We All Looked Up (19 page)

In the end, the rally wound up provoking the exact thing it had set out to prevent.

Early the next morning, the government declared an official state of emergency. The National Guard was called in, and a curfew was instated. Leaving the house for any reason other than to stock necessities was forbidden. Being out at all after dark was forbidden. It had happened just as Bobo and Golden said it would—which somehow made it that much worse. Exactly twenty-three days before Ardor was to either spare or slaughter them all, martial law had finally come to the city.

E
liza

PRISON WAS A LITTLE BIT
like sleepaway camp, if sleepaway camp were populated exclusively by people who really didn't want to be at sleepaway camp. The place was coed, probably because the police didn't have the space or resources to provide a separate facility for each gender, and everyone slept in a single enormous room filled wall-to-wall with cheap, creaky bunk beds. One wall was just windows, but they'd been covered up with a single piece of canvas so thick that it only let in light at the very edges, like a thin white frame.

An average day consisted mostly of sitting around the dormitory and eating in the mess hall. Breakfast was cereal, lunch was a sandwich, and dinner was a combination of leathery meat, vegetables so overcooked that they dissolved on the tongue like baby food, and bread rolls with the cloying consistency of McDonald's hamburger buns. Twice a day the inmates were let out onto a cement lot that had once been a couple of basketball courts, where they could mill around, trade their quickly evaporating store of cigarettes and chewing gum (for reasons unknown, though likely related to Ardor, they'd been allowed to keep these items upon entry), and absorb some gray sunlight. Their prison-mandated outfits were pale blue jumpsuits and white slip-on canvas sneakers, which made them all look like Smurfs.

Though there were always tons of people around, the detention center was a weirdly lonely place. Eliza didn't have any friends there, so she spent most of her time agonizing over all the things she should have done differently. Why hadn't she spoken to Peter weeks ago, after she found out he'd broken up with Stacy? Why hadn't she bothered to answer a single one of her mom's phone calls? Why hadn't she spent more time hanging out with her dad instead of working on her blog all the time? Eliza kept herself awake with these regrets, watching each one jump over a little fence in her mind, like those sheep you were supposed to count to bring on sleep—but the counting only made her more restless. That was why she was still up in the middle of her third night at the center, when a weight landed gently on the mattress alongside her. At first she thought it was her imagination—but no, someone was actually climbing into the bottom bunk with her. She was about to scream when he spoke.

“You don't know me,” he said, “but I'm a really nice person. And I think you're absolutely beautiful. If you tell me to go, I'll go. But I'd love to hook up with you, and because it's the end of the world and we're stuck here, I figured I might as well ask.”

Eliza knew it was just about the least feminist thing she could do (Madeline would have thrown a fit—ethical slutdom was supposed to be about self-empowerment, not altruism), but the boy seemed so sad and sincere, and if she couldn't make herself happy, it seemed the least she could do was bring a little joy to someone else.

“I'm not going to have sex with you,” she said. “And this is a one-time thing.”

“That's cool.”

And then what happened happened. When it was over, the boy said a husky thanks and disappeared. She never found out who he was.

But the next day, freshly reminded of the significance of human contact, she decided to try and start a conversation with the only group of people there that she knew. Four days was a long time to spend alone with your thoughts, particularly when those thoughts were mostly about death, the parents you'd never get to say good-bye to, and the boy you'd never get a second chance with.

Bobo, Misery, and the nerdy one, Kevin, were leaning up against a cement wall in the recreation lot, passing around a single cigarette.

“Can I get a drag?” Eliza asked. Kevin looked to Bobo, who nodded. “Thanks.” She breathed in deep, felt her lungs open up. “So, do we have any kind of plan here?”

“What kind of plan would we have?” Bobo asked.

“I mean, are we gonna sit around here until the end? Just watch the sky and hope for the best?”

“What else can we do?”

“I don't know. Get a message out somehow? If anybody found out where we were, they'd raise holy hell. Somebody in here must have parents with some pull, right? And I bet these guards don't want to be here any more than we do. There's fewer of them coming in every day. All we'd have to do is give them a reason—”

Bobo cut her off. “You got your drag. Now leave us alone.”

“Don't be mean,” Misery said. “She's Andy's friend.”

“No, she's not. She's just stringing him along, because she likes the attention. That's why she does everything she does. For the attention.”

Eliza felt an unexpected prickle of tears behind her eyes. “Pay attention to this,” she said, giving Bobo the finger.

She heard him laughing as she walked away. “Oh dear. Did I make the princess mad?”

Eliza hid on the other side of a big metal Dumpster and breathed deeply. She hated Bobo, but more than that, she hated herself for showing weakness in front of him. If only there'd been anyone else here to talk to, she wouldn't have even bothered. . . .

A tap on her shoulder. Eliza spun around, ready to deliver a hard knee to a soft crotch (she'd been getting a lot of untoward attention from her fellow inmates, in spite of the fact that the blue jumpsuit was just about the least provocative thing she'd worn in the past year).

“Hey,” Kevin said. “You okay?” He had this perpetual look of apology on his face, as if he were trespassing on everyone's time and space just by existing.

“I'm fine.”

“Sorry about Bobo. He's just protective of Andy.”

“That's what you call being protective?”

“It's complicated, because Andy likes you and everything. You know, it's a shame you don't like him back. He's a good guy.”

Eliza shrugged. What was there to say?

“Anyway, I didn't come over here just to apologize. I wanted to know, if you
could
get a message to the outside, what would you say?”

“I'd tell them whatever I could about where we are, and hopefully they'd find us. Why?”

