Matched, Page 4

We walk across the neatly cut grass toward a metal bench that sits directly underneath a street lamp. There’s not another person in sight. “You don’t even have to tell me what happened,” the Official says. “I know. The face on the microcard wasn’t the right one, was it?”

  She is kind: she didn’t make me say the words. I nod.

  “You must be very worried. Have you told anyone what happened?”

  “No,” I say. She gestures for me to sit down on the bench and so I do.

  “Excellent. Let me set your mind at ease.” She looks directly into my eyes. “Cassia, absolutely nothing has changed. You are still Matched with Xander Carrow.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and I’m so grateful that saying it once isn’t enough. “Thank you.” The confusion leaves me and I finally, finally, finally can relax. I sigh and she laughs.

  “And may I congratulate you on your Match? It’s caused quite a stir. People are talking about it all over the Province. Perhaps even all through the Society. It hasn’t happened in many years.” She pauses briefly and then continues. “I don’t suppose you brought your microcard with you tonight?”

  “Actually, I did.” I pull it out of my pocket. “I was worried—I didn’t want anyone else to see ...”

  She holds out her hand, and I drop the microcard into her outstretched palm. “Perfect. I’ll take care of this.” She places it inside her small Official’s case. I catch a glimpse of her tablet container and notice that it is larger than standard issue. She sees my glance. “Higher-level Officials carry extra,” she says. “In case of an emergency.” I nod, and she continues. “But that’s not something you need to worry about. Now, this is for you.” She takes another microcard from a side pocket inside the case. “I’ve checked it myself. Everything is in order.”

  “Thank you.”

  Neither of us says anything for a few moments after I slip the new microcard into my pocket. At first, I look around at the grass and the metal benches and the small concrete fountain in the center of the greenspace, which sends up silvery wet showers of water every few seconds. Then I peek over at the woman next to me, trying to catch a glimpse of the insignia on her shirt pocket. I know she is an Official, because she wears white clothing, but I am not sure which Department of Society she represents.

  “I’m part of the Matching Department, authorized to deal with information malfunctions,” the Official says, noticing my glance. “Fortunately, we don’t have much work to do. Since the Matching is so important to the Society, it’s very well regulated.”

  Her words remind me of a paragraph in the official Matching material: The goal of Matching is twofold: to provide the healthiest possible future citizens for our Society and to provide the best chances for interested citizens to experience successful Family Life. It is of the utmost importance to the Society that the Matches be as optimal as possible.

  “I’ve never heard of a mistake like this before.”

  “I’m afraid it does happen now and then. Not often.” She is silent for a moment, and then she asks the question that I do not want to hear: “Did you recognize the other person whose face you saw?”

  Suddenly and irrationally I am tempted to lie. I want to say that I have no idea, that I have never seen that face before. I look over at the fountain again and as I watch the rise and fall of the water I know that my pause gives me away. So I answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me his name?”

  She already knows all of this, of course, so there is nothing to do but tell the truth. “Yes. Ky Markham. That’s what was so strange about the whole thing. The odds of a mistake being made, and of a mistake being made with someone else I know—”

  “Are virtually nonexistent,” she agrees. “That’s true. It makes us wonder if the error was intentional, some kind of joke. If we find the person, we will punish them severely. It was a cruel thing to do. Not only because it was upsetting and confusing for you, but also because of Ky.”

  “Does he know?”

  “No. He has no idea. The reason I said it was cruel to use him as part of this prank is because of what he is.”

  “What he is?” Ky Markham moved to our Borough back when we were ten. He is good-looking and quiet. He’s very still. He is not a troublemaker. I don’t see him as much as I once did; last year, he received his work position early and he no longer goes to Second School with the rest of the youth in our Borough.

  The Official nods and leans a little closer, even though there is no one around to hear us. The light from the street lamp above shines down, hot, and I shift a little. “This is confidential information, but Ky Markham could never be your Match. He will never be anyone’s Match.”

