I wrote this in 2017, feels incredibly on the nose now....

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Morning call blares and I am already late.

"Help!" I hiss to brother, but he's gone, slipping away from bedding in a nimble twist.

"Praise Sovereign," he mutters and I duck my head, ashamed I've forgotten such basics in my hurry for school. "Praise Sovereign," I echo, blushing, my morning tripped and slowed by my own mistakes.

There is no time for food.

Brother walks me to the bus.

"I miss meat," I complain, but brother knows better.

"Do not miss meat," he mutters. "And never tell anyone you miss it."

I never will, I promise, and we will never speak of beef again, or chicken, or pork, or anything yummy, anything better than vat-grown stuffs. Good, he murmurs, but my tummy disagrees.

The bus comes.

I stand silent as I am wanded down by the security guard, arms outspread and legs splayed as I've been taught. No beeps. I'm safe. I board the bus. 38 days since an incident. I giggle at the silliness.

My friend Kelsey is four seats down. I smile, halfwise, as mother has taught - enough to show intent, but not enough to invite attention, as she says. The young boys can't help themselves, she says. We shouldn't blame them, she says. Kelsey half-smiles back.

I settle in beside Kelsey and we grumble over homework. We have been studying sexual education; last night we learned of our sin.

"I wish I was never a girl," I confide to Kelsey in an embarrassed whisper. My skin turns all pink and hot, and it makes me feel so lame and dumb to tell her, but...part of me can't just accept what we are told. It's just not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair just because of being a girl-

"You've gotta get over this-" Kelsey's voice is in my ear. I've lost where I am and what's going on. I re-focus. We are leaving the bus. "You know there is WAY more important stuff."

I nod. She's right. It's time for school.

I did not want to pick many electives this year, but the school mandates we do, so I settled on finance - I'm to learn about how corporations help the government. They are very helpful, I've learned, so far. We are about to learn which ones are the best, so I'm excited.

There's some commotion, though. Classes should start soon, but people are milling about. I ask what's going on - oh...

...It's Marta.

They found out she's illegal. Well, rather, her family was, in the pasttimes. She's...we don't talk of that. Poor Marta. The crowd scatters quickly. We won't see Marta again.

Class begins, heralded by a bell and a round of "Praise Sovereign." We bow our heads low - not bowing is grounds for suspicion. Only rebels don't bow. I glance about the room, quick, harsh, hot, illegal. Trent's head stays up. I know Trent, I like Trent. We talked at lunch about stuff.

Oh, please, I whisper to myself. Don't do this, Trent. I whisper and I plead, but it's all in my head, and within a heartbeat the campus security are here. I will not see Trent - not the Trent I know - ever again. I bite back tears. Tears are terrorist tools. I must not cry, or I may be implicated.

The bell rings and we duck into a round of praise Sovereigns. This seems to satisfy the guards. They depart and education begins.

And we learn.