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  ‘Hi,’ I pulled a smile and Marti did the same as we jumped over the doorstep and hightailed up the drive.

  When I looked back she was watching us. ‘Don’t run,’ I said. ‘Just saunter fast.’

  At the end of the road we cut down the track through deep grass into the green belt. ‘Steep,’ I warned, squatting at the top of the dirt chute. But Marti was right behind me, we were sliding on our heels, getting down low, juddering faster and faster, falling onto our butts and laughing by the time we fell sprawling on the leaves at the bottom. It was amazing how a little bit of food could cheer you up.

  Marti stood and brushed herself off. ‘Does it matter if anyone sees us, do you reckon?’ she asked. ‘I mean, why would anyone apart from our parents actually care if we get done or not?’

  ‘You mean are we doing all this hiding and sneaking round for fun?’

  Marti shrugged. ‘Maybe we are. What are they going to do to abstainers — really? Hold us down and force the wand into our arms?’

  ‘Doubt it.’ My parents had talked of ‘withdrawal of privileges’ for citizens. But I was too embarrassed to tell Marti that my imagination had run way beyond that — to freezing prison farms out on the Central Otago plains, to bare cells, and torture.

  ‘Sooner or later they’ll try to find us, though. We could do with a radio, eh? Find out if they’re seriously onto abstainers yet.’

  ‘Or the library newspaper.’

  We looked at each other. We didn’t want to go back to the scene of our argument right away.

  ‘Let’s go down and hide this stuff, eh?’ I said. ‘Then cruise till two o’clock.’

  I led the way, whacking spider webs from the track ahead with the folded fishing rod. It was quiet in the trees, except for the crack of sticks under our feet, and birds calling.

  ‘Stop.’ Marti poked me in the back. ‘Listen.’

  We heard the thud of running feet, somewhere behind us. Without a word we stepped up off the track and squatted in the shrubs. Marti’s eyes widened at the sound of shredded breathing and the sudden, desperate, cracked chord of my school nickname. ‘Dek! Where are you, man? Come on. Hell, don’t hide now.’

  It was Disco. He came to a stop and made a slow spin on the track, wiping sweat off his face with a muddy hand. ‘Derik?’

  He sounded so pitiful, I stood up and lunged onto the track beside him. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey.’ His face split into the famous Disco grin. Huge. It’s official that he has the biggest mouth in the school; we measured buccal capacity with Coke and a measuring cup, fifty cents a go, at the school fair. Disco won by eleven millilitres. The winner got a giant gob-stopper.

  But now the grin didn’t stick long. The rest of him was more gaunt and hunted-looking than usual. Marti was sliding off the muddy edge onto the track. For a second I got a fresh look at her: cute roundish face between ruined plaits, the rest of her as monstrous as a small person like her could get, in huge brown pants with a muddy butt, big black Captain Haddock jersey under a slippery-grey skatey jacket. Bulging, rag-filled pockets.

  ‘Disco, this is Marti.’

  ‘We saw you,’ said Marti. ‘At the town hall.’ She stared at his arm, hidden under his hoody sleeve.

  Disco’s face went from pale to a splotchy pink.

  Marti touched his elbow. ‘No, I mean, it was good what you did. I know what it’s like. You had to and it doesn’t matter about crying and stuff. You got away. Eh?’

  The splotches joined up and Disco looked at the ground. ‘Man.’ He shook his head and looked back at us, searching our faces, some unasked question digging furrows in his forehead.

  ‘You got endorsed,’ I said.

  ‘You gonna leave me now?’ Disco had his hand round his wrist. ‘I didn’t want to. I’ve tried to get rid of it.’

  Marti took his big hand in her little one. She looked at him, eyebrows up. He nodded. Marti peeled back the sleeve. Her bottom lip went out. ‘It’s only half done.’

  ‘I took off before they sealed it. I been trying to get the thingy out.’

  ‘Wand,’ I said. Marti was doing better than I was. All I could come up with were the right terms — not the right words, like the ones Marti used, to let Disco know he was okay with us: ‘Good thing you met us. We’re heading down for food soon.’

  I put my face up close to see how the square of nu-skin was only sealed on two sides, how the old skin underneath was scarred and oozing where Disco had been digging for the wand.

