The forecast had been for 'Intermittent' this morning, but it was already nearly lunch with no sign of letting up. Michia didn't know why she even bothered with the official forecast—it was always useless.
Please god, it has to let up by music period.
Math had been worksheets again. Ms. Lipkowski was pretty good at making the worksheets self-explanatory and she always made a point of circulating through the class, pointing to the relevant bit on the sheet if students were struggling, drawing a line to the step they were missing, or writing a hint in the margin. She would even try signing if someone had a question, but she wasn't fluent, and signing wasn't the same.
It wasn't just that you couldn't hear: when it was coming down like this, the shockwave was a jackhammer shaking the school to its foundations. The vibrations bypassed your ear protection all together, travelling up your spine directly into your brain, making it impossible to concentrate.
The overhead lights flashed to signal the end of second period and Michia crowded out the door with everyone else. Once in the hallway, though, she turned to wade against the current, as the others headed for the inner courtyard and lunch. Michia missed the old cafeteria, but it had taken a direct hit, so that was that. As far as she knew, there were no plans to rebuild. On the contrary, there was talk of dispersing the school, like with the factories. Parents had freaked, apparently, even though the shell had hit late in third shift when no one was even in the building.
Michia pushed past the last stragglers going the other way and went out the street doors. The music room had been in the same wing as the cafeteria, so now Michia went over to the Elementary for third period. That had been the final straw for a lot of kids. Most of the choir had quit rather than make the journey, but Michia had hung on. Music was life.
It was really coming down full force now, worse than in a long time. 'Intermittent' my ass.
She started down the stairs to the street. Time to choose: Lido Street or Founder's Avenue? If she chose Founder's it was a definite ten minutes extra, which meant she'd only have eight minutes to wolf down her half-loaf. She always hated having to rush eating. Her mom had taught her the importance of savoring each bite, that it always felt like more when you ate slowly. "It gives your appestat time to know you've eaten," her mom had told her. But Lido was a double or nothing gamble: ten minutes if clear; twenty and no time to eat if she had to detour again.
As long as I make it in time to sing. She chose Lido.
She set off at an easy jog. In theory, the rubble should have been cleared off Nielsen by now. But Nielsen wasn't on anybody's priority list, so it would just be Victory Brigade workers doing it, and they were notoriously slow. Still, it had been a week. She should be good.
Michia passed the statue of The Founder outside the school entrance, crossed the empty intersection, and started down Lido. The storefronts still had their original signs, though they were mostly dispersed works, now. Millicent's was the exception. People still needed clothes mended, hand-me downs fitted, fabric recycled. Millicent's always had something interesting in the big front window, though the glass was long gone. Today it was someone's pre-war wedding dress on display in all its glory, prior to becoming—Michia glanced at the card—seven baby and six toddler dresses. The manikin in the smaller window had a passable version of a Warder's uniform, constructed out of plastic sheeting.
Michia held her breath as she passed the old bakery. Whatever was in there now always gave off an acrid chemical smell. The workers had pried all the windows open and propped the door wide so the stink carried halfway down the street. Michia resented their contaminating the neighborhood, but knew she'd have done the same for any breath of real air, had she had to work in that stench.
She turned onto Garden, swore under her breath. A row of veterans had taken up positions the length of the block, their backs against the light posts that still lined the boulevard, various hats and cups placed arm's length in front of them. She'd have to run the gauntlet or backtrack all the way to Founder's. Why did they always have to turn up on her route?
Her mom had told her in no uncertain terms what would happen if she caught Michia giving away her ration again. "Those are our calories," she'd shouted, "and you need to eat every bite, every crumb, or you could damage yourself. The war will be over some day, but if you don't get the nutrition you need right now, as you finish puberty, the effects could last a lifetime! Harm the next generation, even! Do you want that?"
So Michia hardened herself and marched down the block staring straight ahead, avoiding their eyes, not looking at their amputations or their gaunt faces or their rags; or thinking about how hungry they must be; or how much they all resembled grandfather, just before he'd passed.
