Free The Disappeared by C.J. Harper Page A

vast. Everything in the Academy is on such a big scale. Sometimes I feel like a marble rolling around in a box. There are no windows. The only light comes from a lamp on top of the largest fridge I have ever seen. Knelt in front of it is the girl. The room is a mass of shadows; darkness pours out of the corners. I creep towards her. Down the centre of the room is an extremely long, seamless metal block which must serve as a preparation table. Opposite me, against the wall, are the same troughlike metal sinks we have in the dormitory bathroom. The fridge is at the far end of the room. I tread lightly up the length of the kitchen. The girl’s hair looks white in this light.
    As I get closer I can hear a wet chewing. I wince. She’s cramming food into her mouth. My stomach contracts painfully. It’s been a long time since I had a decent meal. I stop a few metres behind her, feeling awkward; should I clear my throat? Say good evening?
    Suddenly she springs up, turns around and raises her fists, all in one move.
    I take a step backwards and half raise my own fists.
    ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘It’s you.’ And she turns back to the fridge.
    My arms droop like wilting flowers.
    ‘Did the impeccables see you?’ she asks.
    ‘What impeccables?’
    ‘There’s an impeccable patrol. Lots of nights.’
    ‘Oh. No, I didn’t see any impeccables.’
    ‘It’s bad you’re here,’ she says through a mouthful.
    I draw in my breath to say something, but let it go again. There’s no point getting cross. ‘Why?’ I ask.
    ‘Specials can’t go in the kitchen,’ she says.
    ‘Well, we can because here we are. I suppose you mean we’re not allowed. What will happen if we get caught?’
    ‘We get cor?’ she repeats. ‘If they see us we’ll be put in the LER room.’
    I don’t know what that means, but the way that she freezes with a slice of ham halfway to her mouth and looks off into the shadows suggests to me that I really don’t want to find out.
    ‘Can I have some ham?’ I say.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Oh.’
    She carries on chewing.
    I have to swallow because my mouth is watering so much. ‘Listen, I’m starving. I think I’ve got as much right to be pilfering food as you have.’ I move towards the fridge, but she catches hold of my arm.
    ‘Not ham,’ she says. ‘I take one of all things. If we take all lots then they’ll see.’
    She’s got a point and I’m actually pretty impressed that she’s been smart enough to think of it. I help myself to a cold potato with one hand and a tomato with the other. My mouth folds around the potato. It’s delicious; the middle is so soft and salty that my jaw aches with the unexpected pleasure. I ought to be putting things in my pocket for later, but I’m just so hungry.
    ‘Who eats this stuff?’ I say. The fridge is jam-packed with all kinds of tasty food that they’d never serve to a Special.
    ‘The enforcers,’ she says.
    ‘Why don’t all the Specials come down here?’ I ask, cramming in a chunk of cheese.
    ‘Not big lots,’ she tells me, carefully repositioning the cheese dish to where it was. ‘Not all people can . . .’ She mimes punching in the code.
    ‘Not everyone knows the code?’ I say. I look at her hard. ‘If you don’t know the word “code” what happens in your head when you think about it?’
    ‘What?’ she says.
    ‘When you were telling me, did you have a word in your head for “code” or did you just think of . . .’ I copy her mime.
    ‘I have my words for it,’ she says, her face half hidden by a chunk of bread.
    ‘What are they?’ I ask.
    She lifts her chin. ‘I say “the get-food number”. But now I say “code”.’ She shakes back her silvery hair. ‘I’m not stupid.’
    I look down at the fridge door and realise that it’s got an electronic lock attached. Goodness knows how she got it open. She’s right. She’s not stupid.
    When the girl isn’t watching I put a small apple in my pocket. She turns to look at me with