Apart from the sound of footsteps and people shifting in their seats, the room is quiet.

  ‘Welcome, everyone, I am your principal,’ says the woman. She’s wearing a dark blue jumper, the same shade as our chicken house. Chloe would like that.

  ‘I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Many of you will feel excited, many of you will feel nervous, too. However strange things might seem now, I promise that in a few weeks, this will feel like home.’

  No one murmurs.

  The lady explains that first, we will go to our dormitories. There are three for the boys and three for the girls. Our luggage will be next to our beds. Then, once we’ve met our roommates, there will be lunch followed by a tour of the school.

  ‘When your name is called, please exit via the door through which you entered.’

  Another woman appears, clutching a small device from which she reads out names. One by one, students get to their feet and walk down the central aisle. They snatch glances. No one makes eye contact.

  Their clothes look brand new; exciting. Some change colour to match the surroundings, others have muscle-activator pads, which keep you fit while you’re sitting still. I’m wearing my favourite jumper and trousers. They have changed colour, but only because they’ve been washed so much. The girl with short dark hair stands up. She has the same wide-eyed expression as when I arrived. I think she might be working out how to leave without walking past me. I turn sideways, allowing as much space as possible for her to pass.

  I’m wondering whether I will be last, when finally my name is called. I sidle along the chairs, arriving in the central aisle at the same time as a girl with wavy auburn hair. Instead of looking away, she stares right at me. Her hazel-green eyes flit around my face. I realize that I am staring at her in the same way, and we both smile.

  ‘Follow the purple arrows,’ calls the lady with the list. She walks briskly towards us, along with the final few students.

  The corridor glows with light from solar magnifiers overhead. Footsteps tap along the smooth floor. We follow purple arrows right then left, across a courtyard, and into what looks like an enormous sitting room, although the sign on the door says Common Room.

  I keep walking, up a wide flight of stairs, towards another door labelled Dormitory. The facial recognition scanner blinks and it slides open to reveal a huge L-shaped room, stretching away towards a large window. Ten beds line the walls, wardrobes and comfy-looking chairs scattered between.

  Several girls hover near the door, as if the room might bite. I see my trunk over by the window. It’s easy to spot. Beside every other bed are sleek-looking bags and brand-new cases.

  As I head towards my things, the other girls disperse in search of their beds, too.

  ‘Where’s the screen?’ someone asks in a shaky voice. It belongs to the girl with black hair, the one I’d sat next to in the hall.

  It’s true, there doesn’t seem to be a screen of any kind, but then I wasn’t expecting one. After eight years of virtual live-learning, I thought school was where we came to have real lessons with real teachers. Dad’s words echo in my head. The other children will have led very different lives to you.

  ‘I wish they could give us a virtual tour instead of a real tour,’ she adds, perching on a chair near the middle of the room. Her voice is no longer shaky. She sounds slightly annoyed.

  There is a sniff from the bed next to me. A girl with curly blonde hair wipes a tear from her cheek and stares at her shiny turquoise case; the name Ana sparkles in silvery letters near the handle. I think about what I might say to Chloe, if she was feeling sad. I’m about to open my mouth when Ana holds up her port-watch and scans the case, then lifts her wrist higher, moving it left to right as she takes a panoramic of the dormitory. I know she will be adding it to room, the 3D virtual reality space where you can show off what’s in your wardrobe, or new make-up, or anything you want to share. It has to be new though, so that you can link it to the store where you bought it. Curating your room includes decorating or choosing themes too. You can spend hours on it. Everyone uses room and collects roommates. Well, almost everyone.

  A voice from across the dormitory breaks the awkward silence which has fallen.

  ‘It looks like we’re going to be sleeping next to each other. I hope you don’t snore. I’m Mae, by the way.’

  It’s the girl with auburn hair. Her neighbour lowers her port-watch. She was also scanning her luggage. Now she shrinks back, as if Mae might be dangerous.

  Everyone in the room has stopped what they are doing to watch.

