to bed. Z’s door was closed. Maybe, I thought, I could slip in there.
‘Santee.’ Diggs stood in the hallway.
Sprung.
‘You know I’ll do whatever I can for you, don’t you?’
I nodded, unsure about where this conversation was headed.
‘You mean a lot to Zac and it’s his fault you’re in this mess, so we should help,’ he said.
‘I’m really grateful,’ I said.
‘Just … you gotta remember to always keep that ID on you, all right?’
‘Of course,’ I said, confused. Hadn’t he already told me all that?
‘Those Processing Centres, they’re not good places, Santee,’ he said, and left abruptly, before I could ask any of the thousand questions that started swirling around me.
Suddenly the thought of slipping into Z’s room didn’t feel like such a great idea. I went back to my own room, sat on the bed and wondered what Diggs wasn’t telling me. I took another look at the temporary ID, searching for some kinda clue. I’d only scanned it earlier and noted my new address. But now – now I saw it. Listed as my guardian, my official, registered guardian, was Douglas Driver. What the hell?
CHAPTER 21
I didn’t want to tell Z what his dad had done cos I didn’t want things to be any weirder than they already were. I had a heap of questions for Diggs to answer, but he was never around. He left early, got home late and I was sure he was avoiding me. Logically I think I got it; him registering as my guardian must have been the only way to keep me there. And logically, I knew I wasn’t suddenly Z’s sister, adopted or fostered or whatever, but there was something that felt weird about it, and that stopped me from telling Z. I still wasn’t sure what his deal was with his dad. Z never talked about Diggs’s outburst from that first night. And it hadn’t happened again. But still. There was something unsaid between those two.
Diggs had gone back to work well before the rest of us had the all-clear to return to whatever it was we’d been doing before the wall appeared. Whatever that was. Who could even remember anymore? Diggs’s job was considered an essential service because apparently TV was important. Once, we’d had heaps of channels but slowly, very slowly, they were all shut down for breaching some law or not abiding to standards and other things I didn’t get. Now we had three channels, and none of them were that great. Even Diggs said they were shit. And he worked there.
Anyway, the time came for all Citizens to report to school or work or some building in the city called the Futures Office to receive Further Instructions. I thought that third option sounded kinda terrifying. What did Further Instructions mean? Mila said they’d just be handing out jobs but I wasn’t so sure. Not after everything we’d seen.
‘They want to keep everyone occupied,’ she said, cos of course she had this all figured out. ‘Get things back to normal.’
But nothing was normal anymore. Not with a wall splitting everything in half. Along with the Safety Border there were new rules about what we could and could not read or watch or listen to. Travel had to be preapproved. Curfew was strictly enforced.
Z and I walked to school together. Mila went her way.
It was weird walking to school without Astrid. I couldn’t stop replaying our last walk together. It was one of those moments I wanted to go back to, somehow, and redo and make right. I wondered if maybe Astrid had the same regrets.
A plane flew overhead. What did those people think from up there when they looked down and saw that scar, the wall, splitting up our city?
‘People are getting out,’ Z said.
‘What?’
‘If you’ve got the money you can go overseas, or anywhere, really. Bas is going today.’
I couldn’t believe he was only just telling me this.
He showed me the text message Bas had sent: HOLIDAY! HOLIYAY! SEE U IN 2 WKS. SUCKERS. And there were emojis of a palm tree and the sun and a cocktail and a beachball and …
‘OK, Bas, settle down, we get the idea,’ I said, and tried to laugh. But I was boiling inside. I couldn’t even get to the other side of the city and here was this jerk going on some international holiday just cos he could.
‘I don’t reckon he’s coming back.’
We crossed the park in silence. The wet grass seeped through the holes in my shoes and made my ankles itch. My trousers were too short. Or I was too tall. Mum always said, Why don’t you stop growing already? and laughed, but it wasn’t her real laugh. It was a worried laugh. Stuff wasn’t cheap and we had to make do, but somehow we did. Or Mum and Astrid did.
‘I can’t go to school.’ I stopped. Right there. In the middle of the park.
Z stopped too and looked at me like I was kidding around. Until he realised I wasn’t. ‘You have to,’ Z said. ‘It’ll be OK.’
No, it wasn’t about it being OK o
r not being OK or whatever Z meant. I tried to explain it, tried to tell him how I’d left things with Astrid and how Mum had grounded me and I was supposed to be home, and that I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and it wouldn’t go away.
