The Burn (3 page)

“Do you think we’ve over-done the Juice Deck? We’ve
been there for two dates already. But it was where we had our first
kiss, so it
is
kinda special.”

Jessa keeps talking, going on about dates and what
the options are in the colony, but that memory of Mr. Klein has me
thinking. That had been a year and a half ago, and I had completely
forgotten the conversation. He had all but given me his blessing to
find a way to explore the Burn. So there has to be a way to do it,
and I am convinced he knows about it. If he is as fascinated with
the Burn as I am, he will have found a way by now.

Then I remember when I had surprised him that day,
and the way he hunched over that laptop. Protecting the monitor
from the view of the watcher, I realize. I remember the guilty way
he slammed it closed and jumped up when he knew someone was behind
him. The answers are on that laptop, and I have to see it. But
there is someone always watching. How can I access his computer
without getting him or me into trouble?

“So what are you going to do about that red-head
that’s been eyeing you every day this week?” Jessa whispers behind
her hand.

“You can’t prove anything!”

Then I realize I’m not sure what she even asked me. I
was so caught up in planning, that the first words I hear are
accusations that aren’t actually there. “Wait, what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, pull it together,
Terra. This is getting ridiculous.” She curls a lock of hair around
her finger coyly. “I said, what are you going to do about the
red-head?” And she inclines her head toward a boy standing a few
feet away from us. He looks down at a book in his hand when I
glance his way.

“Him?” I lower my voice when it comes out as a
squeak. “Please, Jessa. Don’t embarrass me again. You know I don’t
want to double with you and Brant.”

“Oh, come on. He’s kinda cute in a gangly sort of
way. And besides there’s the summer dance tomorrow night in the
atrium. Everyone will be there. You skipped the past two years. I’m
not letting you miss this one, too.”

My mind churns ahead. Everyone will be there—they
always are. It is a break in schedule. We don’t have to be in our
quarters, don’t have to clock in at 22:00 for bed. It’s an event
that is probably tame for the Burn but almost borders on riotous
for all of us down here. It is the perfect chance to slip to Mr.
Klein’s office without being seen.

“Okay.” I try to seem casual.

Jessa looks at me like I’ve swallowed too much
seawater. “Serious?”

“Yes.”

“No way.”

“Yes. Serious. I promise.”

Jessa claps her hands, then promptly makes her way
over to Red Head. His eyes flicker over to me a couple times, and
the blush that creeps up his face turns the dusting of freckles
across his cheeks dark red. Then a huge smile breaks out on his
face. He comes over to stand in front of me, and holds out a hand
that is mostly long, skinny fingers.

“I’m Matt.”

I almost laugh but bite my tongue. No one down here
is named Matt. Too common of a Burn name. Dad will love this.

“Terra.”

“Hi, Terra. I’m glad to meet you. Do you want to go
to the dance? Tomorrow night? With me?” He’s unsure of himself as
the questions come tumbling out. The transport lurches to a stop at
the living quarter. We amble out.

“Sure, that’d be nice.” I turn toward the corridor
that leads to our house. He smiles.

“I’ll come by at 7.”

“Great.” I hardly look at him. I hope that isn’t too
weird. But he must be fine with it, because he lopes off down
another corridor.

Jessa bounces alongside me. “That was so perfect!
This is going to be the best dance ever. I’ll be with Brant, you’ll
actually come. Maybe I can convince Dad not to give another long,
boring speech, and it
will
be the best dance ever.”

The corridor is softly rounded so there are no
corners and everything looks fluid. Front doors of quarters line
the walls on either side of us, recessed a few feet by archways.
Mr. Klein told me the Burn has similar living arrangements. They’re
called apartments.

We stop at ours and Jessa holds her palm to a white,
glass panel to the right of the door. A light flashes across the
surface of the glass, scanning her hand. Then the door slides
open.

Our quarters have one big common room with a couch,
desk, and multi-purpose monitor. There is a big window with a view
of dark ocean. There are a few plants hanging from the ceiling. The
kitchen and washroom arch off on one side, and the three bedrooms
arch off on the other. Jessa throws her bag on the couch.

