All Good Children - Catherine Austen [59]
Mom doesn’t return her smile. “I’m concerned about side effects.”
“We all are! That’s why we’re monitoring the treatment in every area it’s been piloted.”
“How many areas is that?”
Lara shrugs. “I don’t know that sort of thing. But I do know that every child being treated is being given a treat.” She giggles. “They could hardly do anything the way they were, and it wasn’t cost effective to sort them out.”
Mom gasps, like she doesn’t do the same thing herself every workday.
“It’s not a bad thing!” Lara says. “At least seventy percent of the kids needed it, but one hundred percent benefit from it.” She looks at Mom with sincerity. “Kids with behavior problems and learning disabilities used to rule the classroom. They brought our standards down so much that even the smartest students wouldn’t learn until grade twelve what kids in other countries learn by grade eight.”
Mom nods. “I heard that.”
“You heard about school closures in places where they couldn’t afford to pay the teachers?” Lara asks. “Bands of children had nowhere to turn but crime. But with Nesting, education is so cost-effective that the schools can reopen.”
“Have they reopened?” Mom asks.
Lara shrugs. “I think so.”
“With larger classes?”
“Yes, but kids thrive in larger classrooms because they scaffold each other.”
“How is that possible when they have no initiative?”
“They monitor each other’s progress along the program of study. They don’t need initiative.”
Mom shakes her head. “Our country can’t survive without initiative.”
Lara smiles. “Our country still has initiative. Those among us who use their initiative for the benefit of the community will always be allowed to have it.”
Mom has no response to that.
Lara packs her things. “These kids seem healthy. Not like that poor boy down the hall. He needed a new patch. In this family, it’s just you who has the problem.” She stands up and stares at Mom with a bright white smile. “So we’ll monitor the family unit for the next two months.”
“Too bad about that ankle,” Coach Emery says when I step out of the trailer in my gear, ready for the championship game. “Go plant yourself on the bench.”
The Grizzlies descend from their bus in a long line of beige and brown. They drove ten hours to get here from New Harrisburg, Illinois. Their school is run by a different Chemrose governing board, but they’re zombies, all the same. And they’re lousy at football.
When our team scores, I stand up and clap, but my hands beat alone, like the only pulse on the field. A whistle blows and everyone joins in. Clap, clap, clap, pause, clap, clap, clap.
Ally shouts, “One, two, three. It’s Dallas for me!” She stops before Mom has a chance to shush her.
Brennan plays too intensely for his own good. He swears at a Grizzly who takes him down a few yards from goal. His father pulls him aside for some whispered coaching.
Dallas is a better zombie than the real zombies. I get chills when I look at him. He keeps his mouth moving for my benefit, to look like he’s eating brains. When I see him chewing, I know he’s still himself. Anyone else would think he dislodged some food from between his teeth—repulsive maybe, but still within allowable zombie limits.
There’s one Grizzly who might be a real kid. He leaps for his tackles and looks around the field more than anyone else. But the rest are machines of flesh and chemistry. After a while, I can’t even watch them. I close my eyes until it’s over.
Clap, clap, clap. We won.
I nudge Dallas in the ribs. “Good job. Wish I could have been with you.”
He smiles and shouts, “Don’t be silly, Maxwell! Some of us are on the field and some of us are on the bench, but we’re all on the same team and our team did a fine job today. So good job to you too.” Then he starts chewing brains. I swear he’s going to make me laugh out loud some day and blow my cover.
“Please come celebrate at my house,” he says. I hesitate, so he repeats, “Please.”
Only three kids head over with the coach: me, Bay and Brennan. Three black kids. I don’t know if that’s significant.
Dallas