All These Things I've Done (13 page)

An alarm went off, and the room became chaos. A stampede of girls charged towards the door. I got out of bed and debated whether or not to follow. I noticed that the girl in the bunk below me wasn’t joining the frenzy so I asked her what was happening.

The girl shook her head and said nothing. She held a notepad towards me. The notepad was suspended from a leather cord that was tied around her neck. On the first page was written
My name is Mouse. I am mute. I can hear you but I
will have to
write my reply.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ I didn’t know why I was apologizing.

Mouse shrugged. The girl was certainly tiny and quiet – Mouse was a good name for her. I’d guess she was about Natty’s age though her dark eyes made her look older.

‘Where’s everyone going?’

Shower room,
she wrote.
1 x per day. H
₂
O on for 10 sec. Everyone at once.

‘Why aren’t you going then?’

Mouse shrugged. I would later learn this was her all-purpose way of changing the subject, especially useful when a subject was too complex to be expressed concisely. She let the notepad drop and held out her hand for me to shake, which I did.

‘I’m Anya,’ I said.

Mouse nodded and picked up her notepad.
I know,
she wrote.

‘How?’ I asked.

On the news.
She held up her pad, then wrote some more:
‘Mob Daughter Poisons Boyfriend with Chocolate.’

Wonderful. ‘Ex-boyfriend,’ I said. ‘What picture are they using?’

School uniform,
Mouse wrote.

I’d been wearing school uniforms as long as I’d been going to school.

Recent,
she added.

‘By the way, I’m innocent,’ I said.

She rolled her dark eyes at me.
Everyone here
’
s innocent,
she wrote.

‘Are you?’

Not me. I
’
m guilty.

We hadn’t known each other long enough for me to ask her what she had done so I changed the subject to matters more pressing. ‘Anywhere to eat in this place?’

Breakfast was oatmeal. It was surprisingly edible or maybe I was just hungry.

The cafeteria at the girls’ reformatory was pretty much like the cafeteria at my high school: i.e. a hierarchy of seating with more influential cliques/gangs occupying the ‘better’ tables. Mouse seemed to be gangless as she and I ate alone at what must be said was the least desirable table in the place – back of the room, as far away from the windows as you could get, next to the garbage.

‘Do you eat here every day?’ I asked.

Mouse shrugged.

Aside from being mute, she seemed normal enough. I wondered if the reason she was alone was out of choice or because the others were ostracizing her on account of her handicap or simply because she was new to Liberty like me.

‘How long have you been here?’

She put down her spoon to write
198 down. 802 to go.

‘One-thousand-day sentence. That’s a long time,’ I said, though this really was an idiotic comment to have made. One look in Mouse’s eyes and you could see exactly how long a thousand days was.

I was about to apologize for having said something so daft when an orange plastic cafeteria tray hit Mouse in the back of the head. A bit of oatmeal spattered on to her hair and face.

‘Watch yourself, Mouse,’ said the girl holding the tray. The sarcastic voice belonged to a tall, rather striking (in both senses of the word) girl with long, straight, black hair. She was flanked by a corpulent blonde and a petite but sturdy girl with a shaved head. Shaved Head had a series of tattoos where her hair should have been. The tattoos consisted of words in an almost mesmerizing, swirling, paisley design.

‘What are you looking at?’ Shaved Head asked.

Your amazing tattoos,
I wanted to say, but I decided against it.

(Aside: Seriously, though, you can
’
t tattoo words on your scalp without having the reasonable expectation that someone might try to read them.)

‘What’s wrong, Little Mousey? Cat got your tongue?’ asked the one holding the tray.

The blonde replied, ‘She can’t hear you anyway, Rinko. She’s, like, deaf.’

‘No, she can’t talk. There’s a difference, Clover. Don’t be ignorant,’ said Rinko. She leaned over so that she was up against Mouse’s cheek. ‘She hears every little thing we say. You could talk if you wanted to, couldn’t you?’

Mouse, of course, said nothing.

‘Aw, I was trying to see if I could fool you,’ Rinko continued. ‘There ain’t a damn thing wrong with that tongue of yours. But you’re just sitting back, aren’t you? Judging all of us, thinking you’re better when you’re really the lowest of the low.’

