I imagined a Class of troublemakers. All I could picture was a room with a man at the front pointing to the blackboard saying, ‘Now what you need to do is rub the pencil all along the edges of the binoculars then get them to press it to their eyes…’
I was looking down at my feet, shaking my head at my own silliness, a prank class, yeah, that would be the dream, when I slammed straight into the gate of Ring Three, a metallic vibration pulsing through the air. Rust stains rubbed off onto my grey, wool jacket.
“Watch it! You’ll break it and then we’ll all be in trouble,” someone shouted. I looked up to see a smirking face staring down at me. He was sitting on one of the concrete posts that supported the gates, legs dangling casually.
I tried to dust the stains off my jacket, only managing to rub them in further. I sighed. I would be in more trouble when I returned home.
I stood at the gate for a good two minutes, staring blankly, rubbing my elbows, lost in thought. I held out my wrist to scan my tattoo so the gate would open, but the rusty piece of junk didn’t budge. Had I been denied access? I should be able to get all the way through to Ring Six without too much trouble. I realized that if I left at sixteen, I would never be granted access through gate Seven or Eight.
“Allow me,” the smirking boy said, as he jumped agilely from the concrete post, landing with a thump. He sidled up to me, a big smile on his face. He rattled the scanner and adjusted the beam. He grabbed my wrist, without asking, and put it at a funny angle until I heard the familiar, long beep and the latch of the gate retracting.
“Rosa Bianca,” the electronic voice spoke.
“Um, thanks,” I said. His warm hand was still clutched around my skinny wrist. I looked up at him coolly, “Can I have my hand back now?”
“Sure,” he said as he shook my stiff hand enthusiastically. I pulled back my arm sharply and pushed through the gate. I was not in the mood for company. I had a lot of searching through pointless options to do before I slunk home, just after dinner, so I didn’t have to talk to my mother about what I was thinking.
“Joseph Sulle,” the voice announced. I heard the gate shut and I quickened my pace towards the only place I knew I could really be alone. Loud, thumping footsteps followed behind me.
“Bianca? I know that name. Where are you from?” he asked, catching up to me with Big, thumping strides.
“Same as you, same as everyone,” I snarled, “Ring Three, Pau Brasil.” As I walked, I tied my hair back from my face, pulling it into a low ponytail.
“No, what’s your family background?” he laughed, infuriatingly. He didn’t seem to be getting my tone or he was ignoring it. This boy seemed glib and I didn’t appreciate his condescending question. I understood what he meant—I just didn’t want to talk to him.
“I don’t have a family,” I lied unconvincingly, quickening my pace. What did he care?
He matched my steps.
I spun around to look at him, my ponytail whipping me in the face, a mouthful of hair momentarily derailing my anger. I took his large frame in. He seemed much taller and broader than most of the boys in Ring Three. He stood a good foot and a half over me and he was big. Not fat, just tall and well-muscled. His face was strong and older looking, with a sharp, chiseled jaw and a slightly crooked nose. His long, light eyelashes framed green, staring eyes that had no compunction about continuing to stare.
His hair and skin was lighter than most people in Pau. He didn’t even have a hint of a tan and his hair, which was falling in his eyes, was blonde and curly. Not tight, ringlet curls, just a gentle, golden wave of thick shiny hair that made its way over his ears, and stopped above his neck. When he looked up, the curls linked into each other, like the weave of a basket across his brows. When he disturbed those gentle links, loose curls would fall in his eyes. He probably attracted a lot of attention, with his pretty eyes and incessant smiling. He was handsome, but irritatingly so, and I wished he would divert his attention away from me.
“You mean, you don’t have a family anymore,” he said in a more serious tone. “I’m sure you had one, maybe you just lost it.” His eyes showed a winking concern. Or maybe pity? This made me even more furious. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that—I knew where my family was. I hadn’t lost them like a misplaced library book. I just knew I needed to start letting them go and also, it was none of his business.
