Under Ground (5 page)

Balls, events, and games are the
few times girls get to mix with boys. To prevent shameful desires
and unnecessary crushes, young girls aren’t allowed to be around
men. Because of those rules, today is one of the first times I get
to be around males that aren't related to me. I never quite
understood what the whole fuss was about. I’ve never looked at any
boy. Romantic feelings are completely foreign to me, and my parents
never cared to show me love. Though I’ve always craved my mother’s
attention and care, I’ve never expected to receive affection from
her, or anyone else for that matter.

The game started about half an
hour ago. I’m sitting between my parents, doing my best to focus on
the match. My parents are deeply into it, of course. Or if they
aren’t, the pretense is good enough to make us believe that they
actually care. It's the first time they get to enjoy an outing
based on their daughter’s engagement, and they're going to make the
most of it.

William’s parents are sitting
closer to the field since they're related to a player. Mrs. Fox is
wearing a golden dress today, the color of prestige and
achievement. It reflects the champagne streaks in her hair. She
looks more splendid than ever. My own mother is wearing a purple
dress, the color of royalty and ambition. I’m starting to wonder if
outings will become a reason for competition between the two of
them. It's as if my mother, especially, feels the need to impress
that woman. I’m not sure if she's upset at Mrs. Fox’s status in
society, or if she’s holding a grudge at the way Mrs. Fox has
treated us so far. But my mother is making quite an effort to show
that woman that we can be just as elegant as she is.

To that purpose, she chose my
dress again today. Of course, she placed beauty before
practicality. It’s not a hot day, but the dress she picked is heavy
and warm. It’s long and blue, the color of loyalty and
integrity—the shade that promised brides-to-be have to wear in
public to show every man that they’re already taken.

Despite the chilly breeze and lack
of sun in the sky, this outfit is overwhelming me and I have to put
a lot of energy in remaining cool. To others, it looks like I’m
engaged in the game, proud at how well William is mastering the
ball, outplaying his opponent. But the corset is crushing my chest
and the crowd around us is making the air stuffy. Breathing is
getting harder by the minute and heat rises higher and higher in my
body, with deep turmoil stirring inside me as I
hyperventilate.

I try to ignore the unhealthy
feelings and fears, but when I look at William, my heart jumps
inside my chest, faster and faster, until it hurts so much I feel
faint. Our pre-nuptial night is getting closer. I’m still petrified
whenever I think about it. I close my eyes and try to breathe. The
last thing I need is to have a panic attack in the middle of the
stadium.

I study those around me and push
away all these negative thoughts that have become my enemies.
Everyone is deeply focused on the game, so no one notices me. I
study their faces one by one. I have this strange sensation, as if
I'm under someone else's scrutiny. I get paranoid that my thoughts
have been showing.

I lower my eyes, take a deep
breath, and focus on remaining cool and tranquil. But the feeling
that someone is watching me doesn’t go away. I look up and see him,
a boy about my age, observing me. He’s staring at me with no
impunity, no shame at such a blatant disregard for the rules. It’s
illegal for a male to covet another man’s promised fiancée. Going
after the woman of another is punishable under the law by death. It
is deemed a threat to our society’s good functions. It is not a
matter to be taken lightly. Yet, this boy is devouring me whole
with his eyes. He doesn’t turn his head away when I look at him
either. He keeps on eyeing me steadily without blinking, with
curiosity and something else I can’t quite pinpoint but that makes
me feel special, strangely alive. His gaze is intense, piercing
through my skull, examining every detail of my face. I feel visible
for the first time in my life.

I turn my eyes away and don’t dare
look back. It’s not becoming for a proper young girl to look at
men, let alone stare at them. We are not to feel desire for men
other than our betrothed. Only one man is to be the object of our
adoration. Whether that veneration is faked or not doesn’t matter.
We are all well aware of the lies, but this façade is the only
thing protecting our society and hiding the imperfections of its
foundation.

