The Sky Inside by Clare B. Dunkle

Author:Clare B. Dunkle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 2008-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Principal Thomasson rang the doorbell, and Martin fell into ranks and trudged off. Mr. Ramsey paced and stared out the window while the students worked. No classroom lecture popped up on his monitor to bring even the imitation of human contact to the schoolroom. The building was as lifeless and silent as a meat locker.

When Martin got home, Mom was more like her old self, painting a watercolor picture at the kitchen table. Martin glanced at the painting: pink and purple, a face with golden curls.

“How was school?” Mom asked.

Martin shook his head. The bare reminder of the day robbed him of speech. He found one of Cassie’s juice boxes in the refrigerator. “I’m glad she’s out of there,” he said, stabbing in the straw.

“What do you think she’s doing now?” Mom asked.

Martin heard Chip whining in his bedroom, but he sat down at the kitchen table. “I bet she’s sitting on a rug somewhere, reading a new module,” he said. “I bet she’ll sit there for the next five hours.”

Mom laughed. “I hope she’s doing . . . math,” she said. “She always did love math.” Then she caught her breath and wiped her eyes.

Martin jumped up from his chair. “Better go let out the dog.”

“Sure,” Mom said. “Son, don’t mention this to your dad.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Martin.

The rest of the week limped by, a dismal round of school and television. Soon Mom was looking brisk again, but Martin couldn’t feel better. Whether he was sitting in the living room or standing on the playground, he couldn’t help noticing how the place had changed. It wasn’t just Cassie; an entire range of small faces and young voices was gone. The suburb felt different and dull, like a soda left out to go flat.

On the evening of Workday Five, Martin sat in his beanbag chair, wondering what he would do with himself on the weekend. He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere, and he was sick of television. Chip lay beside him on the rug, muzzle on paws. The poor dog wasn’t having a good week either. Martin was so concerned about his modified status showing up during the inspection that he had ordered Chip to spend almost all his time “sleeping.”

“Dad’s home,” Mom called.

And that meant dinner, Martin thought. At least eating was something to do.

“I wish you’d come home on time,” Mom was telling Dad as Martin walked into the living room. “You almost missed the speech about tomorrow’s vote. You know I hate having to explain them to you.”

“Tris!” Dad said. “I never miss the President’s speeches!” His glance flickered over to the listening walls.

“What? Oh! Right. Sorry, dear, just a little joke. Of course you’re always home by six o’clock.”

They stood in a hungry and impatient little knot, waiting for their leader to speak. Patriotic music and a waving flag replaced a toothpaste commercial: The glitter in our toothpaste puts the sparkle in your smile! Then the President faced them across his large uncluttered desk.

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