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“You look exhausted!” Penepoli said, stating the obvious at the sight of the dark circles under my eyes.
I pushed through the halls with her at my side, not ready at all for Mrs. Soleman’s American® history class. That class was a complete waste of time.
“There’s twenty-nine Silents at the school now,” Penepoli whispered to me as I reached my seat. “I counted.”
I let out a breath. How was I supposed to feel about that?
“Thirty, if you count Nancee,” Penepoli added. Then, after a moment, “Do you think she is coming back?”
She wasn’t coming back. Not to school, for sure. My frown answered Penepoli’s question, because her face fell in disappointment. We both missed Nancee. My heart seemed to slow, thinking I might well never see her again.
“Shut up!” Phlip grunted from his seat behind us. His Cuff buzzed, and his face darkened.
Penepoli glared at Phlip and then turned back to me, lowering her voice. “Principal Ugarte is pissed,” she said, brightening a little.
“Okay, Miss Graethe,” Mrs. Soleman said, pointing Penepoli toward her seat.
Mrs. Soleman was a mousey little thing with watery eyes and slumped shoulders. She never seemed to have anything worthwhile to teach us. She would softly plow forward, reciting names and dates from board-approved selections of Great Events, and my mind usually wandered. I think she knew none of us paid much attention. I doubted she cared.
She adjusted the short sport coat she wore and cleared her throat as a preamble to her lecture.
“The Patent Wars were meant to consolidate and aggregate control of innovation in America®,” Mrs. Soleman said. She often lingered over words she found interesting or pleasurable to say. Most teachers did, since the government was paying.
I longed for Mrs. Soleman’s usual soft dullness; my eyes were begging to close. But she kept watching me, making it impossible for me to put my head down on the desk and close them. I folded my hands on my desk and let my chin rest on them, hoping I might still look interested while slumped forward. Mrs. Soleman looked disappointed.
What I wanted most was to sleep. If I was going to expend any brain power, it would be to consider how I could get into Malvika Place and what I would do with Carol Amanda Harving. If I could get Sam to her, how could I prepare him? Would his pleas be enough?
“Have any of you ever wondered why NanoLion™ batteries continue to be unsafe?” she asked. Her eyes were steady on me. Was this a trick to get me to speak? To keep me awake? I felt a little sick, thinking of the man I had seen die in the street.
Everyone knew NanoLion™ batteries were unstable, but it was bold and dangerous to speak publicly about it. Mrs. Soleman’s Cuff let out a low, ugly bleat. She’d spoken negatively about a product, and her Cuff had just fined her for it. I expected her to wince and back off, but she continued.
“If anyone tried to create a competing product, one that didn’t explode when punctured, the Rights Holders would sue. During the Patent Wars, aggressive litigation became the sole purpose of Patent ownership: to sue anyone who infringed, or prepared to infringe, on the ideas and concepts already owned. It became impossible to innovate or improve anything. Creating and inventing became less than worthless; creating and inventing became liabilities. Nobody dared. That is why you will never see any new ideas in your lifetime. Anything that looks new is only due to marketing and sheen.”
Her voice was sharp and strained. Something in her throat seemed to catch. I could sense everyone in the room tense as she spoke. None of us had ever heard a teacher talk like this.
My failing concentration sharpened as she continued. “The main function of the government is to protect rights and freedoms,” she said, her tone strangely sarcastic. “Copyrights, Patent Rights, Trademarks and all other Intellectual Properties must be safeguarded, as must the freedom of the market to profit and grow.”
Phlip clucked his tongue, like this all irritated him.
Her thin, pallid face flushed. I felt bad for her. Her words were being recorded and paid for by the school. They would likely be alerted soon, if they had not been already.
“Those protections once outlined different freedoms, including a very important one: the freedom of speech™.” Her Cuff let out an angry buzz. She swallowed hard and went on. “But this concept disappeared over time to make way for the more lucrative concept of paying for speech.”
She said the word lucrative slowly, like she could taste it. I envied that. The tip of my tongue pressed the roof of my mouth and front teeth to form the L. I could feel in my throat and lungs what it would be like to exhale the ooo sound between pursed lips, and how the hard C would form with a thin crack of air interrupted in the back of my mouth.
I stopped myself, worried I would get carried away and make an actual sound.
Penepoli turned around in her seat, her eyes bulging at me. She mouthed the letters OMG.
“Freedom of speech™,” Mrs. Soleman choked out, a little teary and with a pause, “is one of the most expensive phrases on the national market.” Her Cuff made a lower, angrier buzz. “Unless you’ve heard it during a FiDo, I doubt any of you have heard it at all. Ask yourself—why?”
