Among the Hidden

  “Us, you mean. We. You’re going, too, remember? Don’t worry—nobody’ll stop us.” She giggled. “I checked the national employee staffing schedules through the computer. Let’s just say several of the Population Police got some unexpected days off.”

  “You mean you changed their schedules? You can do that?”

  Jen nodded, a wicked gleam in her eye.

  “It took me a whole month to figure out how, but you are now looking at an accomplished hacker.”

  Dimly, Luke realized why Jen had seemed so relaxed and happy on his last several visits. They’d been vacations for her, breaks from intense work on plans for the rally. He looked closer and saw the fatigue in her eyes. She looked like a younger version of Mom after a twelve-hour shift in the chicken factory, or Dad after a long day of baling hay. But there was something more in her expression—his parents had never looked so feverishly giddy.

  “What if someone finds out what you did? And changes it back?”

  Jen shook her head. “They won’t. I was very selective—I coordinated everyone’s travel plans and only eliminated the police who had to be eliminated. Aren’t you excited? We’re going to be free after all these years.” She leaned down and pulled a sheaf of papers out from under the couch. “Best hiding place in the world. The maid’s too lazy to clean under there. Now, let’s see, I’ll pick you up at 10 P.M., and—”

  Luke was glad she was looking at the papers instead of him. He wouldn’t have been able to meet her eyes.

  “Okay, okay, so nobody’s going to be caught on the way to the capital. But once you’re there, at the president’s house, someone will call the Population Police, and then—” Luke felt panicky just thinking about it.

  Jen wasn’t fazed. “So what?” she asked. “I don’t care who gets called once we’re there. Heck, I may call the Population Police myself. They’re not going to do anything to a crowd of a thousand, especially not when lots of us are related to Government officials. We’ll make them listen to us. We’re a revolution!”

  Luke looked away. “But your friends—you were mad at them because they weren’t into it—what if they don’t show up?”

  “What do you mean?” Jen’s voice was fierce.

  Luke could barely speak for the panic welling inside him. “In the chat room, they were making jokes. Carlos and Sean and the others. You said they weren’t taking it seriously.”

  “Oh, that. That was—a long time ago. They’re all on board. They’re psyched. Why, Carlos is my lieutenant in all of this. You wouldn’t believe how much he’s helped. So, okay, ten o’clock, and then it’s eight hours to the capital, and—” she consulted her papers again. “What kind of sign do you want to carry? ‘I deserve a life’ or ‘End the Population Law now!’ or—this is one I found in an old book—‘Give me liberty or give me death’?”

  Luke tried to imagine what Jen seemed to be taking for granted. He could get in a car. He’d sat in the pickup in the barn—a car wasn’t much different. And for eight hours, that would be all he had to do—sit. Not that difficult. Except that panic would be coursing through him for the entire eight hours because of where the car was going. And then to get out, in public, at the president’s house? And carry a sign? His imagination failed. He broke out in a cold sweat.

  “Jen, I—” he started.

  “Yes?”

  Jen waited. The silence between them seemed to be growing, like a balloon. Luke struggled to speak.

  “I can’t go.”

  Jen gaped at him.

  “I can’t,” he said again, weakly.

  Jen shook her head briskly. “Yes, you can,” she said. “I know you’re scared—who isn’t? But this is important. Do you want to hide all your life, or do you want to change history?”

  Luke made a stab at humor.

  “Isn’t there another choice?”

  Jen didn’t laugh. She sprang from the couch.

  “Another choice. Another choice.” She paced, then jerked back to face Luke. “Sure. You can be a coward and hope someone else changes the world for you. You can hide up in that attic of yours until someone knocks at your door and says, ‘Oh, yeah, they freed the hidden. Want to come out?’ Is that what you want?”

  Luke didn’t answer.