“What’s your father’s name?”
I looked at him suspiciously, narrowing my eyes, wishing I had a weapon of some kind. Why was he asking me so many questions?
“Whoa!” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, Miss, I am not the secret police or anything, just curious. You look very familiar to me. Something about those beautiful eyes…”
Ugh! My eyes. The topic of much discussion. The source of much unwanted attention. I hated them. My mother had brown eyes, brown hair, and dark skin. I looked just like her, dark and slight, but with different eyes. They were my father’s eyes. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of the man who left us. The man I had few memories of, but who was kind enough to leave his eyes. A genetic oddity I could never escape. I hated my father and I hated my eyes. He was to blame for bringing Paulo into our lives. He was to blame for what was happening to me now. I could feel tears rising. I wiped my face with my sleeve, tasting rust, and glared at the boy.
“Look, leave me alone, I’m not who you think I am. I am…” And that was it. I ran a few meters away from the confused boy and collapsed on the ground. Who cared if he saw me crying? I had every right to be upset. But I was ashamed at myself for being so emotional. My mother would never behave like this, which only made it worse. My life was about to change forever and this boy was harassing me about my eyes. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed. I could barely breathe for how hard I was crying. My whole body shook in jerky movements, like I couldn’t calm my limbs down or make them do what I wanted them to do.
I felt a warm, heavy hand on my back, patting me softly, awkwardly. I let it sit there. I felt drained, no more fight left in me. I let it all out and, thankfully, he didn’t say a word.
Over the next couple of weeks, I skipped school. I went through the motions, which seemed to satisfy my mother. If she had any idea I was ditching, she certainly didn’t let on. I packed my bag, took my lunch off the kitchen table, and walked to the school. I scanned my wrist and the large, ornate, wrought-iron school gate swung open slowly. The carved picture of the Pau Brasil tree rattled in the center as the gate came to a halt. I just stood there and waited for it to close again without walking through, watching other students running to class as the bell rang out. I doubted whether my teachers’ cared if I was there or not. Being the class troublemaker, I’m sure my absence was welcome. Instead, I had been walking to the factory every day.
After registering my presence at the school, I always made my way to the gate of Ring Three, hiding behind bushes if I saw anyone I knew, which was few. Everyone worked or cared for children. Most preferred to work. It was unusual for people to be wandering the streets after nine AM. It was exhilarating not being at school, having some measure of freedom, and it was definitely fun knowing I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to.
Joseph was always there, sitting on the concrete pole, waiting, ready to help me through the gate. He didn’t ask about what had happened at our first meeting and I never volunteered to tell him.
The first few times he just helped me through, smiling and always holding my wrist a little too long. I always thanked him, bowed my head, and walked on through—trying not to blush at the extended contact.
After a few days, he announced that he was going to walk with me. I shrugged and let him follow in silence. I could tell he was bursting to speak but he kept quiet. I appreciated his restraint. I wasn’t ready yet.
We walked until we came to the next wall. Menacingly high and straight as an arrow, the giant concrete structure towered over us. It showed no signs of wear although I knew it had
stood there for at least two hundred years. We followed the curve along for a while. I let my hand trail along the cool, hard surface, sanding my fingertips, until we got to the next gate through to Ring Five. I knew he wanted to follow me, I knew he wanted to ask me a hundred questions—so I stopped him.
“Thanks for the company.” I tried to smile, but my face felt awkward and hot.
He stifled a laugh at my pathetic attempt. “Anytime!” And he sauntered off in the other direction, his hand in a backwards wave like he was indifferent. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.
His attitude infuriated and fascinated me. I couldn’t quite work out why I was even letting him be so close. Part of it was he was so different to what I was used to. In my life, in my home, everything was so serious. For whatever reason, Joseph was able to see the lighter side of things and, reluctantly, I gravitated towards him, just a little.
He kept meeting me at the gate to Ring Three and accompanying me. We started to talk.
