Glitch

hours.”
    My fork paused midway to my mouth. I kept the surprise
    off my face. I guess I’d heard of other students doing this. It
    was just so completely against my mission to stay below the
    radar, out of suspicion.
    But I had no logical reason to say no. “Yes, I would be
    amenable,” I fi nally managed to say.
    “I will meet you after school then at the Central Subway
    System entrance.”
    “Okay,” I said, still a little stunned. We spent the rest of
    lunch studying but I was uneasy now that my routine had
    been disturbed. If abnormal things kept on happening, how
    could I pretend everything was normal?
    We went to a diff erent subway line than the one I usually
    took. Other than a few voices here and there, the almost fi fty
    people waiting were silent. I didn’t know why the silence
    sounded so loud today— it had been like this my whole life.
    But then, everything felt new again without the shield of
    numbness the Link provided. I’d been glitching the entire
    141

    Heather Anastasiu
    day. As I looked at the blank faces around me, I thought
    about the three whole weeks I’d spent as a walking drone,
    just like all of them. It made me shiver.
    “Are you cold?” Maximin asked.
    “Just a draft,” I said, pulling back a little bit from his chest.
    I know the proximity meant nothing to all the people around
    me, but I’d noticed lately that touching other people made
    me feel diff erent emotions. When I brushed up accidentally
    against my parents or Markan at home, it felt nice, as if
    somehow their touch could ward off the bad dreams. It was
    illogical, I knew, and I’m sure I was just so eager for any sign
    that I was not completely and utterly alone. There could be
    no real comfort in the closeness of my family unit, but I still
    felt it all the same.
    Maximin leaned in close and I could smell the musky scent
    of his soap. It made me feel strange inside and I pulled back.
    It
    wasn’t just the normal strange feeling of being close to
    someone. There was something else I couldn’t quite defi ne—
    something that made me uneasy. We were a wrong fi t, like
    unmatching puzzle pieces.
    After about half an hour, Maximin announced his stop
    was next. He lived farther from the school than I did, but
    the tunnel from the subway platform to his housing grid
    looked exactly the same as mine. Same low- ceilinged space,
    same gray concrete dirtying around the edges, leading to
    the same bay of elevators that led up and down to units in
    the eight- level housing blocks. Monotony was the rule, even
    in city design.
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    G L I TC H
    I glanced over at Maximin and was surprised by his steady
    gaze. I almost frowned at how long he’d kept his eyes on me
    before he looked away.
    “Here we are.” He touched a fi nger to a small panel be-
    side one of the middle elevators and we waited in silence. I
    looked around at the others waiting— they were mostly ad-
    olescents, our age or younger, returning from the Academy.
    The elevator pinged at Maximin’s fl oor and we stepped
    off . I followed him down the hallway to his apartment and
    watched him wave his wrist in front of the sensor beside the
    door, and I realized that Maximin and I would be alone in
    his home. Adults usually worked eleven or twelve hours a
    day, especially when they were still young enough to be
    productive and not tire easily.
    In less than a year, I would be just like them. After fi nish-
    ing at the Academy, I’d get my fi nal V-chip and begin work-
    ing at one of the bioengineering fi rms, slowly progressing
    through the ranks as my knowledge base and ability were
    tested each year. That is, if I didn’t get deactivated fi rst. And
    what if I never got caught, and I became another adult drone,
    incapable of ever feeling again? I’d be safe, but was that even
    worth it anymore? Whittling away my life every day, com-
    pletely empty inside as I worked until exhaustion, slept, and
    then woke up the next morning just to do it all over again?
    And then one day I would be ge ne tically paired with an-
    other person, someone who felt nothing, thought nothing,
    had never known beauty or fear or joy.
    That future stretched out before me, a lightless road that
    143

    Heather Anastasiu
    was my only reward if I managed to keep my anomalies
    undetected.
    An angry heat rushed to my face. No. I couldn’t do it.
    That wouldn’t be my life.
    Escape. The word whispered with a red thrumming en-
    ergy through my mind.
    My glitches were more