Sanctuary Read online

  “You okay?” asked my best friend, Kenna. She always got on at the stop before me and saved me a seat.

  “Yeah. No. I mean . . . how about you?”

  “Same.”

  Kenna was tall and skinny, with the most gorgeous ebony skin and a smile that took over her entire face when she was happy. But she was barely opening her mouth to speak this morning. Her arched eyebrows were taut with worry.

  I was so thankful for Kenna. She and I had been best friends since I moved to Southboro. We were also both juniors at Morrow Magnet High School, across town. Even though Kenna was born in the States, she got me. Her parents were both from Nigeria and undocumented. Kenna was the only one outside my family who knew my status. She was brilliant at coding and told me she was going to design a foolproof fake chip one day. I just needed her to do it soon. Like, today.

  As we sat side by side, I wanted to grill her on what footage she’d seen of the border last night or if she had possibly heard any updates. But I wasn’t about to ask her anything while we were on public transportation. I just had to keep moving forward.

  “Everything’s fine,” I said, trying to sound as cool and impenetrable as Mami.

  The buses that stopped in our neighborhood were small, with just a handful of benches for seating. Ernie called them R2-D2s because they were from the first fleet of driverless commuter vehicles and they scuttled along the outer loop of Southboro, making creaky noises when they turned too fast.

  It was such a weird experience, driving through these different sections of Southboro. Like we were gliding through some alternate universe. While our side of town had been on water rations and electricity curfews for close to a year now, most of the homes closer to Morrow had drone irrigation, freshly painted storefronts, and real meats and vegetables in the grocery windows. The people strolling by were so clearly wealthy and white. Their homes looked sturdier; their grass looked thicker. They belonged here.

  We did not. The only reason Kenna and I were on this bus heading to Morrow was because of blind admission exams and our kickass test scores. But I was sure the government would find a way to put an end to blind admissions soon too.

  We were just a few blocks from our high school when the bus slowed down to pick up a group of exhausted-looking farmhands. They’d probably been spraying pesticides all night; their faces were slick with sweat, and their clothes reeked of burnt chemicals.

  “Hold up!” called a sharp male voice.

  “Comin’ through,” boomed another.

  Two men dressed in gray combat gear—bulletproof vests, helmets, and everything—cut past the workers and boarded our bus.

  “Good morning to you all,” the taller one said to us passengers. “This won’t take more than a minute.” He had some sort of protective shield covering his eyes, but I could see a gleaming smile that made me feel nauseous. There was a sudden, cold hush.

  He pulled a handheld scanning device from one of his holsters and started grabbing people’s wrists for inspection. This had never happened before. Scanning whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted, wherever they wanted. I couldn’t watch the tired, terrified faces of everyone on the bus as the officers charged through. When one of them approached me, I tried to look interested in a broken branch outside the bus window. It was the only thing I could do to hide my terror. The gray monster stood in the aisle right next to me, waiting for me to stick out my wrist. My skin was clammy and trembling, no matter how much I willed myself to be still.

  I heard it. The sweet relief of the scanner clicking, registering my data. Then the click as it registered Kenna’s data too. A warm sigh escaped through my lips. I heard the scanners clicking up and down the aisles, until . . .

  That hideous chirping sound cut through the quiet. There was a dreadful pause before one of the officers shouted, “Illegal!”

  Illegal! Illegal! the other officers joined in.

  Kenna and I squeezed each other’s hands, and I tasted my breakfast at the back of my throat. One of the workers was cuffed and shoved off the bus. He was a thin, stooped man. He didn’t protest. He didn’t even cringe as both officers shouted at him about the integrity of this nation and all the diseases and drugs that people like him had brought into our society. I wondered what he was thinking or feeling or wishing he’d said to his family the last time he saw them. The last time he’d probably ever see them.

  I thought of Papi sleeping on the floor of that detention center for months. His voice on the phone sounding more like echoes than actual words. The overworked lawyer who’d taken our life savings and tried her best to help but, in the end, stopped answering our phone calls. The ICE officer glaring at me over his mustache as he took my mami toward a back alley.

  Why did all these people hate us so much?

  Kenna and I watched as the man was shoved into a windowless gray patrol car, practically folded in half so he’d fit. Then the taller of the two gray officers turned around with a sickening smile on his face.

  And as he got into the passenger seat, I saw bright yellow letters splashed across the back of his bulletproof vest.

  They read DEPORTATION FORCE. The same words were now visible across the back bumper of that car too.

  I didn’t know what they meant yet exactly. I just knew it was bad.

  CHAPTER 4

  Morrow Magnet High School was the whitest place on earth.

  Every day I came to school, I felt like all the color had been sucked out of my life. The entire building was just so freaking sterile and bare. It was constructed entirely of transparent walls and bulletproof glass and had a massive metal fence surrounding it. Inside, not a single poster or piece of art was allowed to be hung, and every inch of furniture was painted white. Even though it was almost the end of my junior year, I still got lost all the time in this white maze of blah.

