See How They Lie Page 4

  “Welcome back, Greta,” says Ms Ray. “Thanks for the offer, but this morning I’m teaching the class about atoms and molecules. Feel free to take a seat.” She points towards the spare chair next to Zach, but Greta walks back down the schoolroom. “It’s OK. If you don’t need me, I’ve got better things to do. I’ll see you guys at lunch.”

  Ms Ray waits until she’s gone, and then she asks Joanie if she can remember what the central part of an atom is called.

  “No,” says Joanie.

  We wait for Ms Ray to tell her, but she doesn’t. She says, “Go on, Joanie. Have a go.”

  Joanie opens her mouth. “Nu…” Her round face scrumples with effort. “Nu-cle-us!”

  I clap enthusiastically. Drew and the boys look at me. Schoolwork isn’t anything to be bigged up. It’s only one section of our lives, and we need to keep the right balance or we’re headed for emotional difficulties.

  At lunchtime, I dread going to the restaurant, where I know I’ll have to witness Greta’s usual Queen Bee routine. She’s already there at our staff kids’ table next to the window when we arrive from lessons, talking in her loud voice to a waitress about how the table hasn’t been set correctly.

  After we’ve ordered our food from the menu, Greta looks out at the pool and shrieks, “Oh my God. Look! Isn’t that the new teacher?”

  We stand up to see as Greta says, “Let’s watch her belly flop.”

  Ms Ray is on the diving board in a plain old black swimsuit and an ordinary white swim cap. She dives gracefully, and when Greta sees she’s a good swimmer, she stops watching and tells us to sit down.

  “Tell us about outside, Greta,” says Ben. “Please.”

  We all want to know. But Greta makes us ask every time, and sometimes beg.

  She tells us about the meals she’s cooked. The TV programmes she’s downloaded. That she received her first-ever wrong call on her cell phone. That it’s still odd to pay for things in dollars and not tokens. How she went out to see a movie and came back to her apartment past eleven p.m. That she’s having some blackout blinds made for her windows because she still hasn’t got used to sleeping with such thin curtains.

  I lean my head to one side and rub my neck where I have a pins-and-needles sensation. It’s the third time I’ve had it. I’ve heard patients complaining about it too, but it can’t be catching. Can it? Greta’s boasting about the wifi in her apartment. That’s far more irritating than the pins and needles.

  “I. Cannot. Wait,” mutters Drew.

  “It’s so great,” says Greta. “But you’ve got to know how to handle it. People get obsessed with things like cell phones and social media.” She shovels a forkful of bulgur wheat with edamame beans into her mouth and we have to wait for her to swallow it before she adds, “I’m lucky I was brought up here. I’ve seen people leave lectures because they’ve realized they left their cell phones at home.”

  Before she gets going on her usual rant about the other students being lazy with no routine to their day, I say, “Bet it’s still exciting, living on the outside.”

  Greta nods.

  “All that freedom,” says Drew.

  “Not being told what to do,” says Zach.

  “A phone,” says Ben.

  Luke, his brother, nods.

  “It’s cool,” says Greta. “And I have so many friends.” She turns to a passing waiter. “What’s the fruit sorbet of the day?”

  It’s goals group after lunch and my chance to talk to Thet as everyone moves from the restaurant building to the therapy rooms on the ground floor of the main building. It’s hard sometimes to find a moment when there’s no one around to overhear us.

  “How are you?” I ask when I catch up with her by the stairs.

  “Six,” she says. Six on a scale of zero to ten isn’t too bad. “You?”

  “Something odd happened,” I say. I tell her about my uncle Frank, how it’s unsettled me, how I want to know more about Mom’s family but there’s no way Mom or Dad are going to tell me.

  “They want you to live in the present,” says Thet. “They don’t want you wasting energy on the past.”

  I sigh heavily.

  “You need someone to do a search on the internet for you, I guess,” says Thet.

  “I tried already.”

  “No, the real internet.”

