Among the Betrayed

  “They want to talk about shadows,” Bonner repeated. “Right. So do the Population Police. What if it’s a trap?”

  “What if it isn’t?” Nina hissed. “What if this is our only chance?” She prayed the other two wouldn’t ask what it was a chance for—she’d never be able to explain. Maybe Sally and Bonner had never gotten to the point, in hiding, where they wanted to scream at the four walls around them. Maybe they hadn’t read and reread and re-reread all the fairy tales where princesses were released from magic spells and evil enchantments. Maybe they’d never thought, even at Harlow, Oh, please, there’s got to be more. This can’t be all my life is.

  “Look, you can take your I.D. card with you into the woods,” Nina said. “The Population Police can’t do anything to you if you have your I.D. card. And we don’t even have to talk to these boys. We can just hide behind the trees and watch them. Just come with me. Please?”

  “Oh, all right,” Bonner said grimly.

  “Sally?” Nina asked.

  “Okay,” Sally said in her smallest voice. Nina knew that if there’d been even a glimmer of light in the room, she would have been able to see absolute terror in Sally’s eyes. For once Nina was glad for darkness.

  So they’d gone into the woods, clutching their fake I.D.’s like lifelines. But they hadn’t just hidden and watched. They’d met Jason and his friends. And Jason had told them a wonderful story about a girl not any older than them, Jen Talbot, who’d led a rally demanding rights for third children like them. Jen had been brave enough to tell the Government that third children shouldn’t have to hide. Jen had died for her beliefs, but still, listening to Jason’s wonderfully deep voice praise Jen, Nina had wanted to be just like her.

  But now that Nina had been arrested, it looked like Sally and Bonner had been right. The woods had been dangerous. The three of them shouldn’t have stepped foot outside Harlow School. Nina should never have met Jason, never have kissed him, never have fallen in love.

  “No!” Nina found herself screaming again. “No, no, no, no, no . . .”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The hating man came back. Nina stared at him coldly, her eyes like slits, her chin held high.

  “You’re the one who lied,” she said. “Why should I believe you? You can say anything you like. But I know. Jason wouldn’t betray me.”

  The hating man wouldn’t meet her gaze. He glanced to the other side of her jail cell.

  “Why haven’t you eaten?” he asked.

  For the first time Nina noticed a tray of food just beyond her feet. Two thick crusts of black bread, a smear of synthetic butter on each, were stacked on a plate with a small, wormy-looking apple. It was no worse than the food she’d eaten at Harlow, or at home.

  “I wasn’t hungry,” Nina said defiantly, and it was true. But now that she looked at the food, her stomach rumbled.

  “Right,” the man said with a disbelieving snort. “Hunger strikes aren’t terribly effective when you’re condemned to die anyway.”

  He spoke so casually that it was all Nina could do not to gasp. So it was true. They were going to kill her. Fine. But they couldn’t make her die hating Jason.

  The man rocked back on his heels and squinted at Nina, like a naturalist studying an interesting bug. For a while the Government had been big on the idea that everyone should eat insects, so they’d shown a lot of bug shows on TV. Nina had never thought to feel sorry for the bugs being studied.

  “So,” the man said. “Is Nina Idi your real name?”

  No! Nina wanted to scream. It would feel so good to tell the truth now, at the end. Nina had always loved her real name, Elodie. Elodie Luria. When she was really little, Aunty Zenka had even made up a song about Nina’s name: “You’re just like a melody . . . Our little Elodie.” Elodie was a fairy-tale name, a princess’s name. When Gran and the aunties had scrimped and saved and finally gotten enough money to buy Nina a fake I.D. on the black market, Gran had come home and laid out the I.D. card on the table like a golden prize. Nina had tiptoed over and read the name, with all the aunties and Gran circled around like the good fairy godmothers at Sleeping Beauty’s christening. Then Nina had begun screaming.

