Enemy of Gideon (3 page)

“We had a new kid start a couple of weeks ago,” I say.

“In January?” he asks. “That’s unusual. Most people don’t relocate in the middle of the school year.”

“I know,” I say.

His eyebrows rise. “Is it a girl?”

My cheeks warm. “A guy.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that look.”

“What?”

His smirk evolves into a massive grin, revealing his shiny braces. “You’ve got a crush!”

I ball up my fist and give him a harmless punch on the shoulder.

“Ouch!” the scrawny boy squeals.

“I barely touched you, Og!” I yell.

He rubs his shoulder. “You know that Code 433 today?”

“Yeah. I saw him in the hallway.”

“They took him from my math class,” he whispers.

My stomach hardens. “Is it just me, or are they arresting more citizens lately?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not just you.”

►▼◄

“Raissa!”

Mom’s annoyed call smacks into my dreams like a charging bull. I blink several times and sit up in bed. The room has grown dark in the hours since I got home from school.
How long have I been asleep?

I rub my eyes. Mom’s determined footsteps
echo on the hardwood floor outside my bedroom. There won’t be any pleasantries between us. She pushes the door open and flips on the ceiling light. The blinding rays erase the shadows, forcing me to squint to see Mom’s frown.

“You got a forty-two?” She places her fists on her hips.

I drop back down on my pillow. “Mom …”

“We’ve talked about this a thousand times. What do you want from me?”

I roll over on my stomach. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Sit up!” She shouts, like an overbearing CE officer.

I drag myself back up to a seated position on the edge of the bed.

“You promised me this semester would be different. Do you not understand how a promise works?” she asks.

The pain in my gut turns into a burning fire rising up to my chest. “I tried to study! Mrs. Harris doesn’t explain it right!”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not falling for it!”

“I’m not lying!”

Her face flushes. “Do you know how hard it is to be a single parent?”

I stare down at the worn floorboards in front of my bed.
Here comes the guilt trip.
The burning fades away as I fight the urge to lie down again.

Her fists drop from her hips. “Bug, I know how smart you are. Stop it with the excuses and the laziness.”

“Please don’t tell Petra,” I say.

“I have no intention of speaking to Petra anytime soon.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I’ve arranged with Mrs. Harris for you to retake the test.”

I groan.

“If you pass it, I won’t take your sketchbook. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Mom turns to leave the room. “I brought dinner home.”

“When is Petra coming home again?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “You two are so different.”

Mom disappears from the door, boots thudding down the hallway. Every sound echoes through the apartment in Petra’s absence. I’ve adjusted to it being only me and Mom, but without Petra, the warmth is missing. With the peacemaker away at college, Mom and I have to work extra hard to either avoid each other or appease each other.

Soon, I plop myself in the chair at the kitchenette table where Mom set out dinner. The aging chair creaks under me louder and louder with each passing year.

“Anything new at school today?” Mom asks, popping open a container of precooked potatoes and green beans.

Her question plunges Arkin Pettigrew right back into my brain. Up until that moment, I managed not to think about him for a few hours.

“Not really,” I say, scooping the food into a glass bowl. “No meat?”

She cocks her head and tightens her lips. “Be grateful we have dinner. I heard meat vouchers may be delivered again soon.”

I shove a forkful of salty green beans into my mouth.
What type of meat are Ogden and his parents eating up on the nineteenth floor?
Maybe tomorrow I could coax him into letting me come up for dinner.

“Did you ever talk to that new kid you told me about?” Mom asks.

“Not much.”

“You need to reach out to your classmates,” she says. “Having lots of friends is good for you.”

I swallow a chunk of green bean—and my growing annoyance. “I have a friend.”

“Ogden is a
boy
and a ninth-grader. Don’t you think you should make some female friends in your own grade?”

My appetite fades with each undesired bite. I set my fork down on the plate and push my chair back. “I’m done.”

“You hardly ate anything.”

“I have homework.”

I know Mom’s eyes are crawling up my back as I shuffle across the living room and down the short hallway to my bedroom. Inside, I find refuge back on my bed in the corner. I bury myself under the sheets, hoping Mom won’t come knocking. She doesn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

A
timid breeze lifts my bangs as I amble along the cobblestone in the cafeteria courtyard. A group of guys huddle around a soccer ball in their black coats and gray toboggans on the dead grass under a sprawling oak tree. One boy catches my eye, and I immediately turned around, hoping he didn’t see me. I pace away from the tree and sit on an empty stone bench—giving me a discreet view of the boys.

Under the rippling shadows of the tree branches, Arkin kicks the ball across the grass. His eyes shimmer in the noon sunlight like polished amber. In science class, we spoke a few more times—small talk, but the brief conversations made my days.

I open my backpack and pull out my sketchbook and pencil. The pencil takes on a life of its own as it carefully forms a delicate profile. I glance over the top of the sketchbook to examine the shape of Arkin’s nose, but I find the image imprinted on my mind. My pencil goes to work illustrating the guy I can’t muster the courage to “bump into” after school.

