he is a politician.”
A very successful politician. He’d swept into office with the
largest victory margin in history.
Hawke was talking now. “In the Southern Sector alone, we have an
estimated 1.3 million illegals living in the shadows, which leaves this nation
vulnerable to a myriad of dangers. Do you suspect someone you know of being
here illegally? He might be the person who delivers your groceries, or the
woman you see on the street that somehow doesn’t belong, or that anonymous
commenter on your workplace’s online forum who questions the need for
immigration reform. For the safety of this nation, it is each citizen’s
responsibility, each citizen’s national duty, to report suspicious activity or
persons to the proper authorities. Be observant and stay vigilant.”
It ended with the familiar jingle: “If you see something, say
something. Call our tip-off hotline on 1-800-U-SEE-SAY.”
My mother always watched these PSA’s like they conveyed
life-and-death information, which I guess they did, but she’d seen this one
scads of times before and could probably recite it word for word. Even I
already had the hotline number memorized. I tried not to let myself tune out
the PSA’s. As Mom often pointed out: complacency leads to danger. The
terrorists counted on us letting our guards down, getting bored, and becoming
unobservant and sloppy, and the virus thrived when we neglected our safety
measures.
“What good news?” I asked impatiently.
“I’ll tell you later — it’s a surprise.” She glanced at her watch
and exclaimed, “Will you look at the time! The Fun Bus is due here in half an
hour, and I haven’t done my hair. Please, Jinxy , go
and chase Robin for me. Check he hasn’t fallen back asleep or gotten lost in a
story or a program in that blessed game, will you? And make sure he puts on his
PPE gear.”
“What surprise?”
“Later! Here.” She shoved a box of heavy-duty, double-thick latex
gloves into my hands.
I trudged upstairs to Robin’s room, while Mom hurried off to her
own bedroom, presumably to do something intricate to her hair. So little of
ourselves showed above the masks and jump-suits that people tended to go crazy
with hair and eye decoration. I couldn’t be bothered with braiding and twisting
and spiking my hair into the outlandish styles so fashionable when people did
get together. My blue streaks were distinctive enough, though for today I had
also stuck long, indigo-colored false lashes over my own.
The image of the tattoo next to Leya’s eye flashed in my mind. What was she doing today? Did she feel the same sense
of anticlimax I did now that we’d played a real game? Then I remembered that
Bruce had asked about today’s social and groaned to myself. He’d said he lived
a few blocks away, so it was quite likely he’d be in my group and on my bus, as
they tended to organize these things in neighborhoods.
Robin was in his bedroom, folded into his favorite spot — the
cushioned window seat beside the sealed window which overlooked the neighbor’s
yard. The Johnsons had a pool which they kept filled and sparkling blue, though
I never saw anyone swimming in it. They also had a pretty daughter of about our
age. Perhaps Robin sat there so often in the hopes of catching her in a bikini.
“Mom says I have to check you’re ready for the” — I made jazzy
star-fingers — “ social !”
“I’m dressed, brushed, and as enthusiastic as a turkey at
Thanksgiving,” said Robin, not looking up from the spiral notebook in which he
was writing.
His PPE suit and gloves were lying on the bed. I exchanged the
lightweight gloves he had laid out for a pair of double- thicks from the box Mom had given me, and checked his mask for any tears.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Writing a poem.”
Robin was always writing poems — when he wasn’t writing stories.
Or reading. Inexplicably, he preferred poetry and reading about giant trees
ambling around Middle Earth
A very successful politician. He’d swept into office with the
largest victory margin in history.
Hawke was talking now. “In the Southern Sector alone, we have an
estimated 1.3 million illegals living in the shadows, which leaves this nation
vulnerable to a myriad of dangers. Do you suspect someone you know of being
here illegally? He might be the person who delivers your groceries, or the
woman you see on the street that somehow doesn’t belong, or that anonymous
commenter on your workplace’s online forum who questions the need for
immigration reform. For the safety of this nation, it is each citizen’s
responsibility, each citizen’s national duty, to report suspicious activity or
persons to the proper authorities. Be observant and stay vigilant.”
It ended with the familiar jingle: “If you see something, say
something. Call our tip-off hotline on 1-800-U-SEE-SAY.”
My mother always watched these PSA’s like they conveyed
life-and-death information, which I guess they did, but she’d seen this one
scads of times before and could probably recite it word for word. Even I
already had the hotline number memorized. I tried not to let myself tune out
the PSA’s. As Mom often pointed out: complacency leads to danger. The
terrorists counted on us letting our guards down, getting bored, and becoming
unobservant and sloppy, and the virus thrived when we neglected our safety
measures.
“What good news?” I asked impatiently.
“I’ll tell you later — it’s a surprise.” She glanced at her watch
and exclaimed, “Will you look at the time! The Fun Bus is due here in half an
hour, and I haven’t done my hair. Please, Jinxy , go
and chase Robin for me. Check he hasn’t fallen back asleep or gotten lost in a
story or a program in that blessed game, will you? And make sure he puts on his
PPE gear.”
“What surprise?”
“Later! Here.” She shoved a box of heavy-duty, double-thick latex
gloves into my hands.
I trudged upstairs to Robin’s room, while Mom hurried off to her
own bedroom, presumably to do something intricate to her hair. So little of
ourselves showed above the masks and jump-suits that people tended to go crazy
with hair and eye decoration. I couldn’t be bothered with braiding and twisting
and spiking my hair into the outlandish styles so fashionable when people did
get together. My blue streaks were distinctive enough, though for today I had
also stuck long, indigo-colored false lashes over my own.
The image of the tattoo next to Leya’s eye flashed in my mind. What was she doing today? Did she feel the same sense
of anticlimax I did now that we’d played a real game? Then I remembered that
Bruce had asked about today’s social and groaned to myself. He’d said he lived
a few blocks away, so it was quite likely he’d be in my group and on my bus, as
they tended to organize these things in neighborhoods.
Robin was in his bedroom, folded into his favorite spot — the
cushioned window seat beside the sealed window which overlooked the neighbor’s
yard. The Johnsons had a pool which they kept filled and sparkling blue, though
I never saw anyone swimming in it. They also had a pretty daughter of about our
age. Perhaps Robin sat there so often in the hopes of catching her in a bikini.
“Mom says I have to check you’re ready for the” — I made jazzy
star-fingers — “ social !”
“I’m dressed, brushed, and as enthusiastic as a turkey at
Thanksgiving,” said Robin, not looking up from the spiral notebook in which he
was writing.
His PPE suit and gloves were lying on the bed. I exchanged the
lightweight gloves he had laid out for a pair of double- thicks from the box Mom had given me, and checked his mask for any tears.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Writing a poem.”
Robin was always writing poems — when he wasn’t writing stories.
Or reading. Inexplicably, he preferred poetry and reading about giant trees
ambling around Middle Earth
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