‘Baby murderer,’ hissed the tattooed one.

Mouse didn’t move.

‘Aren’t you gonna write me a love note?’ Rinko said, pulling the pad that hung around Mouse’s neck.

‘Hey!’ I yelled. The group looked at me for the first time. I switched to a more humorous tone and said, ‘How can she write you a note when you’re holding her notebook?’

‘Look, Mouse made a pretty new friend,’ Rinko said. She studied my face. ‘Hey, I know you. You should come sit with us.’

‘I’m fine where I am, thanks,’ I said.

Rinko shook her head. ‘Listen, you don’t know how it works around here yet so I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Mouse ain’t your friend, and you’re gonna need friends around here.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ I said.

Clover, the blonde, lunged towards me. Rinko waved her hand, and Clover obeyed. ‘Leave her,’ Rinko demanded. ‘You and me are gonna be great friends,’ she said to me. ‘You just don’t know it yet.’

After Rinko and company were out of earshot, Mouse wrote me a note:
Don
’
t be stupid. You don
’
t owe me anything.

‘True,’ I said. ‘But I don’t like bullies.’

Mouse nodded.

‘You know, even though you’re small, you should still try to defend yourself. Those kinds of people prey on people that they perceive to be weak.’

Her eyes told me I wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

‘Why do you put up with it then?’

She considered my question for a second then wrote
Because I deserve it.

Liberty had classes during the week, but Saturday was visiting day. Though I had several visitors that Saturday, the rule was that you could only see one person at a time.

The first person was Simon Green. I asked him how Mr Kipling was faring, to which he replied, ‘He’s stable.’ Apparently, Mr Kipling was still on a ventilator and unavailable for consultation. ‘Unfortunately,’ Simon Green added.

And it
was
unfortunate. Though I was worried for Mr Kipling, I was equally worried for myself and my family.

‘Per your instructions, I made all the calls, Anya,’ Simon Green said. ‘Everything is arranged. Ms Goodfellow agreed to stay. Ms Barber will take your sister to and from school. Your brother, for the moment, is not taking the job at the Pool. I also spoke to your grandmother . . .’ Simon Green’s voice trailed off. ‘Her mind seems to be . . .’

‘Going,’ I finished.

‘You’re the one running the show, aren’t you?’ Simon Green asked.

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘And that’s why I never would have poisoned Gable Arsley. I couldn’t afford to take such a risk.’

‘Let’s talk about Mr Arsley for a moment,’ Simon Green said. ‘Do you have any theories as to how the poison got in the chocolate?’

‘Yes. Jacks Pirozhki delivered the box to my house. I believe the chocolate was intended for my immediate family. Gable got in the way.’

‘I know Jacks Pirozhki. He’s a nobody, a nonentity in the Balanchine organization. He’s considered good-natured and essentially benign,’ Simon Green replied. ‘Why would he want to poison you and your siblings?’

I told him how Pirozhki had been hanging around my brother for weeks and how he had been the one to set up Leo with the job at the Pool. ‘Maybe he thought murdering the children of Leonyd Balanchine would be some sort of symbolic gesture? Raise his profile among Daddy’s enemies.’

Simon Green considered this, then shook his head. ‘Doubtful. But his behaviour’s still very suspicious and I’ll definitely have a word with Mr Pirozhki. Would you like to hear the case the State has against you?’

‘When the cops arrived at your apartment, Leo was moving the chocolate out of your grandmother’s closet. Your brother never admitted anything but his behaviour seemed suspicious. Of course, they confiscated the whole lot.’

‘The only reason I asked him to move the chocolate was because I didn’t want Nana to get in trouble for possession!’ I said.

‘She won’t,’ Simon Green promised. ‘They’re pinning the possession charge on you as well. But don’t worry about that. No one goes to jail or juvenile hall for possession of chocolate.

‘Anya, something about this smells off to me. And despite my poor performance in court on Thursday, I will get to the bottom of it,’ Simon Green assured me. ‘You will be exonerated and back at home with Galina, Natty and Leo.’

‘How did you come to work for Mr Kipling?’ I asked.