  ‘I’ve got to get it or they’ll trace me.’ He watched Marti’s face as he dug in his pocket for tweezers, a Stanley knife.

  Marti sucked her breath in. ‘You’ve been using those?’

  ‘Trying to.’ Disco pulled his sleeve back down. ‘I kept going all dizzy. Made me sick.’ He clicked his tools together. ‘Can you help me with it?’

  I felt a drag in the pit of my stomach. This was Marti’s call.

  ‘Course we will,’ she said. ‘If we can.’ She paused. ‘As long as you really really want to. They’d seal it up easy if you wanted to get it finished.’

  Disco shook his head. ‘Couldn’t. No way. They thought I was having a fit; that’s why they let me sit up before they’d done it all and that’s when I got away. Couldn’t help it. Soon as that thing slid in, something went crazy. Like your whole body’s doing this massive sneeze to get rid of it.’

  Marti nodded. ‘Same. Cause it’s wrong. Anti-nature.’

  We walked in single file down the track, me still taking care of the cobwebs and when we got to the school doing a quick check around.

  ‘There are kids on the flying fox,’ I said. ‘Plus parents.’

  ‘And it’s quarter past one so I vote we look at this later, Disco, and go find our lunch,’ said Marti.

  ‘I’ve got some. Stashed,’ said Disco.

  ‘We have too. But we’re saving it.’ I was ready to start filling Disco in on the feeding network but I felt a sudden chill. ‘Marti, I reckon we should get the wand out now.’ I looked hard at her.

  Disco’s face drained of colour. ‘You don’t trust me? Dek, please. I am totally, totally, not going to change my mind. Do it now if you want. Sooner the better.’

  ‘No, we’ll miss the feeding if I do it now,’ Marti said. ‘Give us that thing round your neck.’

  Disco was suddenly reluctant. He pressed his palm to his chest and I noticed a black leather cord.

  Marti’s hand was out flat, the fingers bent back with tension. ‘Give it.’

  Disco pulled it up, slowly, like it was an anchor chain. From it hung a pierced gold coin and a tiny silver spoon. He hung it on Marti’s hand and touched his neck where it had been.

  ‘You get it back the second that thing’s out of your wrist.’ She gave him an angel smile and his tensed shoulders slumped.

  ‘Meanwhile you do as we say, stay when we say “stay”. Got it?’

  Disco sniffed and nodded.

  On the way to town, after we’d hidden our new stuff, we grilled Disco to check he was committed to abstaining. I hoped he’d stay because already things were subtly easier with three of us. His gawkiness and giant grin seemed to break any last ice between me and Marti.

  ‘When’s your first stage two session?’ I asked.

  ‘Supposed to be Saturday. I never listened much to that part of it, eh? I just remember you giving McGaw a hard time about it, Dek, in Science. I know Endorsement is to vaccinate against the viruses and it’s linked up with the Scope-card but I never got the stuff about blood.’

  ‘I kept that booklet the school gave out.’ I pulled it from my back pocket. It helped having information. It made me feel like I had some control. ‘Did you see Mr Blunt stuck a copy of that story in the booklet, Disco? About the kid with the balsa wood box.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, that was weird. I didn’t get that. What does the booklet say about blood?’

  ‘It says, “Once the hair-width ‘wand’ is in place, Endorsement machines can perform ‘stage two’ or calibrat
ion, measuring instantly the level of almost every chemical in the body. The machine puts slow-release substances into the wand: substances people are low on — iron or sodium for example — or it supplies the antidote for those they have in excess. It can also supply their regular medication in slow-release doses. After a few weeks the system evens out and calibration is required only once a month. If a fresh outbreak occurs of a viral illness, Endorsement machines can provide the vaccine painlessly to every citizen.’

  Striding down beside me, Marti was bristling. Her fists clenched and unclenched. ‘Why can’t you get just the vaccines? Why do you have to have the whole bit?’

  ‘Calibration is supposed to prevent new epidemics by making everyone healthy,’ I said, ‘but they also reckon that keeping everyone on the same, so-called optimum, levels will cut down on health costs. There’ll be less mental illness and crime eventually, they say.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be good?’ Disco looked confused again. ‘I mean, isn’t that good?’

