Enemy of Gideon (8 page)

The horse stops. Then the officer speaks in a much calmer tone, a few feet away. “Lost her. All clear.”

The hooves trot away, and my breath escapes from my lungs with a
whoosh
. Regaining my sense of direction, I rush back to the apartment.

When I enter the apartment door, Mom stands in the living room with her hands settled on her hips. “Where have you been?”

“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask.

She approaches me with urgency. “You answer
my
question! It’s after curfew!”

“I was with a friend, studying,” I say. Some truth coated my answer.

“What friend? Where? I communicated with Ogden. I even tried to reach you. I couldn’t connect to you. I thought the worst and …” Her eyes turn glassy.

“I’m fine. I was down the street.”

She shakes her head, forcing back tears. “I can’t handle anymore of this. You know how much stress I’m dealing with.”

“You think you’re alone in this? She’s my sister, and they’re going to kill her!” I yell.

She brings her hand up to her forehead and turns away from me. “We had a malfunction in the machine at work. They had to shut down the cannery for twenty-four hours while they work out the kinks. We’ll be short on credits this week.”

My throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to bed,” she says.

Mom walks away, her shoulders sagging with the weight of her grief and physical exhaustion. What can I do to help her? My actions only make matters worse.
God, please help me bring her comfort. Is this a prayer?
Do I have to speak it for God to hear me?

The CE officer’s pursuit replays in my mind. I have no idea how I found that corridor. Someone or something led me straight to it. Did God hear my thoughts? Did God lead me to the corridor?

In the hallway, I stop. Crying comes from behind Mom’s bedroom door.

Go to her
, an inaudible voice says.

I push open the door. She lay curled up in bed under the dim lamp light, sniffling and sobbing. I climb on the bed behind her, draw my arm around her, and pull her close. Her sobs grow louder for a moment, but they soon ease off. I hold her for a quiet eternity, until she drifts into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

G
ray clouds send scattered sunlight into every corner of Gideon, leaving nowhere for shadows to hide. Cold breezes carry a few dead leaves across the Gideonites’ booted feet. Bundled under my coat, I march along with the usual after-school crowd and Og at my side yammering on about his day. I have trouble entertaining our same, old conversations. Instead, God, the Bible, and Petra consume my thoughts.

“So you’re coming to dinner at the citizenship center, right?” Og asks.

I snap back to the moment. “I can’t,” I say, remembering my meeting with Arkin. “I have to study.”

He snorts. “Study? Since when do you study?”

“Sorry. I’ve got a lot going on.”

“This is the third week in a row you’ve ditched me.” He shakes his head and stops in his tracks. “It’s that guy, isn’t it?”

I stop and turn to him. “What?”

“Don’t play stupid!” His face shifts from its usual pale complexion to a flustered, rosy red.
His glasses might fog up.
“I see you two at lunch down in the courtyard every day. I sit right by the window in English class. If you two are playing kissy-face after school, then just say so!”

A lump forms in my throat. He’s telling the truth—not the kissy-face part—but I did talk to Arkin every day last week during lunch. With our friendship mending, Arkin fans my flames of hope for saving Petra every time we speak. I search for him at every opportunity, itching for the next conversation.

“We’re together now,” I say, “and I like to spend time with him after school.”

The red on his cheeks fades. “All you had to do was say so. What’s with the big secret? Is your mom uptight about him?”

I nod, dodging his incriminating stare.

“Have you seen your sister again?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I need to. Do you think you could talk to your dad for me?”

“I can try, but I can’t make any promises. You already owe me one as it is.”

We head up the staircase and into the apartment building.

“Dad says enemies are growing in numbers,” he says, stopping at the elevator. “We have to be careful. I know he’s your boyfriend, but something seems weird about him.”

“He’s not an enemy,” I say.

“He appeared almost out of nowhere in the middle of the school year. Isn’t that odd?”

“His dad had a job transfer,” I say, trying to maintain an even tone.

“Just keep your eyes and ears open,” he says, stepping into the elevator.

He stares at me as the doors close. My gut does a summersault.
He knows something more, something he’s not telling me. Do the authorities suspect Arkin?

I freeze in the entryway, dazed by Og’s warning.
Was that a hint of jealousy in his tone?
Perhaps putting off dinner with him is a bad idea.

