Internment(50)

I walk over and kiss each of them on the cheek. My mom smiles at me, and my dad takes my hand. “I have something for you,” he says, then hands over a paperback, its edges frayed and bent.

“Persuasion?” I say.

My dad nods. “The selection in the Hub library is not extensive, but there are some quality older titles in there. I think you’ll really like this story. And don’t you think it’s time you got back to your regular studies?”

I knit my eyebrows at my dad. My studies. Yes, that is the main thing I’m worried about in here, making sure I can pass the GED. They’re running a makeshift school for the younger kids, but as of yet there is no Mobius High giving out diplomas. I am about to say something sarcastic, but I stop myself. “Thanks, Dad. I loved Pride and Prejudice. I’m sure I’ll love this, too.”

“It’s about a young woman, Anne Elliot, who is very modern in her own way. It’s about characters not merely finding themselves but remaining true to who they are. In some ways, at the time, it was considered quite subversive,” my dad says, holding eye contact with me. Then he quickly adds, “Of course, that was a very long time ago, and now you can simply enjoy it, and then I’ll have you write an essay on it.”

He hesitated to say that word, “subversive.” Changed his tune. The cameras, the eyes on us all the time, make us all masters of hiding the truth but force us to find creative ways to communicate with one another, too. More lies we tell to live. “Thanks, Dad. Can’t wait to write an essay on it,” I say, my tone perhaps a little too chipper.

We head out the door together. My fingers shake. I’m hyperaware of the note in my pocket and the queasy feeling in my stomach because of what I’m concealing now from my parents, from Ayesha, from Jake. It’s better for them not to know. Plausible deniability. Isn’t that what Jake and I agreed to?

Together with my parents, I walk down the Midway. They smile and offer a salaam to everyone we pass. Everyone returns the greeting in kind. Like our smiles are real. When we’re halfway there, I say good-bye to my parents, telling them I want to go back and get my book so I can read in the Hub library.

I turn back and walk toward our block, looking over my shoulder to see them walk into the Hub. Then I cross through the camp to the blocks on the opposite side of the Midway. People are out, heading toward their jobs or taking the little ones to the grandparent day care or school. Some people have laundry bags. Others carry empty boxes that they’ll fill up with kitchen staples from the supply area. I don’t run; I don’t try to hide. I keep my eyes open for the drones and guards. I hear the sanitation trucks enter the gate and see the men in their khaki uniforms fan out around the camp. I don’t spy David, but I know he’s here. I walk to the side entrance of the Mess. It’s usually unguarded and unlocked when the garbage has to be taken out. I glance around cautiously and let myself in.

Palms clammy and heart beating in my ears, I tiptoe to the kitchen. The Mess is mostly dark except for the lights along the perimeter of the room that let off a faint electronic buzz. I take extra care not to touch anything in the kitchen, afraid of the noise, afraid of what could happen.

The pantry door is ajar. A light radiates from inside. I hold my breath and walk cautiously forward. As I place my fingers on the doorframe, a hand reaches out and grabs mine and pulls me.

I fall into David’s embrace. He kisses me so softly and deeply that it makes me want to cry. As scared as I am of hiding that burner phone between my mattress and the wall, I’m so thankful that it made this moment in the pantry of the Mess possible. David nuzzles my neck. “I miss you.” Then he steps back. “I have to show you something.” He reaches into his khaki uniform and pulls his phone out and shows me the screen. A headline screams FASCISM AT MOBIUS: AN INSIDER SPEAKS.

“They put it up as I was getting here,” David whispers. “KALA-TV ran the story and read your post on the air. The reporter said to expect it to explode. It probably already has. The whole world is going to know you, or at least your words. Layla, you did it. You’re amazing.”

David’s words muffle in my ears. My eyes fix on the screen. I read the headline again, and it knocks the wind out of me. I scan the words, my words. And then I’m there again, in that moment. Hearing it. Noor’s screams. The security guys dragging her away. Asmaa and Bilqis, who tried to help her. Their blood staining the dry earth. The Director. The gun. Tears fill my eyes. I whisper, “The whole world will know their names.”

David wipes away the tears from my cheeks, then kisses each one. “Yes. Everyone will know their names, thanks to you.”

“And you,” I say. I run my fingers through David’s hair; it’s damp from sweat. He’s always there for me. Literally, he’s here right now, next to me, but in this rare, unrushed moment, I’m aware that there’s a tiny space between us, a distance that I don’t know how to fill. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s because of the fight we had when he first snuck in here to see me. Maybe it’s because of the electric fence that seems to separate us even when I’m in his arms. I don’t know why exactly, but it feels awful. And I try to push that emotion away because I don’t want to feel it. He’s taking huge risks to see me, to help me. I want it all to be like it was. I am desperate for a brief moment of Before with David. The minty smell of his soap, the warmth of his arms, how when our fingers intertwine, the brown of my skin and the brown of his are nearly a perfect match. All the familiar sensations of home. I need that feeling so badly right now. But as I grasp for it, I know it’s out of reach, even though David is right next to me. I kiss him and then take his hand and pass him another story I’ve written out in tiny print.