Among the Betrayed by Margaret Peterson Haddix

else.)
    â€œTime? You’ve been in there for days,” the hating man ranted back during one interrogation session in the middle of the night. “How long does it take to say, ‘My parents are so-and-so. What are your parents’ names?’ ”
    For one terrifying instant Nina thought he really was asking her her parents’ names. Against her will her lips began to pucker together to form the first syllable of her mother’s name. Rita. My mother’s name is Rita. My father’s name is Lou. Gran’s name is Ethel. And I am . . .
    Nina bit down hard, trapping all those words in her mouth. The hating man didn’t seem to notice. He was pacing, facing away from her. He continued fuming.
    â€œEven first names would help. Even initials. You’ve got to give me something.”
    He hadn’t been asking her her parents’ names. He’d merely been telling her the question she was supposed to ask the others. Nina’s heart pounded out a panicky rhythm that made it hard for her to think.
    What if . . . what if he doesn’t care about my parents’names because he already knows them? What if he already knows about Gran and the aunties? Is that why he never asks?
    Nina frantically tried to remember if she’d ever breathed a word about any of her family to Jason. She hadn’t, had she? Talking to Jason, she’d wanted to seem exotic and desirable. A grandmother and a bunch of old-maid aunts didn’t really fit that image.
    The hating man was done pacing. He whirled on his heel, put his face right up against Nina’s. They were eye to eye, nose to nose.
    â€œYou cannot play around with the Population Police, little girl,” he said. “That’s how people die.”
    Nina quivered.
    The man stalked out and slammed the door behind him.
    Nina sat alone, terrified, in the luxurious interrogation room. The table in front of her was loaded down with bowls of food. She’d been eating ravenously during their conversation. Perhaps because it was the middle of the night, instead of midday, the foods were snacks, not a real meal, mostly things Nina had never tasted before: popcorn, peanuts in their salty shells, orange cheese crackers, raisins in delicate little boxes. Nina was still starving—she was always starving, she couldn’t think of a single time in her entire life when she’d had her belly completely full. But she couldn’t bring herself to eat another bite, not with the hating man’s threat echoing in her ears. Still, she found herself reaching out for the bowl of peanuts. Shewatched her own hands lift the bowl and pour its contents down the front of her dress, making a bag of her bodice. She cinched her belt tighter, holding the peanuts in at her waist. She’d barely finished when the guard opened the door.
    â€œHe’s done with you early, I hear,” the guard growled. “Back to the cell with you.”
    Nina stood slowly. None of the peanuts fell out. She crossed her arms and held them tightly at her waist, keeping the belt in place. She took a step, and then another, and nothing happened. The peanut shells tickled, but Nina didn’t care.
    I’m stealing food from the Population Police! Nina thought. I’m getting away with it!
    Walking back to her cell, Nina did not feel like a girl who’d nearly betrayed her parents, whose beloved Gran and aunties might be in danger. She did not feel like an illegal child, with no right to live. She did not feel like a lovesick, silly teenager who’d been betrayed by the boy she’d fallen for. She did not feel like a potential traitor to her own kind.
    She felt giddy and hopeful, crafty and capable. All because of the rustle of peanut shells under her dress.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    N ina kept stealing food.
    Invariably, during every meeting with the hating man there came a time when he’d leave the room briefly—to confer with the