The Moon Dwellers (11 page)

I’d prefer
them to be
called Deep, Deeper, and Deepest.

No matter how they spin things, it’
s a class system, one predicated on those at the top being worth more than those at the bottom.
My grandmother said the distinctions between the classe
s are
more o
bvious in our world, but that it
had been the same when people lived above the earth, only no one talked about it as much.

Finally, I fall asleep
.

He touches me.
His fingers a
re as gentle as feathers, but without the tickle, lingering on my knees before moving to my hips.
Desp
ite their softness, his hands a
re strong, firm, like they could crush stone with a single squeeze.

I am glad I don’t need to talk to him, do
n’t need to open my mouth and bumble through an awkw
ard introduction, one that will
inevitably end with my foot in my mouth.

Words aren’t necessary.
Actions say
so much more.

His
midnight
-
blue
eyes never leave mine, and although I feel
emb
arrassed by the attention, I do
n’t look away.
Pullin
g me closer, he touches
my hair, opening his fingers like t
he teeth in a comb.
His lips are so close I can
feel his hot exhalations meeting my own, swirling together, mixing.

* * *

I wake up.
It’
s still dark
, but only because the lights a
re out, and underground it’s always dark if the lights
are out.
I can sense that day has arrived.
That I’ve
made it through another
night.
Surprisingly
,
I feel
well
rested.
Which is
very unusual.
I c
a
n’t remember even one morning
in the Pen when I felt like I
had a satisfying sleep.

I sigh
, remembering my dream.
I always remember my dreams.
It’
s a blessing
and
a curse.
When I was young
I used to have terrible nightmares about drowning.
My dad said it
was
because I’
d nearly drowned when I was really little.
I was just a toddler, doing what toddlers do best: wandering off and getting into trouble.
Anyway, I fell into a shallow wel
l, one of the many that provide
water to our subchapter.
Luckily, someone heard me scream when I fell, and managed to
ride the bucket down and then keep me afloat until someone else could pull us up.
I have no memory of the actual event, but used to relive the feeling of the water swarming around me
,
threatening to suck the life out of me, on an almost nightly basis.

I have
n’t had a drowning dream for a while n
ow—for that I’m
thankful.

My latest dream has me puzzled.
Even when I had
a crush on a guy in school, I
didn’t dream about him, thank G
od.
To be honest, I feel kind of silly, like I am
just another ob
sessed fan of Tristan’s.
I feel
like slapping myself across th
e face, and usually I would, but I am
too busy trying to get the dream back into my mind.

Although I am awake now, my body still feels
a bit t
ingly, almost as if his hands a
re still on me, his lips only inches away from mine.
I shiver in the dark.

The lights co
m
e on and the computer voice comes
over the speaker.
“Good morning.
All guests may now exit their rooms for the day
,
”—
I hear
the click of the lock on my door—“b
reakfast will be served in the cafeteria.”
As if it would be served anywhere else.

The dream vanishes and I lie
in bed for a few minutes, blinking,
trying to get it back.
I can’t.
It is like the dream has
been permanently deleted f
rom my memory.
Logically, I know what the dream was about, but I ca
n’t seem to remember
the feelings from it.
All I know is that it
felt good
—maybe better than anything I’
ve ever felt before.
I wonder if it’s what sex will
feel like.

Some kids at
my old
school have
al
ready had sex, even though it i
s strictly forbidd
en until marriage.
I mean, the lecturers
t
aught us about it, and how it i
s used for procreation and everythi
ng, but never about how it will feel.
We learn
that on our own, some by doing it, and ot
hers by listening to kids who’ve
done it talk about it.
I’
ve
never really thought much about it until now.
Tristan.

I sigh
again, this time not because I rememb
er the dream, but because I forg
e
t it.
I swi
ng
my legs over the bed and force
myself
up.
Some days I feel
like staying in bed all day, but tha
t i
s not permitted.
One of the stewards—th
eir name for prison guards—will
eventually come and make me leave my cel
l, by force if necessary.
It i
sn’t worth the hassle.