  “You’ve got to come, Luke, or you’ll hate yourself the rest of your life. When you don’t have to hide anymore, even years from now, there’ll always be some small part of you whispering, ‘I don’t deserve this. I didn’t fight for it. I’m not worth it.’ And you are, Luke, you are. You’re smart and funny and nice, and you should be living life, instead of being buried alive in that old house of yours—”

  “Maybe I just don’t mind hiding as much as you do,” Luke whispered.

  Jen faced him squarely, her gaze unwavering.

  “Yes, you do. You hate walls as much as I do. Maybe more. Have you ever listened to yourself? Every time you talk about how you used to go outdoors and work in the garden or something, you glow. You’re alive. Even if you don’t want anything else, don’t you want to get the outdoors back?”

  What Luke wanted was to get away from Jen. Because she was right. Everything she said was right. But that couldn’t mean he had to go. He huddled deeper in the couch.

  “I’m not brave like you,” he said.

  Jen grabbed his shoulders and peered into his eyes.

  “Oh, yeah?” she said. “You dared to come over here, didn’t you? And here’s something—why are you always the one who makes the trip? Ever think of that? If I’m so much braver, how come I’m not risking my life to see you?”

  There were a thousand answers to that. Because I found you first. Because your house is safer than mine. Because I need you more than you need me. You’ve got your computer and all your chat room friends. And you go places. Luke squirmed away.

  “My dad hangs around my house too much,” he said. “It’s safer this way. I’m—I’m just protecting you.”

  Jen backed up. “Thanks for the chivalry,” she said bitterly. “I’ve got enough people protecting me. If you care so much, why don’t you help me get free? You say you won’t come to the rally for yourself—so do it for me. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

  Luke winced. When she put things that way, how could he not go? Except—he couldn’t.

  “You’re crazy,” he said. “I can’t go, and neither should you. It’s too dangerous.”

  Jen flashed him a look of pure disgust.

  “You can leave now,” she said coldly. “I don’t have time for you.”

  Luke could feel the ice in her words. He stood up.

  “But—”

  “Go,” Jen said.

  Luke stumbled toward the door. He stopped by the blinds and turned around.

  “Jen, can’t you understand? I do want it to work. I hope—”

  “Hope doesn’t mean anything,” Jen snapped. “Action’s the only thing that counts.”

  Luke backed out the door. He stood on the Talbots’ patio, blinking in the sunlight, breathing in the smell of fresh air and danger. Then he turned and ran home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Luke let the kitchen door slam behind him and didn’t care. He was so mad, his eyes blurred. The nerve of her, saying I don’t have time for you. Who did she think she was? He tramped up the stairs. She’d always thought she was better than him, just because she was a Baron, showing off with her soda and her potato chips and her fancy computer. So what? It didn’t mean she was special, just because her parents had lots of money. It wasn’t like she’d earned it or anything. Who was she, anyway? Just some dumb old girl. He wished he’d never gone over there. All she did was brag, brag, brag and show off. That’s all the rally was, anyhow, showing off: Hey, look, I’m a third child and I can go to the president’s house and nobody will hurt me. He hoped someone shot her. That would show her.

  Luke stopped in the middle of pulling the attic door shut behind him. No, no, he took it back. He didn’t want anyone to shoot her. His knees w
ent weak, and he had to sit down on the stairs, all his anger suddenly turned to fear. What if someone did shoot her? He remembered the sign she’d asked if he wanted to carry: “Give me liberty or give me death.” Was she serious? Did she expect to—? He stopped himself from thinking the rest. What if she never came back? He should go, if only to protect Jen. But he couldn’t—

  Luke buried his face in his hands, trying to hide from his own thoughts.

  Mother found him there, hours later, still crouched on the stairs.

  “Luke! Were you getting impatient waiting for me to get home? Did you have a nice day?”

  Luke stared at her as though she were a vision from another life.

  “I—” he started, ready to spill everything. He couldn’t hold it all in.

  Mother felt his forehead.

  “Are you sick? You’re so pale—I worry about you, Luke, all day long. But then I remind myself, you’re safe here at home, out of harm’s way.” She gave him a weary smile and ruffled his hair.

