are images of The Leader visiting a factory. He shakes hands with the smiling workers. I move towards the screen and slide the volume icon up with my finger.
‘. . . factory workers are working hard ,’ the voiceover says. ‘ The Leader is pleased. “We must all work hard,” he says. The workers who do the most work meet The Leader. They are happy . . .’
‘What the hell is this?’ I say. This isn’t what the Info is usually like.
‘The Info,’ says Kay, looking confused.
I don’t need her to tell me that this dumbed-down pap is what they listen to every day. I feel ill. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that the Specials haven’t developed speech properly when they’ve only got this junk and the barking of an enforcer to learn from. And then a second wave of revulsion undulates through me. These voiceovers must be specially prepared. I realise that I’d been holding on to a tiny hope that maybe this place was just a really bad example of an Academy. That it was because of Rice and his staff that the conditions are so poor and the Specials are treated so badly, and that maybe other Academies were a bit better. But if they’re specially preparing these ‘news’ reports then I guess that they’re shown in every Academy. Does that mean all Academies are like this one? My head is spinning. I know that Specials’ education is designed to equip them for their lives in the factories, but I can’t help thinking that surely they deserve to be taught to talk properly.
‘What’s bad?’ Kay says, seeing the look on my face.
‘You do know that that is not how people speak?’ I say, jabbing towards the screen. ‘You do realise that when the rest of the world watch the Info, the newsreader uses more than ten words – they talk like me, Kay. Most people talk like me.’ My shoulders sag. ‘I just don’t understand why it has to be so nasty in here and I don’t understand why they want to keep you down by taking away your language as well.’
Kay looks at me. She shakes her head sorrowfully. ‘I don’t know your words,’ she says.
And it’s all so horrible that I want to punch something.
‘The Academies . . .’ she says, and she looks at me to try to tell me something that she can’t with words. She holds my gaze and her huge eyes are both sorry and angry. I think she does understand.
‘I don’t . . . I don’t think Academies should be like this,’ I say. Even as the words escape I’m looking around to make sure no one has heard me.
Kay touches my arm. ‘When I am Dom, I will make things more good. I will help the little ones. I will make the Specials be . . .’ She draws her hands together. She breaks into a smile. It’s not something she does often, it’s nice.
‘Closer? Together?’ I say, smiling back.
She looks at me. ‘Are you laughing?’ she asks.
‘No! No, I just, I thought you wanted to be Dom so you could be adored and showered with bits of shrap.’
‘Yes, and that.’
We sit down on some ripped-up chairs and I try to get my head straight while Kay talks about when she first started at the Academy and how every day she would ask a Red girl called Ama if she could make Kay’s hair red.
‘I had the think—’
‘Thought,’ I say.
‘I had the thought that if I was big good she would make my hair red.’ She smiles at her foolishness. Then she shows me her best trick fight move. I know that she is trying to distract me and I let her.
Later on, in the dormitory, I look at Kay sleeping and consider how she has completely changed the way she thinks since she was a little girl. I realise that I’ve been thinking the same things, in the same way, all my life. All because of what I was told. I just assumed that anyone who thought differently to me was wrong. And now I keep finding that things aren’t exactly as I thought. It’s not so easy to be certain that I know the right answers.
Sometimes I wonder if I even know the right questions.
The next day is
‘. . . factory workers are working hard ,’ the voiceover says. ‘ The Leader is pleased. “We must all work hard,” he says. The workers who do the most work meet The Leader. They are happy . . .’
‘What the hell is this?’ I say. This isn’t what the Info is usually like.
‘The Info,’ says Kay, looking confused.
I don’t need her to tell me that this dumbed-down pap is what they listen to every day. I feel ill. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that the Specials haven’t developed speech properly when they’ve only got this junk and the barking of an enforcer to learn from. And then a second wave of revulsion undulates through me. These voiceovers must be specially prepared. I realise that I’d been holding on to a tiny hope that maybe this place was just a really bad example of an Academy. That it was because of Rice and his staff that the conditions are so poor and the Specials are treated so badly, and that maybe other Academies were a bit better. But if they’re specially preparing these ‘news’ reports then I guess that they’re shown in every Academy. Does that mean all Academies are like this one? My head is spinning. I know that Specials’ education is designed to equip them for their lives in the factories, but I can’t help thinking that surely they deserve to be taught to talk properly.
‘What’s bad?’ Kay says, seeing the look on my face.
‘You do know that that is not how people speak?’ I say, jabbing towards the screen. ‘You do realise that when the rest of the world watch the Info, the newsreader uses more than ten words – they talk like me, Kay. Most people talk like me.’ My shoulders sag. ‘I just don’t understand why it has to be so nasty in here and I don’t understand why they want to keep you down by taking away your language as well.’
Kay looks at me. She shakes her head sorrowfully. ‘I don’t know your words,’ she says.
And it’s all so horrible that I want to punch something.
‘The Academies . . .’ she says, and she looks at me to try to tell me something that she can’t with words. She holds my gaze and her huge eyes are both sorry and angry. I think she does understand.
‘I don’t . . . I don’t think Academies should be like this,’ I say. Even as the words escape I’m looking around to make sure no one has heard me.
Kay touches my arm. ‘When I am Dom, I will make things more good. I will help the little ones. I will make the Specials be . . .’ She draws her hands together. She breaks into a smile. It’s not something she does often, it’s nice.
‘Closer? Together?’ I say, smiling back.
She looks at me. ‘Are you laughing?’ she asks.
‘No! No, I just, I thought you wanted to be Dom so you could be adored and showered with bits of shrap.’
‘Yes, and that.’
We sit down on some ripped-up chairs and I try to get my head straight while Kay talks about when she first started at the Academy and how every day she would ask a Red girl called Ama if she could make Kay’s hair red.
‘I had the think—’
‘Thought,’ I say.
‘I had the thought that if I was big good she would make my hair red.’ She smiles at her foolishness. Then she shows me her best trick fight move. I know that she is trying to distract me and I let her.
Later on, in the dormitory, I look at Kay sleeping and consider how she has completely changed the way she thinks since she was a little girl. I realise that I’ve been thinking the same things, in the same way, all my life. All because of what I was told. I just assumed that anyone who thought differently to me was wrong. And now I keep finding that things aren’t exactly as I thought. It’s not so easy to be certain that I know the right answers.
Sometimes I wonder if I even know the right questions.
The next day is
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