  ‘It sounds good,’ said Marti, using one of her horrible — but clean — rags to wipe her nose. ‘But you think about it. How do we know the tiny differences aren’t important — to make us who we are. Should everyone be equalled out to everyone else? Some of the best people are a bit weird. Eccentric anyway.’

  ‘Like who?’ asked Disco.

  ‘Mad scientists, arty types.’

  ‘What, like Van Gogh cutting off his ear?’

  ‘Or who’s that man who jumped out of the bath and ran around naked shouting, “Eureka!”?’

  ‘Archimedes,’ Disco said, ‘when he discovered that bodies displace water.’

  Marti skipped to keep up between Disco and me. ‘But I mean plain old interesting people like us, too.’

  ‘You mean … if everyone’s the same, people won’t think for themselves,’ Disco said as we paused to cross the road.

  ‘Yeah, well the government says everyone’ll be healthy and happy now,’ I said. ‘Mum would be on your side, Marti. She reckons you can’t tap into new ideas if you try and live like other people want you to.’ I was on shaky ground here, parroting Mum. I never really understood this stuff — but my mother was different from other people’s. Unpredictable, often coming up with a startling, other view on something. She startled her patients, too, from what I’d heard. Just by helping them get a fresh look at themselves, she said.

  I realised Marti was a bit like Mum, but I sure didn’t want to think too hard about that.

  DESPITE ALL my playing around on the Internet, exploring the feeding system, I still had to guess where we should start. Last night’s collection had been random. We’d tried out the signals as we passed Frankie’s Dairy, because I’d recalled the name from the computer, but apart from tossing me the pie, they’d given no hint of where to go next.

  I was going on a hunch, checking out this Asian shop. Dad had made contact with Mr Wong recently and his family had delayed citizenship when they learned they could avoid Endorsement that way.

  But now I had to pretend I knew nothing about Mr Wong. Within the five minutes straddling high tide we had to stroll past his shop. We each had to touch our face so anyone looking out could see it, but without making it obvious. We practised as we went: casual flicks, brushes, rubbings.

  ‘Should we let Disco come with us?’ said Marti. ‘In case they’re tracking him.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ My stomach rumbled. ‘We need food for three so I vote we all go past.’

  Two-oh-four. I’d checked my watch against the chimes of the town hall clock and it had been right on.

  ‘Go, Marti.’

  We watched her saunter past the door, then she stopped and bent over, peering at something low in the window, finger to her chin, thoughtful. As soon as she went on we followed. Passing the shop, I took out a hanky and blew, while Disco swept back his hair. We caught up with Marti at the next corner.

  ‘Now what, after that little charade?’ said Disco.

  ‘One of us goes back in ten minutes to collect,’ I said.

  ‘What about adult abstainers?’ Marti asked. ‘Do they have to run around the streets looking for food like this?’

  ‘They will eventually if Endorsement isn’t stopped. Most people have stocked up on food for now.’

  ‘So where are those adults now? Why aren’t they making a big fuss about Endorsement?’

  ‘It’s hard for them to protest. All media discussion of Endorsement has to be screened by a government committee.’

  There was a rumour our government was scared of getting in trouble if the experiment went wrong — when these foreign citizens could still complain to their own governments.

  ‘Man, the feeding network must be complicated,’ Disco looked again at his wrist.

  ‘It is. But Mum got this computer geek at her work to make the framework, then she and Dad and their friends found people willing to feed. Even though all feeding’s on high or low tide, it had to be coordinated so you don’t get lots of people turning up somewhere at the same time.’

  ‘They’d have to be careful, eh?’ Marti hoisted herself onto a concrete wall. ‘Not to let the wrong people know what they were doing.’

  I nodded. Dad had always emphasised that when feeding got under way, abstainers need know only the first feeding station. They’d get the next bit of information with the food. I was kicking myself, trying to recall the half-coded dinner table discussions — realising now how little I’d listened, how much more I could have picked up if I’d been tuned in. But then, most people only knew what the propaganda told them.

  ‘Hey,’ Disco was looking back up the hill. ‘Someone’s head popped out of the shop. You going up, Dek?’

