“I hope so. I really hope so.”
IV
It was the last day of school before Holiday break. No one wanted to be there, not even the teachers. Mr. Haldewick had propped his pointer in the corner and stopped lecturing for once. The entire class was having an actual discussion of Holiday traditions through the centuries. I was anxiously awaiting the last bell so Wei and I could talk, but during my second-to-last period, Hal showed up for me. I was going to the principal’s office, again. I scuffled along behind him, going as slowly as I could, all the while imagining numerous things that could be wrong. Along the way I saw Sal and Paulette sneaking out a side door together. Fortunately, Hal didn’t notice them. No matter what Mrs. Marchant wanted with me, it couldn’t possibly be worse than seeing the two of them together.
“Sit down, Miss Oberon.” Mrs. Marchant pointed opposite her. “Your grandmother has called…”
Oh, no. “Pops…” It had to be. I clutched the arm of the chair “Is he okay?”
“It’s not your grandfather.” She inclined her head slightly to the right.
That was when I noticed the two women, both in black, perched like giant crows on the bench that sat under the AV screens.
“These ladies are from Child Protective Services.” Mrs. Marchant wheeled around her desk, stopping next to me. “They want to ask you some questions.”
I glanced at her. Somehow it felt like sides had been drawn, and I could tell Mrs. Marchant was on mine.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“We will be recording this,” one of the women said.
Her voice startled me. It was soothing and melodious, more like a songbird than the rasping caw I’d expected.
“Give me a moment, please.” She tugged the pouch off her shoulder, fumbled with the clasps, and eventually produced an AV recorder. Glancing apologetically at the other woman, who was frowning over her beakish nose, she said, “It’s a new model, I’m not quite used to—”
“Then stop explaining and figure it out,” her partner snapped. “We haven’t got all day.” That one’s voice fit her appearance perfectly.
I wished Songbird would be asking the questions, but I knew it would be Crow Face. If only I knew more of Wei’s emotion-regulation tricks. Wei had shown me some simple breath-control exercises to check emotions, but still the familiar heat radiated up my neck. My hands were sweating, too.
Mrs. Marchant whirred herself between me and the pair of women. She produced a tissue from inside her all-encompassing chair. “Know the truth, but tell only what needs to be told,” she whispered, handing it to me. Spinning around, she faced them, kind of like a mother protecting her child. “This won’t take long, I hope? We are running a school here. You could have done this at the home.” Her last remark was almost an outright accusation.
Crow Face’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t reply.
“It’s ready.” Songbird had the recorder affixed to a tripod, and it was pointing right at me.
I pressed the tissue between my hands and tried to remember to breathe. I made it through the routine questions without any major problems. Name, age, relationship to Dee, Gran, and Pops were all confirmed when Songbird scanned my hand. A sympathetic flicker crossed her face.
“How old are your grandparents?” Crow Face towered over me.
“Pops is eighty-seven, and Gran is, uh…” Did I even know how old she was? Besides, I was pretty sure they already knew the answers. “I think she’s eighty-five.”
“Tell me about your grandfather’s drug use.” Her beady eyes locked onto mine.
The hackles on my neck rose. “He takes prescription drugs for pain, for his leg.” How dare she accuse Pops of being a drugger! “The leg that he lost in service to the Governing Council’s space program,” I added.
Crow Face tapped something into her PAV receiver. “It would serve you better if you watched your attitude, Miss Oberon.”
I tugged at the tissue in my hands, shredding one corner of it. Mrs. Marchant caught my eye. Her expression was enough to remind me that this was neither the time nor the place for outbursts.
“I’m sorry.” Which, of course, I wasn’t. But even though my nerves were eating me up inside, I could lie with the best when I had to. Contritely, I said, “The GC and Media did more than they had to for Pops.” The exact opposite being the truth. The bare minimum, that’s what they did. And that was only after the story leaked out about how the government wasn’t covering any of the medical bills or rehab for Pops and the other guy, who’d lost both legs and an eye. The Media couldn’t hide that particular truth.
“Your grandmother has a friend, Harriet Pace?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She’s at your apartment often?” Her black eyes bored into me.
“I suppose so.”
“Suppose so?” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Is she or isn’t she? Daily? Hourly? How often?”
“She usually comes over every day, or Gran goes to see her.” What could possibly be the problem with Harriet? “Mrs. Pace is nice,” I added.
“Are you acquainted with John Pace?”
Johnny, Harriet’s son, had been arrested weeks ago for being a NonCon.
Miss Crow Face leaned close to me; her breath smelled of rotting, dead things. Vegetarianism was the law, but everyone knew there was a black market in animal flesh. A mental image of her gnashing into a cow crossed my brain. Clenching my teeth, I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my lunch down.
“Answer the question, Miss Oberon,” she said. “Do you know John Pace?”
“Yes.”
She straightened up, smirking. “Does your sister know John Pace?”
“Yes.” What did Dee have to do with this? I plucked at the tissue in my hands.
“Has she ever been left in his care?”
“I don’t think so. He might’ve been around when Mrs. Pace was watching her.” Where this was going I didn’t know, but it couldn’t be good. I looked at the shredded tissue in my hands, then at Crow Face. “Why?” I asked.
“I ask the questions.” She drew close again. “How long has your grandfather been a subversive?”
“What?” My eyes flew wide open.
“You heard me. Answer the question.”
“Pops isn’t a subversive.” I felt the sweat beading on my forehead. “He’s just, well… outspoken. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“There have been complaints, Miss Oberon. A Writ of Unsuitability has been filed against your grandparents.” She grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm over with more force than was necessary, exposing the XVI tattoo. “We know you are of age—you can take care of yourself.” She dropped my arm, turning her back to me.
“I’m old enough to take care of Dee, too.” I protested.
Crow Face pivoted around and raked her eyes up and down me. Her lip curled. “You may be sixteen, but you are not emancipated. You’re just a tier-two orphan.” She punctuated each of the following words with a jab of her finger. “You. Are. Nothing.”
Nothing. Tier two. Orphan. Sixteen. Nothing. The words wrenched some vital plug deep inside me, and I felt myself draining out. Had I stopped breathing? I couldn’t even feel my heart beating. Staring at the recorder, I wondered how it would document me as nothing. A black hole where I was sitting? An empty silhouette in the middle of the room?
I was vaguely aware of Mrs. Marchant rolling her transchair in front of me. As if through a barrel of water, I heard her say, “Are you quite done?”
From that same far-off place, Crow Face said, “We most certainly are. Put that away,” she ordered Songbird. “As for this case… you… Oberon!” I snapped my eyes to her face. “Your grandparents will have received notice to appear in Upper Court on December twenty-third. You are permitted to be there if you want.” She spun around and strode off. Songbird, still stuffing AV equipment into her bag, scurried after in her wake.