Under Ground (10 page)

"Why did we create such laws, Miss
Wheat?" the teacher asks.

"When the oceans rose, nations
throughout the world lost too many resources, and they fought to
gain territory over the remaining lands. A lot of states in our
country collapsed as well. They tried to force the State of New
York to pay taxes for everyone else as well as provide water for
the states suffering from drought, which was really quite unfair if
you ask me," she replies, with her chin raised high. "After
conquering parts of the neighboring states, New York seceded, and
our state now fends for itself. Our state's government had to
regulate the population to keep control of the supplies. Our
marriage and breeding laws are the best ways to prevent
overpopulation," she continues, triggering a proud grin from our
teacher.

"You are correct, Miss Wheat," he
says. "The war also proved that women are weak and unable to care
for themselves. This is why men should be in control of
everything—to ensure our state survives such difficult times as
ours."

I roll my eyes.

The rest of the class passes me by
as my classmates throw around more absurdities as common facts to
be taken for granted. And when lunchtime finally arrives, I work on
expelling all the so-called values these people have tried to shove
into my brain. I sit in front of Melissa in the cafeteria and try
to force food down my throat, but these classes have ruined my
appetite.

"My mom and I had
the
talk
over the phone last week-end," Melissa says, her eyes
sparkling with excitement.

I push my plate away. They can box
my food for me to take home. I just can't swallow another
bite.

"Did your mom talk about sex with
you yet?" she asks.

I shift in my seat, but there is
no comfortable position for me to find anymore. I clear my
throat.

"Yes, many times," I reply. I
shiver just thinking about how Mother often coerces me into
listening while she talks about my prenuptial night. I hate those
conversations. I hate everything about the dreadful
thing.

"Are you meeting William's family
again this week-end?" Melissa asks.

"Yes."

I haven't seen William since he
took me to the ball at his school, but his birthday is coming up
and his parents have invited mine over for the event. I'd rather
stay home and read, but my parents would never agree to
that.

"You've been acting strange these
past few days. You're always daydreaming. Are you growing to like
him?" Melissa asks.

I nod. Yes, I am growing to like
him, except that by "him" I mean Chi, not William. But I can't tell
that to Melissa, or anyone else for that matter. Chi is a secret I
intend to keep all to myself for as long as I possibly
can.

Chapter 11

It's been three
weeks
since Chi first gave me that note. He hasn't touched
me since he last stroked my cheek with his thumb, and his obvious
respect for me makes me feel increasingly safe in his presence. I
meet him twice a week now. Lying to those around me is getting
slightly easier, though I always feel a pang of guilt when the
words come out of my mouth.

Unfortunately, I'm still forced to
meet with William every week-end. His parents invite us to the
social events they host, and it takes all my energy not to scream
at the hypocrisy surrounding me. I smile through my clenched teeth
and let William grab my hand since touching me was a right granted
him years ago. Nausea threatens to overtake me every time his palm
rubs against my skin or his lips touch mine, and I wonder why it
had to be him and not someone nice like Chi. I got my wedding gown
a while ago now. It's hanging in my closet; the sight of it makes
me sick every time I need to change and am forced to look at
it.

When five p.m. finally arrives, I
tell Melissa that I’m going home. I leave school and cut through
the woods. I walk up the path until I reach the monument. When I
arrive, Chi is standing in front of the Arch, with his thumbs in
his pockets. He hears me, turns around, and smiles in that debonair
attitude that I've grown to enjoy so much.

"Hello, Thia!"

My name on his lips makes me
shiver, spreading delightful goose bumps all over my skin. I sit
down quickly before he notices my reaction.

"How were your classes today?" I
ask.

He comes to sit by my side and
spreads out his legs. He leans backward and props himself up with
his arms stretched out behind him. "All right, I guess. I'm still
getting used to this whole system. It's kinda hard to adapt after
being homeschooled for so long."

"You were homeschooled?" I blink
at him.

"Yeah, a story for another time.
How was it for you?"

I roll my eyes. "Today, I learned
how to be a proper lady and show reverence for a man who will never
grant me any importance."

Chi chuckles at that. "Is that all
they tried to teach you? The usual misogynistic
idiocies?"

"No. I also had a music class,
which I actually enjoy. Women do need to entertain their guests
after all," I continue with a stiff upper-lip, my tone haughty, and
my back held straight in a feigned proud mannerism, "for lack of
any thoughtful opinion to share about things that actually
matter."

Chi lets out a loud breath that
sounds like a snort. "You really are entertaining, Thia, you know
that?" He shoots me a smile so charming that my breath
hitches.

When a flush rises to my cheeks, I
shift the course of my thoughts. "You still haven't told me your
last name, you know."

"Like I said before, it's not my
real name." He shrugs, not caring to elaborate. His eyebrows
crease. “Did you ever wonder what happens to children who are born
over the number allowed?" His sudden change in subject takes me by
surprise. I don't know how to respond.

“No one has children above the
number allowed" I reply, matter-of-factly. "It just doesn’t
happen.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” he
asks.

“No, it doesn’t,” I
assert.

“You may want to think about it
before affirming things you know nothing about!” His remark is
harsh, stinging like acid.
Is he implying that I’m stupid?
I've never seen him irritated before; his frustration feels like a
blow. It angers me too. I want to find some snide response, but I
can’t think of anything smart to throw back at him.

He continues, his eyes and voice
soft now, “Let me tell you something. It does happen. People do
have children above the number allowed. I would know. I’m one of
them.”

