Internment(66)

“How insulting. Doesn’t he think we can plan anything ourselves?”

I laugh. “I like how you’re indignant about him underestimating us. He wants to blame some adult for it because it’s easier to send one of them to the black-ops sites, where he can torture them. It’s a bigger risk with kids. Plus, I don’t think his ego can handle that a bunch of teenagers spat on him, figuratively speaking.”

“Please tell me whatever you’re planning next involves actually spitting on him. Please. Please.”

“How do you know I’m planning anything?”

“I saw you talking to Suraya yesterday.”

“She wants to help. Raeshma and Anjum do, too.”

“Damn, the hijabi mafia is throwing down. It’s getting serious.”

“Well, they’ve dealt with the brunt of the racists and Islamophobes, so why wouldn’t they?”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” Ayesha says.

“Me either. Which is pretty stupid of me, considering how ballsy someone had to be to wear hijab outside the house after the election. But the whole thing is, we’re in this together, regardless of how religious we are. I mean, we are all Muslim enough to be in here, right? We need to do something soon. Like tomorrow. The media isn’t going to stay camped outside forever. The last Inside Mobius post was almost two days ago, and you know people’s attention span is, like, fifteen seconds these days. It has to be tomorrow after dinner.”

“What’s it going to be?”

“We’re going to march out toward the front gate and stand in a silent protest.”

“Well, that sounds boring. Also impossible. Like, how are we all going to get there? The guards won’t let us walk that way after dinner; it’s straight back to our blocks, remember?” Ayesha stops and puts her hand on my forearm. “Is it wrong that I wish Soheil were here? Not that I want him to be here, but that I want him to be with us. With me. He’d be totally into this, but I’m glad he’s safe for now.” For the first time I notice that Ayesha’s face looks tired. Weary. She really tries to be upbeat, but Mobius is wearing us all down.

“I know what you mean. And I’m sure Soheil wishes he were here, too,” I say, and give Ayesha a little hug, then gesture for us to continue walking. “We’ll work out the details. I have faith in us,” I say as we approach the garden. Ayesha gives me a halfhearted thumbs-up and then walks over to say hi to Nadia, who is already weeding next to Nadeem.

I do have to figure out the details. More people will get hurt, I know. It’s inevitable. We have to minimize the risk. Plan it out perfectly. Honestly, though, flying by the seat of my pants would be a step up on the planning scale from where I am now.

I survey the camp, raising my hand to shield my face from the sun. It’s been quiet the last few days; even the laughter of the littlest kids sounds hollow. My eyes fall on Jake, who is stationed at the toolshed. I walk up to him and the other guard to get gloves and a small shovel.

“Layla, this is my buddy Specialist Adams. Fred.” I’ve seen him with Jake, and Jake has mentioned Fred, but this is the first guard Jake has introduced me to. “He’s a friend. To both of us.” Fred raises his fingertips to the brim of his cap, then smiles at me, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth and a dimple in his left cheek.

I nod. “How’d you get this assignment?”

“Fred and I are off duty this shift, so we volunteered to take it from the other two guys who are normally here.”

“They think he has a crush on you,” Fred says, “so he plays it to his advantage. And they were happy to get an extra shift off.”

Jake clears his throat. “Whatever works.”

“Right,” I say. “By any means necessary. Thanks for switching. I need to talk to the others, and the guards are always listening.”

“Okay, the drone circles back in less than ten minutes. Use it, but hurry.”

I don’t have a lot of time to think, and my body seems to be ahead of my brain. I grab a bunch of gloves and some spades and trowels and gesture for the garden-duty group to join me. Suraya, Ayesha, Nadia, and Nadeem head over, pulling along the others, including a few kids who are new to the group. I’m cautious about trusting anyone new, but I don’t have much choice.

We gather in a semicircle next to our garden plot.

I hand the gloves to Suraya and the trowels to Ayesha. “Pass these out to everyone. Real slow.” The drones may not be overhead yet, but we’re out in the open. We need to act normal. At least as normal as we can.

Jake and Specialist Adams—Fred—stroll toward the water table, out of earshot. “Don’t worry,” I say to the group. “They’ll take their time.”

“You trust them?” a kid named Abdul questions.

Suraya silences the questioning. “Abdul, we don’t have a lot of time. Layla says it’s okay, so it’s okay.”

“I know Suraya’s talked to some of you. The plan is to walk out of the Mess tomorrow and march straight to the area in front of the main entrance, so the protestors and, most important, the media can see us. Then we’ll form a line.”

“That’s all we’re going to do? Stand there?” Abdul asks.

“That’s going to be hard enough,” Ayesha says. “We don’t even know if we’ll make it there and be able to line up before the guards herd us away.”