“Yeah, I live in Ring Five,” he said chirpily, looking at me from under a curtain of hair.
“That’s funny, I don’t remember asking you that,” I said, pursing my lips.
He bumped my shoulder, sending me flying into the wall.
“Ouch, was that really necessary?” I grimaced, rubbing my shoulder. I looked at the grey concrete—if only my impact would damage it. I would like to have seen a small crumble, some evidence that it was made by humans and didn’t grow out of the earth an unbreakable, natural force.
“Sorry,” he grinned. He wasn’t sorry.
I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. “Yeah well, watch it, you’re huge. Much bigger and stronger than me. I don’t think you know your own strength.” I watched him loping ahead of me. This was stupid; Joseph was eighteen and would be shipped off to the Classes pretty soon. Soon he would be gone and even if I went with him, we would be separated. Flirting or whatever this was would have a nasty end.
I shook my head and kept walking. I didn’t like thinking about the future. Mostly because I knew I didn’t have much of one, unlike Joseph, who went to the bigger, nicer high school in Four where everyone was being groomed for places in the Middles or Uppers of the Classes. My school had every kid from ages five-eighteen crammed into the one building. We were not groomed for places in Technology or Medical. We didn’t even have a computer in our school. We were going to be the janitors, the rubbish collectors. I sighed, as I knew there would be no place for me in the Uppers with Joseph. I would aim for Middles.
“What’s wrong?” Joseph was leaning against the wall, his knee up and his hands behind his head. Looking like the cowboy printed on one of the very, very old cans of corn that routinely showed up in our pantry. All he needed was a twig of wheat sticking out of his mouth.
I was standing still for a long time, my head cocked to the side as I likened this boy to the label on the creamed corn—he had the strong arms, the golden hair. I wonder if we could find him a hat? Joseph snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Rosa, hello? What are you thinking?”
My face flushed red and I waved him away. “Nothing. You’re just such a poser,” I snorted. I wasn’t about to tell him I was pondering on how beautiful he was.
Joseph shifted his weight self-consciously and waited for me to catch up. I realized I was being a bit rude. So of course I continued to be ruder still.
“Why are you so pale? I mean, you look like you haven’t seen the sun in years,” I said mockingly.
He held his arm in front of his face, studying his own skin.
“My parents are from Birchton and Radiata,” he said frowning, His strong brows pulled towards each other like he was focusing on a speck on the ground. Made sense, those towns were renowned for being full of beautiful, blonde people.
“Ooh,” I said mockingly. “Are they both blonde like you? If so, that’s quite the scandal.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and ran his hand through his hair. He seemed uncomfortable talking about them and he quickly turned the conversation on me. “Why are you so dark? You look like you’ve been dipped in chocolate,” he said mischievously, then added, “Although I wouldn’t mind that!” His lips curled as he kept some joke I didn’t understand to himself.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
Ugh! “What’s chocolate?” I asked impatiently. I think he enjoyed irritating me.
He slapped his thigh and chuckled. “Oh my God, Rosa, you really are deprived.”
I scowled at him and crossed my arms across my chest. My mouth snapped shut like a trap and I kept it that way, letting him chatter endlessly about himself. Until he turned around, intent on rattling a response out of me.
“And I hate fish and I my favorite color is blue,” he said, grinning. “Now I want to know something about you.” He pointed his index finger at my chest, stopping short of touching me.
“You hate fish! Here I thought you loved everything; you’re always so damn happy all the time!” I snorted. He just looked at me with his soft green eyes. Being under his gaze felt like being in a spotlight, the rest of the world becoming dark and unfocused.
I avoided his eyes, looking at my hands and picking at a cracked fingernail. I wondered what I could tell him. I wanted it be something real. “Umm, I’m terrible at sewing. My mother’s always trying to teach me but I am god awful at it.”
“You’re bad at sewing? Ha! Well, that was unexpected.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was expecting you to repeat your Ring Three, Pau Brazil spiel.”