“Hey, Gram. We’d better be making something easy
tonight because I want time to pick out dresses for us. This is
going to be amazing!”

“Welcome home, girls,” Grandma calls absently. She
stands in front of the monitor. There is an image of a meal being
prepared, and that same monotone female voice as the transport tube
says, “Tuesday’s nightly meal. Whole wheat macaroni and cheese with
steamed vegetables and fish fillets. All nutritionally balanced for
your health and perfectly seasoned for your taste. You will find
the ingredients have been delivered to your refrigeration unit.
Please leave the monitor on while I guide you through the
preparation.”

Gram zooms in on a picture of the ingredients. She
shakes her head. “Milk. So many of these meals have milk. I really
ought to speak with the nutritionists. Surely they could design a
meal schedule that includes milk-free options instead of just
offering a supplement capsule. Last Wednesday’s breakfast required
milk, and now this one. It’s hard when your father is lactose
intolerant.” She mumbles a minute more, then looks up and smiles.
“Just in time to help.”

Jessa flits into the kitchen. I sigh and drop my bag
next to hers. I better get dinner over with so I can plot my
deviousness that is scheduled to take place tomorrow night.

Gram measures out our prescribed servings of
mac’n’cheese, and Jessa and I lay the forks and knives out when Dad
walks through the door.

Dad is tall. He is taller than most of the colonists,
and it helps his job as Speaker. He is physically imposing, and it
is amazing how many people respect that. Sometimes people listen to
him just because he is bigger than they are. I told Dad once that’s
what bullies do, and he laughed it off.

“But I don’t bully them, Terra. They just talk
themselves into feeling bullied. The last thing any of our colonies
need is a bully. We’re not like the Burn. We live off of unity,
equitable compromises, and peaceable decisions.”

Then suddenly the corners of his mouth fell and the
creases around his eyes drooped and he went to his room for three
hours. He only has one picture of my mom that he kept after she
left. I’ve never seen it because he guards it like a treasure in
his room. But sometimes I think he goes in there and talks to
it.

Does it help, talking to her? He’s the one who made
her leave.

Dad puts his bag in the cubicle by the door. Then he
reverently removes his Speaker’s sash and hangs that next to the
cubicle, carefully brushing out the wrinkles with his hands. Gram’s
eyes burn with pride as she watches her son take the proper care of
his position that she taught him. I snort. But quietly, of
course.

Dad sniffs the air. “That smells great, but my
secretary told me it has milk in it tonight. She promised to speak
with the nutritionists. We have diverse enough dietary needs that
Food Prep really needs to make more specialized meals. Enough of
this prescribed dinner for everyone.”

I smirk. “But Dad, equity for all?”

It is a smart-aleck comment, and I know it. But I
can’t help myself. Gram eyes me icily, but luckily Dad doesn’t
catch the sarcasm.

“Equity doesn’t always mean we all have the exact
same thing. As long as we all receive the same nutrition to meet
our needs, it is equitable. And I’d really love to eat something
that didn’t make me feel like vomiting.”

He ruffles my hair. Since he won’t be eating the
mac’n’cheese, Gram sets his supplement capsule next to his veggies
and fish.

“So, girls, tell me about your vocation today.”

We spend a few minutes in idle chatter, me telling
him the monotonous details of irrigation and Jessa more animatedly
telling about pruning and then the Juice Deck with Brant. Then she
goes in for the kill.

“And Terra’s coming to the summer dance with me and
Brant tomorrow night.”

Dad almost shoots a piece of broccoli out his
nose.

“Terra at the dance?” Gram says, bewildered.

Jessa nods, positively beaming. I show a sudden
interest in my whole-wheat elbow noodles.

“Terra, is that true?” Gram asks.

I nod and put a big piece of fish in my mouth so I
won’t have to immediately answer any questions.

“Are you going with anyone?” Gram says. My dad still
hasn’t recovered and is coughing into a napkin.

I nod and chew slowly.

“That’s wonderful. Isn’t that wonderful?” she says.
Dad’s whole face is red, but he finally clears his throat.

“Yes, quite. Your mother would be pleased. Who are
you going with?”

That is the question I’ve been dreading. I have no
idea what to tell them about Matt.