The class around me was stirring. Sera Croate looked disgusted. Norflo Juarze was carefully nodding, glancing at me. Shari Gark looked down at the nails she had just chewed.
Mrs. Soleman rubbed at her face, putting her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were darting around like a nervous animal. If I warned her to leave, would she listen? I knew this was going to end terribly. Why would she risk it? She was still looking at me, like she needed me to listen. I didn’t want that responsibility. I already had the Silents on my conscience.
Her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. “It has been suggested that this change was never legal. Some say the evidence is contained in a book.” Her hand was on her Cuff now, clamped around it, twisting as it recorded her every word.
I had heard about this book. It’s one of the things kids talk about, like ghosts or chupacabra. In our neighborhood, some people claimed Silas Rog kept the book locked away in the central tower above the offices of Butchers & Rog. I found that hard to believe. Why would he keep it? Wouldn’t that only invite someone to find it?
Tylenola Ram, next to me, was wide-eyed, and her mouth was hanging open. I remembered the time she said she saw a unicorn charge up the off-ramp near Chase™ Circle. I don’t think she was lying; I just think she chose to believe that’s what she saw.
I stifled a yawn. I wasn’t bored; I could not control it. Mrs. Soleman looked taken aback, as if my exhaustion was betraying her. She had no idea how tired I was. I went rocketing through the city at night, secreting Products into people’s homes, and then I came to school. There was no time for sleep.
“If someone found that book—if someone gave it to the press and made it public—if everyone could read those words...” Mrs. Soleman shook herself, as though she had said too much.
If someone gave the press that book, I thought, it would disappear and never be seen again. I felt sorry for her. Was she trying to say we should look for it? “I do believe it is real,” she said a little tearfully, like someone trying desperately hard to believe.
I should have been on her side, but I couldn’t say it or show it. There was nothing I could do.
“Butchers & Ro—aaah!” Her voice suddenly cut out, and her eyes shut tight. I heard a tiny crack of electricity. She opened her eyes slowly. They were glossy and red. Gritting her teeth, she put a shaking hand to her lips and made a quick motion. It was hard to tell, because her movement was stilted and awkward, but I think she signed the zippered lips. She quickly sat at her desk and buried her head in her hands. Her Cuff started beeping a shrill alarm. The system had flagged her.
“Is she a Silent now?” Penepoli asked me, and then turned to the front of the class. “Mrs. Soleman? Are you a Silent? Is that what this means?”
My heart was pounding. I was wide awake now, in spite of my exhaustion. I tried to hide the fact that my hands were shaking as the faces of my classmates turned to me. Some looked disgusted, but others seemed hopeful. What did they expect? Did they think I put her up to this? Did they think I knew where this book was? Did they think I was going to look for it? I didn’t understand what I was supposed to do.
Mrs. Soleman’s Cuff kept beeping. Penepoli stood up, sat down, then stood up again, turning to the class. She made the sign of the zippered lips.
“Come on!” Sera Croate complained. “You’ve got months before your Last Day!”
Penepoli looked at me for approval. She hummed a word, like her lips wouldn’t open, but she was still talking inside.
Shari Gark moaned in disgust. Her Cuff buzzed with a charge I could not see.
Principal Ugarte burst into the room. “Everyone be quiet,” he commanded, yanking Mrs. Soleman up by her arm and dragging her to the door. “Your educational license has been revoked,” he hissed, red-faced, his neck bulging over his collar. He forced her out into the hall. She did not resist. He turned from the doorway to address me. “Miss Jime,” he said, sneering with disgust, “you need to leave this school at once.”
It felt like he’d slapped me in the face. I scanned the room and realized I would be cut off from everyone now.
“Miss Jime!” he roared. “Now!”
I stood. Penepoli stood with me, then stamped her foot and made the zippered lips sign at Principal Ugarte. When he ignored her, she stamped her foot again, humming to demand his attention. He didn’t seem to care. I almost had to smile at what a terrible Silent she made.
As I made my way to the door, Ugarte suddenly grabbed my arm and stopped me from leaving.
“You want to stay?” he asked, his voice a little calmer, his grip growing painfully tighter. He pulled me around to face the class. “Tell them this doesn’t have anything to do with you.” He jabbed a finger at the stupefied faces of my classmates. He shook me again, like I was a bad doll. “Tell them not to follow your example.”
I wrenched my arm away from him and darted out of the classroom, tears filling my eyes.
“Do not come back,” he yelled. He tapped out an InstaSuit™ and flicked it to me.
In the hall, Mrs. Soleman was already gone, carted off to who-knows-where.