One of Us (28 page)

T
HE NEXT DAY
I go to the Art room after my other lessons finish and start cutting into the sheet of plywood Mr. Williams gave me. I've gotten used to his radio in the background, and just stepping into the Art room makes me feel calmer. Each blade in my new chisel set comes wrapped in delicate oiled paper. I cut along the line on the block at an angle, the same the other way. Then I can flick the wood out with the tip of the knife. I'm cutting out the yellow bits of my sunflower, just a few crinkled petals. I've already rolled golden ink over the block and printed it before cutting out the gold. Everything is in reverse. Left is right, and right is left. You have to cut away the one thing you want to keep.

After I've cleared away my things, I head toward the common room to fill the time before dinner. But just as I reach the staircase, I see Greg crossing the courtyard from the Reception building. For a moment I just stare at him, delight wiping everything else from my mind. His face is lit by the orange lamp above the glass doors. He pushes them open and comes in.

“You're here.” I step toward him.

“Verity.” Greg reaches out, puts his hands on my
arms and pulls me into the darkness of the stairwell. “Dad and Mom had to leave early.” He bends down and kisses me. His lips are so warm on mine. I can't believe how wonderful it feels to be with him again.

“You're very cold.” Greg wraps his arms around me and holds me close.

“Greg?” I say. “What's the matter?”

He sighs. “Something horrible has happened. The others are all in the common room. Talk later?”

“OK. But what's happened, Greg?” The dull sense of foreboding that's forever lurking in the back of my mind flares into life.

CHAPTER 29

T
HE COMMON ROOM
door opens, framing Emanuel in the oblong of yellow light. “Hello, Verity,” he says.

Serafina and Celestina are sitting on the couches. One of the new pupils is working in a cubicle, but otherwise it's empty. They both look up with grim faces.

Celestina speaks first. “Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” I sit down on the arm of the couch.

“About Jeremiah,” says Emanuel.

“Jeremiah?”

Greg turns to me. “He's been arrested.”

“Sent to Tranquility Sound,” says Serafina.

“But I just saw him yesterday evening.” They must have made a mistake.

“It happened last night,” says Greg. “About eight thirty. They took him off the street.”

A thrill of fear runs through me. It can't be possible.

But I see Oskar walking past the Pelican. Jeremiah and me framed in the doorway. My hand on Jeremiah's arm. Oskar's words in Yoremouth:
All you have to do is point out anyone you suspect.

My head starts whirling. How did Oskar even know who Jeremiah was? But he's had plenty of time to look him up since I told him his name, hasn't he? Did he think I was pointing him out last night?

“But, Jeremiah,” I say. “Jeremiah can't be, he would never . . .”

“No,” says Greg. “We know that. But do they?”

Cold sinks through me when I hear that “they.” “They” means Oskar. It means me.

“There's no way he'll be treated fairly.” Celestina's voice is bitter. “Not with all the opposition to the Agreement.”

“The Agreement?” My brain isn't working.

Celestina looks hard at me. “The Reconciliation Agreement? The one about whether we get to lose the fingerprint database? Live where we like, go to any school we want? Be, you know, citizens of our own country?”

“It's like Brer Magnus said at the end of last term,” says Serafina. “Dark days lie ahead.”

Greg makes an impatient noise. “It doesn't have to be like that,” he says. “We can try and change it. Maybe nothing will happen to stop the Reconciliation Agreement.” But he sounds unsure.

I don't speak. I'm replaying the moment when I saw Oskar walk past the Pelican. What did he say all those months ago? Eyes and ears. That's all I am
to him. What did I tell him about Jeremiah? Why,
why
did I do it? I can't stay here a moment longer.

I spring to my feet. I can hardly breathe. “I've got to go,” I say, and hurry to the door. Just by being here, I'm putting my friends in danger.

Greg is right behind me as I yank my coat and bag off the chair. “What's the matter? Why are you going, Verity?”

“I've got to. I don't feel well.” I grab my scarf and hat. “I'll see you tomorrow.” I pull open the door. It's a heavy oak door, but I picture it being smashed in.

I don't look back to see if Greg is standing watching me leave. All the way to the Sisters' house, the thought repeats in my head:
It's because of me.
I know Jeremiah wouldn't hurt anyone. Whatever he's worried about, I'm sure it's not that.

I get into bed, still in all my clothes, even my shoes. When the others come in, I'll pretend to be asleep.

Of course I can't sleep. What about Serafina? Emanuel? Celestina? What about Greg? Is Oskar watching them too? What right does he have? How can I go anywhere near Greg now?

