Courage Is the Price

1

N ext is… Rue Nkosi, Mrs Popov announces, as hesitantly and unsure of their names as always, while Yasmin gathers up her notes. Their history teacher has tucked herself away in a corner where the girls can hardly see her.

Despite her friend’s urging, Rue has elected to take one of the last time slots for her presentation. Scheduling it in the middle of the semester, rather than at the end, only ensures that she has less time to practice, less chance to prepare. It will not help her stay calm or quiet. Rue’s palms are sweaty and she wipes them on her skirt before rising, heart already stammering in her throat. She’s never going to get the words of her presentation out. She grips the edge of her desk for support, safety, good luck… Anything that could possibly prevent her from having to stand in front of the classroom.

But, of course, it cannot, and she gathers up her notes, trying to use the weight of them to hide the tremors in her hands and wishing that she had Yasmin’s elegance. The other girl is walking to her seat briskly, with a sway to her hips that makes Rue a little jealous and her heart patter even faster. Ghost is beside her, soft golden glow at the edge of her mind and non-corporeal hand on Rue’s shoulder.

It isn’t going to be all right. If the world ended right now, Rue thinks she would be genuinely happy. It does not end. She isn’t going to be as terrible as she fears. Ghost insists that she’ll be fine because she’s practised so much and knows all the Academy database has to offer about twenty-first century Earth governments. The world is not about to end. Rue knows this, but it does not stop her heart from trying to choke her, diminish the effort she’s using to keep her breathing steady. She can’t faint. She can’t. A whole classroom is staring at her — Fifteen pairs of eyes. Thirty eyes. Sixteen and thirty-two if she counts Ghost, though her friend has never made Rue nervous and, anyway, Ghost isn’t looking at her. Ghost’s attention is focused elsewhere.

On Libby and her limpets. Of course. The limpets snigger as Rue makes her way to the front of the classroom, her synth-paper notes pressed against her chest. They always snigger at her in class; it doesn’t matter what Rue is doing, or whether she’s truly nervous. The limpets are relentless. Rue always thinks that, one day, the frequency will have dulled her to the limpets — Mrs Popov’s shushing is never very effective — but no. Their hushed laughter consists of tiny knives that cut deeper and deeper every time.

She’s halfway to the front now and Ghost has stopped moving. If they were alone, Rue would have turned around to ask whether anything is wrong. Ghost usually accompanies her all the way because her friend’s presence makes her feel a little safer, a little more confident. With Ghost beside her, helping her when she stumbles because her mind has gone dangerously blank, Rue knows that she’ll make it through the presentation at least.

Half an hour. She has to speak for half an hour. About history. She’s studied this. She can do this. But she does not understand why her knees aren’t buckling under her or why her fists crush the synth-paper in her hands. Her topic covers twenty-first century Earth governments. Her mind is entirely blank. Ghost is still behind her, farther away with each step Rue takes.

Reaching the front of the classroom and turning around to face the other students, Rue sees Ghost hovering beside one of the limpets, making silly faces at Rue and rude gestures at Libby. Rue frowns, manages it somehow, because her stomach is roiling with queasiness and her head feels too light.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t –

Welcome, Rue finds herself saying. Ghost is now clowning behind the limpets. Rue tries to focus on her friend as Ghost jumps around the limpets and capers through people, chairs and tables. A smile twitches at the edge of Rue’s mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. This is an old routine, from when she was little, meant to make her laugh and distract her, but today it barely helps. Rue can feel her arms shaking. She has no visual aids. None are allowed. Mrs Popov is more strict than the younger teachers about the way the Academy’s rules limit the use of technology. All Rue has are her hand-written notes and her voice.

Welcome, she says again, and feels stupid. She’s forgotten all about her introduction. It’s stupid. She’s stupid. Who forgets her presentation topic? Rue glances at the synth-paper in her hands, but her carefully penned words are nothing but a blur. A haze of black on yellow. She doesn’t know what to say, what to do. She puts her notes onto Mrs Popov’s desk, carefully, deliberately. Think. She needs space and time to think. The class is silent, almost attentive, and it makes Rue’s breath come out in little almost-hiccups so that she wants to flee and run and never come back. Hide, be safe.

But she finds herself talking, not sure when she started to, about the structure of her presentation and everything she’s learned. Ghost is hovering at the edges of her mind more strongly, flitting through the room. Rue’s eyes follow. There are no antics now, nothing to make her laugh or to distract her. Eventually Ghost settles against the wall, leisurely, behind Rue, and Rue is left to finish on her own.