‘I’ll be there,’ Z smiled, and went to put his arm around me.
I ducked away. I didn’t need his protection.
‘I’ve gotta try to get home. I can’t just give up. I can’t pretend this is normal.’ My voice grew louder. ‘This is not normal.’
‘Yeah, I know, but –’
‘You don’t get it.’ I took a deep breath. Looked up at the sky. I wanted to be on that plane, but I didn’t need to go as far as Bas seemed to be going. I just needed it to drop me off on the other side.
I didn’t know how to make him understand. So I didn’t. I just ran. Away from him and towards the wall. I heard him shouting out after me. ‘Sorry!’ I called over my shoulder, but I didn’t slow down. I kept running. Because sometimes that’s easier.
If I ignored the wall, I could almost imagine nothing had changed. Cars and buses filled the roads again. People in suits and uniforms hurried across pedestrian crossings. The screens screamed News headlines. Unit Officers stood in pairs on the corner. It was almost like I was just running home.
I slipped in among the regular citizens doing their regular things in the city. I pretended I was meant to be there, that I was a Good Citizen like them. It was easy to hide in the crowds in my boring school uniform.
At the traffic lights, the green-man signal flashed and buzzed and we all crossed together. And there, on the other side, was an old, bent-over man with no shoes, his heels cracked and thick with dirt. He was talking to himself. Swearing and yelling into the wind. The others quickened their pace, diverted their eyes, their faces full of pity or disgust. I watched him peer into rubbish bins in case there was something worth rescuing, but there was nothing. He rubbed his neck and moved towards the expensive stores that lined the footpath and I imagined all the shop assistants quickly putting up their CLOSED signs and locking the doors. But he didn’t try to go in. He sat against the window of a boutique, knees up to his chin, head bowed, like a tiny ball. The mannequins in their pretty dresses looked down their plastic noses at him.
I had a sandwich in my schoolbag, and I took it out and headed towards him. I wondered what his story was. Who he might have been before the wall ripped our lives in two: Before and After.
‘Here,’ I said and held out the sandwich.
He lifted his head, opened his bloodshot eyes. ‘Piss off,’ he growled.
I slowly put the sandwich on the ground in front of him, like some kind of peace offering to a dangerous animal.
‘Piss off,’ he said again, louder this time. The people around me moved back even further.
I wanted to help. Didn’t he get it? I smiled at him. ‘Stay safe,’ I said, which was a dumb thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
As I walked away, the sandwich hit the back of my head. I didn’t turn around. He yelled, spewing out words I couldn’t understand or didn’t want to, and I walked a little faster.
A woman with almost blue hair touched my shoulder, gave me a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘They’ll take care of him. The Unit are quick to remove these types now.’
‘What types?’ I said.
She looked surprised. ‘The ones who should be over there,’ she said, and motioned to the wall. ‘Threats.’
As she walked away I wondered what she’d have thought of me if she knew I was meant to be on the other side, too.
‘ID.’ An officer stood right in front of me. She made me jump but I tried to look calm and said, Yes ma’am, the way we were meant to, even though she looked about the same age as me.
I fumbled around in my backpack for the temporary ID. New address. New guardian. Same name. The officer took it. Studied it. ‘You’re meant to be at school,’ she said, still looking at the ID.
‘On my way, ma’am,’ I said, and smiled the way Z always did when he was trying to make a good impression. Or to get himself out of trouble.
She smiled back. It didn’t look quite right, seeing an officer smile. Still, I thought I’d have to tell Z that his stupid smiling thing had worked. And then I thought about Z. His face when I’d ducked away from him. His voice when he’d shouted after me. I felt terrible. I shouldn’t have run off like that. Again. Idiot, Santee.
‘Go,’ she said, and handed me back the ID, ‘or you’ll be late.’
CHAPTER 22
I was late. Of course.
Last time I’d stood out the front of school, Z had been right next to me. The school looked exactly the same now as it had then. I don’t know why I’d expected it to be different. Probably because everything else in my life was. It felt strange to stare at something so familiar.
I wanted to talk to Beth about it. Which was weird cos I never wanted to talk to her. But now I had a list of things I needed to figure out. Like, how was I going to survive this? And, what is a Processing Centre? And, can you get a message to my mum? And, how can I feel so lonely and sad but also be sort-of-maybe-possibly falling in love? I imagined her not wanting to give me answers and instead making me do annoying exercises to figure it out for myself. But this time, I would do the exercises and find the answers. I had to.
