Denzin rubbed his arm as he walked towards the Jobbing Centre. The last bruises his sister had given him had taken weeks to heal. Hopefully these ones wouldn’t take as long.

  Why did he always have to mess things up for everyone? He sent a prayer to Senda that he would be able to keep himself out of trouble at least until after City-Fest. He didn’t want to have to face Kayda again if he didn’t.

  “Fill in this form,” the jobbing clerk droned. “Over there.” She pointed to the worn counter running along the side wall. Her eyes never even lifted from her tablet.

  Hands shaking, he took the form from her and headed the direction of that finger.

  Everything inside him wanted to rip that piece of paper to shreds. But his arm throbbed again, and he decided against the idea.

  Not that there was anything wrong with the paper. At least until he had to try to make sense of what was written on it. Then the words and letters began their usual little dance across the page. His eyes darted about, trying to keep up with them long enough to be able to read them. Once he understood what it was saying, he could write down his answer – his writing often had as little restraint as his mouth did. Usually. If he wasn’t tired. Or nervous. Like he was now.

  Sometimes at school, he hadn’t finished a zam not because he didn’t know the material, but because once he’d spent ages trying to work out what the first question was, he’d found so much to say about it that he hadn’t had time to turn the page and get to the next one before the timer sounded.

  “You’re intelligent, Denzin,” some of his teachers told him. “Why can’t you pass your zams?”

  Most, though, just called him lazy. Or stupid. A disappointment – all of them said that one at one time or another.

  If only he could read the yassing questions and answer more than one, he might have been allowed to spend his days in the Under Reading Room. Like his sister. Instead of filling in this stupid form.

  Beads of sweat had stuck the wayward bits of his hair to his forehead by the time he’d finally worked out what the last question on the form said. With effort, he forced his fingers to scrawl the name of his school on the line.

  He rubbed the tension out of his forehead – avoiding the hand-drawn birthmark – and headed back to the jobbing clerk. Then he stood there, doing everything he could not to let all those things racing around his brain find their way to his tongue. Maybe he needed to wear a gag. Kayda had threatened to glue one to his face this morning as she punched him.

  “Come back at sixteen o’clock,” the clerk stated. “Then we’ll have your new assignment ready.” With this, he was dismissed. The clerk still hadn’t looked up at him.

  And so Denzin had another day to waste. Another day of not earning anything for his family. He really was useless.

  Denzin’s feet led him past the Under Reading Room. On the other side of that window sat his sister, head down in some book or other. He wished he could be like her. Dad’s pride leaked out his eyes when he saw her Zam predictions. Mam’s smile stretched wider than it ever had before, her eyes tearing up, too!

  But Denzin had made his parents cry for other reasons. He’d heard his mam last night, fretting over how they were going to celebrate this year. It was because of him that they had so little, and had to work so yassing hard.

  Kayda looked up from her desk. Even through the glass, he was sure he heard her growl. He quickly averted his gaze and fumbled with his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, really. Really he wasn’t.

  The Fest-Caff was around the corner. Through that window, Chimma was cheerfully serving a handful of customers. She had a nice life. She was able to keep her job. And she could talk to people while she did it.

  Something dropped into his eye. And then onto his hand. A black cloud crept overhead, blocking out the sun in the process.

  Denzin made it through the door of the caff just as the storm hit. Suddenly. As usual. There was rarely more than two or three raindrops-worth of warning.

  “Can I just have some water, please,” Denzin asked at the counter.

  “Oh, surely you want more than that,” Chimma replied. She ladled some hot soup into a bowl and added it to his tray.

  “But I can’t afford it,” he whispered to her. “I didn’t even pay yesterday, did I?”

  She leaned towards him conspiratorially. “That’s why I gave you soup, not a sammich, silly boy. The sammiches are counted. Now go sit down.”

  A couple of wrinklies had hurried in behind him to escape the weather. Once Chimma had served them, she grabbed a cup of water, pulled an unused chair from another table and sat down beside him.

  “So, you did come back. I’m glad,” she said. Her smile made her eyes crinkle. That’s how he knew it was a real smile, not one of those his teachers had often given him. Theirs had never reached their eyes. They only smiled at him because they were supposed to.

  Chimma asked him if he’d told his parents. An hour later, he realised he hadn’t stopped talking. He’d told her everything. Absolutely everything.

  And she was still listening.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  He finally stopped, and took a spoonful of his cold soup, as the thunder vibrated the window glass next to him.

  Turning the conversation the opposite direction, he asked, “You said you were sitting the Zam again. How do you think you’ll do?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I was actually predicted reasonable marks the first time. Not good enough to get out of being assigned work, but reasonable. If I kept revising, they said I might pass. But I revised so hard, I didn’t wake up in time, and the door locked just before I got there. Spent the next year revising my heart out, making sure I had enough sleep leading up to it. But the day before, the Sick caught me. In bed for two whole weeks. Missed the Zam entirely.” She shrugged. “So this is my last chance.”

  “Maybe you’d better stay away from me, then. I’m bad luck.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry. You weren’t in my life the last two Mid-Sunners. I have enough bad luck myself. So what kind of job do you think they’ll give you this time?”

  “No idea. I even messed up cleaning the streets! I couldn’t control my mouth in the desalination plant, or the kitchen. I think I need something where I can talk to people all day. Or, better yet, where there’s no one to talk to at all. Can’t get in trouble, then.”

  “What would you like to do?” she asked him.