She fixed with all the intensity she could muster on the image of her mom cutting a slice off their bread ration this morning. Mom hadn't heard Michia come in; hadn't known she was watching. The slice had been just thick enough to be opaque. Michia had been startled to see her mom stuff her nurse's smock into the bread bag, then place that slice in front. Her mom had left the rest of the tiny loaf—what Michia had always thought of as half a loaf—on the table. Michia had backed away, pretended to be just coming in when her mom turned around. Michia watched her Mom casually grab up the bread bag, as she had every morning, and say, "Bread's on the table. Half for breakfast, the other for lunch, understand? I don't care how inedible you think it is, I don't want you going to school on an empty stomach."
Michia had dared to ask, "What about you?"
And her mom had said, "Don't worry about me, I've already taken my share," and she'd held up the apparently half-filled bread bag for Michia to see, her hand gripping the plastic as the smock squished convincingly behind the strategically-placed single slice. "I'm running late, so I'll have to eat breakfast at work again, during report. Linda won't mind. She might even trade me some of her husband's tea ration for a slice of my bread." And Michia had thought about all the times her Mom had brought back a bread-slice's worth of tea.
Michia reached the end of the block without stopping, but her head betrayed her then, and she looked back. They were all staring at her. Silent, like ghosts. She pulled her jacket tighter, suddenly chilled and turned the corner.
There was nothing challenging on Rideau, unless you counted the sign above the former pet store. She missed dogs the most. But when she arrived at the intersection with Nielsen, her heart sank.
The work crew had cordoned off the entire street. A couple of workers were manipulating waldoes to clear rubble by moving it to one side, but had completely buried the sidewalk in the process. Debris was piled almost to the roofs of what shops remained standing on that side. Opposite was a deep hollow, carved out where the People’s Theatre had stood. With the surface rubble cleared away, Michia could see the damage was more extensive than she’d realized. Either that, or they had decided the theatre too weakened to stand and dug down to the gas mains. Shells or waldoes, the resulting hole would look the same.
Michia wasn't going back the way she had come, that was certain: once through had been bad enough.
"Forward motion" was the slogan of the month; time to take it to heart. She eyed the rubble speculatively as the waldo operators turned their attention to a steel beam sticking out of one side of the hollow. There was a warder guarding the site, but he was busy watching the waldoes do their work, his back towards her. Her chance to sing was at stake. She decided to go for it.
She was under the barricade and scrambling up the rubble heap when a couple of Whites came in. They seemed to hit the shield right overhead, but that was probably an illusion: Whites were so bright, so loud, they always seemed to be everywhere. Being out in the open as she was, the flash stunned her for a moment, but years of experience had taught her to hold her position, and she didn't fall. It didn't help though: the shockwave was sufficient to stir the precariously piled debris into motion and Michia found herself skiing down a minor avalanche, back toward the barricades. She jumped the last four feet to keep from falling but tumbled into the tape, pulling over a couple of the nearby poles. Just her luck: the warder had been leaning against the barricade on the other side of the roadway, felt the tug as she’d yanked the poles over.
As he started to turn, Michia ran for it, again trying to scramble up the side of the rubble heap, even as it continued to flow downward. Her feet slipped as the surfaces shifted and collapsed. She balanced with her arms full out, took several precarious steps, tripped, found herself back on the ground, staring up at a rapidly approaching warder.
Michia looked away quickly. If they saw you looking at them, they could sign for you to stop, but as long as you didn't look, you could always claim you hadn't seen them, that you had no idea they were giving chase. But she'd glimpsed enough to know this one was actually a woman. That was worse. The men just chased you off, or gave you a bit of a signing to, and then went back to whatever they'd been doing. The women all seemed to think they were your mother, that they had to find out your story, take you home, making a total production out of every little infraction.