The school corridors were quiet. Too quiet. I wondered (actually, I wished and hoped) if perhaps we weren’t meant to be back at school yet. If we had the date wrong. I made it to Beth’s office without one teacher seeing me and knocked at her door and waited. She had a bright poster stuck on the door that said: All feelings are OK, it’s what you do with them that matters. I hated that poster.
A man stood where Beth was supposed to be. Tall. Bald. Pale. With glasses that made his eyes look huge. I hated him the moment I saw him. He frowned at me.
‘Come in,’ he said, and held the door open a little wider.
I didn’t want to come in but there was something about him that made me think I didn’t have a choice.
There were people in Beth’s office, but none of them were Beth. One sat at her computer and scrolled through the screen. Others went through the endless paperwork that filled her drawers and filing cabinets. Pages and pages of scribbled notes. I knew there had to be a file or three of notes about me.
‘Sit,’ the bald man said. I sat. ‘Name?’
I told him. And someone shoved some files into his hands. My files. He flicked through them as if I wasn’t even there. Every now and then he made this hmm noise and then kept scanning the pages Beth had written about me. Those notes were private. Personal. My face grew hot. He put the papers down and stared at me. It felt like he could see right through me. Through my clothes. My skin. And into me. I wanted to rip his stupid, ugly glasses off his stupid, ugly face and smash them into pieces. He’d just read about my impulse control issues and meltdowns and physical violence. He should be ready for it.
I stood up quickly.
‘Sit,’ he said.
‘Why?’ I said. It felt like the office was pulsating and moving and the air was thick and I wanted to get out. But someone stood at the door, blocking my way, and I realised they’d all stood up and were watching me with big eyes and open mouths. Except him. The bald man. He sat in his – correction – Beth’s chair and smirked at me, like I was a joke.
‘Sit down, Santee.’
I didn’t want to sit down. The room closed in. I needed to breathe and I tried to, slowly, slowly, and counted one to ten and let my brain catch up with my body. I didn’t want to prove him right. All those things he’d read about me. All those judgments he’d made. He didn’t know me. None of those people did. Neither did Beth. Even with all her notes.
So I sat.
I twisted my fingers into knots as I waited for the bald man to speak. I wondered if this was it. The Unit would burst in and handcuff me and send me to the Processing Centre and I’d never get to tell Z how sorr
y I was.
‘You’re a long way from home, Santee,’ the man said. He’d perched on the end of Beth’s desk. I suppose it was meant to make him look friendly and approachable. It didn’t work.
‘Not really.’ I shrugged.
‘We are aware that Douglas Driver is registered as your guardian. He has taken responsibility for you, yes?’ The man was taking his own notes now, on a tablet.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s a well-respected citizen. A Good Citizen. You’re very lucky that someone like him has, how should I say this … accepted you.’
‘I am, yes.’ I knew I was lucky. I also knew Diggs was not a Good Citizen, but if they thought he was then I wasn’t about to correct them.
The room fell silent. The bald man nodded and looked at me expectantly. Like he was waiting for me to say more. I knew this trick. It was one of Beth’s specialties. I was not going to keep talking. No way. I sat back and pretended to be a lot calmer than I felt.
‘So?’ the man said, finally, and shifted in his chair. ‘Do you agree? Mr Driver is a Good Citizen?’
‘Of course,’ I said quickly, but an uneasy feeling surged through me. Why were they so interested in Diggs?
‘We are asking out of concern for your safety, Santee. Please take your time. Consider your response.’ He made some more notes, but I didn’t add anything more. I just waited for his next question. It seemed to take forever. My heart thumped in my ears. ‘Do you notice if Mr Driver keeps, how should I put this, irregular hours? Does he go out during Curfew? Anything like that?’
‘No,’ I said. I tried to keep my face neutral but the room was stinking hot and I was nervous and sweaty and nothing made any sense.
‘Have you heard him say any –’
‘Where’s Beth?’ I interrupted.
He acted like I hadn’t even asked. ‘Mr Driver’s job, does it take him away from home a lot?’
‘Who are you?’ I said. If he could ignore my question, I could ignore his.
Everywhere Everything Everyone Page 11