  Now there was a question he hadn’t expected. He’d never been asked that before. It actually rendered him speechless for a moment. Then all kinds of thoughts came pouring out of his mouth.

  He wanted to do something to make his family proud of him, and provide for them, because they’ve given him so much. He wanted to learn. Learn about everything! But it needed to not include books and forms or anything where his eyes would be chasing words around pages all day.

  “I just want to know how to make this world a better place. So many people are just barely making it, just surviving. I know, I know, ‘The City Survives, the City Thrives’,” he quoted, “but it doesn’t, really, does it? At least, not Under the Hill.”

  And that’s exactly the type of comment that always got him into trouble. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

  Chimma’s eyebrows wrinkled around her birthmark. “I know what you mean,” she replied. “But be careful how loud you say it.”

  “And that’s exactly what I usually can’t do,” he moaned. “That’s the story of my life. I see things, and that makes me think things, and those things just come tumbling out of my mouth like water down a storm drain.”

  “Does it help you hold back your thoughts if you have someone to tell them to?”

  “Sometimes. If I’m not tired, I can keep my mouth shut for a while. But if I don’t say it at some point, it just explodes out of my lips at the worst possible time.”

  “Then come here and talk to me,” Chimma told him. “Come every day. I finish here a couple hours before Curfew, before the letting-out crowd gets here. If you’re working in the day, come meet me after that.”

  It was Denzin’s turn to screw up his eyebrows, twisting his hand-drawn birthmark. “You sure about that?”

  The sun beamed through the window, blinding him for a moment. Chairs began scraping, building to a crescendo as customers left their tables and headed back outside.

  “Of course, Denzin Walker. I like you!” And with that, Chimma popped up from the table and began to clear away the dirty dishes.

  He spent the next couple of hours walking out his anxiety as he paced all the streets Under the Hill. Except the one the Under Reading Room was on, of course. A few minutes before sixteen, he went back through the door of the Jobbing Centre.

  ~~~

  “Walker!” the man shouted.

  He turned abruptly, nearly dropping the crate he was carrying.

  Denzin’s new job was down at the docks. The river flowed messily into an estuary, that rose and sank nearly half a kilometre twice a day. With the morning high tide, fishing boats and cargo barges could arrive, carrying goods that needed unloading. That was Denzin’s job, along with a good-sized crew. He was by far the youngest. They had to work fast, though, because soon the various craft had to follow the tide back out again, or risk being stranded in the mud. He’d had to dig a couple out over the last few days when they hadn’t unloaded quickly enough.

  Once that was done, they filed through the cubicle at the gate one by one. The door closed behind him. It always had a funny smell. He left his thumbprint. The door opened on the other side, and he was free.

  Until the tide came back in again that afternoon or evening. Then Denzin had to go back through the cubicle, press his thumb onto the pad, and walk back into the docks, ready to reload the barges. It was hard work, getting it all done in the short time before the tide took them out again. He enjoyed the banter with the other workers, though, and even laughed a little. Maybe he’d found his place at last!

  The only problem was that it wasn’t a full-time job. Even with the special allowance to be outside beyond Curfew when the tide didn’t obey the clocks, he only worked about half the hours his parents did. He often slept in the workers’ dorm along the docks now, so that he could be there at the right time – he’d missed a shift when he’d gone home one night and couldn’t get back out again until the end of Curfew unlocked his door. Lost half a day’s pay.

  And because he wasn’t always home for dinner, he began taking his meals at the Fest-Caff. Talking with Chimma.

  Shift work was tiring, though.

  Twelve days before City-Fest, Denzin rolled out of his bunk. He was still fully dressed, as the day he’d brought a change of clothes, they’d disappeared. Mam had cried, and Dad had paced the floor most of the night.

  Kayda had left another bruise.

  The sun wasn’t yet up, but the tide was rising quickly. It was time to spring into action.

  As the boats followed the tide, drifting into the distance, Denzin’s eyes drifted across the Water after them. The sunrise splashed bright colours across the receding brine, only interrupted by the buildings that emerged as the water level dropped.

  That was another thing he was desperate to talk to Chimma about. It looked like a whole part of the City had been flooded. But he’d never heard about anything like that, and no one ever talked about it!

  “You know what, mate?” Van said to him “You’ve definitely got the lightest birthmark I’ve ever seen. You half natural or something?” He laughed, slapping the fading bruise under his sleeve. Denzin tried to hide his wince.

  His breakfast revisited his mouth. He’d forgotten to touch up his birthmark! It had probably been a couple days now.

  “What’cha mean?” he quipped, trying to cover, “It’s at least as bright and shiny as yours!” He turned his face the other direction, and hid in the toilets for a few minutes.

  Once the voices of the rest of the crew had gone, he took a good look at his face in the mirror. Sure enough, all that was left was a faint hint of red. He pulled the red pen out of his pocket, and retraced it, making sure to add plenty of colour.

  He commanded his racing heart to stand down, and gradually, it obeyed. That could have been the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

  Chimma tried to encourage him over lunch, as lightning flashed on and off in the blackened skies.

  He knew there were things he wanted to tell her. Important things. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of any of them.

  “Sounds like you’re enjoying your new job,” she said. “I’m glad for you. I won’t be able to meet you tonight. I’ve got to revise. There’s only two more nights before the Zam. Are you sure you’re not going to try?” After his third attempt to convince her it wasn’t worth him trying, she leant close and whispered, “Well, do pray to Senda for me.” Then she jumped up to clear the tables, the storm having suddenly vanished, and the customers with it.