Michia pulled herself up, careful not to look back, scanned for some part of the rubble not actually moving, and launched herself towards it before a hand could grab her collar or snag her backpack. This time the footing held and she was able to scramble up, out of range of anyone who might be reaching up for her from below. She climbed rapidly to the top of her artificial hill, jumped from one peak to the next, till she was on the other side of the stack, and could hunker down out of sight. She risked a glance back, took in the whole scene in one glimpse—then, frantically launched herself into space.
She hit the pavement, rolled as she had been taught in gym, and fetched up against a hydrant. That hurt. A lot.
But in the moment when she had glanced back, she'd seen the waldoes heaving the excavated beam towards the exact spot where she'd been crouching. The Warder had been running towards the operators, waving her arms frantically, shouting—Michia had seen the Warder's mouth wide open in a scream, though of course there was no way the operators could hear over the incoming shells—and it had been jump or die. Michia looked back at the debris pile, saw that it was considerably flatter with the beam lying across it. That had been very close.
She lay there for a moment, the wind knocked out of her. Michia gazed up vacantly at the random, swirling lightshow above her, as incoming continued to pound the insubstantial haze of the shielding. The patterns differed depending on the type of ordinance, which particular battery had launched it, and the angle at which it had hit the shield. The arching, sputtering, splashing, kaleidoscope of colors was almost hypnotic.
You weren't supposed to watch, though, because there were stories of people being blinded. It was said that the enemy would deliberately organize a particularly pretty display in hopes of people pausing to look up; then they send down an Ultrawhite. Shiska claimed the Ultrawhites were bright enough to burn out your eyes in an instant. Michia wasn't sure she believed that there even was such an ordinance, supposedly all flash and no bang. Some of the nukes were brighter than the sun, and that could definitely hurt your eyes if you were unlucky enough to be watching when one came in, but it didn't make sense they would make an ordinance just for that.
What the enemy really hoped, of course, was to get a nuke through. One or two might be all it would take. When four or five regular shells got through in one day, it made everyone nervous, wondering if the bastards had finally found the algorithm. But then a nuke would be deflected, Central would crank up the shield to exclude the radiation, and you could relax because you knew the enemy had nothing. Just a couple of lucky shots. Random.
It would be quiet, then, not even the possibility of an interruption, while the shield was full-on. You could talk and be heard. If you were home, you could even maybe tell your mom how you felt about things. And then, after a few hours or days, depending, Central would have to power down again to semi-permeable, to let in air and sunlight, and it would all start up again.
The barrage above her became particularly heavy as she lay there, watching. Felt like they were concentrating on a spot directly over Michia and the People’s Theatre again, but that was unlikely. Not much point in getting one through where they'd already had a recent hit. Shiska said they tried that sometimes, just to screw over the cleanup crews, but Michia doubted it. There were better targets.
Still, the spot was growing. As more shells came in, faster and thicker, the shield responded by growing denser, almost visibly solidifying under the onslaught. Action and reaction. They were really pouring it on, so the shield became visible as a series of rings radiating out from the central hotspot, like the rings of Saturn or the Red Spot on Jupiter, except rapidly growing larger and brighter every moment.
Michia shook herself, rolled over, turning her back on the fireworks. You could drive yourself crazy, worrying that this might be the one, that they were breaking through when it was aimed directly at you.
She pushed herself up. There didn't seem to be anything broken. Her clothes were a mess, though. Mom would be pissed.
Movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. The Warder was climbing up, hand over hand, towards where the girder had come down. Michia stood up, a little unsteadily, put an arm out to brace herself against a disused light pole. Took a deep breath. Then she waved both arms over her head to attract the Warder's attention. It wouldn't be fair to let the Warder think Michia was still up there, trapped. It took a few moments for the Warder to spot her, down below. The look of relief that washed over the Warder's face was palpable. Then she signed for Michia to wait there, but of course that wasn't going to happen.
Michia turned and jogged the last few meters of Nielsen, reached the intersection, and hurried on towards the Elementary a block over. She doubted the Warder would bother following, might not think to check the Elementary if she did. Michia felt bad for having given her a fright, but getting a lecture wouldn't help either of them. Michia certainly didn't need to be told how close that had been, or not to try that again. Next time: Founder's.