  There aren’t any patients scheduled for a visit home at the moment. Perhaps Thet’s thinking of Greta, but I know she won’t do it. She’d say I was going behind my parents’ backs. She might even tell her dad, who’d tell mine. I’d be accused of going against everything the Creek stands for. Punished.

  “I can’t ask Greta, but even if I could, I only have two first names. Frank and Vonnie. That’s not going to get me very far in a search, is it?”

  Thet shakes her head slowly. Her hair gleams where the sunlight catches it. “You need more clues.”

  We step outside, and the air is scented with the flowers in the densely planted borders. The pale rock sculpture on the lawn contrasts perfectly against the deep green of the expertly tended grass. Everyone else has gone via the covered walkway. It’s just me and Thet here, and it’s so peaceful, we can hear a bird hopping about in the undergrowth of a nearby bush. My uncle Frank can’t live anywhere as beautiful as this. If he knew Mom lived here, he might have looked up the website, and become jealous. He might have a nasty ulterior motive for contacting her.

  We linger outside for a few seconds, leaning against the cool brick of the main building to avoid the crowds inside. When we go inside, everyone is still bunched outside the therapy rooms, waiting for the doors to unlock automatically. We stand a bit apart so no one accidentally touches Thet, and I notice there’s a new boy standing on his own. He’s tall with pale skin and lots of dark blond hair. Gangly. Not many muscles under that orange shirt, and jeans that surely must be too hot in this weather.

  Aha. He must be the patient from England.

  He sees me looking, and steps closer. “Hi.”

  Beside me, Thet shrinks back. “Hi,” I say.

  “I’m Noah.” His accent is definitely British, but soft. “I’m new,” he adds unnecessarily. “Finding my feet.”

  “I’m Mae. I hope you settle in quickly.”

  “Thanks,” says Noah. “This place looks amazing, but I wasn’t expecting there to be so many rules. That Welcome Pack they give you is huge, isn’t it? I skim-read the rules, so I probably didn’t take them all in.” He looks at his hands and decides to jam them into the front pockets of his jeans, out of the way.

  “It’s good to know the rules,” I say. “They establish boundaries and make you feel secure. Don’t worry. You’ll learn them as you go along. I hope you have a great stay.”

  “Thanks. How long have you been here?” he asks.

  I don’t need to look at Thet to know she’s smiling. “Nearly ten years,” I say, and Noah’s face is one of complete surprise and, I’m annoyed to see, horror.

  Thet says, “She’s a staff kid.”

  “Oh,” says Noah. “You have to be tagged as well?”

  “Tagged?”

  Noah lifts up his arm to indicate his watch.

  Everyone on Creek property wears a health-monitoring watch apart from day visitors or work people who come from outside. Mom had the very first Creek watch. Dad had it decorated with twelve diamonds round the edge, and when she has upgrades the diamonds are transferred.

  “How else would you get such accurate data about your health?” I say. “Nowhere else in the world has such sophisticated monitoring as us.”

  There’s a clacking noise coming down the corridor. Abigail, the head therapist, in her high heels, is heading our way with the other therapists. From where we’re standing we can’t hear the low clicking sound of the therapy rooms unlocking, but we see people push the doors open and go in. As Noah looks round, I say, “Do you know which room you’re supposed to be in?”

  “Room Three.” He frowns. “I think that’s right.” He taps
his watch and checks the screen. “Yes.”

  “See? The watches are useful for all sorts of things,” I say. I wave goodbye to Thet and walk off towards Room Five.

  My group is the one for staff kids. Joanie doesn’t do goals group, but Greta is here, so that makes six of us, seven if you include Abigail, who’s leading our group today. We sit on pale blue velvet armchairs in a small circle and stare at our knees or the white walls, hung with paintings that comprise part of the Creek’s private collection of late twentieth-century art. We stare anywhere apart from each other because none of us finds this easy.

  We begin by going round the circle, one by one, saying what our goal for the previous month was, how we managed, how we could have improved and what we learned. What we learned has to tie up with one of the Creek philosophies.

