“Yeah it was weird,” I agreed vaguely, trying not to notice what was going on.
Don’t look up, I thought. Ignore her and get on with your work. She isn’t your problem.
But curiosity took hold and I looked. It was a violent scene. The blonde girl had her hands around Elena’s throat and I heard her swearing, there was ferocity on her face and I was shocked. Elena’s hands clawed at the blonde girl, panicked. Her other friend with the caramel skin took Elena’s school work and threw it in the air before stamping it into the mud. They all laughed, the blonde girl pushed her to the ground, and they left her scrabbling in the grass, trying to collect her work.
My first thought was a bitter one, glad that she now knew what it was like to lose control. I watched as she struggled, remembering how it made me feel, and I tried to force myself not to care. She looked so small in the mud. I cursed myself in frustration.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I said to Angela.
“Where are you going?” she called to me as I walked away from the trestle table.
I didn’t answer. I just kept walking. In little over twenty steps I was stood over her, the girl who pushed my head into a toilet, who humiliated me in front of the entire school. She was the girl who I didn’t think had emotions or weaknesses. Yet, there she was, crying; black eyeliner running down her face.
“Have you come to gloat?” she said. She tried to inject cruelty into her voice but it came out more like a pathetic whimper. “Please don’t. Whatever it is you came over here to do, please don’t. I can’t take any more.”
I crouched and held out my hand. “I came to help you up.”
“What?” She looked up and I noticed how much softer her features became when she was upset. It made her even more beautiful. She put her hand in mine. “Why would you do this?”
“Come on,” I said, “let’s pick these up.” We bent over and collected the fragments of her homework. I read the title An Essay on Why the GEM Project has Saved Britain. “Sounds interesting.”
“It’s stupid,” she said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her top. “All my work is stupid.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” I balanced her textbooks on my wrist and arranged them into some sort of order. The books were called things like psychology and biology, things the Blemished never learned. “Why were your friends acting like that?”
“Clarissa thinks I bad mouthed her to a London agent.”
“Did you?”
“No! I wouldn’t do that,” she answered, seeming genuinely offended.
“Yet you almost drowned me in a toilet.” I handed her the books, ready to walk away.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I…” the bell rang for GEM classes. “It’s hard to explain.” Her eyes mellowed and for the first time I saw a human being. “My friends were about to turn on me. I had to do something to keep hold of them…” But then her features hardened again, erasing the brief glimpse of vulnerability. “Then you had to go and get Mr Big involved.”
I frowned. “Sebastian’s father?”
Elena looked around us nervously. “Yes him,” she snapped. “You shouldn’t even talk to me.”
“Fine,” I said with a scowl. “I’ll never feel sorry for you again.” I turned my back.
“Mina, wait,” she said in a strained voice. “I really am sorry. You’ve got no idea how hard it is sometimes.”
I snorted. “Of course I do. I’m Blemished.”
I left her holding her mud stained schoolwork and made my way back over to the trestle table. Predictably, Billie was waiting for me.
“Stop stirring up trouble with the GEMs,” she said before I could even get back to my seeds.
“I was just helping her out.”
“Why would you help out the girl who bullied you?”
“She has a point there,” Angela added. “I don’t understand it either. You said you hated her.”
I shrugged, unsure myself and very aware of the faces around me expecting some sort of answer. But then, as my mouth flapped open and shut, I was interrupted by an ear-splitting scream; a terrible rasping cry of pain.
11
It was Emily. I think that’s why it was so shocking – she was always so quiet. She screamed again and it was a groan, a primal, horrible noise that came from somewhere inside her body and erupted out of her like lava from a volcano. I turned to see her doubled over the table, clutching her stomach. Billie and I dashed to her side. Angela followed. The rest of the class crowded around, staring at us.
“Emily!” Billie said urgently, taking hold of her sister’s hand. “Where does it hurt?”
She didn’t answer, only gripped her sister tightly. I stood staring at the girl in pain, transfixed. My muscles had frozen.
“I’ll get Mrs Murgatroyd,” said Angela. “She’ll know what to do.”
“No!” Billie shouted in Angela’s shocked face. “You can’t.” With her free hand she clasped hold of Angela in a panic. Her eyes were wide and crazy. “You have to promise not to get her.”
“Okay, I promise. But Murder-Troll is going to hear…,” Angela looked across at Emily warily and said in a very quiet voice, “and she needs help.”
Billie’s lips trembled. “Emily is going to be fine. Aren’t you sis? Let’s straighten you up.”
Billie attempted to help her sister stand straight but Emily grunted and clutched her stomach. It was only then that I noticed a swelling around her belly.
“It’s coming,” Emily muttered. “It’s coming and they are going to take us away.”
“What’s coming?” said Angela.
Everything clicked into place and I could not believe that I hadn’t put the pieces together sooner – the weight gain, Billie’s protectiveness, the way Billie didn’t like me staring at her sister. Then I realised that Billie hadn’t been picking on me. All this time she had just been protecting her sister’s secret. She knew I would attract attention to Emily or figure it out.
“The baby,” I mumbled. “No, that can’t be… they don’t… you can’t… you’ll be…” I clamped a hand over my mouth. They would arrest her.