Pushing through the doors to the Elementary, she detoured to the washrooms to clean up. No point having Mrs. Munteanu get all inquisitive. It took longer than she would have thought, but she looked almost presentable when she was done. No time to eat her ration though, if she wanted to be the first to arrive.
Mrs. Munteanu was stacking music stands in the back cupboard, but eventually turned around and saw Michia, gestured for her to go to the stage.
Michia put down her pack, pulled out her music.
Mrs. Munteanu looked at the clock, signed that Michia might as well start with her solo before the others came. Michia composed herself, thought of how she'd rehearsed it, started the intro, just as a couple more Whites came in. Their shockwaves created enough of a quake to knock off her balance, wreck her posture.
So much for hoping for a Respite!
Michia was only thrown for a moment, however. Even if she couldn't get feedback from Mrs. Munteanu today, or even hear herself sing, singing still felt good. Mrs. Munteanu called singing the "last bastion of the soul and civilization". Mrs. Munteanu said, if you gave up singing just because you couldn't hear it, you were missing half the point of music.
Mrs. Munteanu had a bust of Beethoven on a little pillar next to her desk.
Mrs. Munteanu watched Michia intently for a few moments, checking posture, breathing, then gave a half nod of approval as Michia started into her solo.
Michia had been driving her mom crazy all week, rushing into the kitchen or bedroom whenever there'd been a pause, to sing some phrase she'd been working on, or as much of "Hearts and Minds" she could get out before it started up again. Her mom had confirmed that Michia had it down perfectly, even those two really high notes that used to be out of her reach, but that was still just Mom. She needed Mrs. Munteanu to hear her today, to confirm it, or to offer some further refinement.
Wasn't going to happen, apparently.
About half-way through, Mrs. Munteanu touched her ear, half shrugged, turned away. Not a proper sign, but universal slang in the City: "Can't hear; we'll deal with it later; carry on." In this context, Michia took it as a vote of confidence. Maybe Mrs. Munteanu could still tell, somehow, how much Michia had been practicing.
As Michia was reaching her crescendo, the other two girls from the high school arrived, and Mrs. Munteanu returned with a stack of sheet music, flashed the top sheet at Michia. Michia could just make out the title, "Forward Motion". Crap! Was that for today? Still holding the final note of "Hearts and Minds", Michia gave her head a half shake, to indicate that she'd hadn't even looked at it yet. But Mrs. Munteanu clearly misunderstood, for she positively beamed at Michia and walked away to hand the sheets out to the other girls. Crap! Michia swore again, aloud this time, though equally unheard. Mrs. Munteanu obviously thought Michia'd meant she hadn't needed the sheet, that she knew it by heart already! Crap! Crap! Crap!
Michia watched Shiska take a sheet from Mrs. Munteanu, glower at Michia when Mrs. Munteanu wasn't looking. Shiska wanted the next solo as badly as Michia and was clearly jealous that Michia had claimed to have memorized the words already; though Michia hadn't signed anything of the sort—or at least, hadn't meant to.
Michia was torn: if she immediately went to Mrs. Munteanu for a sheet, she could correct the mistake before it went any further. But it might then cost her the advantage that Shiska clearly thought that had given her. Michia knew the chorus and the first verse—everybody did by now, the short version was broadcast constantly whenever there was a Respite—but she'd have to fake the second and third verses. She knew the others faked all the time: there was no way for Mrs. Munteanu to catch you unless she happened to be lip reading, but if you saw her looking right at your lips, you just pretended to stumble over that line, and signed "sorry", and waited until the chorus to join in again. Going blank occasionally was expected, and Michia knew—knew for a fact—that Shiska had never learned the whole of "Hold Steady Against the Wind". Michia resented Shiska terribly for betraying Mrs. Munteanu like that. Sworn that she would never stoop to faking it.