My wristband screen displays the time. I have five minutes left in the lunch period, but I’ve nearly completed the sketch all ready. I lift my eyes to make a comparison. Another guy now stands in Arkin’s place.
Where did he go?

“Raissa Santos, who are you drawing?”

I jump at the voice and turn. Arkin stands behind me.

“Nobody,” I say, slamming the sketchbook shut and rising from the bench.

He cracks a mischievous smirk. “I startled you again. I’m getting pretty good at that.”

“I didn’t see you sneak up.”

His forehead creases. “Are you okay? You seem down lately.”

I shrug. “I’m fine.”

“I can keep a secret,” he says.

I lose myself in his eyes, and my mouth, like an open gate, holds nothing back.

“My sister’s in some kind of trouble, I think,” I whisper, taking a step closer to him. “She won’t communicate with me and tell me what’s going on.”

“Can
you
keep a secret?” he whispers back.

I tense up but nod.

He leans close to my ear, his musky cologne tickling my nostrils. He whispers, “I’ll pray for your sister.”

The beep ending lunch sounds across the courtyard, and he jogs back inside. His words seize me.

Pray?
What does that mean?

►▼◄

Mom hates her job at the soup factory on Street D-56. She’s expressed this to Petra and I many times over the years. Over two decades ago, the career placement test assigned her to be a line inspector, checking cans for defects before they were packaged and delivered all over the city-state. The monotony and repetition of the job eats away at her creativity, the same creativity I possess. Maybe that’s why we’re always butting heads all the time—too much alike. Mom wanted to be an interior decorator, but the career placement test determined she would work in a factory her whole life.

The career placement test determines the destiny of nearly every citizen of Gideon. Before graduating from high school, seniors take the test.
Will my career placement test make me a city planner or design engineer? Some job at least related to drawing? Probably not.
Most citizens work menial jobs. Ogden Penski’s father is an exception to the norm.

Ogden’s father followed in his own father’s footsteps by becoming a CE officer in Gideon. This tradition has the power to override any determination a career placement test makes. Mr. Penski worked his way to the top to become the chief. Og
den’s parents naturally expect Og to become an officer too, but I laugh at the idea. He will probably call in sick because he got a paper cut writing up a Code violation.

Sitting at the Penskis’ long, oak dinner table that evening, I compare father to son. Ogden scoots his glasses up his nose and slices the chicken breast on his plate. Chief Penski hunches his broad shoulders over his plate and shoves a heap of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Og and his dad are complete opposites.
How much am I like my father?

“Boys, eat all your food, and you can have dessert,” Mrs. Penski says to Og’s three younger brothers. Two of the three frown at their food. What is it like to have such discriminating tastes? I’ll eat anything in front of me.

Mrs. Penski turns to me. “So is your mom working late again?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she say.

“Those factory jobs are merciless,” Chief Penski says.

I swallow my last savory bite and lay my fork across the plate.

“Geez, Rais,” Ogden says, “were you starving?”

My plate is bare, practically clean. I didn’t mean to eat so fast, but the food tasted better than anything I’d swallowed all week.

“Ogden, don’t be rude,” Mrs. Penski says and turns to me. “Would you like more, dear?”

In my head, Mom tells me,
“One plate is enough. Don’t be greedy.”
So I nod.
“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Penski says. “Help yourself.”

I reach into the center of the table and reloaded my plate. Mrs. Penski, a sugary version of Mom, nods at me with a grin, which she has a habit of doing, sometimes adding a dainty laugh.

“I’ll send a plate home with you,” Mrs. Penski says. “Your mother can eat it when she gets home tonight.”

“Don’t embarrass the woman,” Chief Penski says through a cheekful of chicken. “Some people don’t want your charity. It makes them feel like beggars.”

“It’s only a gift from friend to friend.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The dining room noise resorts to chewing and forks clicking on plates. I daydream, drifting across the day’s events. Arkin’s words hang over me like a rain cloud:
“I’ll pray for your sister.”

“Mr. Penski, what does
pray
mean?” I ask on an impulse.

“Prey? Something that’s being hunted,” he says.

I shake my head. “Not that
prey
. I mean, like ‘I’ll pray for someone.’”

Chief Penski’s brow furrows, and Mrs. Penski stops chewing.

“Where did you hear that?” the chief asks, sitting up in his chair.

“I thought I heard someone say it in the hallway at school,” I say. “What does it mean?”

“It’s against the Code. Who said it?” Chief Penski asks.

I shake my head and swallow. “I couldn’t tell who it was.”

Chief Penski’s jaw tightens. “We need to crack down on this EP. It’s getting around.”

“They checked for it a couple of days ago,” Ogden says.

“Time to check again,” his father says, relaxing again.

Mrs. Penski frowns. “Those enemies are finding new ways to spread it.”

Something stirs inside of me. Arkin might be breaking the Code. He could get into serious trouble if he got caught with EP.
Does he have any? If so, how did he get it
? I had to talk to him—to let him know how much trouble he could get into.