  Mrs Wong was in the doorway holding a fat paper bag on the flat of her hands. She looked hard at me as I reached for it. ‘First time look up dub-dub-dub dot vinegarandbrownpaper. You tell any others? Not to come straight here. We didn’t expect you.’

  ‘Sure, okay, sorry,’ I said, and pulled the packet to my chest. It was heavy and steaming. ‘Thanks a lot. This smells fantastic.’

  She nodded and went inside. A little bell tinkled as the door closed.

  Disco was rubbing his hands together. ‘Man, that’s a cool system. Touch your head and here comes the food. My mum’d like that one. Tired of cooking so Dad took over — before they split up — but he treats it like chemistry experiments. Horrible.’ He shuddered and laid his hand on the package. ‘Hot. What is it?’

  ‘She didn’t say.’

  ‘I vote we open it somewhere private.’ Marti stroked the paper bag as if it was a cat.

  ‘There’re steps up off the next street. Trees. You want to hug this baby?’

  Marti took the food and stuffed it up under her jacket.

  We climbed halfway up the long concrete flight and sat down.

  ‘Moon balls! Oh wow. You guys tried these before?’

  I loved the way Marti got locked onto things, no holding back just because we were living on the street. She tickled out one of the white balls and tossed it, hand to hand.

  ‘Are they cooked?’ I said. ‘They look like raw dough.’

  ‘They steam them,’ she said, putting her teeth to the shiny skin.

  ‘We should say thanks first.’ Disco was blushing.

  ‘I did. I told you, we’ll pay them back later.’

  Disco grew redder. ‘I mean, to God.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Marti while I just stared. ‘Good idea. You do it, Disco.’ She dropped her head over her bun.

  When Disco shut his eyes, I copied Marti, cradling the moon ball in my palms.

  ‘Thanks, God, for this food and that people are willing to take risks for us, and for friends. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Marti.

  Disco nodded and flashed me a look.

  ‘That’s good. I like that,’ said Marti, getting a proper bite of her bun.

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ I added, cautious. ‘You be in charge of that, eh, Disco?’ I dug a finger into th
e bun, let out a spicy gust. There was something dark at the centre.

  ‘Anyone can pray, y’know, Dek,’ said Disco, mouth half full.

  ‘Anyone religious.’

  ‘Anyone.’

  We turned quiet then, sinking our teeth through fluffy, melting dough to the pocket of hot mince and vegetables. We groaned, half-shut our eyes, licked our fingers and reached for more.

  ‘Three each,’ I said.

  Disco gave me a hurt look.

  Time for me to shut up and stop trying to keep everything sorted.

  Afterwards, Disco wiped his fingers on the bag and offered it to Marti. She folded it and wiped. ‘Oh no.’ She opened it back out. ‘Aren’t we supposed to find a message here?’

  I took the bag and looked inside. Tore it round the seams. ‘They must’ve had a stubby pencil.’ Someone had reached in and scrawled right at the end of the bag, www.vinegarandbrownpaper.

  ‘Just what you said she said.’ Disco was rubbing his hands like he was ready for the next snack. ‘So when do we eat again?’ he asked.

  ‘Must be about nine tomorrow. We’ll have to find a paper and copy out the times.’

  ‘I’m stuffed. I don’t know how you guys can even think about food already.’ Marti was pulling her bottle from her backpack.

  I watched the water glugging down. Those moon balls had been salty and my bottle was empty. ‘Have some if you don’t touch it with your mouth,’ she offered.

  ‘I’ll find some in town.’

  Disco took it though and poured into his open jaws.

  ‘You two watch no-one comes while I go to the toilet?’ Marti stood and rustled off into the trees.

  ‘How’d you meet her?’ Disco asked when she was out of sight.

  ‘About like we met you. Prowling round.’

  ‘Not bad, eh?’

  Any other guy and I might’ve wanted to thump him but Disco seemed genuinely admiring. Like me. I sighed and wiped round my mouth with the back of my hand.

  ‘What now?’ Marti was back, peeling a spider web off her shoulder. ‘Library, to get more tides? You know that community newspaper? It has the whole week’s worth at once.’