and kids in the playground. At the back of my mind I keep thinking about the way she was when I saw her in 2089, her face drawn and thin. The way she couldn’t answer with a yes when I asked if she was happy.
She finishes talking about her sister, leaning both hands on the edge of the seat and swinging her legs underneath. Kessa smiles when I glance her way.
‘Remember when we used to play shops with the polychips?’ I ask, nodding at a couple of little girls near the playground’s shop window.
‘Carrot sticks and apricot balls, right?’
Two kids race up for the same rotating swing and get into a small tug-of-war before one of them gives up and sulks away.
Kessa smiles. ‘And the swings? Acting like we couldn’t hear Mum yelling at us to give someone else a turn.’
‘But we had to wait so long to have both of them free at the same time!’ I say.
‘I know!’ A shared grin, partners in the memory. ‘The injustice, right?’
When I glance over at Kessa again her smile is sinking and threatening to fade. I know what she’s remembering. Around the time of our obsession with the swings, she asked if I wanted to do a friend link.
Automatically I cross my arms and tuck my feet under the seat, so used to hiding who I am. With no chip, of course I had to say no.
But things are different now.
I position my feet on the ground, reminding myself of the words Kessa told me not so long ago: I wish you’d told me …
I press my lips together and check for cameras or mic towers around us. Take a breath. ‘Remember when you asked me to do a friend link when we were kids?’ I ask, testing.
Kessa nods.
‘About that …’ I’m standing on a cliff, about to jump off. The part that scares me the most is the fact that once I tell her, she won’t have the choice not to know.
I take a breath, and jump. ‘I wanted to do a friend link … and I would have loved to do it,’ I say quietly. ‘If I could.’
And I wait, because I’ve just shown her a door. It’s up to her to decide whether to go through.
Kessa’s eyes travel to my wrist.
‘I’ve wanted to do a friend link for a long time.’ As I talk, I lift my arm and wipe a thumb over the fake scar. It leaves a smudge.
With a gasp Kessa stands, stepping backwards and checking over each shoulder. For cameras? Or some official she can tell?
I drop my arm and press my hands between my legs, looking anywhere but Kessa.
‘But … but what about … we did a friend link on photo day? I used it to message you …’ Her voice is shrill, sort of pleading for another explanation. Anything but the harshness of the truth.
Already I’ve said too much, I can tell. Maybe this was a mistake. But it’s out now, I can’t take it back. What if she never wants to speak to me again?
‘Listen …’ I stand so that I’m facing her. ‘This is a lot to admit, I know. When I was little, my mum told me how careful I had to be. What it could mean for people if I told them. So that’s why I kept it secret. And I’m hoping that you won’t turn me in. Asking you not to …’
Her eyes narrow when I say that.
I can’t stand to see her thinking of me this way. Liar. Thief. Cheat. Especially since they carry some truth. I stole the chip. I’ve lied about who I am, and hacked my way into the select entry application for Karoly High.
But I sat the test fair and square. And I also know, more than anything, that if I’d already had access to rations, a chance to go to school, that I wouldn’t have lied. I wouldn’t have cheated. I wouldn’t be the type of person to do any of those things if I didn’t have to.
‘You might not want me to explain,’ I finish. ‘But if you do, I’ll tell you.’
She blinking fast, her jaw set hard, so I decide that’s enough. I’ve said as much as I can for now. I’ll be ready if she decides to come to me for the rest.
‘If I don’t hear from you, I’ll understand.’ I leave her standing beside the bench and walk away.
I’m
She finishes talking about her sister, leaning both hands on the edge of the seat and swinging her legs underneath. Kessa smiles when I glance her way.
‘Remember when we used to play shops with the polychips?’ I ask, nodding at a couple of little girls near the playground’s shop window.
‘Carrot sticks and apricot balls, right?’
Two kids race up for the same rotating swing and get into a small tug-of-war before one of them gives up and sulks away.
Kessa smiles. ‘And the swings? Acting like we couldn’t hear Mum yelling at us to give someone else a turn.’
‘But we had to wait so long to have both of them free at the same time!’ I say.
‘I know!’ A shared grin, partners in the memory. ‘The injustice, right?’
When I glance over at Kessa again her smile is sinking and threatening to fade. I know what she’s remembering. Around the time of our obsession with the swings, she asked if I wanted to do a friend link.
Automatically I cross my arms and tuck my feet under the seat, so used to hiding who I am. With no chip, of course I had to say no.
But things are different now.
I position my feet on the ground, reminding myself of the words Kessa told me not so long ago: I wish you’d told me …
I press my lips together and check for cameras or mic towers around us. Take a breath. ‘Remember when you asked me to do a friend link when we were kids?’ I ask, testing.
Kessa nods.
‘About that …’ I’m standing on a cliff, about to jump off. The part that scares me the most is the fact that once I tell her, she won’t have the choice not to know.
I take a breath, and jump. ‘I wanted to do a friend link … and I would have loved to do it,’ I say quietly. ‘If I could.’
And I wait, because I’ve just shown her a door. It’s up to her to decide whether to go through.
Kessa’s eyes travel to my wrist.
‘I’ve wanted to do a friend link for a long time.’ As I talk, I lift my arm and wipe a thumb over the fake scar. It leaves a smudge.
With a gasp Kessa stands, stepping backwards and checking over each shoulder. For cameras? Or some official she can tell?
I drop my arm and press my hands between my legs, looking anywhere but Kessa.
‘But … but what about … we did a friend link on photo day? I used it to message you …’ Her voice is shrill, sort of pleading for another explanation. Anything but the harshness of the truth.
Already I’ve said too much, I can tell. Maybe this was a mistake. But it’s out now, I can’t take it back. What if she never wants to speak to me again?
‘Listen …’ I stand so that I’m facing her. ‘This is a lot to admit, I know. When I was little, my mum told me how careful I had to be. What it could mean for people if I told them. So that’s why I kept it secret. And I’m hoping that you won’t turn me in. Asking you not to …’
Her eyes narrow when I say that.
I can’t stand to see her thinking of me this way. Liar. Thief. Cheat. Especially since they carry some truth. I stole the chip. I’ve lied about who I am, and hacked my way into the select entry application for Karoly High.
But I sat the test fair and square. And I also know, more than anything, that if I’d already had access to rations, a chance to go to school, that I wouldn’t have lied. I wouldn’t have cheated. I wouldn’t be the type of person to do any of those things if I didn’t have to.
‘You might not want me to explain,’ I finish. ‘But if you do, I’ll tell you.’
She blinking fast, her jaw set hard, so I decide that’s enough. I’ve said as much as I can for now. I’ll be ready if she decides to come to me for the rest.
‘If I don’t hear from you, I’ll understand.’ I leave her standing beside the bench and walk away.
I’m
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