Right on time, the door to the apartment building swings open behind me and that familiar face fills my view.

“Hey,” Arkin says. I don’t have enough time to wipe the concern from my face before he sees it. His smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t meet you tonight,” I whisper. “I need to go to dinner with Ogden’s family.”

He frowns, but his disappointment fades in a second. “Talk to his dad. Get another meeting with Petra.”

“I’ll do my best,” I say.

We part ways, and I hurry into the apartment to find Mom sitting on the sofa.

“How was your day?” I ask, dropping my backpack beside the sofa.

She turns to me, fingering a crumbled sheet of paper. “What’s this?”

All the breath leaves my lungs. It’s a list of questions for Arkin.

“I found it at school,” I say, reaching for the paper.

She removes it from my grasp. “I know your handwriting.”

“It’s nothing. Let me have it.” I keep my hand extended.

She crushes the paper into a ball. “You know better than to leave your trash on the floor.”

The volume of her voice increases with each word as if she wants to be heard by the cameras. She rushes up from the sofa, grabs my arm, and drags me into the bathroom. Shutting the door, she speaks in a harsh whisper, much like the way she spoke to Petra before the arrest.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she says. “Are they contacting you?”

“Who?” I try to yank out of her grip.

“You know who! The ones in the outskirts, the enemies,” she says, red-eyed and intense.

“No!” I hiss back.

“This is dangerous! This is enemy propaganda.”

She releases her grasp on my arm and leans back on the bathroom door, taking in a deep breath. She slides down the door and sits on the cold floor with her knees drawn up.
Should I tell her about Arkin? Should I explain to her about the Bible? Can I trust her?

The answer flies back in my face:
No.
Desperation and despair mark her demeanor. If I tell her about Arkin, she’ll rush to Og’s father to make a deal. She will hand Arkin and his fake parents over without even the slightest hesitation in order to save Petra’ life. I wonder why I haven’t taken such a course of action myself. It would be so easy. I could offer to trade three for one.

But I care too much for Arkin now, and I crave his knowledge. Petra’s words continue to haunt me,
“What I know is worth dying for.”
Sure, Petra could come home, but to what? She would return to a life of lies and monotony, all the while knowing her life cost three people theirs. My sister wouldn’t want that.

“I want to know what Petra is dying for,” I whisper.

“It's insanity, all of it.”

“This is Petra we're talking about,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “You will stay away from that enemy nonsense. Do you hear me? Do you want me to lose you too?”

I shake my head, eager to escape the tiny bathroom and Mom’s suffocating gu
ilt. “Can I go to dinner with Ogden?”

Her back straightens. “That's a good idea. Chief Penski won’t listen to me. See if you can talk sense into him.”

►▼◄

The pressure closes in on me, squeezing me as Arkin, Ogden, Petra, and Mom haunt my thoughts. Not s
ince my last end-of-grade test have I felt such pressure to perform. Now it’s my sister’s life on the line, not my education. How can I possibly persuade Chief Penski to let me in again? A million thoughts swirl in my brain like water spinning down a dark drain.

When I arrive at the Penskis’ apartment, they are exiting their stained glass door to take the short walk to the citizenship center.

“Hello, Raissa,” Mrs. Penski says, raising her finely-plucked eyebrows. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Rais! You changed your mind?” Og asks, not concealing his surprise and pleasure.

I shrug. “I owed you one, remember?”

He gawks with exaggeration. “How is
you
eating a free meal a favor to
me
?” He turns to his mom. “Will they let us bring two guests?”

“I have plenty of guest passes under my name,” she says, heading toward the elevator.

Og’s brothers follow their mother in a scattered line. Og and I march behind.

“What do you mean by two guests?” I ask Og. “Who else is coming?”

“You weren’t coming, so I invited someone else,” he says, pushing his glasses up his pointy nose. “Oddly enough, he was available.”

I stop in my tracks. “You invited Arkin?”

He shoots me one of his trademark smirks. “I thought it’d be nice to get to know the guy my best friend keeps ditching me for.”

My muscles tense like tree branches.
What is Ogden up to? Why did Arkin agree to come? Why didn’t I warn him about Og’s suspicions?

The apartment door closes several feet behind us, and Ogden’s father, in citizen coveralls, catches up. He drops a lead hand on my shoulder. “Good to see you,” he says. “I know the situation with your sister has made things … awkward between our families, but I want you to know you’re always welcome to join us for dinner.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on the chief’s. Penski appreciates two things: a firm handshake and strong eye contact. I check those off my list.