  The design was supposed to keep us calm and compliant. Apparently, the founders were two psychologists who did some research about teenage angst and decided that we could only be safe in a world as pale as skim milk. All teachers were required to carry a gun, and Morrow had three mandatory checkpoints—a wrist scan, a fingerprint test, and a voice recognition gate.

  “Amelia Davis,” I said into the VR speaker. “072-54-3998.”

  Though I could hear the hum of the speaker digesting and processing my words and then the click of the gate catch releasing, I still quaked as I walked through. I was sure at any minute, someone would pop out from behind an aluminum column and shout, STOP! just like I’d seen this morning with Kenna.

  Nobody did, though. At least not at that moment.

  The student population at Morrow looked like a tide of ghosts roaming through the halls, all of us in these insanely itchy white tunics that smelled like institutional soap. Maybe this was what made Morrow still feel so foreign and frightening to me. Morrow claimed to provide “equal educational opportunities for all,” but I was one of only eight nonwhite students in a class of two hundred. Even though the principal always touted Morrow’s great math department, someone had obviously forgotten to calculate that imbalance. Plus, I was the only girl in my grade to have curves front and back. I kept my hair down so it fell over my chest because the principal had even called me in once for being “too provocative.”

  “Ah, cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” said my history teacher, Ms. Marsh. (For the record, the first bell hadn’t rung yet, but that didn’t matter. Kenna and I were still the last ones in our seats.) “I will give you exactly two minutes to copy down the morning assignment. The rest of the class is already preparing for our test.”

  Ms. Marsh was pacing the front of the classroom, hunched over in her white teacher’s cloak. She was either thirty or sixty; it was too hard to tell her age because she was just so saggy and sour-looking, always finding a reason to scowl. Most of my classmates were scared of her. This morning, they were fidgeting and reciting importa
nt dates to themselves to prepare for the test. But I really couldn’t get too concerned. There was a test of some sort at least once a day at Morrow. Besides, everything we learned in history was just the government’s official version of the facts.

  The only subject in school that felt close to exciting was math, since two plus two would always equal four, and Kenna told me daily that creating code and deciphering algorithms was the only way we’d survive in this world of artificial intelligence. Sometimes I wondered if we should just hand everything over to the robots now, since it was pretty clear that we humans were destroying the earth and each other.

  I didn’t have time to figure out how a world run by artificial intelligence would work at this very moment, though, because everyone was getting up on their feet for the morning prayer, followed by the Pledge of Allegiance. Morrow had smart surfaces on almost every wall, which meant we were surrounded by projections of the American flag as we recited the pledge, and I was pretty sure we were being filmed, so I always spoke up and plastered a fake patriotic smile on for this part of school. Kenna and I constantly drilled each other on flattening our vowels and pronouncing every consonant precisely so we could blend in with the rest of Morrow’s white kids. Most of the students in my grade were too self-absorbed or stressed out about test scores to suspect or even notice me. But it did feel like on this morning—more than any other, really—I had a target on my back. Or actually, embedded in that chip on my wrist.

  Once we sat back down, Ms. Marsh ordered us to log in to our testing site and wait until she unlocked the exam. But as she was plugging in her teacher code, a low rumbling sound started coming from the front of the room.

  The classroom lights dimmed, and the national anthem blared through our intercom. I could feel the floor vibrating underneath us, the whole building throbbing. Then a swath of air at the front of the classroom started shimmering in a giant hologram. A floating oval orb hovered and shifted along the front wall, until the President’s large, disembodied face appeared. His bare, gleaming forehead pulsated and his eyes looked squinty, like he was searching for something. Or someone. He was so big, my desk could easily fit into one of his nostrils.

  “Good morning, Citizens,” the President thundered.

  Everyone scrambled back up to stand at attention.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” we answered in unison.

  “I come before you today with some very urgent news,” he said. “Last night, an act of treason was perpetrated upon the United States in the state of California.”

  “Treason?” whispered Kenna. “What the—”

  “Shhh!” Ms. Marsh hissed.

  I loved Kenna so much. She said all the things I was thinking. I knew even without asking that she had seen what happened with that girl at the border last night. But I didn’t dare look her way or show her how terrified I was. My skin was already hot and tight, and I had to force myself to keep my breaths steady.

  The President continued.

  “I am hereby declaring a state of federal emergency and deploying our newest and most advanced team of tactical operatives. They are the United States Deportation Force, and they are tasked with arresting and detaining all illegal aliens. They may arrest suspects without a warrant. They may also enter private property without a warrant. They will also have absolute discretion to forgo deportation trials should they deem it appropriate in order to protect our country.”

  Ms. Marsh started clapping and nodded at us all to do the same. At least it was something to do with my sweaty, shaking hands.

  “Let me assure you,” the President continued, “we are and will continue to be the strongest, most prosperous nation on the planet. As such, it is my duty as President of these United States and commander in chief of the armed forces to also enforce mandatory curfews and accelerated monitorization in accordance with the newly enacted Alien Registration Act of 2032. Failure to comply will result in arrest, detainment, and/or prolonged internment.”

  More forced applause, led by Ms. Marsh.