I was upset that he thought he could predict what I was going to say. He didn’t know me.
“You don’t know me, what makes you think you can….” He cut me off.
“It’s fine, Rosa, you don’t have to get angry. I was just trying to say… Good, thank you for telling me something real about yourself.”
“Don’t cut me off!” I had forgotten what I was going to say. “What do you care anyway?” I was on the offensive, the impulsive, bubbling side of me pushing through.
“I don’t know. I just do. I thought maybe you could use a friend. And for some unknown reason I like you.” He confessed it like it was a crime. I suppose it was unlikely. Every other kid in my school was afraid of me. No one wanted to know me because I caused so much trouble. My attitude towards the Superiors was barely hidden. I made a lot of jokes that they laughed at but that was all. People always kept me at a distance, never wanting to get closer, in case they got included in the punishments that always followed my behavior.
I just glared at him for a while, my shoulders hunched and tensed. Recognizing my terrible posture, I relaxed a little. “Yeah, I guess I am pretty hard to like,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“You’re just hard to know,” Joseph sighed.
“It’s not like you’ve told me anything real about yourself.”
“What do you want to know? Ask me anything.” Open and honest, as I expected.
“Umm, why aren’t you at school?” I knew why I was avoiding it but it seemed unlikely that he was just waiting around to see me.
“I’m in the waiting period.” Of course, he was eighteen. He was leaving soon. The Superiors would give him and his parents eighteen days to spend with each other. A token amount of time to say their goodbyes and prepare themselves.
“So why aren’t you with them now?”
“It’s too sad—they’re too sad.” He breathed in deeply and considered his response. “Who wants to be around all that weeping and fussing anyway!” he said, attempting to cover his obvious pain.
“At least they will miss you; mine just want me out of the house.”
“They won’t miss me, Rosa, they will grieve me. I am never coming back. Your parents will grieve you too when you go. But you’ve got some time. You could talk to them.” He nudged me with his elbow.
“I don’t have time. I’ll be gone soon too,” I said. I thought about eighteen days s
tuck at home with my mother and Paulo—what a joke! We’d kill each other.
“What?” he sounded half-surprised, reacting less than I would have expected. This kind of thing was a scandal. Maybe he already knew.
I started to retell what had happened to me. Joseph listened intently and waited until I had finished before speaking.
“Wow, so you have a big decision to make.” His eyes looked down kindly at me as he reached over to touch my face. I moved away. My heart was jumping around in my chest. I could see that maybe we could be friends. That we could talk. It felt nice to have someone in my life who didn’t want me to be somebody else, who wasn’t afraid or critical of me. Anything more than that was impossible. He was leaving soon and even if I left with him, we would certainly be separated, eventually. So it needed to be left there.
But what I wanted was confused. I pushed the ‘want’ side of me down, like compressing the rubbish so you can fit more in the bin, the sides of the bag starting to split a little.
He didn’t seem upset or offended. He just took a step back, his strong arms by his sides, and looked at me intently. “So, aren’t you going to ask me about your father? I brought it up when we first met and you’ve never said anything else about it.”
“You don’t know my father. So why would I ask?” I shrugged. There was no way he knew my father. I was not even sure he was alive. Mother said he had disappeared. It seemed unlikely that he was just living somewhere in the Rings.
“Sure I do, his name is Lenos Bianca. He teaches at my school. History.”
I felt a balloon of interest floating up. “How do you know he’s related to me?” I asked. My father’s name was Pelo. It was not him. It couldn’t be.
“One brown eye, one blue eye, right?” Joseph looked at me questioningly, leaning away. He looked like he was ready to take a few more steps back. Waiting for me to explode.
“That could be him, I guess.” I popped the balloon in front of me. Whatever I was feeling, I ignored it. If it was him, I would be furious. How could he have been living so close and never come find me? And if it wasn’t him, that anger would shatter into sharp splinters of disappointment. The point was nothing could be gained from following this path. Nothing at all.