Lisa Heathfield - I Am Not a Number

‘It’s a bit late though, isn’t it,’ Conor mumbles.

‘Yes,’ Mr Hart says. ‘Yes, it is.’

The only class I have with Luke is art. Sara says I only took it so I could be with him and I think she might be right. I’m rubbish at drawing, but Luke is like the next Picasso or something.

‘You okay?’ he asks, sitting on the stool next to me. He puts his hand underneath my hair and I can feel his palm against my skin. When he kisses me I wonder if the Trads will stop this too. If they say short skirts lead to promiscuity and teenage pregnancies, what will they think of outright kissing?

‘Everything’s just a bit weird,’ I say.

‘There was nearly a fight in maths,’ Luke says.

‘So much for the Trads bringing peace and harmony.’

Miss Mason bangs her giant paintbrush on her desk. It’s her way of getting our attention and somehow it’s always worked.

‘There’s a change of plan for our lesson today,’ she says. She’s wearing her long hippy dress as usual so she’ll be fine with any new rules the Trads impose. ‘The whole of Year Eleven are having an assembly in the hall.’

‘Now?’ someone asks.

‘Yes.’ Miss Mason goes to the door and opens it. ‘In silence though. Other year groups are still working.’

‘Miss, I really want to finish my still life,’ Kaylee moans.

‘I’ll open the room at lunch for anyone who wants to make up the time.’

‘No thanks,’ Conor laughs, walking across the top of the tables to get past everyone.

‘Off there,’ Miss Mason tells him and he jumps down, using Kaylee’s head to support him.

‘Wanker,’ she says, swiping at him.

‘Language,’ Miss Mason says.

‘The Trads will knock your head off if they hear you say that, Kaylee,’ Conor says.

‘I said silence,’ Miss Mason shouts.

‘What’s going on, miss?’ Luke asks as we pass her.

‘I’ve just been told to get you all to assembly,’ she says as she flicks off the light and closes the door behind the last of us.

There’s a soldier standing at the front of the hall. It looks wrong that he’s here inside our school. Next to him Mr Edwards, our head, paces up and down, directing people where to sit, filling up the chairs from the front. Luke squeezes my fingers before he lets go of my hand.

Normally in assembly there’s so much noise, people shoving and shouting, calling out to each other. But there’s something about the soldier that sews all our mouths shut. All except Tristan.

‘He’s fit,’ I hear him say.

‘Shh.’ Sara yanks his arm. Since the Traditionals have come into power they’re suddenly very vocal about what they really think of gay people. They say it’s a choice and they’ve made it clear which way they want people to choose.

Luke and I manage to sit together and when everyone is inside, the big double doors close and we all look to the two men at the front.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Mr Edwards says. I can tell he’s nervous as he exaggerates looking at his watch. ‘Yup, it is still morning, just.’ A few of the teachers around the edge try to laugh, but there’s nothing from any of us. ‘Right, well, I’m going to hand over to Chris Stewart, a member of the Traditional Party.’ Mr Edwards steps to the side, his hands strangely clasped together. I’ve never seen him fade in the presence of anyone before. He normally struts around like some sort of demented peacock.

‘Thank you,’ Chris Stewart says. He clears his throat, his hand balled in front of his lips. ‘I’m very proud to be here as a representative of John Andrews and the Traditional Party.’ He’s older than the soldier on my street this morning. And he doesn’t have a gun, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. ‘As you all know, this is a very exciting time for our country, because for too long we’ve been at the mercy of people with weak vision and weak focus. We are different. We bring change. We’re determined to restore our country to be the great place we know it can be.’ He looks so smug standing there, as though he’s expecting us all to jump to our feet and high five him or something. ‘The Traditionals are not just a party of words but of actions. Already our policies are working. Since we came to power three months ago, violent crimes are decreasing. With us leading you, I promise that your quality of life will continue to rise.’

He’s convincing, I’ll give him that. I know a lot of people will be lapping this up, oblivious to how much will be destroyed for this so-called life. Like our voice, our freedom. I nudge Luke gently with my arm and he nudges me back. Thank God for his sanity in this madness.

‘We know,’ the soldier continues, ‘that much of the country voted for us. People knew it was time for change. And we believe in the importance of solidarity. We know that you want to be as proud of the party you voted for as we are proud of you. Therefore, from today, you are all instructed to wear a band on your arm depicting your allegiance.’

Mr Edwards takes a step backwards. It’s obvious that he didn’t know this was going to happen.

The soldier’s smile doesn’t seem friendly to me. ‘Some of you look confused,’ he says. He looks like a snake. ‘Let me explain it more clearly. You are about to come up here and choose a band of either the Traditionals or the Core Party. You will wear that band at all times.’

There’s not even a murmur. Two hundred silent students. I glance around, but everyone just stares at the front.

Two soldiers appear from the side door carrying a box each. And both are carrying guns slung over their shoulders. They put the boxes on a table. Across the front of one there’s the red slash against the green of the Trads, the other has a rectangle of purple with four yellow upward steps. One soldier slices a knife across the top of one box, then the other.

‘The decision of which band you choose must be your own,’ Chris Stewart says from the front. ‘Don’t be influenced by your friends. And if your parents were foolish enough to vote for the Core Party, know that you don’t have to follow them. They may be frightened of change, but this is your chance to stand up to them, to be your own person. Break free of their chains.’

‘What an idiot,’ Luke whispers so quietly that it’s probably only me who hears it.

‘The front row first,’ Chris Stewart says. No one moves until he points to the girl on the end. ‘You,’ he says. ‘Come and choose your band. The rest will follow in silence.’

She’s a new girl. I don’t know her name, but she goes straight to the Traditionals’ box. She reaches in, pulls out an elasticated green band and pulls it over her school jumper to the top of her arm, turning it so that the red slash is clearly visible. Chris Stewart pats her on the back and she smiles up at him as though he’s some sort of hero or something.

It’s Shaun Williams next and he doesn’t even hesitate before he chooses the Trads. Then James and Ashwar from my tutor group and Tristan. He’s not laughing now as he pulls the green band up his arm.

I don’t know if they all really want to, or if it’s the men holding guns behind them that make them do it.

Sara is first in the second row. I know her mum voted for the Trads as she wanted a change. She said other governments had led us nowhere and she wanted to give someone else a chance. Her dad couldn’t decide so he hadn’t voted. But Sara? She’s been my best mate since our first day in this school and her head is screwed on right.

She gets to the front and hesitates. She looks at Stewart who watches her, before she walks past the Core’s box and puts her hand into the one for the Trads. I drop my head down. Luke reaches over for my hand and this time he doesn’t let go.