Thank you for listening. Are there any questions? she says, and is relieved to find that there are none. She scurries to her desk at the back of the classroom and slumps into her chair. She won’t get the result back until she’s home for the holidays. Rue wipes her hands on her skirt again, wishing that she’d snagged the very last spot so she could bathe and wash the nerves away immediately. She hasn’t, and she smells and Ghost isn’t moving and her heart is still beating so fast and her body is jittering so much she can’t concentrate on the presentation being held by one of Libby’s limpets.

Soon, she can go home. Avoid dealing with people and presentations. Tomorrow. Only until tomorrow and it’ll be time for the long holiday. Focus. She must try to focus. Attendance is part of her mark. With an effort Rue manages to sit up straight. One more day and she’ll be home. One more presentation and they’re free for the day.

Rue is going to spend it somewhere no one will think to look for her. She hopes.

2

Not even Ghost follows Rue back to her room. Most of the other girls will have headed outside, to walk or sit in the shade of the synth-trees along the grass or the sports fields. It is why Rue has decided to stay inside. With everyone enjoying one last afternoon of sunshine freed from the constraints of parents and vanity society, the dormitories are quiet and peaceful and her outdoor hiding spots will be inaccessible, at best.

And so Rue has gone back to her room and draped herself over the bed. Though it barely helps against the heat, a breeze blows through the open window past her face. The ceiling is a soft, even lilac. Her walls may be a gaudy array of colours that only just match, but the ceiling is calm and peaceful. One of Rue’s hands pets the synth-wooden floor. It won’t splinter like the true wood furniture at home and it’s warmer to the touch. Warmer and softer, more pliant to one’s will and wishes. Synth-wood is comfort wood. Rue loves working with it.

She desperately wants some comfort now, though she’s no longer jittery from her presentation. That’s good. Breathing is good. And she will have to distract herself now or she’ll just start to gasp all over again. Distractions, distractions…

Rue will be going home soon. To her own chambers, to a door she can close and lock. To her tools and to quietude. To wearing… at least something different from her uniform. Rue does not much care for fashion, but she does prefer something more comfortable than the stiff skirts and starched shirts. Like a tracksuit. Not that Amaranth would let her wear anything other than a dress.

Tomorrow, Rue will have to live according to her parents’ rules once again. At present it is no more desirable than staying at the Academy. True, the long holiday offers sanctuary from Libby leaving snakes in her bed, but there is no protection from her mother’s scrutiny. If nothing else, Lady Kitti’s Academy for Young Ladies allows Rue a chance to breathe.

Worried about going home?

Rue startles at the voice and the way the soft glow of her friend’s presence becomes noticeable again. Pushing her bond with Ghost aside is almost second nature, but it always surges back unbidden after a while. Though the glow is calm and soothing, the sudden strength of it is still surprising. Ghost is sitting on the windowsill now. Rue will never understand how her friend can just appear out of nowhere.

Shaking her head, she says, No. Trying to think of what I want to do.

Ah. Ghost pulls up a leg and shifts until her back is against the window frame. I’m proud of you, Rue.

I don’t want to talk about it. She’s swift with that reply. Has to be. She’s learned that long ago because Ghost won’t always listen if she doesn’t interrupt immediately. Her friend means well, but there are times when Rue cannot bear Ghost’s confidence in her. Times when she wants to be alone or to be distracted until her head stops pounding and her heart stops aching.

I know. But you didn’t need my help at all.

Apparently it is one of those days. Rue pulls the pillow from under her head and repositions it, pressing down on the sides to block out more of Ghost’s voice. She tries to wall herself off from her friend’s presence as well and starts counting loudly. The whisper of Ghost’s presence becomes less diffuse, duller. Her friend is annoyed. Rue does not care.

All right, but you need to listen to someone eventually.

I’m fine the way I am. The thought of trying to… change, Rue supposes, is terrifying. It makes her feel dizzy and it makes her eyes sting. She’s managing. She’ll keep managing. Her life isn’t perfect, but it is mostly safe. I’ll, I’ll… Rue hesitates. I’ll go to the library. That too will be almost deserted today.

Actually, I need to tell you something. Not about your presentation. Ghost adds hastily before Rue can even finish drawing breath for a reply. She doesn’t move the pillow, though a stone has found its way into her gut. Ghost never sounds that serious; there’s always something to amuse her friend. I might be gone for a while.

That gets Rue to push herself upright, the pillow tumbling down her back. Her