His words come like a slap in my
face.
How can that be?
Our system does not permit such
things. Illegal births never occur. If they did, there would be no
point to our laws. It would all become chaos. I have a hard time
believing him, but I can’t find any reasons why he would be
lying.

“But how?” I ask.

“Do you know what happens when a
couple has a child they shouldn’t have?”

I don’t answer. He looks in the
distance and keeps on talking, “When a couple has a child that’s
unwanted, they either have to abort or society takes that child
away. The infant becomes a ward of the authorities. No one knows
what happens to those kids 'cause the population doesn’t know about
them. Our government threatens the parents into shutting up about
it, or they could face the death penalty.”

“But people get sterilized after
they’ve had the authorized number of children. How can they have
more than is allowed? And if you’re one of them, how come you’re
not a ward of the authorities? Whatever that means.”

“Well, did you ever wonder what
happens if someone has twins, or triplets? It’s genetic, you know.
It can’t be prevented. The authorities are keeping track of those
likely to have multiple children, and they keep an eye on the
medical records. Doctors are forced to tell our government if they
notice any anomalies.”

“But then, how come they didn’t
take you away?” I ask.

“I don’t really feel like talking
about that yet,” he replies, his voice forlorn.

He looks away and his jaw clenches
all of a sudden. The subject seems painful to him, so I don’t
insist. I have a hard time believing what I've just been told
anyway. If this is true, then I’ve been lied to my whole life.
What else could I have been misguided about?
I had heard
about people having twins centuries ago.
How could I be so
gullible as to believe it never happened anymore?
I behold Chi,
an Unwanted, someone not even meant to exist. Shudders shoot
through my entire body.

“Like I said," he resumes, "most
of the time, the parents are forced to abort. The family has to
shut up about it. What they did is an infraction. It’s not really
their fault, but the authorities don't care about that. If they
talk, they’ll be executed or put in a camp.”

“A camp?” I ask.

“Our state is filled with camps
where the officials keep the rebels—those who don't comply with the
system and refuse to follow its idiotic rules. The authorities even
lock up those who have coveted the wives of others, homeless girls,
or women who are supposedly insane.”

“These people are either put in
jail or in mental institutions,” I retort.

“No, they are not. Do you think
the authorities would really waste money and resources on people
they deem detrimental to society?”

“I guess I never thought it
through,” I admit.

“Well, it seems most people just
prefer not to think about it. The authorities keep everyone focused
on the importance of status so they don't think about what truly
matters. The civilians don’t know about those camps."

"Where are those camps located?" I
ask.

"Everywhere. But their exact
locations are coded and hidden. Apparently, the camps look like
regular prisons from the outside. But what goes on inside is
nothing short of an exploitation of the human race.”

“What do they do in those
camps?”

“Those who committed heavy
crimes—the murderers—are executed on the spot. The others are used
to benefit our society. They make the clothing we wear each day.
They grow, harvest, and pack the fruit and vegetables we eat and
the food the authorities distribute to the poor. Those who are too
weak to work and those who don’t follow in line get put down like
animals.”

“The things we buy are made and
sold by corporations,” I retort.

“No, they’re
not
," he
snaps. "Well, not really," he adds, more softly. "People in the
camps make those things. Those places are like factories of forced
labor. This way, the corporations get their work done for free. In
the meantime, the authorities make use of those they deem harmful
to our system. Our government is subsidized by those corporations,
too. They work hand in hand. They've created a perfect society that
benefits no one but those on top, and the civilians don't know
where their resources really come from. It’s a nicely kept
secret.”

Each new revelation from Chi makes
my blood run cold. I can’t believe what he’s saying. I don’t want
to believe what he’s saying. If he’s telling the truth, that means
the society we live in isn't functioning as it should. It means our
lives are nothing but a web of lies spun by the authorities to trap
us all for reasons that no longer seem valid.
What else did they
lie about?
I don’t want to believe Chi, but what he says makes
perfect sense.

“How do you know about all this?”
My heart aches, and a part of me is still hoping that he's just
lying.

“I know 'cause my parents were
taken there, and I've spent the past two years looking for
them.”

"What? Your parents were taken
away?"

His features reshape with deep
anguish. "Yeah." He turns his face away and averts his eyes. "When
the authorities found out about me, they came for my family." He
doesn't elaborate, and I don't want to push. He simply says, “When
the authorities say someone’s been taken to jail, it means they’re
rotting in a camp.”

“You mentioned homeless girls.
What about them?" I ask. Chi obviously doesn't want to talk about
his parents, and I can't force him. The pain in his eyes is too
vivid. "Do they also end up in camps?”

“Did you notice how you might see
a homeless girl outside for a while and then she’s gone, like she
just disappeared?”

“Yes, I just assumed they'd found
a job.”

“No one employs homeless girls.
Those girls were forsaken by their families. No one wants them
inside their home. Who knows what disease they might bring in?
People don’t want them to corrupt the minds of their own children.
Only the daughters of the lower class get jobs caring for the
rich.”

I remember that my family had
hired Emily after they had received a call from her parents. They
were asking for a position for their daughter once she’d turn
eighteen. My parents agreed to meet Emily and take her in. She was
on trial for a few months before they hired her for good. While the
upper class is looking for a potential match for their daughters
and sons, the lower class is looking for jobs for their offspring.
I knew that, but never really reflected upon it.