On the first floor, we meet Arkin who shakes hands with Og’s parents. The Penski boys flock to him and occupy all of his attention with questions about the sports he plays throughout the entire stroll to the citizenship center. Arkin converses with exaggerated interest, encouraging their curiosity. Despite his fan club, he manages to exchange a few glances with me. I wait, eager to warn him about Ogden as soon as the first opportunity arises.

After enduring Mr. Paulsen’s lengthy speech, we settle into the hall for dinner. They will soon serve steak, broccoli, and baked potatoes, a free meal I can’t wait to devour on a typical visit, but tonight worries about fulfilling my task and warning Arkin erase my appetite.

I gaze across the table at him. The boys once again vie for his attention, so I wait for the right moment to signal him.

“Boys, why don’t you go sit at the next table so the Guzmans can join us for dinner?” Mrs. Penski says.

“Can’t Arkin sit with us?” Kory asks with a pout.

“Give him a rest. We’d like to talk with him too,” Mrs. Penski says.

The boys relocate to a nearby table, much to my relief, and I take my shot. “I need to go wash my hands.”

I rise from the table, meeting eyes with Arkin. He gets the hint. “Me too.”

We meet outside the hall doors near the bathrooms.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I thought I might be able to help,” he whispers.

I glance over my shoulder at the camera in the corner behind us, its lens twisting to focus. “Og is suspicious of you. I think his dad might be too.”

“I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

I swallow, remembering one more detail I have to share with him. “I told him we were … together.”

He looks bewildered for a moment, but then his creamy cheeks turn a soft shade of red. He glances at the floor. “Okay.”

My face grows warm, so I rush into the girls’ bathroom and wash my hands. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. No makeup. A few strands of hair don’t lay quite flat with the others. I comb the strands down with my fingers and take a step back.

Me and Arkin? What was I thinking? He’s too cute for me. Too charming.
Guilt creeps into my chest in that suffocating way.
Petra is going to be executed and all I can think about is my stupid crush?

When I return to the table, the food has been served and the Guzmans sit next to Ogden’s parents.

“Hey there, Raissa,” Mr. Guzman says with his trademark smile.

“Hi, Mr. Guzman,” I say, taking the open seat between him and Arkin.

“The steak is excellent as usual,” Mr. Guzman says, shoveling a forkful into his mouth.

I cut my steak, pondering over how I could bring up the topic of seeing my sister and when it would be most appropriate. I chew my steak and allow my eyes to wash over the table. Beatty sits across from me, glancing at Arkin. She doesn’t look at him the way she looks at the rest of us. A shot of jealousy stings my veins.

“Chief Penski,” Arkin says, “what is it like being chief of CE?”

I could have choked on my steak.
Why is he drawing attention to himself?

The chief releases a hearty laugh and turns to Mr. Guzman. “That’s the question of the year. How do I answer that one?”

Mr. Guzman wipes his mouth with his napkin. “According to you, it’s like being sent through a meat grinder.”

The two men laugh, and the wives watch on, smiling and shaking their heads. Beatty rolls her eyes, nibbles some baked potato, and returns her attention to Arkin.

“But really, Arkin,” Chief Penski says, “it’s an honor and a privilege to serve the city-state like my forefathers. It’s hard work, though. It’d be loads easier without those enemies to worry about.”

Arkin flinches. Mrs. Penski jabs her husband with her elbow and gives him a warning glance. He returns his attention to his food.

“So your sister’s an enemy?” Beatty asks, pointing her sharp eyes at me.

“Beatty, that’s inappropriate,” Mrs. Guzman says, keeping her voice low.

“Why? I want to know about them!” Beatty yells, causing the citizens at the nearest tables to glance at her.

“You’ve been eavesdropping again on me and your mother,” Mr. Guzman says. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

I can’t let go of Beatty’s words. Why can’t we talk about it? Why not appeal to Chief Penski right now?

“My sister
is
an enemy,” I say, putting down my fork. “She’s in custody, and I need to see her again.”

The chief stares at me, and his jaw tightens. I have him cornered.

“We should discuss this in private,” he says.

“I think Raissa should be able to see her,” Arkin says.