  “He’s chosen to be a Single, then.” I’m not sure why this information is confidential. Lots of people in our school have chosen to be single. There’s even a paragraph about it in the official Matching material: Please consider carefully whether you are a good candidate to be Matched. Remember, Singles are equally important in the Society. As you are aware, the current Leader of the Society is a Single. Both Matched and Single citizens experience full and satisfying lives. However, children are only allowed to be born to those who choose to be Matched.

  She leans closer to me. “No. He’s not a Single. Ky Markham is an Aberration.”

  Ky Markham is an Aberration?

  Aberrations live among us; they’re not dangerous like Anomalies, who have to be separated from Society. Though Aberrations usually acquire their status due to an Infraction, they are protected; their identities aren’t usually common knowledge. Only the Officials in the Societal Classification Department and other related fields have access to such information.

  I don’t ask my question out loud, but she knows what I am thinking. “I’m afraid so. It’s through no fault of his own. But his father committed an Infraction. The Society couldn’t overlook a factor like that, even when they allowed the Markhams to adopt Ky. He had to retain his classification as an Aberration, and, as such, was ineligible to be entered in the Matching pool.” She sighs. “We don’t make the microcards until a few hours before the Banquet. It’s likely the error occurred then. We’re already checking to see who had access to your microcard, who could have added Ky’s picture before the Banquet.”

  “I hope you find out who did it,” I say. “You’re right. It’s cruel.”

  “We’ll find out,” she says, smiling at me. “I can promise you that.” Then she looks down, glances at her watch. “I have to leave now. I hope that I’ve been able to eliminate your concern.”

  “Yes, thank you.” I try to pull my thoughts from the boy who is an Aberration. I should be thinking about how wonderful it is that everything is back in order. But instead I think about Ky—how sorry I feel for him, how I wish I didn’t have to know this about him and could have gone on thinking he had chosen to be a Single.

  “I don’t need to remind you to keep the information about Ky Markham confidential, do I?” she asks mildly, but I hear the iron in her voice. “The only reason I shared it with you was so that you could know without a doubt that he was never intended to be your Match.”

  “Of course. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

  “Good. It’s probably best that you keep this to yourself. Of course, we could call a meeting if you would like. I could explain to your parents and Xander and his parents what happened—”

  “No!” I say forcefully. “No. I don’t want anyone to know, except—”

  “Except who?”

  I don’t answer, and suddenly her hand is on my arm. She does not grip me roughly, but I can tell that she will wait out the answer to her brief question: “Who?”

  “My grandfather,” I admit. “He’s almost eighty.”

  She lets go of my arm. “When is his birthday?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She thinks for a moment, then nods. “If you feel that you need to talk to someone about what happened, he would be the optimal one. Still. That is the only per
son?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I don’t want anyone else to know. I don’t mind Grandfather knowing because ...” I leave the sentence unfinished. She knows why. At least one of the reasons why, anyway.

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” the Official says, nodding. “I have to admit that it makes things easier for me. Obviously, when you talk to your grandfather, you will tell him that he will be cited if he mentions this to anyone else. And that’s certainly not something he wants now. He could lose his preservation privileges.”

  “I understand.”

  The Official smiles, stands up. “Is there anything else I can help you with tonight?”

  I am glad the interview is over. Now that all is right again with my world, I want to take my place back inside that room full of people. It suddenly feels very lonely out here.

  “No, thank you.”

  She gestures at the path leading back to the center. “Best wishes to you, Cassia. I’m glad I could help.”

  I thank her one last time and walk away. She stays behind, watching me go. Even though I know it’s nonsense, I feel as if she watches me all the way to the door, all the way down the halls and back into the room and over to the table where Xander still plays the game. He looks up and holds my gaze. He noticed that I was gone. Everything all right? his eyes ask me, and I nod. It is now.

  Everything is back to normal. Better than normal—now I can again enjoy the fact that I’ve been Matched with Xander.