Kevin looked around, then leaned in close. “I've got an Android phone under my foot right now.”

“Seriously?” Eliza said, a little too loudly. Then, whispering, “How?”

“They were carting so many people out of Cal Anderson, they only had time for really quick pat-downs. Nobody thought to look inside my socks. Then when I got here, I told the guard I had bad circulation in my feet, so he let me put the new socks on over my old ones.”

Eliza couldn't help herself. She gave Kevin a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You're a genius!”

His face reddened. “Not really. And there are some problems. Turns out cell reception's pretty much nonexistent here. I don't know if it's down for good, or if we're in a dead zone, but I can't get a single bar.”

“So the phone's useless?”

“That's what I thought at first. But it turns out there's an unprotected Wi-Fi network upstairs.”

“I didn't even know there
was
an upstairs.”

“Me either. But I saw a couple guards go through that door between the dorm and the cafeteria, and figured there might be some kind of office back there. If there were, they'd probably have Internet.”

“So you snuck in?”

“Not exactly. The only way in was to get sent there. Like, to get in trouble.”

Eliza laughed. “How'd you do that?”

“I kept throwing food at one of the guards until he snapped. He took me to meet the guy in charge of this place, who's actually kinda cool, if you can believe that.”

“So did you get a message out?”

“They were watching me the whole time. I didn't have the chance. Besides, I wasn't even sure what to say. There are windows up on the second floor, but I didn't see anything that I recognized, so I still don't know where we are.” Kevin glanced over his shoulder. “I think I should get back. I told them I'd only be a second. But if you want, I can pass you the phone and you can figure out what to do with it.”

“I already know what to do with it. But I'll need your help.”

“I doubt I could help much.”

Eliza liked Kevin, more than he liked himself, at any rate. She wanted to tell him that high school was a little like a play in which everybody got cast prematurely, and he'd ended up with a pretty crappy role. If he could just survive until college, he'd get to try out for a new play, one with plenty of good parts for people like him. She wanted to tell him that she'd already met the kind of boy he would eventually become—still a dork, but in a hip, unapologetic way. Hell, she'd even
slept
with a couple of boys like that.

But all that touchy-feely shit would have to wait. They had schemes to scheme.

“Kevin, you ready to get sent back to the principal's office?”

They spent the next twenty-four hours brainstorming various ways to get themselves in trouble, and each one sounded more fun than the last. There was
The Gladiators
, a scenario in which they'd try to start a prison-wide pillow fight. There was
The Arsonists and the Pea
, which involved setting an unoccupied bunk bed on fire. There was
The Nudists
, the name of which really spoke for itself. But in the end, Eliza decided to go with
The Overzealous Seductress
. The plan required a specific guard to be on duty in the dormitory—the one who looked more like a kid playing dress-up than an actual soldier—so it was another day before they could put it into action.

Eliza waited until nobody nearby was paying attention, then sauntered up close to the guard. “I like your little hat,” she said.

“Thanks.” His tone was of the
I'd like to be friendly but I'm not supposed to be
variety.

“Take it off for me, will you?”

“It's my uniform, miss.”

“I know. But you can take it off for just a second, can't you? For me?”

The guard attempted to quell the violent revolution of a smile. “I can't.”

“Pretty please.” She fluttered her eyelashes. The guard checked around for his superior, then briefly doffed his cap and replaced it.

“Happy?”

“Very. Now take off your shirt.”

“I definitely can't do that.”

Eliza stepped closer and put her hands on his camouflaged chest. She unbuttoned the topmost button, revealing a few curly hairs poking out just above a little triangle of white cotton T-shirt.

“Stop that,” the guard said.

“Stop what?”

She undid the next button, and the next. Finally he grabbed her by the wrists.

“I'm serious.”

She laughed, pulled her hands free, then tore his shirt the rest of the way open, sending buttons skittering over the tile floor, drawing the attention of Kevin, who just “happened” to have wandered into the vicinity.

“I saw it!” he said. “You're sexually harassing that girl!”

The guard had no choice now. “Come with me!” he barked at Kevin, while dragging Eliza roughly out of the dormitory and through an unmarked metal door that opened on a narrow set of stairs.

“Both of you. Get up there.”

The upstairs hallway was just as Kevin described it—bright and airy, lined on one side with wide rectangular windows. Eliza looked out for some kind of landmark, but there was nothing special in sight. She could only hope that someone else would recognize the view. Otherwise, all of this was for nothing.

The three e-mails were already written. One would blast the soon-to-be-taken photo out to every single person in her address book, another was a private message just for her dad, and the third was for Peter (she'd searched out his e-mail address that day she'd seen him at Friendly Forks, just in case she ever felt like getting in touch with him). It was this last message that had required the most attention, the most writing and rewriting and general creative anxiety. Her first draft had been coy and subtle, so subtle that it really didn't convey any message at all. She'd gone for a flirtatious vibe next, but that came off sounding shallow and oblivious. In the end, she tried to be as candid as possible, given the circumstances.

It was funny, but she didn't even realize what she was writing until she'd already written it—her very first love letter. First and last, probably.

The guard disappeared behind a door at the end of the hallway. Eliza slid the phone out of her sleeve and turned on the camera app, but the guard was back a second later, and she had to hide it again.

“Send one of 'em in,” said a voice from the office.

Kevin was standing closer to the door (just as they'd planned), so he went in first. They'd hoped the guard would go along with him, giving Eliza a minute or two alone in the hallway, but no such luck.
The Overzealous Seductress
included a provision for such a situation, but Eliza was still a little embarrassed to put it into action.