I go
through my morning routine—use the “bathroom
,
” do a few stretches, feel sor
ry for myself—and then exit
my “room
.
”
First stop i
s the washroom.
To my surprise,
I fi
nd myself hoping—
almost
wishing—
that
Tawni
will be in there.
It feels
weird looking forward to seeing someone again.
Especially someone in the Pen.
All the peop
le I usually want to see a
re on the outside.
Like my sister.
And my parents.
And now Tristan.

The washroom has
a few t
oilets, but I prefer
the hole in my floor
, because none of the stalls have doors.
There a
re no mirrors—no one c
ares about their appearance
in the Pen—
and
a
simple trough-style basin
covers
one whole wall.

A bunch of girls a
re already using the trough:
w
ashing their faces, combing their hair with their fingers
—almost the way Tristan had
in my dream—brushing their tee
th.
The Pen management provides
loads of crappy
, gritty
toothpast
e, but no toothbrushes, so we’
re force
d to use our fingers.
I scan
the line of girls, looking for
Tawni
’s long, white hair
, streaked by blue on one side
.

She isn’t
here.

I feel
a bump fr
om behind as another girl pushes
past me and into the washroom.
“Move it,” she s
ays
.
Evidently I’
m
standing in the doorway.
Even still, a simple “Excuse me” would
’ve
done the trick.
Ahh, life in the Pen—less
fun than sex, or so I suspect
.

I
go
to work on my teeth, rubbing hard with my index finger to clean off the stale saliva stil
l inhabiting my mouth.
I rinse
my mouth out with a swish of brown water from the r
usty faucet.
I
can
never understand why all the water in the Pen i
s brown.
It’s like they add
dirt to it or something.
Most of the water in the Moon Rea
lm—or at least our subchapter—i
s clear, having been
filtered naturally as it flows
through th
e rocky tunnels below us.
It’
s just another way to punish us
,
I guess.

I skip
a shower, because
I’m really not
in the mood to be naked in front of
a bunch of other girls—there a
re no private sho
wers in this hotel.
Plus, we ru
n out of hot water in abo
ut two minutes, so unless you are the first one in, you have
to shiver under the cold, drippy show
erhead.
Needless to say, I’ve
reduced my standards on hygiene to about two showers a week, and quick ones
at that.
No one really notices the smell
,
though, because we
all
smell
equally nasty
.
Freshly shower
ed, smelling like soap, you’
d actually stick out like a
clown
at a funeral.

I go
to find
Tawni
, or Cole, or both.

I guess that they will be hungry, like me.
I find them before I mak
e i
t to the cafeteria.
As I push
through the crowds of kids, all zigzagging in
different directions, I spot
Tawni
’s white hair next to Co
le’s dark skin.
The contrast i
s stark.

They a
re slightly a
part
from the mob of bodies, against the wall, leaning in clos
e to each other.
Their heads are together and their lips are moving, like they’re whispering.
It seems
like such a funny place to have a secret conversation
, but no one seems to notice.
I remember
something my dad used t
o say, about how sometimes it’
s bes
t to hide in plain sight.
It’
s like tha
t now.
If they were fu
rther away from the crowds, crouching behind some rock in the yard, or tucked away behind a door or som
ething, they probably would
’
ve
drawn everyon
e’s attention.
Instead, they’
re invisible.

I move
closer, stayin
g behind a really big guy who’
s lumbering along in front of me.
Next to
Tawni
i
s
a janitor’s closet.
The door is slightly ajar and I manage
to slip from behind the big guy and into the clos
et.
Out of the crowded hallway
I can
hear
much better and, because they a
re next to the wall, their voices
a
re
amplified and projected
into my hiding place.
I push
my ha
ir away from my ear and listen
intently, tryi
ng to pick up every word they a
re saying.

Tawni
says
, “Look, Cole, I know what I saw.
He
looked at her—no, it was more than that: he stared at her, right at her.
They connected, in some weird way.”

Cole’s deep voice grumbles
through the door.
“What are you saying?
That it was love at first sight?
C’mon,
Tawni
, really?”