  Still, I wish she hadn’t told me about Ky. I won’t be able to look at him the same way again, now that I know too much about him.

  There are so many of us inside the game center. It is hot and humid in the room, reminding me of the tropical ocean simulation we had in Science once, the one about the coral reefs that teemed with fish before the Warming killed them all. I taste sweat and breathe water.

  Someone bumps into me as an Official makes an announcement over the main speaker. The crowd goes quiet to listen:

  “Someone has dropped their tablet container. Please, stand completely still and do not speak until we locate it.”

  Everyone stops immediately. I hear the clatter of dice and a soft thud as someone, perhaps Xander, puts down a game piece. Then all is quiet. No one moves. A lost container is a serious matter. I look at a girl near me, and she stares back at me, wide-eyed, openmouthed, frozen in place. I think again of that ocean simulation, how the instructor paused it in the middle to explain something, and the fish projected around the room stared back at us, unblinking, until she switched the simulation back on.

  We all wait for the switch to be thrown, for the instructor to tell us what comes next. My mind begins to wander, to escape this place where we all hold still. Are there other unknown Aberrations standing here in this room, swimming in this water? Water. I recall another memory of water, real this time, a day when Xander and I were ten.

  Back then, we had more free-recreation time, and in the summers we almost always spent it at the swimming pool. Xander liked to swim in the blue-chlorinated water; I liked to sit on the pockmarked cement side of the pool and swish my feet back and forth before I went in. That’s what I was doing when Xander appeared next to me, a worried look on his face.

  “I’ve lost my tablet container,” he told me quietly.

  I glanced down to make sure that mine was still hooked to my swimwear. It was; its metal clip snapped securely to the strap over my left shoulder. We’d had our tablet containers for a few weeks, and at that point they contained one tablet. The first one. The blue one. The one that can save us; the one with enough nutrients to keep us going for several days if we have water, too.

  There was plenty of water in the pool. That was the problem. How was Xander ever going to find the container?

  “It’s probably underwater,” I said. “Let’s get the lifeguard to clear the pool.”

  “No,” Xander said, his jaw set. “Don’t tell them. They’ll cite me for losing it. Don’t say anything. I’ll find it.” Carrying our own tablets is an important step toward our own independence; losing them is the same as admitting we aren’t ready for the responsibility. Our parents carry our tablets for us until we are old enough to take them over, one by one. First the blue, when we are ten. Then, when we turn thirteen, the green one. The one that calms us if we need calming.

  And when we’re sixteen, the red one, the one we can only take when a high-level Official tells us to do so.

  At first, I tried to help Xander, but the chlorine always hurt my eyes. I dove and dove and then, when my eyes burned so much I could barely see, I climbed back onto the cement next to the pool and tried to look beneath the sun-bright surface of the water.

  None of us ever wears a watch when we are small; time is kept for us. But I still knew. I knew that he had been under the water much longer than he should. I had measured it out in heartbeats and in the slap of the waves against the side of the pool as one person, then another, then another, dove in.

  Did he drown? For a moment, I was blinded by sunlight slanting off the water, white, and paralyzed by my fear, which felt white, too. But then I stood up and drew a deep breath into my lungs to scream to the world Xander is under the water, save him, save him! Before my scream was born, a voice I did not know asked, “Is he drowning?”

  “I can’t tell,” I said, tearing my eyes away from the water. A boy stood next to me; tanned skin, dark hair. A new boy. That was all I had time to notice before he vanished, slipping under the surface in one quick motion.

  A pause, a few more slaps of the waves against the cement, and Xander’s head popped up above the water. He grinned triumphantly at me, holding the waterproof case. “Got it,” he said.

  “Xander,” I said, relieved. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course,” he said, the confident light back in his eyes. “Why would you think I wouldn’t be?”