But Mrs. Munteanu was coming back towards the stage, smiling that smile like Michia was her star student. Michia desperately wanted that solo. There had even been hints that the girls might be invited to record it for the City sound system.
She looked over at Shiska. Shiska would claim that it should be her turn for the solo. But that would be so unfair, because no one—except her mom—had ever heard Michia sing "Hearts and Minds". This was supposed to be the last class for "Hearts and Minds", so she might never get a chance to sing it and be heard. But whoever got "Forward Motion" would have from now to almost end of term! There were bound to be opportunities!
Mrs. Munteanu was signing that Michia might as well go first, since she was already on stage.
Michia knew herself to be a quick study. She would learn all the words tonight. If she faked it, it would be just for the one class. Just this once. And it might be enough to give her the edge she needed to beat out Shiska.
Mrs. Munteanu was waiting. Michia launched into the first verse, still undecided. Half way through, Mrs. Munteanu interrupted, signed that Michia needed to focus. Michia laughed, nervously. If only Mrs. Munteanu knew! Michia had never felt so divided. But she pulled herself erect, composed herself as if there was no decision to be made at second verse, and started singing properly.
The music carried her away. "Forward Motion" had a rousing melody, inspiring lyrics, and was as fun to sing as it was insanely challenging. The notes climbed slowly through the verse, then swooped down and up again in the chorus, emulating a roller coaster. The perfect show piece for Michia's newly mastered vocal range.
Shiska was glaring daggers at her, clearly thinking along the same lines. Coming up on second verse, Michia allowed her expression to falter momentarily as she 'noticed' Shiska. Mrs. Munteanu frowned slightly, turned to see what had distracted her star pupil and caught Shiska in the act.
Michia allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smirk at her arch-rival, as Mrs. Munteanu took the bait and signed a lecture at Shiska. Michia sang out the notes of the second verse in solfège, rather than the words she didn't know. "Do, Do, Re, Mi, Mi" she sang with feeling, confidence, rising to the crescendo of "Fa Sol La La Ti!"—which rang out startlingly loud and clear in the sudden silence of Respite.
Her hands flew to cover her mouth as she realized her mistake. She should have been singing the first verse over again! That might have passed as simple confusion—but this!
Mrs. Munteanu staggered back as if she'd been struck. "You've been faking it this whole time?" she demanded. "It's all been a fraud? It's all been for nothing!"
"Sorry!" Michia wailed. But it had been the wrong thing to say: Mrs. Munteanu appeared to take it as confession.
"Do you know what it cost me to keep this program going?" Munteanu demanded, "What I've sacrificed?"
"No," Michia sobbed, trying to deny, take back the moment. But again, Munteanu seemed to take it the wrong way, as if Michia were talking back.
"You—little—bitch!" Munteanu exploded, her hands balling into fists.
"I never faked!" Michia blurted out.
"Liar!" Munteanu screeched back at her. "We all heard you. This time!"
"It’s not what you think! I never did before!"
"You said you knew the words!"
"I never said that! You misunderstood!"
"You ungrateful little bitch!" And Munteanu's open palm came down across Michia's face.
Michia was half spun to her right by the blow; froze there in shock and shame.
"I did it for you!" Munteanu shrieked, "I kept it all going for you!"
Michia found she couldn't speak, couldn't straighten up to meet her mentor's eyes. Staring at the floor, Michia was vaguely aware of Shiska and Barara frozen in tableau behind Munteanu, of Munteanu's arm descending for a second, now backhand blow.
In that instant, Shiska suddenly cried out, "No!" and stumbling forward to grab at Munteanu's arm, knocked over the bust of Beethoven. As it shattered against the floor, Mrs. Munteanu glanced back, gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. She whirled back around to face Michia. "Michia! Oh god! What have I done?"
"I'm sorry," Michia blurted out, "I'm so sorry!"
Mrs. Munteanu put an arm out to steady herself, and grasping the back of one of the orchestra chairs, sank stiffly onto it.
