Regeneration by Stephanie Saulter Page A

fact is, she’s desperate to know. Desperate. It was the only thing she genuinely seemed to care about. Remember, she doesn’t see herself as the villain in this—as far as she’s concerned, we’re the ones—no, I am the one who’s done her wrong.” She gazed around the room, catching everyone’s eye in turn. “But even that’s not straightforward, because in addition to everything else, I do think she is horribly, horribly lonely, though I suspect she’d rather die than admit it, even to herself. But although she was hostile and the conversation was fraught, although I know she reckons me an enemy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my going out there meant something to her. I think it gave her a sense of connection, talkingto someone who has the measure of her. Someone she can match wits with.”
    “Someone with whom,” Eli said quietly, “she has so much in common.”
    “She’d sooner give up her fortune than admit that.” Aryel sighed and stretched. “And I’m not crazy about the comparison myself. But yes.”
    Eve cast a swift glance up at the window. Aunty Aryel had only stood there for a moment and she was gone now, but Eve could see the flame-red and indigo shimmers of her parents’ heads, side by side on the little couch where Mama often sat to read. You always had to assume Mama was about to turn her head and scan the garden, and take precautions accordingly.
    Eve had no idea why her mother checked on her so much, even when they were at home. It was like she thought Eve might disappear if she wasn’t looking. She was sure Aunty Sharon didn’t watch Mish and Suri that hard when they were in their own house.
    She hunkered down in her little cave under the shrubs, holding her battered tablet so it was covered by her sweater. She was fairly sure Mama couldn’t see it, not as long as she held it like this. Not that there was anything wrong with having it out here, or anywhere else, as long as she was using it in the approved manner. She was restricted to the children’s newstreams, so that meant stories and games and puzzles; and schoolwork, articles, and vids on the school’s firewalled pupil network, where she was also allowed to have streamchats with Mish and some of their classmates. Apart from that she was not allowed to post anything, or set up a profile, or have any onstream life at all. Many of her friends could do what they liked and she resented being excluded.
    So when one of the older girls who’d left school last term sent her an invitation, a link to a private stream where the cool, clever kids could talk to each other without their parents butting in or harassing them, she’d jumped at the chance. She did wonder for a moment why Dorah’s account was still active even though she’d gone to a different school, and why she hadn’t said anything before she left. But by the time the explanation came back—that accounts were left open fora short time so that good-byes could be exchanged, and that Dorah had really liked Eve, but had been too much in awe of her to reach out before—she no longer cared; the new socialstream was full of the kind of sarcastic, self-regarding chatter that she didn’t normally encounter, nor was allowed to indulge in. Eve knew full well that even if she wasn’t breaking the rules by being onstream there in the first place, her new stream-friends were not the kind of kids her parents would approve of.
    They thought so too, and had given her lots of tips for avoiding attention.
    Other than Dorah, now known as @dorok235, Eve had no idea who any of them were in real life, but that part didn’t much matter: everyone was anonymous here. She’d gotten a real thrill out of coming up with her very first alphanumeric handle, and felt grown-up and important every time she ventured onstream under her new secret identity. And she wasn’t an idiot, everyone knew how essential it was to keep that secret; everyone knew stream-friends weren’t the same as real