Free Blemished, The by Sarah Dalton Page A

party. Before the Enforcers took Emily I’d imagined us planning our night on the walk home, telling stories under the duvet and sharing secrets. But now we were numb.
    It took a while for Angela to say the words we were both thinking, and what the entire school must have been thinking, including the GEMs – who’d watched the scene unfold with their noses pressed up against the glass of the school windows. She said, “What will they do with the baby?”
    “I don’t know,” I replied. It was the truth. “I’ve never known anyone be taken away. I’ve never even seen a pregnant woman before.”
    Angela blinked away tears. We both had faces puffed out from crying. “Will they kill it?”
    “I don’t know,” I said, trying not to think of the pregnant girl on Twitching Sunday and how her body danced, “maybe.”
    “What about Emily? Will she come back?”
    “Look, I don’t know, all right? They’ll probably kill them both.” I snapped.
    Angela stifled a sob. I stopped walking and grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her close to me. She wrapped her arms around me and cried into my collar bone.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I just feel all hollowed out.”
    “It’s okay,” she said between sobs. “I feel like that too.”
    “Just, don’t ever end up like that. Okay?” I sighed. “If they did that to you––”
    “I won’t,” she said. “But don’t you either. Don’t let Sebastian––”
    “I won’t,” I interrupted. “I promise.”
    She moved away from me and held out her little finger, hooked at the joint. “When I was little Daniel and me used to swear with like this.”
    I laughed.
    We joined fingers, my pale skin like milk against her dark skin. “I swear, Angela. I swear that I’ll always look out for you.”
    We broke away awkwardly, neither quite sure what to say after something so silly yet so earnest. “What happens now?” I asked. 
    “Now it’s time for our slumber party.” She smiled.
    *
     
    Theresa busied herself in the kitchen. We didn’t tell her about Emily. Angela worried that depressing news might tip her over the edge. We walked on egg-shells around her. Any mention of Angela’s dad could trigger an old memory and it flipped a switch turning her into a vague zombie. I watched her and thought about what my mum would have been like if she hadn’t run away to London. Sometimes I even thought about her being better off dead. I shivered, that was no way to think.
    “I’ve not made you any mint tea,” Theresa said.
    “You did, Mum, just a few minutes ago,” said Angela.
    Theresa smiled broadly. “Of course I did. I’m so forgetful these days.” She left the room laughing to herself and Angela’s smile tightened.
    I leaned over and held her hand. We were in Angela’s lounge, settled into her floral sofa. The TV screen showed a GEM beauty contest. Beautiful, tall, slim girls not much older than us paraded around a stage in bikinis while the audience voted on which of them was the thinnest. The winner received an agent in London, one of the best apparently. The flamboyant TV presenter wrapped a tape measure around a girl’s waist and frowned. The girl started crying.
    “What do you think the GEMs get to watch on TV?” I said. “Do you think it’s the same? Or do you think they watch the films? Does anyone watch the films?”
    News reports always told us that London made spectacular films, that the talent from the GEMs could not be equalled in the rest of the world. Apparently their entertainment industry was unrivalled. But we never actually saw any of it.
    Angela rested her head against her knees, pulling her feet up underneath her body, as though thinking. “I guess they must. Otherwise what would be the point in it all?”
    “Do you think they pay extra for the films?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Someone has to see them. Unless they don’t even make them.”
    Angela looked at me and then back at the television. “But… all the