  “All travel to and from California is strictly prohibited, and all government-issued ID chips will be analyzed and submitted for a national system upgrade to find and terminate any rebellions. We will wipe out this scourge of migrant invasion in a strong, decisive campaign. Thank you, may God bless you, and may God bless these United States of America.”

  As soon as the President signed off, there was a roar of cheering outside our classroom, and I remembered that his face was flickering in homes and buildings all over town. His ominous message about deportation forces, curfews, and “wiping out this scourge of migrant invasion” was being broadcast nationwide. Ringing from sea to shining sea. I wanted to drop down into a hole or blast myself into outer space and never come back.

  “This is insane,” Kenna said as we waited to fill up our cafeteria trays two hours later.

  “What does it even mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” moaned a girl named Vivian from my statistics class. “But I do know that because of it we only had twenty-five minutes for our morning quiz instead of thirty-five, and if I fail statistics, I will literally have no future.”

  Vivian was a whisper of a girl. About half my width and always skulking around in a frown. I wanted to tell her that she had no idea what having no future could feel like, but of course I didn’t. Vivian’s sidekick, Naomi, was equally wispy and self-centered, only I guess she had actually listened to the President’s announcement. Or at least tried.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t follow anything he said,” Naomi whined. “I mean, I guess it’s sad for some people. I’m just glad we don’t live in California.”

  “Um, sad for who?” said Maddie Fitz, sliding in line between us, eager to get in on the discussion. Maddie was one of those rare species of teenager who was all confidence. She was already the debate team captain and the starter on most of our track-and-field events. She was the freckle-faced, clear-eyed, all-American girl who was now very excited to tell us her opinion.

  “I mean, it’s a pain in the ass for us, because everyone’s gonna have to be inside by nine P.M. for this annoying curfew, and they’re putting up, like, a ton of checkpoints. But it’s totally necessary. There are sooooo many illegals, even in Vermont. It’s really scary.”

  Vivian and Naomi nodded their heads, but I was too angry to move. I felt my stomach cramp and the back of my neck bristle.

  “Illegals?” rumbled Kenna.

  “Like, hundreds of thousands. Maybe even millions,” said Maddie, bugging out her bright green eyes. “My dad is on one of the Preservation of America Advisory Committees, so . . . yeah, I get the inside scoop.”

  Her smug look was so horrifying, I wanted to throttle her. I also wanted to hurl myself at the triple-bolted cafeteria exit or even jump over the bulletproof glass separating us from the kitchen so I could hide in a refrigerator.

  I knew I couldn’t do either of those things for real. But I also couldn’t just stand there gaping at Maddie Fitz while she basically told me how I was going to be hunted. I could feel Kenna seething next to me too, her breath sharp and fast.

  Luckily, one of the cafeteria proctors took that moment to come over and pull us out of the hungry procession. “Enough talking! Go to your seats, or I’m taking your student numbers and writing you up.”

  Even the cafeteria was supposed to be silent and sterile at Morrow. We had exactly nine minutes to “mindfully” ingest whatever patty they put in front of us before heading back to class. It was so chewy and salty, reeking of its plastic packaging after it had been reheated.

  But I didn’t complain. I didn’t say a single word again until the end of the school day, when I found Kenna by the 3:38 bus back home. Actually, I didn’t even talk then, because there were too many people coming on and off the bus and too many things that I wanted to say. Slowly, the seats emptied as we wound our way back toward Southboro. I saw
Ernie on the soccer field and literally blurted out, “He’s there!”

  That wasn’t exactly a recognizable command for the bus, so Kenna said into the speaker, “Stop. Southboro Park,” and we climbed out.

  Ernie was not as thrilled to see me as I was to see him. He was passing the ball back and forth with his friend Pete and barely slowed down to say hi.

  “Please, can I play just a few more minutes?” he whined. “Coach never showed up, so Pete’s teaching me how to do rollbacks.”

  “What do you mean, Coach never showed up? Did he message you about practice being canceled, or . . . ?”

  Ernie gave me a blank stare, waiting for me to finish that sentence. All I knew was that his coach was a Korean guy named Tony who was just twenty years old. I couldn’t remember him ever canceling or missing practice before.

  “There’s a curfew, you know. Did you watch the Presidential announcement?”

  “Yeah.” Ernie shrugged. “We had to. I don’t get it, though. What’s it mean for Tía Luna?”

  “Nothing!” I cut him off with a sharp voice and an even sharper glare. “She’s totally fine and doesn’t live anywhere near that mess.”

  “Oh . . . right,” said Ernie, looking down. I knew he’d gotten my message to shut up, though, because he added, “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Doesn’t really affect us,” I said for whoever was listening, even though the soccer field was pretty empty besides Ernie and Pete. “Just annoying because I only had twenty-five minutes to finish my quiz instead of thirty-five,” I added, imitating that anemic-looking girl, Vivian.

  “C’mon,” said Kenna. “Let’s go get something to eat at Uncle Jimi’s. We can watch Ernie from there. I’m super hungry.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye!” Ernie called, already tearing off to practice more drills with his friend. We did have an hour before Mami would get home from work, anyway.