Chapter 10

Sean and I talked through the night about what needed to be done. It was only ideas, but it was a start. He'd seen first-hand what Ralph and his rebels had in mind. It had only been a few years since Ralph had been displaced as the whitecarder, and things had been bad in Jiopharen for more than a few years.

"So," Sean continued, "what choice do we have? Trade one bad whitecarder for another one. They're really the same as far as we're all concerned. Life will be the same for us no matter who's in charge."

Suddenly, my mind exploded, and I was filled with energy, angry energy, and I aimed it all at Sean. “You’re right, Sean!” I screamed. “You said it yourself. We are outgunned, outmanned, and out-teched; but we knew all that and still recruited Desmond and talked about gathering an army. Now...now what do we do?”


I grabbed Sean by the front of his shirt with both hands, meaning to…I don’t know what I intended. I just shoved him back, causing the pile of gadgets behind him to topple; turned my head to one side; and exhaled. It was like letting the air out of a balloon. My anger wasn’t for Sean. Maybe it wasn’t even for the government or the rebels or the whitecarder. I don’t know.

I walked back to my bucket and sat down hard. I missed, falling onto the floor, but it didn't matter.

"I only see two choices," came a small voice out of the darkness. It was Desmond, the frail, almost kitten-like boy Clari had helped- had saved.

"We can sit here and just watch things keep getting worse- not helping Clari, or we can try. We can try to make things better. That's what Clari did every day here in her shop. She tried to make things better."

I wasn't sure what to make of this strange scene. Me and Sean both sat waiting for him to say more, hoping he knew more about what Clari did in her shop every day. But he was finished.

In that moment, I realized I'd always thought hope hung, like the smell of fresh-baked bread, in my only connection to my past, my parents. Or over the wall, a trip worth risking your life for.  Or just through the bronze door, any of them.  Or in a change of circumstances or situation, anywhere but here.  But there is not hope in things or places or even in memories.  It's in people and knowing them and caring about them enough to do something- anything- to make their lives better. That's what my parents knew, even when they were shipped off the hell-hole that is District 7. That's what Clari knew as she worked in her shop each day.  That's what Desmond's known ever since he was saved from the feral by a stranger.

I listened to the trolley pass on top of the wall nearby, shouldered my courier bag, and looked into the other faces in the room.

"Somebody's got to make things."

I turned toward the door, wondering, but knowing it didn't really matter, if anyone would follow.