  “Nina Idi? That’s my name now? That’s like . . . like Ninny Idiot! You want me to be a Ninny Idiot?” Even screaming, Nina had felt ashamed. That little rectangle of plastic was her ticket to freedom. It represented twelve years of Aunty Lystra wearing glasses she couldn’t see through anymore, twelve years of Aunty Rhoda wearing the same coat, twelve years of Gran darning socks so many times the socks were more darn than sock. Twelve years of all of them living on stale bread and thin broth. Still, Nina couldn’t help feeling that the precious card was her death sentence instead of her reprieve. If she wasn’t Elodie anymore, if she was supposed to be this strange new person, Nina Idi, then she wasn’t Aunty Zenka’s little melody, she wasn’t Gran’s little sweetiekins, she wasn’t the one beloved ray of sunshine in an apartment full of tired old women. She wasn’t anybody at all.

  Somehow, amazingly, Gran and the aunties had recognized Nina’s screaming as fear, not brattiness. They’d all crowded around her, hugging her, comforting her, “You’ll always be our special girl, no matter what. Even when you’re away at that school . . .”

  And just hearing that word, “school,” Nina had understood that Nina Idi really was killing Elodie Luria. Elodie could exist only in Gran’s apartment. Nina was the one who was going to leave.

  But now if Nina Idi was about to die, wouldn’t she rather die as Elodie?

  It was so tempting.

  “That’s not a tough question,” the man chided her. “Are you Nina Idi or not?”

  “You’re the one who arrested me,” Nina snapped, just to buy some time. “Don’t you know my name? Maybe you didn’t even arrest the right person!”

  The man turned around.

  “Guard?” he called toward the door. “A chair?”

  Minutes later a guard appeared with a solid wood chair that the man slid into. He leaned back in it, obviously enjoying the greater comfort. Nina still huddled on the cold concrete floor. The guard left, locking the door behind him.

  “I decided this conversation might be worth continuing longer than I wanted to spend squatting on your putrid floor,” the hating man said, as if it were Nina’s fault her jail cell was dirty. He leaned toward her, resting his chin on his hands, his elbows on his knees. “Now. Surely you realize my question wasn’t as stupid as you imply. After all, the other criminal we arrested yesterday morning, Scott Renault, was masquerading as Jason Barstow, pretending to be an illegal third child who’d gotten ahold of a fake I.D. Supposedly he was trying to trick other illegals with fake I.D.’s into revealing their true identity so he could report them to the Population Police. Got all that? His story, of course, is ludicrous. Everyone knows that in this great country of ours it’s impossible for an illegal to get a fake I.D. No law-abiding citizen would defy our beloved Government so flagrantly.”

  Nina stared back at the man in confusion.

  “What . . . what was I arrested for?” she asked quietly.

  “Treason, of course,” the man said, almost cheerfully. “You betrayed your country.”

  “How?” Nina asked again.

  “Hey, who’s supposed to be asking the questions here?” the man protested. He answered her anyway: “You and this Jason—Scott?—what should I call him?”

  “Jason,” Nina whispered. “He’s Jason.”

  “Okay. Whatever. You and this Jason tried to trick the Population Police into paying you for turning in a bunch of so-called exnays—illegals trying to pass themselves off as legitimate citizens. Just what I said before. Except all the supposed ‘exnays’ actually were legitimate citizens, some of them with very powerful and well-connected families. Just think if the Population Police had fallen for your little ploy . . .”

  Nina stopped listening. She had never felt so thickheaded and stupid before in her life. None of this made sense.


  “You don’t think I’m an illegal third child with a fake I.D.?” she asked cautiously.

  “Of course not,” the man said. “There’s no evidence of that. And if you were an exnay yourself, why would you betray your own comrades?”

  Nina closed her eyes, afraid the man might see how relieved she was. She felt like turning cartwheels right there in her jail cell. They don’t know! she wanted to scream. They wouldn’t be tracking down Gran and the aunties, and her mother, to arrest all of them for hiding her. No one at Harlow School would get in trouble for harboring a fugitive. The Population Police wouldn’t kill Nina for being illegal.

  No. They’d just kill her for something she hadn’t done. Treason? Turning in exnays?