“Umm, he’s this kid, Matt, that Jessa and I met on
the transport.”

“Matt,” Dad says, turning the name over in his head.
He taps his chin. “Matt.” He puts his fork down and leans back in
his chair. “Uncommon name down here. What’s his last name?”

I shrug. “Don’t know.”

“Is he your age?”

“Maybe a year or two older.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s tall and skinny with red hair and
freckles.”

“Hmm. Red hair is pretty rare too. Think I’d remember
that one. Maybe he’s a recent transfer from another colony. I’ll
have to look into it.”

I just about die. The last thing I need is my dad
getting the file on the random guy I am using as a decoy on the
night I am going to hack Mr. Klein’s computer.

“Oh, please, Dad! My first date in I don’t know how
long, you don’t need to call security on him.”

Dad smiles, but it isn’t all teasing. “Just looking
out for you, Terra.” He stabs another piece of fish and slowly puts
it in his mouth.

Every word implies that I am the liability in the
family. I am the rebel. I express the most interest in the Burn, I
haven’t found a vocation, and now I am going on a date with a
mystery boy who doesn’t seem to fit in. If only my dad knew how
much of a rebel I am considering becoming. I spend the rest of the
meal studying my plate.

Dad offers to clean up dinner, so Jessa and I make a
dash for our room. When the door closes, Jessa throws herself at
the closet.

“I can’t believe the grilling Dad gave you. It’s like
he thinks you’re some kind of deviant or something. What do you
think of this?” She pulls an orange skirt out of the closet.

When Jessa started out, I almost expected to be able
to open up to her about how I was feeling at the table. A stupid
thought, I know, but still I want to talk to somebody about this
“explore the Burn” madness. But with Jessa it’s almost easier not
to talk. She doesn’t understand the insanity I’m experiencing, she
just wants me close and is excited to be going to the dance with me
tomorrow night. I love her for it.

Jessa hauls out every skirt and dress in our closet
to find the perfect ensemble for the dance. After she choses a
black skirt with a hot-pink shirt, she turns her scrutiny on
me.

“What are you going to wear?”

I lie on the bed, staring out the window. The ocean
frowns back at me. I squint, straining my eyes for the surface that
floats thousands of feet above me, hoping I can see some kind of
light that isn’t man-made. Then a light does appear faintly in the
dark. Lazily, an angler fish swims into view, all teeth and blind
eyes and the long, glowing dangler hanging down in front of its
mouth.

That’s what life is like down here. You hope for
glimpses of light, and when you find it, you realize there’s
nothing there but a gaping mouth and sharp teeth and it’ll swallow
you whole if you aren’t careful.

I throw a book at the window. It thumps against the
borosilicate and the fish darts away. The light fades into the
black.

Jessa sighs, long and dramatic.

“Sorry,” I say. She raises an eyebrow. I drag myself
away from the window. “No, really. Sorry. I’ve just been thinking
about a lot.”

Her eyes quiz me.

“I was just feeling like I…like I should go…” What am
I doing? I can’t tell any of this to Jessa. The watcher next to the
window records all of this, and Jessa will be implicated.

“Like I need to change vocations,” I finally stammer
out.

“Again?”

I nod.

“Do you realize how many times you’ve changed?”

“Five. And you’re the last person I need to remind
me.”

“Sorry. But someone needs to tell you. Again. I
really thought we’d have fun on the field together. I was excited
when Dad told me they thought farming would be a better fit—more
light, more quiet time, helping something grow.”

When she says it like that, farming does sound like a
good fit. She’s right—there is light. Practically identical to real
sunlight except that it won’t end in a supernova. That has to be
better, right? Maybe I should try to like it. Maybe I’ll go tonight
and give it one last try. I probably don’t have very many days left
until my Burn exploration begins, so I better make sure I know what
I’m doing.

Then she grows quiet. “And maybe you should stick
with it for Dad.”

I snort. “Yeah, right. Dad gives me as hard a time as
he can. Why would I make it easier on him?”

Jessa is suddenly busy with her hair, not looking at
me. “You know it’s hard on him every time you do something like
this. He just thinks he’s a failure. That if Mom were still here,
you’d be fine.”