I Am Not a Number. Lisa Heathfield

      ‘You would agree with her,’ Sara says. ‘You just want to know the colour of her knickers.’

      Laughter cuts into the atmosphere again and James’s face goes so red I think he might explode.

      ‘I think what you have to consider,’ Mr Hart says, waving a book in the air to quieten us, ‘is why John Andrews and his party are really introducing these new rules. Could it be less about what’s good for society and more about control?’

      ‘Curfew for anyone under eighteen definitely seems like control to me,’ Conor says.

      ‘Or could it be that they just really care about what happens to us?’ Ashwar says.

      ‘The Core Party care,’ Conor tells her. ‘They stand for Champion Of Rights for Everyone, if you remember.

      ‘I hadn’t forgotten.’ Ashwar glares at him. ‘But they didn’t get voted in, did they? People voted for the Traditionals. They’d had enough of our country sliding towards oblivion.’

      ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Conor says. He manages not to shout it, which is pretty impressive for him. For years he was angelic Conor, terrified of spiders and wasps, but since his mum got ill anger sometimes turns him inside out.

      ‘My mum voted for them,’ Sara says. ‘But she didn’t expect them to start telling us what we can and can’t wear. Even half her wardrobe isn’t suitable by their standards.’

      ‘Well, I’m not complaining about the length of her skirts,’ Leo says, smirking at her.

      ‘Shut up.’ I reckon if Sara had a book in her hand she’d lob it at him.

      ‘Maybe John Andrews is right,’ Ashwar says. ‘That without the trigger of provocative clothing, rape crime will go down.’

      Conor slams his fist on to the desk. ‘You seriously believe it’s a girl’s fault if she’s attacked? Because of the way she dresses?’

      ‘I seriously believe that it’s a complex topic,’ Ashwar says calmly. ‘No other government has tried to face it and we’re left with a country that’s rotting from the inside out.’

      ‘Sir,’ Conor shouts. ‘You’ve got to stop her spouting this bullshit.’

      Mr Hart waves his book from the front again, but this time he looks like he has fury in his veins. ‘I think –’ he says, his voice raised enough to get everyone quiet, ‘– that if we voted again now, some of your parents who ticked a box for the Traditionals might change their mind.’

      ‘It’s a bit late though, isn’t it,’ Conor mumbles.

      ‘Yes,’ Mr Hart says. ‘Yes, it is.’

      The only class I have with Luke is art. Sara says I only took it so I could be with him and I think she might be right. I’m rubbish at drawing, but Luke is like the next Picasso or something.

      ‘You okay?’ he asks, sitting on the stool next to me. He puts his hand underneath my hair and I can feel his palm against my skin. When he kisses me I wonder if the Trads will stop this too. If they say short skirts lead to promiscuity and teenage pregnancies, what will they think of outright kissing?

      ‘Everything’s just a bit weird,’ I say.

      ‘There was nearly a fight in maths,’ Luke says.

      ‘So much for the Trads bringing peace and harmony.’

      Miss Mason bangs her giant paintbrush on her desk. It’s her way of getting our attention and somehow it’s always worked.

      ‘There’s a change of plan for our lesson today,’ she says. She’s wearing her long hippy dress as usual so she’ll be fine with any new rules the Trads impose. ‘The whole of Year Eleven are having an assembly in the hall.’

      ‘Now?’ someone asks.

      ‘Yes.’ Miss Mason goes to the door and opens it. ‘In silence though. Other year groups are still working.’

      ‘Miss, I really want to finish my still life,’ Kaylee moans.

      ‘I’ll open the room at lunch for anyone who wants to make up the time.’

      ‘No thanks,’ Conor laughs, walking across the top of the tables to get past everyone.

      ‘Off there,’ Miss Mason tells him and he jumps down, using Kaylee’s head to support him.

      ‘Wanker,’ she says, swiping at him.

      ‘Language,’ Miss Mason says.

      ‘The Trads will knock your head off if they hear you say that, Kaylee,’ Conor says.

      ‘I said silence,’ Miss Mason shouts.

      ‘What’s going on, miss?’ Luke asks as we pass her.

      ‘I’ve just been told to get you all to assembly,’ she says as she flicks off the light and closes the door behind the last of us.

      There’s a soldier standing at the front of the hall. It looks wrong that he’s here inside our school. Next to him Mr Edwards, our head, paces up and down, directing people where to sit, filling up the chairs from the front. Luke squeezes my fingers before he lets go of my hand.

      Normally in assembly there’s so much noise, people shoving and shouting, calling out to each other. But there’s something about the soldier that sews all our mouths shut. All except Tristan.

      ‘He’s fit,’ I hear him say.

      ‘Shh.’ Sara yanks his arm. Since the Traditionals have come into power they’re suddenly very vocal about what they really think of gay people. They say it’s a choice and they’ve made it clear which way they want people to choose.

      Luke and I manage to sit together and when everyone is inside, the big double doors close and we all look to the two men at the front.

      ‘Good morning, everyone,’ Mr Edwards says. I can tell he’s nervous as he exaggerates looking at his watch. ‘Yup, it is still morning, just.’ A few of the teachers around the edge try to laugh, but there’s nothing from any of us. ‘Right, well, I’m going to hand over to Chris Stewart, a member of the Traditional Party.’ Mr Edwards steps to the side, his hands strangely clasped together. I’ve never seen him fade in the presence of anyone before. He normally struts around like some sort of demented peacock.

      ‘Thank you,’ Chris Stewart says. He clears his throat, his hand balled in front of his lips. ‘I’m very proud to be here as a representative of John Andrews and the Traditional Party.’ He’s older than the soldier on my street this morning. And he doesn’t have a gun, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. ‘As you all know, this is a very exciting time for our country, because for too long we’ve been at the mercy of people with weak vision and weak focus. We are different. We bring change. We’re determined to restore our country to be the great place we know it can be.’ He looks so smug standing there, as though he’s expecting us all to jump to our feet and high five him or something. ‘The Traditionals are not just a party of words but of actions. Already our policies are working. Since we came to power three months ago, violent crimes are decreasing. With us leading you, I promise that your quality of life will continue to rise.’

      He’s convincing, I’ll give him that. I know a lot of people will be lapping this up, oblivious to how much will be destroyed for this so-called life. Like our voice, our freedom. I nudge Luke gently with my arm and he nudges me back. Thank God for his sanity in this madness.

      ‘We know,’ the soldier continues, ‘that much of the country voted for us. People knew it was time for change. And we believe in the importance of solidarity. We know that you want to be as proud of the party you voted for as we are proud of you. Therefore, from today, you are all instructed to wear a band on your arm depicting your allegiance.’

      Mr Edwards takes a step backwards. It’s obvious that he didn’t know this