My thoughts swirl like a tornado as Og and I share a glance a
cross the table. His expression is unexpected—one of suspicion.

►▼◄

My head heats up when Hailey Crossford loops her arm around Arkin’s. He slinks away from her, pasting on a polite smile.
How does he do it?
Most guys drool over Hailey’s curves and beg for her attention. Being the captain of the JV cheerleading squad for the last two seasons earned Hailey high popularity status and a fan club of two other snobs from the squad. They follow her everywhere she goes. If those three have their sights set on me, it’ll be a bad day.

Arkin picks up his pace. “I’m too busy for a girlfriend.”

Hailey never gets angry with the guys who play hard to get. She twists her reddish blond hair and shrugs. She sidles back up to him, her allies following like shadows.

“You know you can’t dodge me, Arkin. I’ll win you over,” she says.

He laughs and shakes his head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, cutie,” Hailey says.

Should I head outside to wait for him?
I tried to catch Arkin after school all week to warn him about saying words like
pray
.
How can I tell him with the cameras everywhere, watching and listening to our every move? Where could we go?
I try my best to blend into the crowd as he passes me, but his eyes meet mine as if he’s searching for me.

“Hey, you,” he says, a smirk curling his lips. “Want to walk home with me?”

I scan the crowd behind me for Hailey Crossford and her entourage. They’re gone.

“Sure,” I say with a fake shrug.

Side by side, we step out into the blustery street. I search the scenery for some topic of conversation.
Why can’t I think of something hilarious or witty to say? How can I impress a guy like Arkin Pettigrew? What’s he even doing walking with me? I’m a nobody.

“Where’s your friend from the nineteenth floor?” he asks, searching the sidewalk.

“Ogden? How do you know about him?”

He smirks. “I know a lot more than you think, Raissa Santos.”

“Og is sick with a stomach bug or something,” I say.

“I hope he feels better soon,” he says, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his wool coat.

The smell of fresh fruit dances on the air when we approached a fruit cart on the sidewalk. The vendor scans a woman’s wristband and then hands her a grape basket.

“Those look so good,” I say, my stomach aching from hunger.

“We have some grapes at home,” he says. “Why don’t you come over? We can hang out.”

I nearly trip over my own feet. I immediately steady myself but not without notice.

“You okay?” he asks, grabbing my arm.

I release a nervous laugh. “It must’ve been a rock or something. I almost tripped.”

He laughs, freeing my arm.

“How do you have grapes?” I ask.

My real question “Why do you want to hang out with me?” remains idle on my tongue. Such a question might convince him to take back his offer.

“My parents bought them. How else?” he says.

“I mean, they’re so expensive. It’s only me and my mom, so we don’t have a lot of credits.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did your dad … pass away?”

I shake my head. “He left us a long time ago.”

“That has to be tough for you.”

“My sister helps us out when she can,” I say. “She brought beef home a few weeks ago.”

And we haven’t spoken in days. Why won’t she tell me anything?

After another block, we arrive in front of Building D7.

“So you never answered my question,” he says, pausing before the staircase. “Do you want to come over?”

My heart raced.
Is my throat closing up?
“Sure.”

“I live three floors above you,” he says, heading up to the building’s entrance.

I follow him up.
How does he know which floor I live on?

The inside of the apartment building smells like dust and old carpet even though the hallways aren’t carpeted. The peeling, beige paint on the walls reveals the original scroll wallpaper underneath it. Residents moving boxes and furniture in and out have left scratches on the walls here and there decade after decade.

The main floor holds several apartments, mostly efficiencies for single, low-paid residents. Janitors, restaurant servers, and factory line workers make their homes there. As the floors go higher, so do the income levels. High-ranking government officials live on the top floor. Their apartments are much larger with interior decorating and updates to the fixtures and flooring. Ogden’s apartment has all the latest updates and decor.

In front of the elevator, he stops and reaches into his inside coat pocket. He pulls out a gold key.

“You have an elevator key?” I ask, not hiding my surprise.

“Don’t you?”

I shrug. “I guess my apartment isn’t high enough.”

He inserts the key into the hole under the elevator buttons on the wall. It turns with ease and the
Up
arrow glows. As we wait in front of the silver door for the elevator, something strikes my mind: the apartment elevator has no camera! Weeks earlier, someone broke the camera while bringing a refridgeerator up. They removed the camera from the elevator and still haven’t replaced it. If we’re on the elevator alone, it could be the perfect place to talk to him.

The elevator door finally opens, and a man emerges not wearing a standard-issue coat but a long, suede one which only the upper class citizens can afford.

Arkin waves. “Hi.”

The man walks past us without even so much as a glance.

I grimace at the man’s back.
Thinks he’s better than us.

We board the elevator, and Arkin pushes the button for the sixth floor. Each of the top corners stand empty. No camera. The doors close, and the elevator jerks upward with a loud groan.