  “You were under so long that I thought you were drowning,” I admitted. “And so did that boy—” Suddenly I panicked. Where did the other boy go? He had not come up for air.

  “What boy?” Xander asked, puzzled.

  “He went searching for you.” And then I saw him, below the blue, a shadow under the water. “He’s right there. Is he drowning?”

  Just then the boy broke the surface of the water, coughing, his hair glistening. A red scrape, almost healed but still noticeable, ran along his cheek. I did my best not to stare. Not just because injuries are uncommon in a place where we are all so healthy and safe, but because he was unknown to me. A stranger.

  It took the boy a few moments to catch his breath again. When he did, he looked at me but spoke to Xander, saying, “You didn’t drown.”

  “No,” agreed Xander. “You almost did, though.”

  “I know,” the boy said. “I meant to save you.” He corrected himself. “I mean, to help you.”

  “Don’t you know how to swim?” I asked him.

  “I thought I did,” the boy said, which made both Xander and me laugh. The boy looked into my eyes and smiled. The smile seemed to surprise him; it surprised me, too, the warmth of it.

  The boy looked back at Xander. “She looked worried when you didn’t come back up.”

  “I’m not worried anymore,” I said, relieved that everyone was safe. “Are you visiting someone?” I asked the boy, hoping he was staying for a long visit. I already liked him because he had wanted to help Xander.

  “No,” said the boy, and though he still smiled, his voice sounded quiet and still like the water had become around us. He looked right at me. “I belong here.”

  Now, my eyes fixed on the crowd in front of me, I feel that same feeling of relief and release as I see a familiar face, someone who, until now, I had been desperately worried about. Someone I must have thought had drowned or slipped or been pulled under and might never be seen again.

  Ky Markham is here and he looks right at me.

  Without thinking, I take a step toward him. That’s when I feel something burst beneath my foot. Th
e lost tablet container has broken open, and everything it is supposed to protect has spilled out on the floor and been crushed under my foot. Bluegreenred.

  I stop in my tracks but the movement has been noted. Officials swarm toward me and the people near me draw breath and call out, “Over here! It’s broken!”

  I have to turn away when an Official takes my elbow and asks me what happened. When I look back at where Ky stood, he has disappeared. Just like he did that day into the pool. Just like his face did earlier on the port at my house.

  CHAPTER 6

  There was a new boy at the pool today,” I told my parents that long-ago night, after the incident while Xander and I were swimming. I was careful to leave out any mention of Xander losing his tablet container. I didn’t want him to get in trouble. The omission felt like the tablet itself stuck in my throat. Every time I swallowed, I felt it catch there, threatening to choke me.

  But still, I didn’t tell.

  My parents exchanged glances. “A new boy? Are you sure?” my father asked.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “His name is Ky Markham. Xander and I swam with him.”

  “He’s staying with the Markhams, then,” my father said.

  “They’ve adopted him,” I told my parents. “He calls Aida his mother and Patrick his father. I heard him.”

  My parents exchanged glances. Adoptions were and are virtually unheard of in our Province of Oria.

  We heard a knock on the door. “Stay here, Cassia,” my father said. “Let us see who it is.”

  I waited back in the kitchen, but I heard Xander’s father, Mr. Carrow, at the door, his deep loud voice booming through the foyer. We aren’t allowed to go into one another’s residences, but I could imagine him standing there on the steps, looking like an older version of Xander. Same blond hair. Same laughing blue eyes.

  “I talked with Patrick and Aida Markham,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know. The boy is an orphan. He’s from the Outer Provinces.”

  “He is?” My mother’s voice held a note of concern. The Outer Provinces are on the geographic fringe of the Society where life is harder and wilder. Sometimes people refer to them as the Lesser Provinces, or the Backward Provinces, because they have so little order and knowledge there. There’s a higher concentration of Aberrations there than in the general populace. And even Anomalies, some say. Though no one knows for certain where the Anomalies are. They used to be kept in safe houses, but many of those stand empty these days.