Internment(49)

“Layla, I’m an Exclusion Guard, but that’s not all. I’ve already said more than I should, put you at risk—”

“What does that mean? And why, why are you going along—” I’m bursting with questions and confusion, and my head feels woozy.

Jake takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. “I’m sorry,” he says in a gentle, low voice that catches me off guard. “I hate going along with it, but I have to for now. And I’m sorry if anything I’ve done or may do hurts you. The Director has to trust me; that’s why he’s having me keep an eagle eye on you. He thinks I have your confidence, and that I’ll inform him of anything suspicious. I have to play along for now. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.” His voice quiets to a whisper, and he gently wraps his fingers around my upper arm. I look down at his hands. Then he quickly pulls them away. I’m startled, but not afraid.

“I’m worried for me, too. For all of us. Most days there isn’t a moment I’m not scared, but there’s a fire burning all around me, and I can’t stand by and do nothing, and you should understand that. And isn’t what you’re doing putting you in danger?”

“I’m doing my duty, Layla. My sworn duty.”

“Well, I’m doing mine, too.” My voice is a squeak, and it makes me cringe.

Jake’s eyes soften. “I need you to understand. The Director? What he said to you the other day? He won’t be trifled with. He will hurt you, and I might not be able to stop him. And I can’t—”

Tears well in my eyes. “I know the Director can do things to us without anyone paying attention or caring, but if we don’t do something now, if we stay silent, what’s next? If we’re going to be disappeared anyway, we can’t go down without a fight.” When I hear the words in my mind, they sound brave, but coming out of my mouth they are weighted down by fear.

Jake rubs his forehead. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Remember, you’re not alone. There are dustups on the outside. Protests at the White House. People are talking. The Director is keeping that from you, from everyone, but it’s not silent out there. It’s loud, and getting louder.”

I muster a small smile. “All the more reason for us to rise up on the inside.” My voice breaks a little, and a tear trails down my cheek. “I’m terrified,” I whisper, and then clear my throat. I feel like I’m confessing something I shouldn’t. But I don’t know how to act strong, be strong all the time, when I’m mostly scared and alone and lonely. I look up at Jake, into his kind, warm eyes.

He hesitates. Reaches his arms out slightly. Then I hug him. And he wraps his arms around me. And they feel safe. A part of me knows this isn’t right, but for this tiny moment I need human comfort, and Jake’s arms give me that. I want to draw from his strength to bolster my own as it wavers in fear of what the future holds.

But this also feels wrong. I open my eyes and push back against Jake, almost tripping over my shoes.

He steps back, and a look of dismay crosses his face. “Layla, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I shake my head, and words spill from my lips. “It’s this place. I feel so alone. I miss David so much. It’s like I’m in a crypt and the door is slowly being sealed shut. And I can’t hold it open. And no one can hear me screaming.”

I look at him and see a guy a few years older than me. Someone who, in a different world, would be walking across the same college campus, who might help me find my way the first week of freshman year, the handsome senior who’s the RA in my dorm. A friend. A confidant. But that world doesn’t exist. He’s a guard in my internment camp. That’s reality. It is my present, and I’m trying desperately to make sure it isn’t my future.

“You’re not alone, Layla. I’ll do everything I can to protect you. The Director believes me. He asked me to report on your activities, so I’ll be close by—as much as I possibly can.”

I mouth a silent thank-you. “I believe you. And we’re planning—”

“Stop. I know I asked, but don’t tell me. If I don’t know, they can’t get it out of me, no matter what.”

“Plausible deniability?” I ask. “That sounds so spy movie.” I manage a small smile, but I realize what he really means.

If you don’t know the truth, they can’t torture it out of you.





“Layla, do you want to walk with us toward the Hub?” my mom calls from outside my bedroom door. The burner David gave me clatters to the floor. Shit. “Are you okay?”

“Fine! Dropped my hairbrush. I’ll walk over with you guys. Gimme a second,” I yell while grabbing the phone and tucking it between my mattress and the wall. I still haven’t told Jake about it, and mostly I’ve been too scared to use it, and I can’t have the sound on, ever. I’m trying to save the precious minutes for emergencies. Honestly, though, life in here is one giant emergency. Calling feels too risky, but I’ve texted David and plan to meet him again. Today.

I check my front pocket for the hundredth time this morning. My next article, safely tucked inside. My green-and-purple Wimbledon shirt hangs over the waist of my jeans. When I walk out of my room, my parents are sitting at the table, finishing their tea. The small table abuts the wall of the trailer and sits beneath a window. This morning, the dust on the window filters the light as it beams in, bathing their daily routine in a kind of soft glow. Every time I step out in the morning and see them, they seem to have aged overnight, like sleep is actually draining life from them instead of recharging their batteries. I suppose that maybe they’re not sleeping at all. But right now, in this light, I’m reminded of an old photo in a small oxidized-silver frame that sits on my mom’s dresser. It’s them, but much younger, before I was born. Sometime when they first met. My mom says a friend took it when they were visiting Paris. They’re in a café, sitting at a small, round green table, next to a plate-glass window. Mom’s red-lacquered fingernails pop against the cream-colored coffee cup in her hands. My dad’s curly hair flops over one of his eyes. And he’s looking at her while she looks out the window, soft light falling on her face. Suddenly I realize how beautiful and perfect that photo is. A lump forms in my throat.