The Declaration

You’re better off here, really you are. Can’t you be my friend and stay?’
    Peter shook his head and Anna rolled her eyes in irritation.
    ‘Look, I could get in trouble just talking to you about this,’ she said. ‘The fact is that Mrs Pincent seems to quite like you now. You could be OK here, instead of having to spend your life hiding.’
    ‘I can assure you that Mrs Pincent doesn’t like me,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘She doesn’t like any of us. Anyone who can beat someone the way she beat me isn’t capable of that emotion.’
    Anna looked down at the floor. She’d suspected as much.
    ‘You don’t get beaten if you don’t break the rules,’ she said quietly.
    ‘You really have fallen for all her crap, haven’t you?’ Peter said with a sigh. ‘You believe every single word that woman feeds you. Well, I don’t. Anna, we’ve got as much right to be on this planet as the Mrs Pincents of this world. More right. They’re the ones who have outstayed their welcome by living for ever and they’re blaming us for it.’
    Peter’s eyes were flashing and Anna looked at him with terror. What he’d just said was blasphemous. He’d be flogged if anyone heard him. She would too, just for listening.
    ‘Look,’ he said with a sigh, ‘I’m getting out of here, and if you’re not going to come with me then that’s your business. But I can’t wait for ever. You have to decide, Anna Covey. You have to decide whether you’re going to live a life of slavery or not.’
    Anna stared at Peter, then stood up, only to discover that her legs were shaking. How dare Peter tell her she was a slave? Putting a hand on the table to steady herself, she took a deep breath and forced herself to look him directly in the eye.
    ‘I’ve already decided,’ she hissed. ‘You’re the one that believes crap, Peter. I’m a Prefect. A Prefect . In six months I’m going to be a Valuable Asset. You can ruin your own life, but you’re not ruining mine. Try and escape if you want, but I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t want anything to do with you either.’
    And with that, she turned and left, leaving Peter alone in the vast hall that was Central Feeding. She walked without thinking out of the door, across the covered courtyard that separated the feeding hall from the main building, then walked more quickly towards the stairs. It was only when she got to Floor 2 that she realised where she was going, and was soon running towards Female Bathroom 2. Once there, having made sure it was empty and safely shut the door behind her, she finally allowed her tears to fall freely as she collapsed on the floor in a heap of sobs.
    ‘I am not Anna Covey,’ she said to herself as she wept. ‘I am not Anna Covey. I am Surplus Anna. I am. I know I am. Please let things get back to normal. Please let everything be OK again.’

Chapter Seven
    3 March, 2140
    Peter says I’m a slave and that I should stand up for myself. He makes me so angry. I’m not a slave. I’m a good Surplus. It’s not like I chose to be one – it’s just the way things are and I don’t see why Peter has to make me feel bad about it.
    He says he’s my friend and then he gets me upset and I feel like I can’t breathe properly because he talks about the Outside and he gets me imagining what it would be like, when it doesn’t matter because I’m a Surplus so Outside doesn’t belong to me.
    If he was really my friend, would he say stupid, horrible things like that?
    Peter isn’t afraid like the rest of us. And that makes him dangerous. It feels dangerous being with him because I never know what he’s going to say next, and whatever he does say, he’d never be able to say in front of Mrs Pincent. But sometimes he says nice things, or he looks at me and it doesn’t feel dangerous, it feels exciting, even though they’re probably the same thing. And I worry that it’s because underneath it all I’m not really Valuable Asset material, I’m just a Surplus, and however much I work and try my best I will always end up ‘letting myself down’ by liking things I shouldn’t and doing things I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be writing right now. I shouldn’t have a journal. Maybe I’m really no better than Peter. Maybe it’s me that’s dangerous, after all.
    The sexes at Grange Hall were segregated in a number of ways: firstly by the location of their dormitories, which were on separate floors; secondly by the timetable of their training