"I've never faked before!" Michia sobbed, sinking to her knees before Mrs. Munteanu. "Never!"
"That's true!" Shiska confirmed. "I know that for a fact. She never fakes. Never! We all fake sometimes. It doesn't mean anything. Everybody does it. But not Michia. She's never faked before, I swear to you!"
Mrs. Munteanu shook her head at them. "Oh, Michia!"
"It's not her fault!" Shiska dropped down onto the floor next to Michia. "She only did it because she never had a chance to sing 'Hearts and Minds'." She turned to face Michia. "I'm sorry Michia, it wasn't fair nobody got to hear you. I'm so sorry. I was being totally selfish! The 'Forward' solo is yours!"
"No," Michia moaned. "I shouldn't have faked! I'm so sorry, Shiska! You haven't had a turn. It's your turn!"
Mrs. Munteanu looked from one to the other. "You both—" she started, stopped. She knelt down on the floor and put an arm around each of them.
Michia returned Mrs. Munteanu's desperate hug; then reached out one arm to grab Shiska's hand. "It was wrong of me. I was trying to cheat you out of the solo. You have to take it!"
Shiska shook her head. They stared at each other for a moment. "We'll share," Shiska said suddenly. "A duet?" She turned to Mrs. Munteanu. "You could arrange that, right Mrs. Munteanu? A duet?"
Mrs. Munteanu eased up on her frantic hold of Michia, wiped one arm across her face. "It would be complex," she managed. "Complicated. It would take too much practice."
"We can do it," Shiska said without hesitation. "Whatever it takes!" She squeezed Michia's hand.
Mrs. Munteanu wiped her mouth, sat back on her heels.
"Excuse me," Barbara said, standing above them, her arms crossed, her body stiff. "A duet?"
Shiska let out a one-syllable laugh. "Three verses, three solos?" she proposed. Then, took it back immediately. "No, that's too tame, too predictable. Three duets?
"That's crazy," Barbara said. "Let's do it."
Mrs. Munteanu took a huge breath, composed herself. "I'll consider it," she said, almost in her normal voice. She waved Barbara over to join the group hug.
Barbara stood her ground, her arms still crossed. "Excuse me," she said again in that way she had. "Is there any reason why. . . Michia shouldn't sing her stupid 'Hearts and Minds' solo right now?"
The others starred at her.
Barara unfolded her arms. "I'd really like to hear it. Please."
Michia nodded, untangled herself from the others, climbed to her feet.
"Michia, no," Mrs. Munteanu said, coming back to herself, becoming the teacher again. Knowing duty again. "I'm so sorry Michia! I don't know what came over me. It just suddenly all got to me. We have to take you to the nurse. Get an incident report."
"No," Michia said. "I want to sing it." She glanced over at the broken bust. "Need to."
"I have to report—" Mrs. Munteanu started.
"Excuse me!" Barbara interrupted, cutting Mrs. Munteanu off. "We're singing here!"
Michia smiled at Barbara. Nobody could boss like her. Michia took a moment to get a drink from her water bottle, compose herself.
"Whenever you're ready, dear," Barbara said sweetly, in perfect imitation of Mrs. Munteanu's usual entreaty.
Michia began to sing, her voice and spirit soaring together as the first notes rang out.
The school shook as another White came in, signalling the end of the Respite, reclassifying the shift's conditions as 'Intermittent'.
"Crap!" Shiska swore with feeling, the word echoing slightly before the renewed stream of incoming drowned out all other sound.
Michia doubled over where she stood, overwhelmed. Not her day, apparently! Mrs. Munteanu moved in to steady her, but then Michia realized that the arm on her shoulder was trembling. Michia looked up, saw that the others were weeping, laughing. And Michia suddenly recognized what had been welling up inside of her, sat down hard, and laughed.
When they finally wound down, they looked up into the confused faces of the elementary class crowding into the music room.
"Fourth period," Michia announced, to no one in particular, unheard and unhearable. "Time to head back."