  ‘I was only joking about the snoring,’ says Mae, who must have noticed the girl’s reaction. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘It’s Eve,’ she whispers, looking studiously at her bedspread. She’s at least a head taller than Mae, but seems to have retreated into a more compact version of herself.

  Mae appears encouraged by the response. ‘I’m so hungry,’ she adds. ‘Is anyone else ready for lunch?’ This comment seems to be directed to the whole room.

  ‘Yes!’ I hear myself say. Nine pairs of eyes swivel my way.

  Eve whispers something I can’t hear.

  ‘Sorry, what’s that?’ says Mae.

  I can’t help leaning forwards to catch the reply.

  ‘Do you think we should take our healthplan supplements to lunch?’ she repeats, even more quietly.

  ‘Errr,’ says Mae, looking over at me, for some reason.

  But I don’t need to say anything, because at that moment the door slides open and list-lady enters.

  ‘I’m sure you’re all very hungry after such a long morning,’ she says, beaming. ‘Follow me to the dining hall. Today you will eat with the other S1 dormitories. From tomorrow, you will eat with the rest of the school.’

  I feel relieved it’s just us. I’m not ready to meet the entire school. Not yet.

  Secret

  ‘How much more?’ Mae yawns. ‘I’m not sure I can walk down another corridor or take in any further Safety Aspects.’

  We are sitting in the common room with Eve. The other girls have gone up to the dormitory. We’ve seen every room, heard every regulation, been through every cyber-rule. At least that’s how it feels. But there hasn’t been much chance to talk. I wonder if the school arranges it that way on purpose. Less pressure on the first day.

  I hadn’t realized how much Chloe and I chat when we’re at home. Even though I feel more tired than I’ve ever felt in my life, I’m not ready for sleep.

  ‘I think there’s “Getting ready for bed”, then “fog”,’ I say reading the list on my port-watch.

  ‘Getting ready for bed sounds straightforward,’ says Mae. ‘But what’s fog?’

  ‘Hang on.’

  A cloud of water droplets suspended in the atmosphere, my port-watch replies in a soothing tone.

  ‘Here it means feet-off-the-ground,’ a voice says quietly.

  I glance at Eve in surprise. She immediately looks back down at her hands.

  ‘Thank you, Eve,’ I say. ‘But what does feet-off-the-ground mean?’

  A small smile flickers across her face. ‘I think it means you have to be in bed.’

  ‘Ohhh,’ Mae and I say at the same time.

  ‘What do you think so far?’ Mae asks.

  Eve’s smile fades.

  ‘It seems all right,’ Mae adds.

  Eve nods, hugging her long legs more closely to her chest. I’m not sure she wants to be the centre of attention.

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Mae persists.

  ‘A younger brother,’ says Eve, glancing up at Mae.

  ‘Did you meet any other kids before you came here?’

  Eve frowns. ‘You mean, on live-learning?’

  Mae hesitates. ‘Yes, on live-learning.’

  ‘No one from my live-learning class has come here. I don’t recognize anyone. They all went to a different school.’

  ‘No one from my live-learning is here either,’ I say. I know that most of Finn’s group has gone to his school. At least there will be kids he recognizes. Kids he’s been live-learning with for the last eight years. Even if he’s never actually met them. I wonder whether he’s doing the same stuff we are today. Safety Aspects.

  ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters.’

  I look around the room to see where the voice is coming from. Sitting on a chair near the window, her knees tucked up to her chin, is the black-haired girl.

  ‘I’ve never sat in a room with other kids. Real ones. Until today. My dad’s a big tech director though, so we have the best hologram system available.’

  ‘How about you, Mae?’ I ask.

  ‘How about me what?’

  ‘Brothers and sisters? People you know here?’

  ‘I have a sister. No live-learning friends. I didn’t really do live-learning.’

  ‘What?’ the black-haired girl and I say together.

  ‘It’s no big deal,’ says Mae. I notice that she is now the one who won’t meet people’s eyes. She must know that we are all looking at her though because she adds, ‘I mean, well, I took the live-learning exams.’ She draws a shape on the chair with her fingertip. ‘I passed with top marks. I just didn’t do the lessons.’ She looks up. ‘Shall we get ready for bed? I’m so tired I could sleep until next weekend.’