  Ben is picked to start and he reminds us his goal was to eat a wider variety of fruit and vegetables. He lists what he’s tried, and rambles on about what tasted better than he’d thought and what didn’t. He says he knows that all the food at the Creek is part of a healthy diet and just because he thinks something is so gross it might make him throw-up, it probably won’t. He has to respect his body and give it the best possible fuel. He has to trust the Creek chefs to make the fruit and vegetables taste as good as possible.

  Abigail nods and smiles. As well as being the head therapist, she’s also the youngest, and some patients have a crush on her. Because revealing tops aren’t allowed she tends to go for something with a high neckline but some other distracting feature, such as a big bow or frill, or a lace overlay. Today she’s wearing a yellow dress with short white sleeves and a massive white collar. She looks like an oversized daisy.

  Drew’s next. He only engages with goals group because if he achieves his goal he, like the rest of us, earns thirty tokens. Privately he says the real challenge is to set ourselves easily achievable goals. Today he tells us that he was aiming to beat his personal best for a ten-mile run, and he managed it. He grins when we applaud him loudly, and mutters something about sport helping his moods.

  “Well done, Drew,” says Abigail. “We need to keep working on those moods of yours, though, don’t we?”

  Drew nods. After he sees Abigail press submit on the online form to secure his thirty tokens, he slouches down in his chair.

  I’ve achieved my goal too: I’ve spent more time with Zach, Ben, Luke and Joanie this month. I understand the importance of teamwork, and how we can all help each other flourish. It’s one of the cornerstones of Creek life for everyone here, patients or not. We can all improve ourselves.

  After we’ve each had our turn, we discuss new goals for ourselves. I fall back on my default option which is to keep a gratitude diary.

  Abigail tips her head to one side. “I think you might want to consider something around your understanding of why we have certain rules here.”

  Everyone stares at me. Is she referring to me picking up the phone in reception? Dad must have told her. I wonder if that means every member of staff knows.

  Drew wriggles in his seat. The others whisper. I don’t know what to say.

  “How about a diary entry each night for a month?” says Abigail. “Focus on a different rule every day and say why we have it.” She smiles, waits for me to nod, then moves on to Luke.

  I don’t listen to anything else that’s said in the group, although I look at each person who’s talking as if I am. I think of Jenna and how she was the only member of staff I properly liked.

  At the end Drew rushes off to practise some hoops. As I leave the room, I see Noah emerge from the room further along with Will, a patient who’s been here nearly as long as Thet, and the boy who’s been eating on his own. Noah glances back and sees me. He gives me a quick nod.

  I go with Thet to the spa where we have facials, side by side, and I listen to her talk about her novel. It’s set in a cruel land. The main character manages to run away to safety, but she later discovers every single member of her family has been killed apart from a baby sister, who has been captured and locked away. To rescue her, the main character must travel to an ancient forest where a rare snow-flower blooms once a year. If she tastes its pollen and survives its poison, she’ll become a warrior and join a fierce tribe who will help her rescue her sister.

  Despite the brutal storyline, Thet’s voice calms me.

  FIVE

  “You didn’t miss anything last night at my meal,” says Drew as we walk towards the schoolhouse together the day after his birthday. “It was shit.”

  “Why?” I want him to say he missed me.

  “It wasn’t that cool having it at the cycle track. Joanie thinks getting dressed up means wearing her mermaid outfit, for God’s sake. Greta was worse than usual, lecturing me about gratitude.”

  “The fireworks went on for ages,” I say. I heard them from my room. The shutters were down, of course. I had to imagine the fizzingly vivid colours against the grey evening sky. “Were they good?”

  “They were OK,” says Drew. “But there are fireworks at every staff kid’s birthday. I’d have liked something different.” He sighs. “Like some time away from here.”

  All day yesterday I felt the weight of Jenna not being there. I’m sure Drew must have felt it too. I wish I could have seen him open the tennis racquet I’d spent a computer session designing, using the sports site’s templates. I’ll never know if his face lit up when he saw it. Did he see straight away that I’d had To Drew Happy 16th Love Mae x lasered on to the side? That kiss, I’m not sure if it was too much.

