XY Revolution

There’s a calendar under the bed. There’s a calendar with a bunch of red x’s on it. There’s a calendar counting down till my birthday.

Till I’m sold.

Six months today, and I’m sixteen. The dread has seeped into my bones, giving me a constant overly-acidic stomach, and insomnia.

Jane doesn’t sleep too well either. She’s the one who marks the calendar for me every day. She’s also the one who lifts up the floorboard beneath the calendar and pulls out the volume of Harry Potter we’re reading. She loves the thought of magic. I love Hermione Granger. Sadly, we don’t get to keep each book for long.

Morrison’s is the local second-hand bookshop. Under XY regulations, only certified books can be sold. The bookshop’s not supposed to have an underground bunker-turned-club. It’s the only place here where women and men are treated as equals. Women play in the bands, they read their own poetry, and everyone reads the books deemed too empowering and inappropriate to be sold.

Mr Warner went to school with my gran. He married his wife well before the Downfall, and she died before the Revolution. He says she would have died of a broken heart anyway, had the cancer not gotten to her first.

It’s Morrison’s where Tyler takes Jane and me every Friday. We have to go there before sundown, or risk being caught after curfew by the authorities, but the good news is that we’re home before Mum starts to question too hard. Dad tells her we’re out fishing or something. Dad’s actually catching up on paperwork or at target practice. Mum just tries not to ask questions.

Friday night’s the perfect night for it. If there’s one thing New Zealand men haven’t lost their passion for through all the horror over the past few decades, it’s rugby. The New Town is full of sports bars and strip clubs, and is packed on a Friday night. A little book club out in Old Town doesn’t attract much attention past one hour after curfew. The cops are too busy worrying about who’s driving home drunk, who needs cooling off in the cells, and who’s trying to sneak a prostitute out of the brothel.

Tyler loves it here. He can read whatever he likes in peace, earn some extra money tending the bar, or jam with the musicians on the guitar. It’s also the only place he can get a break from Sarah, but he’d never say that’s the reason.

Being able to sit down with my siblings, with a cup of coffee and – if we’re very lucky – a bit of cake, somehow seems to make it all worth it. Or I can forget all about XY for even a moment, and that moment is bliss.

Jane will practice her reading to us – usually from Pride and Prejudice – and after the authorities have left the street, her and I take to the stage with Tyler on guitar, and we sing. Jane’s the one with the voice, and Tyler makes that old beat-up acoustic sing, and I just fill in the gaps with my own raspy, low melody.

“Why it’s little miss Belmont. How may I serve thee on this fine summer eve?” Josh calls with a mocking bow as we walk in.

I can’t help but grin at him. He’s three years older than me and Mr Warner’s grandson. He’s been working behind the counter before I even knew about this place. Those dimples and bright green eyes under a mop of mousey brown hair give me the butterflies every time I see him. He’s the only boy to ever make me feel like this. And I know it’s because he treats me like an actual person.

I wander over to the bar and take a seat in front of him. He leans forward, showing off just a bit of toned forearm beneath the white shirt he looks like he slept in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

“The usual for those two and…tomato soup for me,” I tell him.

“Fine choice.”

I then roll my eyes and kneel on the barstool so I can give him a kiss. His hand cups my face and I smile.

“Oy, you two! Break it up!” Tyler calls and we part. “You’re still too old for her, Warner.”

“Tell her that!” Josh retorts then goes off to fill our order.



Jane is reading in her favourite armchair by the books, finishing her chapter. Tyler and I sit at our regular table, him with a coffee and a burger in front of him, which seems to me like a strange combination but it must be working for him because he gets it every time.

“You know it can’t last, Freya,” Tyler says, tipping sugar into his drink.

I sip at my soup.

“Yes,” I reply softly.

“He doesn’t have the money to buy you, Freya.”

“I don’t want him to buy me! I don’t want to be bought.”

Tyler sighs, and looks at me like I’m some bratty little kid who’s asked for two desserts.

“It’s going to happen, whether you like it or not. You don’t have a choice,” he tells me and I reach out to throw his coffee in his face.

He yelps and runs to the bathroom. I just keep sipping at my soup.



Needless to say, Tyler doesn’t want us staying long. His face is still slightly red, and that glare in my direction is still as intense as it was five minutes after I burned him. He doesn’t let me say goodbye to Josh, but I still Josh’s appalling kissy faces before we get to the stairs.

“Excuse me,” a clipped British accent starts, touching my arm lightly.

I turn around and see a woman who could very well have been Josh’s more attractive sister. She’s at my height and I’m on the second step. Her hair is silky and her make-up flawless.

“You’re Freya Belmont, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I reply with a frown. “Who’s asking?”

She gives me a broad smile, flashing perfect white teeth at me.

“My name is Natasha Louis.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Tyler interjects.

She looks past me to meet my brother’s eyes.

“Indeed, I am.”

“How did you get in here then? This isn’t exactly an advertised venue.”

She chuckles, grabs something out of her pocket, and then shows us a simple red card with a black barbed-wire design on it.

“Are you mad?! You can’t show that!” Tyler whisper-shouts at her, eyes about to pop out of his head with fear. “That’s a beheading if the wrong people find out!”

“I don’t worry about such nonsense,” she states with a shrug of her shoulders. “I can protect myself, and if not, you don’t want to know how much back-up I have.”

“Vous-êtes résistante,” I say with realisation.

Natasha nods with approval.

“Yes. I’m actually here for a very special recruitment offer-”

Tyler cuts her off with, “We’re not interested.”

“Well, Freya, if you change your mind, we’ll be watching.”

Tyler’s fingers dig into my arm and he tugs me up the stairs.

“For what?!” I call back.

“A sign.”



The drive home is eerie. Tyler’s hands clutch the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles have gone white as my hair. Jane sits there reading her latest acquisition of literature, but she hasn’t turned the page in ten minutes.

Finally, Ty breaks the silence, “Freya, dial Dad’s number.”

I pick up my phone and click on the top person on my list out of my two contacts. I wait for the dial tone then hold it up to Tyler’s ear.

“Dad, it’s Tyler. We have a serious problem.”

“The Resistance were there.”

“I told them to leave, but it’s done.”

“They want her, Dad! And everywhere they go, they leave a trail of fucking destruction.”

“That place is going to be gone by the end of the week, I guarantee it.”

“No, they won’t stop. And they’ve already…Freya knows.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll see you at home.”

I take my phone back after that and press the ‘end’ button.

Tyler takes a deep breath then asks me, “Freya, how did you know the Resistant’s phrase?”

Crap. The French.

“Josh taught me,” I admit.

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“God damn it, Freya!” Ty yells. “These are not people you wanna get involved with. They’re dangerous. They’ll get you killed, get the family killed, and everyone you know killed.”

I glower at the back of his seat.

“These are the people who are fighting for us. Why the hell wouldn’t I be interested in joining them? You asked me why I couldn’t accept that I’d be auctioned off like a piece of meat? It’s because I do have a choice, and I’d go with them over being married any day.

Now stop lecturing me. That’s not your job.”

We both sulk in silence for the rest of the ride home.