  But she’ll have to make do with one night. Because tomorrow is Monday. Our first day of lessons with an actual class in an actual school. With actual people.

  I know it hasn’t always been this way. People used to mix freely. You could play with friends who lived nearby. You could go to school when you were four. Mum and Dad talk to me and Chloe about what it was like when they were little. We’ve read books, and watched old films, too. They describe life before the Scarlet Fever outbreak which was the start of complete antibiotic resistance. Before cuts and grazes and stomach bugs became something to fear. Before any serious infection could kill you, and we had to stay at home until we were fourteen and our immune systems were strong enough to cope with almost anything.

  Chloe and I shouldn’t hang out with Finn. We met without our parents realizing, and by the time they did, it seemed pointless to stop us. That is our family secret.

  But I have a secret too.

  Secret 2

  The main light dims, and a pale glow appears along the wall above each bed. I perch on the edge of the soft mattress, brushing my hair. I glance over to Ana’s bed. In the middle of her pillow is a tangle of blonde hair. I can’t see her face, but her shoulders rise and fall softly beneath the duvet. The housemaster will be here in a minute to enforce fog, but she will have nothing to do. Everyone is busy sleeping, exhausted from a day of real people.

  I slip my feet beneath the covers and lie down. The housemaster must not guess that I am busy staying awake.

  I stare at the shadowy ceiling. There are no silver stars, painted by me and Chloe as we balanced on Dad’s stepladder. Under my breath, I whisper, ‘Goodnight, Chloe.’ A little part of me wonders if, somehow, she will hear. Mum or Dad will sleep on the floor next to her tonight, like they always do when she’s had a bad day. To check on her breathing. They must be careful to get her medication just right. Not enough, and she might have another episode in the night. But they can’t afford to waste any. It’s the most expensive thing our family buys. Running out would be unthinkable. We can’t afford hospital.

  Dad gave up commercial farming so that he could spend time with me and Chloe, instead of working in someone else’s fields. We always have enough to eat, but there is never much spare. My parents save credits to buy medicine, and if there’s anything left—shoes.

  I look at my port-watch. Thirty minutes have passed. The housemaster has been and gone, and I didn’t even notice.

  I listen. The only sound is calm, steady breathing, the rhythms overlapping. No one stirs. I wait a few more minutes.

  I am so tired, but I can’t go to sleep. Not yet.

  I think about the code which Finn gave to me and Chloe. Our secret code. We’ve been friends for ever, but there is one thing I have never shared with him, or Chloe. It must be a secret here, too.

  As quietly as I can, I push my covers away and step on the soft floor tiles. Ana stirs. After a few seconds, I move again, crouching next to my bed. Gently, I open the drawer beneath my mattress. It slides towards me on smooth, silent runners. I reach inside and take out a thin, rectangular object. My port-com. No one has a port-com like this any more. I don’t even know if you can buy them. It may look like nothing, but it’s not. My dad made it. His other skill. When he’s not making things grow, he’s making things work. The port-com he built me is as good as anything you can order. Maybe better. Holding it close to my chest, I pick my way across the room and sit down next to a wardrobe. If anyone wakes to go to the toilet, they won’t spot me here. They won’t walk past me either. The exit is on the opposite side of the room.

  Even so, I tilt my head and listen. Silence. The gentle sounds of sleep don’t seem to travel beyond the wardrobe. I rest the port-com on my lap and open the screen.

  My fingers hover above the keys. I type a few commands to peel away the pages which direct you to write, shop, plan, fix. The pages everyone uses. Beneath those lie what I want. The plain screens with nothing but code. Which look like boring nonsense. To most people.

  A column of numbers appears to the left. To the right, scrolls a mixture of words and symbols which make no sense at all. Light from the screen casts an eerie glow on my fingers. I scan the last few lines and begin to type. My eyes flick left and right, searching for a clue. A sequence. I begin to type again. Words and symbols dance through my head. They make sense to me.