‘I owe him my life, Anya,’ Simon Green said. ‘I would tell you the story but I wouldn’t want to betray Mr Kipling’s confidence.’

I could respect that. I took a moment to consider Simon Green. He had very long legs and arms and in his suit he looked almost like a daddy-long-legs. His skin was very pale, as if he spent his days not just indoors, but underground. His eyes were more green than blue, and they seemed thoughtful. No, intelligent. I allowed myself to feel ever so slightly encouraged that this person was on my side.

‘How old are you anyway?’ I asked.

‘Twenty-seven,’ he said. ‘But I graduated top of my class at law school and I’m a quick learner. However, Mr Kipling’s business is complex, to say the least, and I apologize for not knowing more about your situation. I only became his associate last spring.’

‘Yes, I think he may have mentioned that he was taking someone on,’ I said.

‘Mr Kipling is very protective of you, and he was planning to introduce us after I had worked for him a year. We’d both hoped that I might replace him some day, but neither of us had any inkling it would happen so soon.’

‘Poor Mr Kipling.’

Simon Green looked down at his hands. ‘Though I don’t wish to make excuses for myself, I think some of my incompetence in court can be attributed to my shock at the sudden turn in Mr Kipling’s health. I do apologize again. How are they treating you?’

I told him I’d rather not discuss it.

‘I want you to know that my first priority is getting you out of here.’ Simon Green shook his head. ‘If I’d done a better job, they never would have sent you here to begin with.’

‘Thank you, Mr Green,’ I said.

‘Please. Call me Simon.’ I still preferred Mr Green.

We shook hands. His grip was neither too strong nor too weak, and his palms were dry. Not to mention, the man knew how to apologize properly. ‘You have visitors besides me. I should let you get to them,’ Simon Green said.

My other visitors that afternoon were Scarlet and Leo, but I almost wished that neither had come. Having visitors was exhausting. They both wanted to be reassured that I was fine, and I wasn’t up to the task. Scarlet told me that Natty had wanted to come, but Scarlet had discouraged her. ‘Win, too,’ she added. Her instincts had been right on both counts. ‘Your picture’s all over the news,’ she informed me.

‘I heard,’ I replied.

‘You’re famous,’ she said.

‘Infamous more like.’

‘Poor darling.’ Scarlet leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, and a guard yelled,
‘
No kissing!’

Scarlet giggled. ‘Maybe they think I’m your girlfriend. Your lawyer’s kind of cute, by the way,’ she said. She had apparently met him in the waiting area.

‘You think everyone’s cute,’ I said. I didn’t care that my lawyer was cute; I only cared that he would be effective.

After my visitors had left, Mrs Cobrawick approached me. She was much more dressed up than she had been yesterday. She was wearing a tight beige dress and pearls and make-up and her hair was pulled into a style I think is called a French twist. ‘As a rule, the girls are only allowed two visitors, but I made a special exception for you,’ Mrs Cobrawick said.

I told her that I hadn’t known that and I assured her it wouldn’t happen again.

‘No need, Anya. A simple thank-you would suffice,’ Mrs Cobrawick replied.

‘Thank you,’ I said. However, I was not in the least comfortable with being indebted to this woman in any way.

‘I saw your brother here earlier. I had heard he was simple but he seemed perfectly normal to me,’ Mrs Cobrawick commented.

I didn’t wish to discuss Leo with this woman. ‘He does well,’ I said.

‘I can see this subject makes you uncomfortable, but I am your friend and you should feel at liberty to discuss this or any other matter with me. How did you find orientation?’

Was orientation her word for what had happened to me on Thursday? ‘I found it pretty medieval,’ I said.

‘Medieval?’ She laughed. ‘You’re a strange one, aren’t you?’

I said nothing.

A woman with a camera walked by and asked, ‘Photograph for our donor newsletter, Mrs Cobrawick?’

‘Oh, my! Well, I suppose one can never escape the demands of the public.’ Mrs Cobrawick put her arm around me. The flash went off. I hoped I looked halfway decent, though I doubted it. I knew how these things worked. The picture would be sold, and I suspected it would only be a matter of days, if not hours, before this image ended up on the news right alongside my school photo.