  Nina opened her eyes, gave the hating man her most indignant stare.

  “There’s been a mistake,” she said firmly. “I never tried to turn in any exnays. I never tried to get the Population Police to pay me.”

  The man whipped out a little notebook and began to write.

  “Ah, now you’re talking,” he murmured. “I knew you’d come to your senses and try to blame Jason, just like he tried to blame you. No honor among thieves, I suppose.” He stopped writing but kept his pen poised over the paper. “So, what’s your story? You gonna be the poor, innocent little girl who just did what Jason told you? It always helps if you cry during that one.”

  Nina felt like he’d slapped her.

  “No, really,” she protested. “I didn’t do anything. And Jason didn’t, either. I’m sure of it.”

  “So you can vouch for Jason?” the man asked. “His whereabouts and his actions, every minute of every day?”

  “No, but—”

  “But what?” The man was smirking now.

  “But I know Jason. I know he’d never do anything like that.”

  “Just like you know he’d never betray you,” the man said.

  “Right! Exactly!” Nina said eagerly.

  The man pulled a rectangular plastic case out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He twisted around again and yelled, “Guard?” Moments later the guard appeared and passed a metal box through the bars.

  “Ever seen a tape recorder before?” the man asked Nina.

  “No,” Nina said.

  “Well, that’s what this is. We can record anything anyone says. On a tape.” He held up the plastic case he’d taken out of his pocket. He slipped the tape into the recorder. “And once we’ve recorded something, we can play it back as many times as we want.” He pushed a button.

  Nina heard a whirring sound, then a voice. The tape was a little crackly and hard to hear, like TV on brownout days. But Nina still recognized the voice: Jason’s. She leaned forward eagerly, as if Jason were really there and she could throw herself in his arms.

  “And Nina said to me, ‘Did you ever see those commercials on TV? About third kids and how the Population Police want to hunt them down?’ She said, ‘I bet they’d pay good money if we turned somebody in.’ And I said, ‘I don’t know any third kids.’ And she laughed and said, ‘So what? All we have to do is pretend. We can turn in anybody we want. And we’ll get a reward.’ And I said, ‘But that’s lying! That’s wrong! We can’t do that.’ But then she made me—you know how girls are.”

  Nina reached out and grabbed the tape recorder. She hurled it at the opposite wall as hard as she could. It cracked hitting the concrete; the tape crashed out when it fell to the floor. Nina strained to reach for the tape because she wanted to destroy it, too. But the man was quicker than she was. His hand closed around the tape as Nina’s handcuffs bit into her wrists, holding her back. He put the tape back in his pocket.

  “Now, now,” he said. “What a temper.” He pulled his notebook out again. “So can I put you on record as saying exactly what Jason said, only with the names reversed? And Jason said to me, “I bet they’d pay good money if we turned somebody in.” . . . And I said, “But that’s lying! It’s wrong! We can’t do that!” ’ ” He made his imitation of Nina’s voice prissy and falsetto and incredibly childish.

  Nina didn’t answer. She turned her face toward the wall so the man couldn’t see that she was crying. Vaguely a thought flickered in her mind, This isn’t a nightmare. Even nightmares are never this bad.

  “Do I take your silence for agreement?” the man goaded her. “But what are you agreeing to? That you want to betray this Jason you knew so well, the way he betrayed you? Or that what he said was right, and you’re to blame for everything? Which is it?”

  Nina forced herself to look back at the man.

  “I,” she said fiercely, “will never agree with anything you say.”

  “Hmm,” the man said. “That’s interesting. Because I was about to make you an offer that could save your life. But it appears you’re not in the greatest of moods at the moment. Guess my offer will have to wait.”

  He stood up and took his chair and the pieces of the broken tape recorder and let himself out of her cell. Nina kept her head turned away from him so she could sob facing the wall.

  But when Nina was sure he was gone, she looked back and saw that he’d left behind a white handkerchief, neatly folded, perfectly pressed. Nina grabbed the handkerchief and crumpled it into a ball, ready to hurl it at the wall as well. But a handkerchief wouldn’t hit with as much satisfying force as the tape recorder had. A handkerchief would only float gently to the ground, like a bird finding a safe perch.