Billie began to cry. She stroked her sister’s sweaty forehead. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t do this anymore.”
I saw the bags under her eyes. For months Billie had carried the burden of her sister’s secret.
“Emily,” I said. “Are the pains contractions?”
“I think so,” she said. “My legs are all wet… water came out…” Her eyes widened – the whites large and protruding. Her fingers trembled against the trestle table.
I tried to think clearly. Childbirth should not exist, not any more – we are the last. No one has ever taught us anything about it. But I had overheard the mums of my friends in Area 10 talking about their labour and I knew enough to know that what Emily said wasn’t good.
“Are the pains close together?” I asked.
“I feel… like… I’m getting them… every few seconds,” she said between long, wretched, deep breaths.
Angela snapped out of a trance. “She’s having a baby?”
I turned to my friend. “Can you get everyone else away from Emily apart from Billie? She needs space.”
Angela nodded and herded the rest of the Blemished away.
“It hurts, Billie,” Emily whimpered. “I just want the pain to stop.”
“Shhhh… I know. I know,” Billie soothed.
“You don’t understand,” Emily said. “I don’t want you to protect me anymore.”
“Don’t say that.” Billie’s voice trembled with emotion. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks and it pulled at my heart to see someone so fierce turn so vulnerable. “Don’t give up. We’ll think of something. I promise––”
“No!” Emily said firmly. She gripped her stomach and lurched forward against the trestle table. After recovering she turned to her sister and said, “No more promises. It’s too late now. Just let them take me.”
&nb
sp; Billie looked up at me. Tears streamed down her face. Her eyes begged me. “Help us get away.”
I swallowed. “Billie, Emily can’t run, not like this. She could deliver at any moment. Anything could happen. If she doesn’t get any medical attention,” I softened my voice, “she could die.”
Billie let go of her sister for just a moment to grasp my shoulders and shake me. “Don’t you get it? She’s dead anyway. They both are.” She sobbed and I pulled her into my collarbone. She broke away after a few seconds and went back to Emily.
“Murder-Troll is coming,” Angela called to me.
She was right. Our teacher approached with no-nonsense long strides. The woman’s gaze locked into mine and her pace accelerated. Billie turned to me and the last glimmer of hope faded from her eyes. Sadness settled in my stomach like a heavy stone. I felt helpless, frustrated and angry that I couldn’t help them.
“I can maybe give you time,” I said.
Billie nodded sincerely. “Thank you.”
“Run,” I said.
Billie wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. Then she turned back to her sister and grabbed her under her arms. With a loud sob Emily managed to straighten and Billie coaxed her into walking. Mrs Murgatroyd picked up her pace. Her sharp, eagle-eyes turned and I saw that the realisation of what was happening hit her. There was no time. I had only seconds to do something to give Billie and Emily a chance. Mrs Murgatroyd only needed to reach into her pockets to call the School Enforcers to take them away. My only hope would be to use my gift, but I didn’t know how to direct it properly.
I thought back to the moment I flipped the tray at Elena. Like my dad said, I had to get angry. I thought about Mrs Murgatroyd calling Emily fat and telling us all that obesity would die when we died. I thought about how the Enforcers would take Emily and her baby away. I thought about how unfair it was that Billie would lose her sister and Emily would lose her baby, maybe her life. I thought about living in a world where innocent babies and young girls were killed unjustly. I thought about all of the rage inside me and before long I felt heat running down my arms and tickle my fingers.
Mrs Murgatroyd approached us and I knew exactly what to do. Using every bit of energy in my body I channelled all of that rage into flipping the table. I closed my eyes and concentrated on just that one thing. It rattled. Next to me Angela tensed. More heat seared through me and with the last burst it pulsed through my mind, as though all of the synapses, the little filament things my dad talked about, exploded all at once and I opened my eyes to see the table flipping, tossing seed trays as it did so, and knocking Mrs Murgatroyd to the ground. Gardening gloves, soil and trowels rained down on top of her.
And then I was hollow. I fell with my legs collapsing beneath me. Angela knelt by my side in the damp grass.
“Are you all right?” Angela asked, crouching.
I looked behind her at Billie and Emily. They were approaching the gate. Emily waddled, holding her belly while Billie dragged them along.
“Please make it,” I whispered. “Please. Please.”
Mrs Murgatroyd got up. She kept her distance from Emily but she knew exactly what was going on. She took out her Plan-it and tapped into the screen. I tried to focus more of my energy and whipped the Plan-It out of her fingers. Mrs Murgatroyd frowned and dropped to the ground, searching for it. Emily screamed out in pain and collapsed to the ground halfway between the lawn and the school gate. Before I could do anything else the Enforcers were dashing around the corner. They brought a wheelchair with them as though it had been there waiting for something like this to happen.
Billie sat on the ground next to her sister and their foreheads touched. I saw their lips moving and knew that they were saying their goodbyes to each other. It was over.
“They didn’t make it,” I whispered. I put my head in my hands. I’d failed.
“At least they got to say goodbye,” Angela said. “Are you all right? What you did was amazing.”
