The People We Are

Chapter 2

Evelyn ran through the streets of Ivywood, sticking to the shadows and hardly pausing for breath. The sun was beginning to rise, and daylight was scarily close. Provisions needed to be discovered fast, before she was found.

Just as citizens were starting to come out of their houses, Evelyn ducked into another alleyway that was still fairly dark. At the entrance, there was a single food bin... with nothing inside. Hardly disguising her disappointment, Evelyn swore under her breath and snuck deeper into the unknown.

This alley was wider than her home turf- much wider. Even the local ice cream man, who was as wide as Evelyn was tall, could've walked easily through this quiet place. It made her feel rather small, and quite uncomfortable.

Suddenly, a delectable aroma slipped into Evelyn's nose. It was sweet and delicate. "Sponge cake," she breathed. Her mouth watering, she crept towards the smell.

Behind an old cardboard box, her suspicions were confirmed: a small cake was lying in the dirt, half-eaten and covered in some sort of pink icing. It looked so tasty, she couldn't help herself.

Looking around cautiously, Evelyn gingerly picked up the cake, brushed some rogue dirt off the bottom, and nibbled at a corner. Immediately, she began eating more. How delicious it was! Sweet, light and fluffy, all at once, coupled by the smooth icing. Evelyn put the rest in her pocket, feeling very pleased with herself.

"Another little Outcast, I suppose." A deep and calm voice came from behind her.

Evelyn's pleasure turned into ice-cold dread within a second. Slowly, she swivelled around on her right foot and looked up at where the voice had come from. Her eyes widened when she saw who stood there.

It was a young man, with light brown skin and an easy smile. He wore a sea-green army jacket and black jeans. His hair was jet-black like Evelyn's, but much neater and tidier. His green eyes pierced Evelyn's grey ones as he looked at her with interest.

"Who are you?" Evelyn panicked, taking a step away from the strange boy. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, this is my home," the stranger said gently. He averted his gaze, observing the wide alleyway, then looked back at Evelyn. "I live here."

"How do you live in this..." Evelyn searched for the right word. "...Dump?"

The stranger considered it, then smiled. "Why, thank you for the 5-star review, malady," he grinned jokily. "I just manage to get by, I suppose. Living on scraps, drinking from puddles, et cetera. Who are you, by the way?" he added, not unkindly.

"I'm..." Evelyn paused, then said her name aloud in a whisper. "Evelyn. You?"

The stranger gave a mock bow. "Vanjeet, at your service," he smiled.

Evelyn's look of fear immediately reformed into a confused frown. "What sort of name is that?"

Vanjeet smiled again; an amused smirk. "My mum was Indian," he explained. "She decided to give me an unusual name. In India, it must be rather common."

"Well, I've never heard of such a name," Evelyn replied. She looked around her, trying to find somewhere she could escape to.

With a composed demeanour, Vanjeet observed the girl's behaviour. "I'm not going to hurt you, silly," he said. "I help Outcasts. I don't hurt them."

Evelyn stared at her acquaintance intently. "It sounds like... you've been in this situation... before," she answered, slowly and uncertainly.

Vanjeet nodded. "I've spent fifteen years of my life on the streets of Ivywood, fending for myself," he said quietly. "I'm seventeen years old, and most of those years have been spent scavenger-hunting and stealing from market stalls. Ever since I was two years old."

Making a mental note to throttle whoever had abandoned Vanjeet when he was a toddler as soon as she had the chance, Evelyn gave a sympathetic frown. "I've spent all my life on the streets," she whispered.

"How old are you?" Vanjeet asked.

"Fourteen."

"Uh-huh. And, tell me, Evelyn-" He paused, then gave a frown. "Uh oh."

Sirens whirred in the distance. But Evelyn could hear them coming closer and closer, down Nightingale Lane; about seven streets away. She swore. So did Vanjeet, adding "indeed" on the end of the obscene word.

"What are the police doing here?!" Evelyn began to panic, looking around her frantically for an escape route. This time, Vanjeet did not make any remarks about this behaviour. He, too, was peering nervously behind him, where the sirens were getting louder and louder.

"They must be on Containment Control duty," he muttered to no one in particular, ducking behind the cardboard box and throwing a sheet over himself and Evelyn.

Completely disoriented by the brown and smelly fabric, Evelyn crouched down silently. She didn't even question what Containment Control was- somehow, she could see that Vanjeet didn't want to tell her. Instead, she tried her best not to breathe as a blinding blue light whizzed past. Even under the sheet, it hurt her hyper-aware eyes, and the siren wreaked havoc with her hearing.

Dozens of voices could be heard outside the alleyway. They were all posh-sounding; they must have been from the more fortunate quarter of Ivywood. Beside Evelyn, Vanjeet prayed silently under his breath in what sounded like Hindi.

Evelyn gently lifted a corner of the sheet and peered out from a tiny hole. There, she saw multiple men wearing black overalls and navy-blue bulletproof vests. They were yelling, running around like lunatics and generally being loud- not a good thing for people like her and Vanjeet. She immediately yanked the sheet back down again and curled up into a ball like a hedgehog, as tightly as she could muster.

This shouting carried on for several minutes; until Vanjeet nudged Evelyn in the arm and said, "They're gone."

The dirty sheet was lifted up again, and Vanjeet gingerly folded it away and placed it in an old milk crate. "They," he explained as Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, "were the Containment Control sector of the Ivywood Police. Their job is to basically round up all the 'unwanted'"- He made air quotes with his fingers- "citizens of the city. I've been on their list for years."

"For what?" Evelyn managed to wheeze out- the experience of flashing lights had nearly caused her a seizure.

Vanjeet considered a reply for a few seconds, then gave a small, sad smile. "Because of my heritage," he replied, selecting his words extremely carefully. "Apparently the police don't like homeless Indian people. They think we're terrorists or something."

Evelyn's face fell. "What in the name of God do they think they're doing?" She added, "racist toerags," under her breath.

Unfortunately, Vanjeet heard. "Racist toerags! That's inspired. Now, c'mon, Evelyn," he said, "let's go somewhere they can't find me- or rather, us."

With that, Vanjeet grabbed Evelyn's grubby arm and pulled her further down into the alleyway, and into the unknown once again.