The Declaration

was low and had an edge to it and Anna found herself getting warm.
    ‘Of course Surpluses can’t have drugs,’ she said crossly. ‘Vaccinations are preventative, not curative.’
    She found her eyes drawn to Peter, drawn to his dark, agitated eyes, his pale skin, his defiant chin. Quickly, she forced herself to look away.
    ‘Being Surplus means you have to limit your impact on the earth,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘They don’t want us dead. They just don’t want us spreading disease, or being too weak to be Useful.’
    ‘And you’re “useful”?’ Peter asked softly.
    Anna frowned. ‘Of course. I’m set to be a Valuable Asset. They’re the most Useful Surpluses.’
    Peter nodded silently, his eyes cast downwards, then they flickered up to Anna’s. ‘Do you have computers here? Or a library?’
    Anna stared at him. ‘Computers?’ she asked cautiously. She knew what computers were. Mrs Sharpe turned hers on for two hours a day to watch television programmes and to read about the news, and Mrs Pincent had one, too, but Anna had never actually used one. How could she, when anything that used unnecessary electricity was banished from Grange Hall? She didn’t like the idea that this new Surplus might know more than she did. ‘We don’t need computers,’ she said defensively. ‘And anyway, they use too much energy. Everyone knows that.’
    ‘Of course they do. Silly me,’ Peter said, with a sigh. His foot was tapping the ground beneath it, and once more, Anna felt her eyes pulled to his strong but slender frame. He seemed so full of confidence, energy and curiosity, and it made Anna both intrigued and nervous. Surpluses were trained to be passive, obedient, and just the glint in Peter’s eyes made Anna feel like she was looking at something she shouldn’t, like she was being drawn into a whirlpool, even though she suspected that the current would be too strong, even though she knew she couldn’t swim.
    ‘I have to go now,’ she said quickly. ‘I have stock to collect.’
    She started to walk away, but she stopped again when she heard Peter’s voice.
    ‘You . . . you like it here, Anna?’ he asked softly, his gaze challenging.
    Anna turned and frowned. What kind of question was that? She bit her lip, and found herself reddening as Peter smiled at her, a little twinkle appearing in his eye, which made Anna feel like she was already in the whirlpool and drowning.
    ‘I am here,’ she said, her voice suddenly slightly hoarse. ‘And so are you. Surpluses aren’t here to like things, Peter, they’re here to do things. Useful things. And the sooner you learn that, the better for everyone.’
    Quickly, Anna turned and marched briskly down the corridor, trying to push the picture of that smile out of her head and to focus instead on the number of toothpaste tubes she would need for the following month.
    Anna didn’t see Peter at any more training sessions that day. The male and female Surpluses shared certain sessions – Science and Nature, Decorum, Laundry and House Maintenance – but the majority were single sex. The classes were held in smallish rooms with the desks packed tightly together and on rare hot summer days it was not uncommon for weaker Surpluses to faint from heat exhaustion. Today, though, it was bitterly cold, and as she listened to the Instructors Anna had been desperately tensing and untensing her leg muscles under her desk, just in order to try and stay warm.
    By the time she got to supper that evening, she was so cold and ravenous that she didn’t notice Peter slipping silently behind her in the queue for broth. It was only when she had the hot bowl in her hands and was carrying it towards one of the long, narrow tables that filled Central Feeding, that she saw him, and realised that he was about to sit down next to her.
    ‘Usually the boys sit together,’ she said tightly, as she put her bowl down and immediately started to spoon the lumpy mixture into her mouth. She felt tired and irritable, and she just wanted to sit quietly and eat her food; the last thing she needed was Peter with his stupid comments and constant questions.
    ‘But not always?’ Peter asked, putting his bowl on the table and noisily scraping back the bench so that he could sit down.
    Anna ignored him and continued to eat as the table filled up.
    ‘This is disgusting,’ Peter said a few moments later. ‘What is it? It tastes vile.’
    No one said anything, and after a few seconds of silence,