All Good Children - Catherine Austen [44]
“You’ll get a new patch in three months,” Mom tells me. “Make sure you take it off and put the empty estrogen patch back on.”
I nod at the ceiling.
“Then in six months, you’ll get another shot,” she tells me.
I look at her in surprise. “How many drugs are they giving us?”
“It’s the same drug, just another dose.”
“It wears off? So there’s a chance for Xavier?”
She shrugs. “I think so. My patients get a slow-release shot that lasts two years, but Linda said they reduced the dosage for children.”
“So Linda’s coming back to drug my class again in six months?”
Mom nods. “I’ll try to be there for it.”
I pick up two of Ally’s dolls and hurl them at her. She’s so surprised, she screams. Ally’s song ends abruptly. “How about you don’t?” I shout. “How about I find another school? How about you find another job?”
Mom picks up a doll and straightens out its clothes and hair. “I’m not taking you and Ally out of New Middletown if I can help it. This is the safest city on earth.”
I walk over to the bed and lean into her face. “You came into my school and stuck people with something that makes them do whatever they’re told. I don’t feel very safe.”
She lowers her head and pinches her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Max. I want you to finish academic school. Your life will be so much easier if you do that. I can be there for your shots. No one will ever know.”
“What about everyone else?”
“They’ll be fine eventually. They’ll become much more focused on their studies.” She lays the doll down and sits up tall. “Everyone says it’s for their own good. Maybe this new variant—”
“Don’t even try it,” I interrupt. “I’ve seen the results at the other schools. I don’t want to be like that.”
“Okay. I know. I don’t want you to be like that either.” She reaches out for my hand, but I back away from her. “You’ll have to pretend you’ve been treated,” she tells me. “It’s not just that you have to work harder. You have to take school more seriously. You have to act like the others.”
I remember Ally saying that outside her school weeks ago.
“I’ve already spoken to Ally,” Mom says, as if she read my mind. “She’s so well-behaved that no one noticed. But you, Max.” She looks me in the eye and shrugs. “You have to be good.”
“I have to be good?” I repeat. “Good?”
“You know what I mean. You have to be obedient. Your teachers will be watching you.”
“So the teachers know what’s going on?”
She looks at me like I’m a lost little boy. “Everyone knows, Max. This is school policy. They’ve been planning this for months. They’ll increase the dosage for anyone who doesn’t respond.”
“Is that what you do at the old folks’ home?”
She ignores me. “Tell Dallas not to fight with his brother. Arlington will be watching and Austin won’t be treated for another week or two.”
“They’re doing the grade twelves?”
“They’re doing all the grades, Max. Everyone.”
“Everyone,” I repeat, hating her.
Celeste comes over after supper with a box of face paints. She wears white woolen stockings and a tight blue sweater that hangs to her knees. She pulls back her hair and ties on a beige apron. “You’re so much darker than the kids,” she says as she smears Mom’s cheek with makeup. “This is way too light for you. Your skin is gorgeous for your age.”
“Thank you, dear. How’s your brother?”
“Xavier? He’s fine. He’s actually sleeping. He fell asleep at the table, he’s so tired. It’s all that cross-country running.”
Mom frowns and hunches. She’s quiet while Celeste applies two darker tints. Her face takes on subtle stripes, like faded war paint. “I hope he’s all right,” she mutters.
“Xavier?” Celeste asks. “Sure, he’s just tired.” She cleans Mom’s face with white cream. “Can I try tomorrow with other colors?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Thanks.” Celeste sways down the hall under the eye of the camera.
I stay up late watching a movie from Xavier’s favorite site: 1984. It’s about a poverty-stricken world where the government watches