  “Did Dad give—” I start. I’m embarrassed to ask. I’m not after a thank-you. It’s occurred to me just now that Dad might not have handed over the present. Sometimes his punishments involve more than you first realize.

  “Yes,” says Drew. “Thanks. The racquet’s cool.”

  All of a sudden I don’t want to be here on the steps of the schoolhouse. I want to be in the long grass or the woodland gardens with Drew, rolling cigarettes, looking at the sky. We only do lessons for four hours a day – and I like schoolwork – but sometimes it feels much longer. And today I just want to get away.

  “You free to meet after your afternoon exercise?” I ask. “Just us two?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Woodland gardens. Third bench, seventh tree,” I say.

  “Got it,” he says, and his smile almost winds me.

  “Hello, you two,” says Ms Ray. “Take your seats right away, please. We’ve got a lot to get through this morning.” She’s wearing a cross-over dress that has a rip on the sleeve. It’s been sewn up neatly, but still. It’s noticeable. “From next week, anyone who’s late will have to make up the time during morning break. And yes, I had my induction yesterday, thank you very much.”

  The announcements begin with a reminder about using the correct towels for the pool.

  “Next we have an invitation to a swimming gala at Pattonville College,” continues Ms Ray. The gasp in the schoolroom makes her look up.

  “When?” asks Drew. The last time there was a trip outside was before Christmas, to the mall.

  Ms Ray refers back to her laptop screen. “This weekend.” She scans the information. “OK, it’s for any boys in the area, aged nine and under.” She looks up. “Luke. That must be for you.”

  The rest of us slump, except for Joanie who thumps her brother on the arm.

  “No,” he says in a small voice, then in a louder voice he says, “I don’t want to go.” He hugs his arms around himself and shrinks into his little body. He’s always looked much more frail than his brother or sister, but he’s surprisingly speedy at most sports.

  “Loser,” mutters Drew, and I kick him under the desk.

  “You’re an awesome swimmer,” says Ben. “You could win a trophy for the Creek.”

  Luke slaps his hands over his eyes.

  “It’s OK, Luke,” says Ms Ray. “No one’s making you go.” She looks round the room for someone to give her an explanation.

&nb
sp; “He’s only left the Creek once,” I say. “It freaked him out.”

  She frowns and nods. “It’s OK, Luke. I’ll send a message back saying you’re not going to enter it this time.”

  Ms Ray explains we’re going to do a group project, involving material dyed with various household chemicals. First we have to learn about the chemicals.

  We’ve never done anything like this before. Previously we went through work booklets at our own pace, had circle time where we discussed topics from the booklets and listened to audiobooks. Ms Ray teaches lessons that seem to work for all of us at different levels. She likes demonstrating things too. I hope she doesn’t land herself in trouble for not doing things the Creek way.

  After morning break, Drew, Zach and I each have a copy of the periodic table on our desks. We have to memorize as much as we can over the next week. Ms Ray holds up a fat chemistry book and one of us – Drew, Zach or I – are to read a chapter of it over the weekend for the purpose of doing a presentation on Monday on natural and synthetic dyes.

  There’s the longest silence before I crack and say, “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you, Mae,” says Ms Ray, and it lands on my desk with a thump.

  “We never have homework,” says Ben. “How’s Mae going to have time to do it?” He looks at Zach who nods in agreement.

  Ms Ray looks surprised. “There’s this afternoon and the weekend. I know you have activities, Mae, but there should be enough time.” She pauses. “What is your weekend schedule?”

  “It’s fine. I can do it,” I say.

  Drew says, “Six hours of sport on both Saturday and Sunday plus activities.”

  “Oh. I see,” says Ms Ray. “Well, just do your best, Mae.”

  For the rest of the morning we do geography. Ben and Joanie act out being tectonic plates and somehow Ben treads on Joanie’s hair, and in the ensuing meltdown, as I watch Ms Ray trying to sort it out, I wonder how long it’ll be before she leaves this job. No teacher has ever lasted more than a year. As we’re dismissed for lunch, she places a further book on my desk. A play to read “when you have time”. It’s by someone called William Shakespeare.