Dark Parties (16 page)

“I’m sorry, Dad.” The words slip out.

“You shouldn’t have gone in there.” He doesn’t look up. “You can’t come back to work. I don’t know how I’m going to explain
this without raising too many questions, but I’ll think of something.”

You always do
, I want to say. He’s a master of making up stories.

“Why, Neva?” He absentmindedly twists a lock of his hair around and around his finger.

“I can’t believe you keep information about what’s outside locked away.” I wait for him to tell me I’m wrong. To tell me he’s
not part of the conspiracy to keep us here.

“I should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. I was supposed to, but it’s history, our history.”

“What is all that stuff?” Our eyes meet for a second.

“It’s from before, a few books, a few artifacts. Nothing really. Things the government has confiscated over the years.”

It’s the first time my dad has ever admitted there was a before. I want to know more, but I don’t ask.

“Let me make this perfectly clear.” He begins to push himself off the couch, but then he sinks back down. “Forget about everything
you saw in there. I’ve destroyed it all.”

“What?”

“You gave me no choice. I can’t risk anyone finding out about those documents, those things. Not now.”

He sighs. “Neva, you can’t know… I hope you never know… what I’ve done to protect you.”

I am ashamed. He destroyed generations of secrets to protect me. That’s what he means, isn’t it? He doesn’t know. He hasn’t
guessed that I have stolen something. I wish I could take it back. Maybe I could have trusted him. Maybe he could have learned
to trust me.

“Dad, things are getting worse.” I clear my throat and speak up. “They are. I know you don’t want to see it. The government
is—”

“That’s enough,” he shouts over me.

“Is everything all right down there?” Mom yells from the top of the stairs.

“We’re fine, Lily,” Dad quickly calls back. “Go back to bed.”

“Neva?” Mom calls.

Dad glares at me. I get the message loud and clear: Do not upset your mother.

“I’m home, Mom,” I shout. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, don’t you two be up too late.” We hear her retreat to her bedroom.

Dad waits to hear the bedroom door shut. He pulls himself to his full height and faces me.

“Neva, don’t you ever say anything like that again.” He seizes me by the shoulders. His eyes, usually an intense black, seem
to have softened to a muddy brown and are pleading with me. “Do you hear me?” He’s shaking me now and my head flops back and
forth in agreement. “I can’t protect you. I can’t protect anyone anymore.”

He releases me, but my body is still vibrating. “You’re scaring me,” I whisper. He’s scared too. I can see it in his eyes.

He backs away. “Get to bed.”

As I head for my bedroom, the floor and the ground beneath it feel less solid.

I wake up to shouting. I sit bolt upright in my bed. My curtains are ringed with light, so it must be morning. It takes me
a while to realize the voices belong to my parents. I have never heard them argue before. I can’t make out words, and I don’t
even try to eavesdrop. I know too many secrets already. I don’t want any more.

Mom comes into my bedroom after Dad has left for work. She sits on the edge of my bed. She’s in her light blue fuzzy bathrobe
and mismatched slippers. She doesn’t say a word.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. She squints at me as if she
doesn’t understand the words that are coming out of my mouth.

“I’m sorry the job with your father didn’t work out.” She clasps and unclasps her hands in her lap.

“I heard you and Dad arguing,” I confess.

She reaches into the pocket of her bathrobe and hands me a letter. It’s an official letter from the Minister of Health. I
have to read it and reread it. It’s a lot of governmental mumbo jumbo. I think I know what’s it’s saying, but it can’t be.
“Mom?” I need her to make sense of this. “Is this saying…”

“That we are getting a baby.”

I scoot as far away from her as I can. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Dad were trying to adopt?” Dad’s secret archives and
now this. My reality is altering at an alarming rate.

“We didn’t apply,” she says flatly.

“So you’re telling me the government’s handing out babies at random? I know you and Dad wanted another baby. I know you tried.”

Her face creases with sadness, but she fights back the tears. “We wanted a brother or sister for you. Dad was getting a lot
of pressure from the government. Bigger families have more opportunities, but we stopped trying and accepted that one perfect
child was enough.” She touches me on the chin and tries to smile.

“So then why—”

“I’ve heard rumors about patriot families being tapped to raise unwanted children.”

“Who doesn’t want children? The government subsidizes and practically begs people to have kids.” I fold the letter and hand
it back to her. She knows more than she’s telling. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“This is too much.” She waves the letter in the air.

“Don’t you want another baby?”

“Look around. Things are getting worse. I don’t want to bring another child into this…” Her voice trails off.

“Why don’t you call the Minister of Health and tell her you don’t want the baby?”

She shakes her head. “Your dad’s on the Council. And even if he wasn’t, you can’t really refuse a direct request.”

“How does this work? Where does the baby come from?”

“It’s best not to ask too many questions,” she says.

I think we don’t ask enough.

“So I guess this means you are going to have a baby brother or sister,” she adds.

“Whether we like it or not,” I mutter. I want to tell her about the archives and what I discovered. But she looks so tired.
She doesn’t need another revelation today.

“I’m going out later,” she says, and heads to the door.

“Can I come with you?” I want to feel five years old, to reach up and grab my mom’s hand and walk down the street feeling
her tug me into a shop. I want to twirl in a frilly dress in front of a mirror for her. Our arms will swing together as we
walk, and we’ll eat ice cream cones and let the ice cream drip down our chins. She won’t yell at me when the chocolate ice
cream leaves brown spots on my
shirt. We will come home and have a day’s worth of secrets to keep from Dad.

Her back is to me. “No, Neva, this is something I have to do for myself.”

I want to ask where’s she’s going. But everyone has secrets. She said so herself. So she leaves and I bury myself under my
covers—my own personal Protectosphere.