I can still feel his eyes on me
though, and in spite of my own will, I glance at him again. I can’t
help myself; my eyes shift and I look up. He's still staring at me,
his lids not fluttering once. And instead of averting my eyes as I
should, I examine him, his face, and his posture. His irises are
dark brown, almost black from this distance. His hair is dark brown
too, falling over his forehead, almost obstructing his eyes. It
looks disheveled in a natural way though he probably spent time
working on it. His skin is tanned, his nose is long and straight,
and his mouth is nicely shaped, his lips full. He's handsome. The
thought reaches my mind before I can suppress it. I flush as heat
engulfs me, and a flirtatious grin appears on his face.

He has caught me blushing under
his stare—an obvious sign that he interests me. I didn’t mean to
open that door to him; I didn’t mean to seem inviting. And now,
it’s too late to turn back and pretend that I didn’t care about his
watching me. I hide my confusion by looking at my feet, but I can
still feel him contemplating me, just for a few seconds before his
gaze shifts away. I look up, but he’s watching the game now. A pang
of disappointment grasps my heart, a part of me hoping he was still
staring.

My heart races when I gaze at him.
Everyone around me will soon hear its beat and turn around to judge
me. They will see the shameful thoughts printed all over my face in
scarlet letters. I cast one quick glance around to make sure no one
has witnessed this reprehensible exchange. My parents are deeply
enthralled by the game, and everyone else is either chatting or
watching the match. No one’s paying attention to me—no one but that
one boy that is.

His image is now printed in my
mind, his face filling my vision. I have this desperate need to
look at him again. I know I shouldn't, and it makes me want to do
it even more. I try my best to focus on William instead, but to no
avail. I can’t control this urge inside me. I turn around and study
the boy's profile. He’s as handsome from the side as he is from the
front. That thought alone makes my heart ache with deep longing. I
find myself wanting what I know I can’t possibly have, and I know
it’s bad, really bad.

He must have felt my eyes upon him
because he shoots me a glance from the corners of his eyes. It
lasts but a flicker of a second, just long enough for my heart to
jump with frantic joy. I somehow care what this boy thinks of me,
knowing quite well that in the end it won't ever matter. This
encounter won't lead anywhere; I’ll never know anything more about
him. I’d better forget it ever happened.

I hold my hands together, take a
breath, and watch William for the rest of the game. But focusing on
William is a struggle.

And then the game is over, just
like that. It has passed me by as I was fighting the mayhem inside
my mind. Everyone moves. I look around to find the boy, but he's
nowhere to be seen. Disappointment runs through me as I realize I
might never see him again. We head down the stairs and join
William’s family at the bottom. I’m so distracted I don’t even
understand what’s being said. Mrs. Fox is talking, so it’s probably
nothing I care to listen to. After the match—which William’s team
apparently won—my parents and I go back home. I walk through the
rest of the day in a trance.

I pretend to be aware of my
surroundings, and no one says anything to me. It’s easy to fake it
when no one pays attention to you to begin with. It’s Sunday, so I
claim I have homework to do. I go to my room and sit on my bed with
a book, but my mind is gone. I see him, the boy, in front of my
eyes, his face still quite clear. I wish I had never seen him to
begin with, because now I know what longing feels like: It feels
like misery.

Chapter 6

I can't stop
thinking about him
. At dinner last night, when my parents
were lecturing me about my upcoming wedding, my mind kept drifting
away. I was trapped, caught in a web of my own thoughts spinning
over and over again. I found an imaginary refuge in his facial
features, a perfect way to block out everything else around me. I
tried to envision what his voice and laughter sound like, and I
spent far too much time giving him made-up names, wondering which
one might fit him the best.

When my mother finally snapped me
out of it, I claimed I was daydreaming about my wedding. It was
still rude that I hadn’t been listening, but it was better for them
to think it was because of William than for me to acknowledge the
truth. I keep hoping against all hope that I might see him again, a
wish both dangerous and childish on my part. I have no rights to
try and get to know a man other than William; the punishment for it
would not be worth the risk.