Slowly the knowledge of what I have to do grows clearer and louder. It's not a choice. It's something I must do. I have to end it with Greg.

And then I must leave.

It doesn't matter what he or the others think of me. Not anymore. The only thing that matters now is to remove myself from this school before I hurt anyone else. I can't ever come back. Not unless I want Greg to be arrested too.

CHAPTER 30

I
DON
'
T GO
to breakfast, hiding instead in the Sisters' house kitchen. After the first lesson ends I wait for Greg at the bottom of the Art department stairs. Normally I'd have to stop myself from smiling with excitement. He'll walk down here when he comes out of the Life Drawing class I missed. I didn't sleep last night, so now I feel sick with tiredness. But I know I have to tell him it's over. Then I'll go. I'll think about where later.

The floor tiles gleam dully, tiny chips of green set into concrete. I mustn't think about Greg. I've zipped up the thought of him in a suitcase. Maybe he isn't there. Everyone else seems to have clattered down the stairs and out the door already.

I walk over to the bulletin board and stare at it, hugging my bag to my chest. It's stuffed full. I put an extra sweater in, along with all my papers and money and the paintbrush Greg gave me. I run my eyes along the gray furrows crossing the pitted surface of the bulletin board.

I jump when I feel hands on my waist. I hear Greg's laugh near my ear before I turn. I close my eyes, feeling his breath on my neck under my hair. He kisses my head.

I turn and look at him. His brown eyes are soft and warm. How can I possibly end this?

I look down at the tiles. “Let's go outside,” I say. Nobody will be able to see us by the pond.

W
HEN WE GET
to the rhododendron grove, Greg twines his fingers in between mine, where they belong.

“You're in a hurry,” he says. “Where were you this morning?”

“I didn't have a good night. I overslept.”

We walk farther in. I don't mean to, but I can feel my hand gripping Greg's more and more tightly. How will I ever let it go? I think of the tiny snatched moments of privacy in the summer when we held each other close, of all the kisses we never had, of everything we'll never have now. My throat feels as if a fist is gripping it.

“You're very quiet. Guess I should be grateful,” he teases, smiling.

“Mmm.” I duck to avoid a low branch.

We're in the woods now. I'll have to do it before we go back. Otherwise I know that Greg won't let it go. He'll drag the whole story out of me, and then he'll persuade me that it'll be OK. And I'll want him to, so how will I ever be able to stop him? But now I know it won't be OK. I swallow the sobs banking up behind the fist.

I will plunge into this ice-cold pond, colder than the real one on the other side of the rhododendrons. Now. I pull my hand out of Greg's. He thinks it's because the path narrows here. He stops and waits. My two hands clasp each other, nails digging in.

I open my mouth, and make myself say the words. “Greg.” It comes out so clearly. “I can't see you anymore.”

Greg's smiling face turns slowly back to me.
“What?”

“It's over.” I can't believe how cold and loud my voice sounds. “It was a mistake. I'm sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Greg's not smiling now, but he doesn't look like he believes me.

“I'm sorry,” I say again. “It's not going to work. It's not you, it's me. I think we should just be friends.”

I can't do this if I don't leave now. “I'm sorry,” I say, one more time. Then I turn and walk away as fast as I can.

Greg is shocked into stillness. But then I hear him begin running.

“Verity!” he shouts.

Of course he won't just walk away like that. I duck back into the rhododendrons. I hear Greg behind me, but I hide in the hollow behind two bushes until I hear his footsteps running back toward the school.

Then I jog back the other way toward the lodge.
No tears.
Mr. East is inside.

I catch my breath. “Can you let me out? I left my sketchbook in the Old City Meeting Hall when I was at the BSF meeting last night,” I say.

“No walk for you today, Raymond,” he says to the dog as he releases the gates for me.

I run down the hill to the bus stop. The bus comes on the half hour—have I missed it? But when I look back up the hill I see it emerge from behind the trees. I see Greg too, running out of the gate.

The bus groans to a halt and I leap on. It doesn't leave straight away. I peer through the rear window to see Greg running down the road. The bus growls and rattles.
Come on!
I won't be able to leave him twice.

The bus cranks into motion. Greg's fist bangs against the window and I start. His face looks up at me, his eyes dark through the glass as the bus draws away.
Don't cry. Not yet, not yet
, I think, in time to the rumble of the bus, and as it crosses the bridge into the New City,
Go back, go back . . .