There’s a pounding in my head, in my dreams. Slowly I realize that this rhythm is outside of me. “Nev.” Sanna’s not just knocking
on my bedroom door; she’s playing her own special drum solo. She knows where we hide the spare key. Dad hates it when Sanna
lets herself in but, to me and Mom, Sanna’s family.

I glance at the clock. It’s nearly noon. All I want to do is go back to sleep. “Give me a minute,” I whine.

But she doesn’t. She bursts into the room. “Rise and shine.” She looks down her nose at the grubby and probably slightly smelly
mess that is her best friend. “What’s with the zombie routine?”

“I said, give me a minute.” I snuggle under my blankets, enjoying the weight of the quilt and the bubble of warmth. She rips
my blankets away. The cold air swirls under my big gray shirt. Goose bumps dot my arms.

“No time. Get dressed.” She throws a pair of jeans from the floor to me.

“Why?”

She searches for a pair of matching shoes. She gives up and hands me one pink and one gray tennis shoe. She opens
my closet and pulls out a gray shirt. “Here. Wear this.” More clothes are shoved at me. “Nev, you want an engraved invitation?
Get moving.” There’s an urgency to her actions. She’s rummaging in the pile of jewelry on my dresser. She loops my watch on
one finger and the snowflake necklace on another.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I scratch at a crusty white spot on the leg of my jeans.

“Not like that you’re not.” She pulls off my shirt and throws it in the corner. I cover my bare breasts. “Please, Nev, I’ve
seen them before. Not all that impressive.”

I bend down and open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I untangle a light blue bra and beige cotton underwear from the mass.
I slip off my old underwear and put on the clean pair.

She’s trying to act carefree, but I can tell she’s trying, not just being. “What’s wrong?”

She waves off my question. “Nice tat,” Sanna says, reaching toward my snowflake tattoo.

“Get off,” I swat her hand.

“Must say I do good work.”

“It hurt like hell,” I say, remembering the millions of tiny pinpricks. It took two hours to make my one-inch square tattoo,
but Sanna was right: it looks pretty amazing.

I finish getting dressed. “I don’t really feel like going out.”

“I don’t care.” Sanna slips my snowflake necklace over my head.

And it feels almost like old times, that effortless give and
take, before Braydon created a wedge between us. I decide to play along.

Before I know it, we are at the train station. We take the two most secluded seats on the train. “Sanna, where are we going?”
I ask.

“I can’t tell you.” She scans the passengers on the train.

“Why?” Now she’s got me checking to see who might be watching us.

“It’s mega top secret.” She’s nervous; she keeps looking around. She’s trying to act like her old self, but something’s wrong.

“Sanna?”

She settles into her seat. She tucks her bare feet underneath her. It’s as if she’s been unplugged.

“What is it, Sanna? Talk to me.”

“My brother.” Her voice catches in her throat. “I haven’t heard from him in a few days.”

“Oh, Sanna, you know he has to go dark sometimes.”

“It’s different this time. Yeah, he’s disappeared before when the police were looking for him or something.”

“You can’t reach him whenever you want to, can you? I thought he was always the one to make contact.” Her brother is like
this mythical creature. I haven’t seen him since he went underground.

“I’ve asked around and no one knows anything.” She draws her knees to her chest, curling herself into a tight ball. “We have
a signal, you know. I’ve signaled and signaled
and signaled and nothing. That’s not like him. He never ever hasn’t come when I’ve needed him.”

Another Missing. “He’ll turn up. He always does.” I try to sound reassuring, as if I believe it.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She brightens.

“Now, where are we going?” I bounce in my seat and try to lighten the mood.

She scoots closer to me and whispers, “We are meeting some friends of my mom’s.”

“Why is that so hush-hush?” I say in my normal voice.

Sanna shushes me and pulls me closer. “We have similar interests. I asked around; you know, looking for my brother. Seems
as if we aren’t the only ones planning a revolution.”

“What?” I feel a twinge of excitement. Rebel Sanna is back.

“You were right, Nev. We can’t stop. We have to do something. I figure if you can steal from the government—”

Now I shush her. “What about Braydon?” His name tastes sweet and sour on my tongue.

“I’ve got to do this for my brother. Braydon doesn’t have to know, right?” Now Sanna and I have a secret from Braydon. My
web of lies continues to grow. Soon I won’t know what the truth is.

Once we exit the station, she practically sprints. “Where are we going?” I say, breathless.

“The Square,” she pants, and takes a sharp right.

I recognize where we are. “Wouldn’t it be faster to go that way?” I point left.

“I want to make sure no one follows us.” She speeds up. I’m not sure our evasive maneuvers would fool anyone. She stops abruptly
as we approach the Square. “Here.” She thrusts a pair of sunglasses at me. “Incognito.”

I almost laugh. Does she really think a pair of sunglasses is a great disguise? I put them on. Now she’s walking really slowly,
almost sauntering. The Square is swarming with people. Some are sitting near the fountain. Others are passing through on the
way to the National Museum or the State Court, which border opposite sides of the Square. In the center of the Square stands
a bronze statue of Dr. Benjamin L. Smith, who towers twenty feet high and looks down humbly upon the uniform masses.

“There they are,” she whispers. “The one in the blue shirt and the one with the big yellow purse.”

We approach two average-looking middle-aged women. Not my idea of revolutionaries.

“Sanna, look at you.” Both women coo and fuss over her. The woman in blue introduces herself, Senga, and her friend, Carson.
They look familiar. Maybe I met them at Sanna’s mom’s funeral, but that was so long ago. “Congratulations on graduating,”
Senga says. “Studying science at the National Institute for Research and Development. Your mother would be so proud.”

Sanna shrugs off their attention. “Yep, I’m all adult-like now. This is my friend Neva—”

I clear my throat before she gives my last name.