The XY by Virginia Bergin

Author:Virginia Bergin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2018-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Thump Thump Thump

I wake, every morning, to THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

I go to school. I get asked and asked and asked questions about the boy, even though he’s officially dead and gone. No one is supposed to do that, to go on about what happened, but everyone except Plat does.

It’s easy for Plat not to. We are painfully, expertly avoiding each other.

I come home, every evening, to THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

It starts almost as soon as I enter the house. The boy has been told by Kate that he cannot run when I am not home. So I’m thinking he must be watching for me—from my window. No one seems to need to tell him I’m home.

It stops, always, at 11:00 p.m. It starts, always, at 7:00 a.m. There is no break on the weekend; on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, he runs the same as if they were just like any other days. The boy has no weekend.

The only upside is I’ve hooked that machine up to generate electricity. Every THUMP is wired into the village grid.

“He’s used to a routine,” Kate, who hates routine, says.

“This can’t go on,” Mumma says.

Joy. JOY. JOY.

She’s home for dinner, has been quizzing Kate and hearing what I already know (i.e., THE ROUTINE). The boy gets up and does “gym.” THUMP, THUMP, THUMP. He showers (Despite repeated offers, he has yet to take a bath. Can’t swim, he told me.); he has breakfast (toast—he claimed he’d never eaten it before, but now he just loves toast and jam or honey); and does whatever he does with a game box on the personal computer Kate managed to procure. Repeat that—gym (THUMP, THUMP, THUMP), shower, eat (toast), computer—three times over, and then he goes to bed. There’s never any hot water anymore, and even the granmummas who are keeping us supplied with jam and honey are starting to question the quantities involved. Soup has now been introduced to his diet, but it has to be puréed to oblivion; he’s suspicious of any lumps.

It is ANNOYING, and it is BORING. I’d never have thought having a boy would be BORING.

“But what is he doing on the computer?” Mumma asks.

“He’s gaming,” Kate says.

“Gaming? What is that?” says Mumma—clueless as me, I’d say.

I stare hard at my plate.

“Playing games.”

“What kind of games?”

“Shooting people or aliens! Or enemies! You know! Killing stuff! Or blowing them up or, I dunno, just generally zapping them,” says Kate.

Mumma’s jaw is hanging open—mine is too.

“Look, there’s more to it than that,” says Kate. “You had to be smart about it. You have to work out all kinds of things. And it’s good for hand-eye coordination.”

“Hand-eye coordination,” says Mumma.

“Sure.” Kate laughs. “And fun! It was exciting! It was FUN.”

Mumma’s jaw clamps shut. Mine stays hanging. Those “games”? I really want to see them. I’ve slacked off on my “I am the trusted one” duty. I am ready and willing to step back up.

“And that’s it?” asks Mumma. “He plays games?”

“Yup,” says Kate.

“And no studying?”

“Nope.”

“None at all?”

“Seeing as how your mouth’s open, why don’t you put some food in it?” Kate says to me.

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