  Luke swallowed hard and recovered himself. What was he thinking? He couldn’t tell anyone about Jen. He couldn’t betray her.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “I just haven’t been out in the sun for a while, remember. Not that I’m complaining, of course,” he added hastily.

  Hiding again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  For three days, Luke agonized. Sometimes he decided he had to stop Jen, to persuade her not to go. Sometimes he decided he ought to go with her. Sometimes he was mad again, and thought he should just stalk over there and demand an apology.

  But anything he might do required seeing Jen, and that wasn’t possible. It poured every day, the rain coming down in long, dreary sheets that made Luke feel worse as he watched from the attic vents. Downstairs he could hear Dad stomping around, muttering every now and then about the time and topsoil being lost with every raindrop. Luke felt like a prisoner.

  Thursday night he went to bed convinced he’d never be able to sleep for imagining Jen and the others in her car, getting farther and farther from him and closer and closer to danger. But he must have dozed off, because he woke to total darkness. His heart pounded. He was sweaty. Had he dreamed something? Had he heard something? A floor-board creaked. His ears roared as he tried to listen. Was that someone else’s breath or just his own, loud and scared? A beam of light swept across his face.

  “Luke?” A whisper.

  Luke bolted up in bed.

  “Jen? Is that you?”

  She switched off her flashlight.

  “Yes. I thought I’d kill myself coming up your stairs. Why didn’t you tell me they were so narrow?” She sounded like the same old Jen, not mad. Not crazy.

  “I didn’t know you’d ever be climbing them,” Luke said.

  It was insane to be talking about stairs now, in the middle of the night, in his room. Every word either of them spoke was dangerous. Mother was a light sleeper. But Luke was delighted not to be moving on, not to be talking about what Jen had really come to talk about.

  “Your parents didn’t lock your doors,” Jen said. She seemed to be stalling, too. “Guess I’m lucky the Government outlawed pets. Didn’t farmers always used to keep big guard dogs that would chomp people’s heads off in one bite?”

  Luke shrugged, then remembered Jen couldn’t see him in the dark. “Jen, I—” He wasn’t sure what he was going to say until he said it. “I still can’t go. I’m sorry. It’s something about having parents who are farmers, not lawyers. And not being a Baron. It’s people like you who change history. People like me—we just let things happen to us.”

  “No. You’re wrong. You can make things happen—”

  Luke sensed, rather than saw, Jen shaking her head. Even in the dark, he could visualize each precisely cut strand of hair bouncing and falling back into place.

  “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I didn’t come here to harp at you. This is dangerous, and no one should go unwillingly. I was too hard on you the other day. I just wanted to say—you’ve been a good friend. I’ll miss you.”

  “But you’ll be back,” Luke said. “Tomorrow—or the next day—after the rally. I’ll be over to visit. If your rally works, I’ll be walking in the front door.”

  “We can hope,” Jen said softly. Her voice faded away.

  “Good-bye, Luke.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Luke lay awake the rest of the night. At first light, he got up and quietly scrubbed away the mud Jen had tracked in and up the stairs. Trust her not to think about mud. He fervently hoped she’d thought of all the details about the rally.

  Luke was just finishing the last of the kitchen floor when he heard the toilet flushing upstairs. He hid the muddy rags in the trash and scrambled back to his place on the stairs just in time to meet Mother coming down.

  “ ’Morning, early bird.” She yawned. “Were you up during the night? I thought I heard something.”

  “I had trouble sleeping,” Luke said truthfully.

  Mother yawned again.

  “And you’re up early . . . feeling okay?”

  “Just hungry,” Luke said.

  But he picked at his food. Everything he ate stuck in his throat.

  After the rest of his family left, he risked sneaking over and turning the radio on low. There were weather reports and commercials for soybean seed and lots of music.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered, keeping one eye on the side window, watching for Dad.

  Finally the radio voice announced the news. Someone’s cattle had gotten out and caused a minor car wreck. Nobody hurt. A Government spokesman predicted a poor planting season because of all the rain.

  Nothing about the rally.