"Miss Clay," a voice calls out to
me, shattering the picture of him I was drafting somewhere in my
reverie. "Earth to Thia Clay," the social studies teacher speaks
louder. I sit up, fully awake, my back suddenly
straight.

"Would you mind sharing what has
captured your attention, Miss Clay? Or would you rather answer my
question?"

"I apologize, Sir. I didn't hear
your question," I acknowledge, flushing in shame. I lower my gaze
as a few girls snicker around the classroom.

The teacher rolls his eyes and
calls for another student to answer. She's quick to respond and
prove that, unlike me, she was paying attention. "Attempt at
divorce today leads to imprisonment, Sir," she tells
him.

I almost snort with disdain.
Divorce is only a concern for women. Men, after all, hold all the
possessions. If a man is tired of his wife, he can simply have her
committed while he holds on to the belongings. Women don't have
that luxury. Some of them are desperate enough to choose their own
demise and commit suicide rather than remain married. The situation
of women is always dangerous and unstable. A woman never knows if
her marriage will hold, and her life can be over if her husband
wishes it.

Being a woman in this world is
anything but enjoyable. The unfairness of our situation makes me
mad, but I can never fully acknowledge it, even to myself. In my
heart, there is this hidden place where anger is always boiling. I
constantly try to quiet down the wrath raging inside me because
showing anger would be dangerous, maybe even fatal. I've heard
rumors about what happens to those who don't comply, those who
digress and break our strict rules, and that has been enough to
convince me I have to keep my thoughts a secret.

"Correct, Miss Wilson," the
teacher says. "And what happens to the girls who refuse to follow
all common sense? To those who transgress?" he asks Melissa, his
eyes shifting to me quickly in disapproval.

"They are disowned by their
families, Sir."

That's exactly what would be
happen to me were I to disobey. My parents would kick me out of
their house. I would have nowhere to go. I doubt anyone would be
willing to take me in, for fear it might tarnish their
reputation.

"Correct. And what happens to
those girls?" the teacher asks.

"They become homeless."

"Yes, and rightfully so," he
replies.

I have to breathe deeply to remain
impassive. I’ve seen some of those girls before; they roam our
streets like wraiths before disappearing into oblivion, so
inconsequential that they end up fading away. I think about the boy
I saw at the football field and suddenly hope never to see him
again. He had trouble written all over that impish smile of his. I
don't need this kind of temptation in my life.

***

The rest of the
month
is filled with classes
that
do nothing but insult my intelligence, followed by painful meetings
with the Foxes on weekends. William ignores me every single time.
Thus far, all he has proven is that I'm not worth the effort of a
mere interaction. I might as well turn into the brainless
decorative plant that he believes me to be. I just take my fate
like a pill, swallow it down, and try to digest the multiple
offenses I undergo on a daily basis, my fists discreetly clenched
in anger, my fake smile hiding my grinding teeth.

I hope today will help change
William's attitude toward me though. A ball has been organized at
his school. This is our first official date, the first outing
involving just the two of us. William is to pick me up at my house.
I’m terrified at the thought of being alone with him. I don’t even
know what he likes. I’m afraid the conversation might run dry
really quickly. I have to seem knowledgeable and avoid any idle
small talk that would make me sound like a foolish girl. Mother has
put a lot of emphasis on all this, and she has put a lot of work in
choosing the perfect dress for me, too.

All day long, my heart has been
pounding to the point where it might explode. Every so often, I’m
able to breathe, calm down, and think about something else. But any
time I think about the ball and the car ride to William's school,
my heart starts hammering again. Because William comes from a
higher part of the upper class, his family owns a car, which is
quite rare. Only the richest members of our society are allowed to
possess a vehicle. The rest of us must take the trains dedicated to
our different social ranks.