  Nina looked around to make sure no one was watching, then loudly blew her nose.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nina ate the bread, too. She was disgusted with herself, that she could gobble up every crumb and eat the wormy apple down to its seeds. She should be pining for Jason, sobbing endlessly like some poor spurned heroine in one of Aunty Zenka’s books. But Nina wasn’t heartbroken anymore. She was mad. The food just gave her more energy for fury.

  “I was a Ninny Idiot,” she muttered to herself. “I deserve my name.”

  How could he? How could Jason have stood there in the moonlight, night after night, gazing into her eyes so lovingly, then turn around and do this? Had he been planning to betray her even a month ago, the first time he’d whispered in her ear, “Why don’t we let the others go on back? We still have a few more minutes, just for us”? And then he’d held her hand and nuzzled her neck, and Nina had felt weak clear down to her toes. Even now she could still feel the sensation of his hand against hers, the pressure of his lips on hers. She had relived every kiss, every touch, so many times. Her ears could still bring back the sound of his voice, whispering, “I love you.”

  But he hadn’t loved her. He’d told the Population Police she’d done something evil, and they were going to kill her for it.

  Nina spit out an apple seed with such force that it bounced across the floor.

  She’d made a total fool of herself over Jason. She could remember all those meetings they’d held out in the woods, when she’d stared at him adoringly and said stupid things. Flirting. She could remember one time when a new boy, Lee Grant, had started coming outside, too. Jason was telling Lee about the rally that Jen Talbot had held, to demonstrate for the rights of third children. And Nina hadn’t contributed a thing to the conversation except to echo Jason, “The rally . . .” She wasn’t capable of saying anything intelligent, because she wasn’t really listening to the conversation, just watching the dim light on Jason’s face, admiring his strong profile. Studying the perfect slope of his nose.

  Idiotic.

  Even before that, before the first time she and Jason kissed, she’d flirted in a different way, acting big, making fun of males. “Well, isn’t that just like a boy!” she’d said probably a hundred times, with a simpering, stupid look on her face. She’d felt like she was acting in one of Aunty Zenka’s TV dramas. All she needed was a ball gown and one of those dainty little fold-up fans to wave in front of her face whenever she said something particularly precious.

  Ridiculous. That’s how she’d really looked—ridiculous. How had she f
orgotten? She was a gawky thirteen-year-old with thin braids hanging down on either side of her face. Even if she’d had the ball gown and the fold-up fan, they would only have made her look sillier.

  No wonder Jason had betrayed her. No wonder Sally and Bonner had inched away from her in the woods, like they didn’t want to be seen with her.

  Nina wanted to cry again, but the tears didn’t come. Her heart felt like a rock inside her chest. Everything around her was cold and hard and merciless: the concrete walls, the cement floor, the iron bars of her door. She had thought she could wrap herself in her memories of being loved—by Jason, by her friends at Harlow, by Gran and the aunties. But Jason’s love was fake. Her friends hadn’t defended her. And Gran and the aunties seemed so far away and long ago that it seemed like it was some other little girl they had loved. Some little Elodie that Nina could barely remember.

  Nina fell asleep, dry-eyed and hard-hearted, just one more cold thing in the jail.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Here’s the deal,” the man said.

  It was the middle of the night again, Nina thought, blinking stupidly and trying to wake up. The overhead light was blinding again. She felt dizzy from lack of food. Two crusts of bread and one small apple—in what, a day and a half?—did almost nothing to stave off hunger.

  “We think you can be useful to us,” the man was saying smoothly. He was holding out his hand to her. Nina blinked a few more times and made her eyes focus. What the man had in his hand was too incredible to be believed: a sandwich. And it wasn’t black bread and moldy cheese, the kind of sandwich Nina was used to, but a towering bun, thick and golden brown, with pale pink curls of—was that ham?—ham overflowing the sides. Nina had seen such a thing only on TV, on the forbidden channels that showed life before the famines.