  I hear something. A noise which travels beyond the wardrobe. I push myself closer to the wall and lower my screen to hide the glow. Someone is moving. There is a rustle of sheets. I glance at my port-watch. I’ve been here for an hour. Normally I would stay twice as long, but I need some sleep.

  The rustling stops, but I count to twenty. To be safe.

  Slowly, I raise the screen, preparing to shut down, but as the letters and numbers glow once more in the darkness, I pause. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. One line of the sequence is clearly wrong. The bug. The section of code with the error. Excitement buzzes in my chest.

  I copy the line, then open my encrypted message service, clicking on the symbol of a small black beetle. JP’s symbol. The one who set me the challenge. The hardest challenge they’ve thought up so far, and it only took me three days to figure out.

  Record time? I write, then insert the piece of code. They’re probably asleep, so I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to find out if it’s right.

  And if it is right, I’ll do a victory dance in my head. I can’t tell anyone. Not Chloe or Finn. Nobody. JP is the only one who knows my secret, and I know theirs—because it’s the same secret. In a world where everything is digital, we are something forbidden. Dangerous.

  We are cyber-spies.

  Hackers.

  Retail

  In my dream, Mum is checking Chloe’s oxygen levels. The port-watch sounds an alarm, a beep which continues until I realize the noise is coming from elsewhere. Not my dream. I open my eyes and look around, trying to remember where I am—a room full of beds and people. The beeping fades, leaving a soft echo.

  I rub my eyes. Someone yawns. It’s time to get up. But no one seems to be moving.

  I become aware of a new sound. A low buzzing.

  ‘Drone!’

  Instinctively, I look through the dim morning light towards Mae’s bed, but she is lying down. I’m surprised to see that the voice belongs to Eve. With a few long strides she reaches the window in the centre of the room and presses the button to raise the blind. No one complains. Two or three other girls have gathered a safe distance nearby, watching. One of them with short brown hair, Nyla, I think, raises her port-watch to scan the drones. I assume to identify their serial numbers.

  I don’t need to look. I know there’s nothing for me. I’m impressed that anyone has found time to shop. We’ve been here less than twenty-four hours.

  ‘Four packages,’ says Eve. ‘No, wait, five!’ She stretches up, to peer through the top corner of the window. Shrinking-Eve has morphed into a statuesque drone-spotter.

  There is a new energy in the room.

  When I turn round, Ana is already getting dressed. In her palm sits a small turquoise container which matches her luggage.

  ‘What’s in the box?’ I ask, pulling on my socks.

  ‘Monday health supplements,’ she says.

  ‘Monday?’

  ‘They’re different every day of the week. Aren’t yours?’

  ‘I don’t take any,’ I say.

  Ana’s eyes widen.

  I can’t be sure, but it feels as if she moves away from me, slightly.

  ‘Don’t you get ill all the time?’

  ‘No,’ I smile.

  *

  After breakfast we divide into subject groups. I follow the arrows to language studies, my heart thumping in my chest. I’m about to have my first lesson in a classroom—as if I’m stepping into one of Dad’s old films.

  When the door slides open, though, it’s nothing like I’d imagined. The tables are arranged in a semi-circle rather than rows. But that’s not what makes it weird. There are nine or ten kids already seated, and they are yelling at the teacher.

  ‘I want to see it now.’

  ‘What if it’s damaged and I need to change it? I’ll have to wait longer for a new one.’

  ‘You can’t stop me from getting my stuff.’

  I freeze by the doorway, trying to work out what’s going on.

  The teacher sits calmly in her chair, waiting for them to stop.

  After a few minutes, no one has anything new to add.

  The teacher takes a slow breath in and out, and says, ‘Thank you for your comments. I will share them with the principal. You should be aware that your parents were informed of the rules regarding in-school shopping.’ I hear several intakes of breath. ‘It’s something we encourage families to discuss before the start of your first term. You may collect your items at the end of the school day. Not before.’