I frowned. “I just wish it was enough.”
Angela squeezed my shoulder. “You did what you could.”
Billie screamed and lashed out but it was pointless of her to try. Emily grasped hold of her sister’s hand until the end, tears raining down her cheeks. The Enforcers had to pull her onto the chair and Emily clutched her belly, screaming. As they took her away she turned back and I swore that I would never forget the sight of her face; red, blotchy, pained, tiny, young.
12
School finished in a blur. The other Blemished carried on in silence, some quietly weeping. Later, the Enforcers came back for Billie. They took her away for questioning.
After school Angela and I walked to her house. It was supposed to be the night of our first slumber party. Before the Enforcers took Emily I’d imagined us planning our night on the walk home, telling stories under the duvet and sharing secrets. But now we were numb.
It took a while for Angela to say the words we were both thinking, and what the entire school must have been thinking, including the GEMs – who’d watched the scene unfold with their noses pressed up against the glass of the school windows. She said, “What will they do with the baby?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. It was the truth. “I’ve never known anyone be taken away. I’ve never even seen a pregnant woman before.”
Angela blinked away tears. We both had faces puffed out from crying. “Will they kill it?”
“I don’t know,” I said, trying not to think of the pregnant girl on Twitching Sunday and how her body danced, “maybe.”
“What about Emily? Will she come back?”
“Look, I don’t know, all right? They’ll probably kill them both.” I snapped.
Angela stifled a sob. I stopped walking and grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her close to me. She wrapped her arms around me and cried into my collar bone.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just feel all hollowed out.”
“It’s okay,” she said between sobs. “I feel like that too.”
“Just, don’t ever end up like that. Okay?” I sighed. “If they did that to you––”
“I won’t,” she said. “But don’t you either. Don’t let Sebastian––”
“I won’t,” I interrupted. “I promise.”
She moved away from me and held out her little finger, hooked at the joint. “When I was little Daniel and me used to swear with like this.”
I laughed.
We joined fingers, my pale skin like milk against her dark skin. “I swear, Angela. I swear that I’ll always look out for you.”
We broke away awkwardly, neither quite sure what to say after something so silly yet so earnest. “What happens now?” I asked.
“Now it’s time for our slumber party.” She smiled.
*
Theresa busied herself in the kitchen. We didn’t tell her about Emily. Angela worried that depressing news might tip her over the edge. We walked on egg-shells around her. Any mention of Angela’s dad could trigger an old memory and it flipped a switch turning her into a vague zombie. I watched her and thought about what my mum would have been like if she hadn’t run away to London. Sometimes I even thought about her being better off dead. I shivered, that was no way to think.
“I’ve not made you any mint tea,” Theresa said.
“You did, Mum, just a few minutes ago,” said Angela.
Theresa smiled broadly. “Of course I did. I’m so forgetful these days.” She left the room laughing to herself and Angela’s smile tightened.
I leaned over and held her hand. We were in Angela’s lounge, settled into her floral sofa. The TV screen showed a GEM beauty contest. Beautiful, tall, slim girls not much older than us paraded around a stage in bikinis while the audience voted on which of them was the thinnest. The winner received an agent in London, one of the best apparently. The flamboyant TV presenter wrapped a tape measure around a girl’s waist and frowned. The girl started crying.
“What do y
ou think the GEMs get to watch on TV?” I said. “Do you think it’s the same? Or do you think they watch the films? Does anyone watch the films?”
News reports always told us that London made spectacular films, that the talent from the GEMs could not be equalled in the rest of the world. Apparently their entertainment industry was unrivalled. But we never actually saw any of it.
Angela rested her head against her knees, pulling her feet up underneath her body, as though thinking. “I guess they must. Otherwise what would be the point in it all?”
“Do you think they pay extra for the films?”
“Maybe.”
“Someone has to see them. Unless they don’t even make them.”
Angela looked at me and then back at the television. “But… all the competitions…”
“What if it’s all for pretend? What if they don’t make any films at all?” I leaned in closer, speaking more softly. My dad’s words echoed in my mind about the screens. “When someone is picked for London, do you ever see them again?”
“I dunno,” Angela replied. “There’s never anyone picked for London in Area 14. Most of the GEMs just get jobs in shops or hospitals.”
“Doesn’t it all seem a bit weird to you?”
“I’ve never really thought about it before.” She turned back to the TV screen where a frighteningly thin girl with blonde hair jumped up and down. She’d just been crowned Miss Skinny of Area 7. “Do you think they would really lie to us like that?”
I nodded. “After today? After what they did to Emily? Absolutely.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said with a sigh.
In the kitchen a door opened and closed and I heard Daniel’s voice as he greeted his adoptive mother. Angela heard it too and I saw the smile that spread across her face. Then Theresa’s voice replied, muffled. It sounded wrong, too loud and rushed.
“Angie! Oh, Angie. Your Father is home!” Theresa called. I heard the pad of her bare feet across the tiles of the kitchen. “Come quick. Come quick.”
Angela jumped up. “No, Mum, it’s Daniel.”
“What kind of fool do you think I am,” snapped Theresa. “I know my own husband.”