  Dad came back toward the house. Luke snapped off the radio and bolted for the stairs.

  At lunch, Dad forgot to turn the radio on, and Luke had to remind him. The announcer promised a big story after the commercials. His sandwich gone, Dad reached over to turn the radio off.

  “No, no—wait!” Luke said. “This might be interesting—”

  Dad harrumphed, but waited.

  The announcer came back. He cleared his throat and declared that new Government statistics proved last year’s alfalfa harvest had set a record for the decade.

  It was like that for days. Luke kept waiting, desperate to hear anything. But the few times he could get to the radio, it said nothing.

  Every time Dad left the house for any length of time, Luke switched on the light by the back door, his old signal to Jen. He stared so hard, willing her answering light to go on, that he thought he would go blind. But there was nothing.

  He took to watching her house as obsessively as he had when he had first discovered her existence. There was no sign of her. The rest of her family came and went as usual. Did they look sadder? Happy? Worried? At peace? From a distance, he couldn’t tell.

  He got so desperate, he asked Mother if she’d thought about going over to visit the new neighbors, to welcome them to the area. She looked at him as if he were deranged.

  “They’ve been there for months. They’re hardly new anymore. And they’re Barons,” she said. She laughed in a way that didn’t hide her bitterness. “Believe me, they don’t want us visiting.”

  And what was she supposed to do, say, “Nice to meet you. Now, tell me everything about the child you never talk about”?

  After a week, Luke did feel deranged. Every time anyone spoke to him, he jumped. Mother asked him, “Are you all right?” so many times, he took to avoiding her. But he couldn’t just sit in the attic, waiting. He paced. He fidgeted. He chewed his fingernails.

  He came up with a plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Finally, finally, a week and a half after the rally, a day dawned that was so clear and dry, Luke knew Dad would be in the fields all day. Without hope, Luke turned on the light by the back door. After five minutes without a response, he turned it off and quietly slipped out the door.

  The cool air was a jolt, a
nd for the briefest time, he paused. This was more dangerous than ever.

  “But I have to know,” he muttered fiercely, and crept alongside the barn before making his dash for Jen’s house.

  He had to rip the screen and break the pane of one of the Talbot’s windows, which he felt bad about. But it didn’t matter. If Jen was there, she could think of an excuse. And if she wasn’t . . . if she wasn’t, he’d never be back at the Talbots’ again.

  Once inside, he knew he had to do something about the alarm quickly. Jen had explained it to him once, told him the exact sequence of buttons to hit to disable it. He ran to the hall closet, yanked open the door, and punched buttons quickly, afraid he’d forget the sequence if he hesitated even a second. Green-blue-yellow-green-blue-orange-red. The lights blinked out before he hit the last button, and that spooked him. Was that how it worked before?

  “Hurry, hurry,” he urged himself. The words kept replaying in his brain.

  “Jen?” he called. “Jen?”

  He went up and down stairs, looking in every room.

  “Jen? You don’t have to hide. It’s me. Luke.”

  The house was enormous, three floors and a basement. He couldn’t search everywhere, but if Jen was there, why would she hide? Against reason, he kept hoping she was.

  “Jen? Come on. This isn’t funny.”

  He found the bedrooms—huge, elegant rooms with beautifully carved beds and long, mirrored closets. He couldn’t even tell which one was Jen’s.

  Finally, he admitted defeat and rushed down to the computer room.

  He hurried over to the keyboard and typed in the same sequence of letters he’d watched Jen type so many times. His fingers were clumsy, and he kept messing up. Finally, he got to the chat room password. F-E-R-E. No. Erase. F-E-E-R. No. At last he got it. F-R-E-E.

  The screen went blank, with none of the friendly banter that had magically appeared every time he’d watched Jen. Had he done something wrong? Frantically, he exited and entered the chat room again, his hands shaking. Still nothing. Timidly, using only his right index finger, he typed, “Where’s Jen?” He had to hold one hand with the other to steady his finger enough to hit the Enter button.