Internment(43)

“Why? Why do we have to sit around and take it like it’s all okay? Did you not see what I saw last night? I wish everyone would stop acting like this is all normal. It’s not normal.” I raise my voice more than I should.

“Layla.” My dad’s voice is even as ever, cognizant of the camera and of being watched. “Your mother is simply saying that we should do our best to make a community here. Before you know it, we’ll be back at home.”

I understand why my parents put on a show for the cameras, but I can’t stand it anymore. I’m scared they’ll start believing what they’re saying.

“What if we never get out of here? What if we die in here? People died in American internment camps during World War Two, and I’d rather die fighting back than going along with everything.” I’m so weary of the ever-present gaze. Fury courses through my veins. But I’m being reckless, and that’s dangerous for my parents—and for me.

There’s a fire raging inside me, and I feel like I could burst into a million tiny embers. I look at my mom’s face; her fatigue is painful to witness. I know I’m part of the reason she looks that way. I dig my fingernails into my palms and press until it hurts. I look at the deep red crescents my nails made in my skin.

I sigh and take a shaky breath.

I promised Ayesha that I’d be careful. And that I wouldn’t do something stupid and rash. It’s a show. I can’t forget that.

I bite my lip. “Sorry, Mom and Dad. You’re right. I was being stupid. I didn’t mean it.”

My mom clasps my hands, and my dad’s hands rest on top of hers. It strikes me that the look in their eyes—the one I don’t remember existing until we got to this place—is a unique kind of fear: You wonder if you’ll ever see your kid again when they step out the door. There are layers to fear, and complexities, and being trapped here brings that to light.

I tell my parents I’m meeting Ayesha, but it’s a lie, and it’s for their own good. I kiss them good-bye, giving them a little wave at the door.

Stepping outside, I nearly trip down the stairs because Jake is standing by my front door and totally startles me.

“Sorry,” he says, catching me by the elbow before I fall to the ground. I look up at him. He pulls his hands away immediately. “I’ve been waiting for you to come out.”

We planned to see each other so I could give Jake the note, but I didn’t realize he meant that he was going to be stalking my front doorstep. Also, he seems anxious, which is unusual.

I adjust the hem of my T-shirt and straighten my hair. “Awkward” is the first word that comes to mind right now. I look around and reach into my back pocket. Jake puts his palm up, stopping me.

“Come with me. Don’t ask questions.”

I hesitate, thinking of my conversation with Ayesha and Soheil. Maybe I really have read everything wrong. Why does he seem so nervous? I keep telling Ayesha and Soheil that I trust my gut about Jake. I told David, too. But what if my gut is totally wrong? What if Ayesha was right the first time she warned me about him? I hate doubting myself. A part of me wonders if maybe I am foolish for trusting him; I follow Jake anyway. If my instinct is wrong, and he has only been gaining my trust to bust me, then he can drag me away anytime he wants to.

Jake marches me right through the middle of camp. Greeting and saluting the other guards. Nonchalant. Like he has orders to take me somewhere. Maybe he does. We walk past the Hub and head straight for the Mess.

The Mess is only open for dinner. We do our other meals on our own with whatever rations they give us, which are usually ridiculous. The other day there was a bottle of ketchup in our food box, and on the itemized list it was marked as a vegetable. A vegetable. First of all, tomatoes are fruit, but anyway, ketchup is a condiment with, like, zero nutritional value. But I guess that is not their big concern here.

“Why are we going to the Mess? Are you going to let me steal some extra mayonnaise packets? Mayo counts as, like, what? Eggs?”

Jake gives me the side-eye but doesn’t respond to my snark, which I’ve been trying to suppress, in large part for my parents’ peace of mind. But it’s impossible to keep all of myself totally hidden, even inside Mobius, where showing too much of yourself can get you hurt, or disappeared.

The lights are off in the Mess. It’s echoey and eerie, like it’s haunted. Why does he want me in here? Goose bumps rise on my skin. He’s quiet. Too quiet.

Jake walks to the back of the kitchen and gestures for me to follow. I do, tentatively, but keep some distance. I’m hyperaware of how far the exits are, and I calculate how fast I’d have to run to get clear of here if I needed to. The kitchen is dark, and Jake opens a closet door.

“Jake. Corporal Reynolds. I don’t understand what—” I stumble back a little.

“Layla.” David steps out of the darkness.

My mouth drops open. David is wearing a khaki jumpsuit with the Exclusion Authority patch on his short sleeve.

“What the hell?” I look from David to Jake, utterly bewildered.

“I’ll leave you two alone. But you don’t have a lot of time. The sanitation trucks leave in fifteen minutes. You have five in here.” Jake walks into the dining area.

My heart stops for a second. My mind races. “David, what’s going on?” I whisper.

David sees me staring at his uniform. “Oh, this? Corporal Reynolds got me this uniform and arranged for me to sneak in here with the garbage-removal service.”