Collective

Chapter 2: Derek

2. Derek

My room is wicked bright when I wake up the next morning, and I know I've overslept. I curse under my breath, pulling a shirt on and grabbing my phone off the bedside table before sprinting out my door and down the hallway. I almost trip over Becca, lying on her stomach on the nubby old carpet.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," she says, craning her neck to see me, her eyebrows cocked as she appraises my hair.

There's a snort from the couch, and I can see Cam's fiery red hair resting on the arm. "No amount of beauty sleep will make that guy a beauty," he says, without turning around.

"And good morning to you" I roll my eyes but smile, running my fingers through my hair as soon as Becca's attention returns to the television in the corner.

Dell hands me a coffee as I pick my way across the room and find a place on the floor. "It's just about to start," he tells me, folding his long frame into a cross-legged position next to me. He immediately begins using his non-coffee-holding hand to tap out a rhythm on his knee, which surprises me. He's usually calm, unmoving. I'm usually the hyperactive one in our group of seven, but today I'm more excited than anything.

They can't ignore what happened yesterday.

For two months, we've worked around the clock, sun-up to sun-down, 24/7, the whole shebang. We printed leaflets and canvassed what's left of the neighborhoods, holding town hall meetings and lengthy individual discussions with whoever wanted to listen. We specifically targeted folks our age, late teens and twenty-somethings, but we talked to anyone who would listen.

Our revolution waits for no one and discriminates against no one.

And yesterday...I can barely sit still as I think of yesterday and remember the crowd and the electricity and the energy.

Yesterday, the seven of us, the leaders of the biggest revolution this society has seen, stood in front of a swarming mass, buzzing like bees in the afternoon sun. I spoke to them, to these people who came from all over the city, who must have encompassed more than half of its population. And as I stood in front of them, giving the speech I had practiced for weeks, I had the full realization that this is it--I'm leading the revolution.

If we had any doubt that the revolution was really happening, it dissipated as we returned home, far past midnight but high on the adrenaline of hope. We spent a restless, exuberant night, the seven of us camped out in our retro house past the city limits. We all knew that what had happened was a game-changer--the big break we needed to breach the Collective's control of the media.

Now, Cam nearly drops the remote as he switches the TV on and we're immediately greeted with a picture of me, midsentence, arms spread wide and face alight with an almost rabid enthusiasm I hadn't realized I showed. But I liked it. Cam turns the volume up to cover the noise of our whooping, loud enough for us all to hear the newscaster's clipped voice tell us "to expect an emergency announcement after the 9am broadcast."

We quiet a bit, and I look to Cam, who looks to Becca, whose eyes dance around the room. On the one hand, the Collective recognized us! They had spend the last weeks studiously ignoring everything we did. Out of sight, out of mind, out of consciousness. That was the Collective's way of doling out the daily news loops. On the other hand, the emergency announcement could be anything.

But we are ready for anything. We are tired of the Collective and their lies, their restrictions and their calculations.

We are ready for change.

Renee unnecessarily shooshes us as the regular newscast suddenly cuts to a shot of a gleaming, empty boardroom. I just have time to read the all-caps type at the bottom of the screen—"COLLECTIVE TO MAKE EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT"—before the nine members of the Collective crisply walk into the frame and take their seats. There's Citizenwoman—the head of the Collective—in the middle, flanked on either side by members of various significance. Each member holds a steady, almost unblinking gaze at the camera, and I find that my heart is racing.

Citezenwoman takes a breath and smiles her dazzlingly white smile. I am sure that no one in this room is breathing as she begins: "Good morning, citizens, and thank you for your decision to attend to this, our most important and consequential announcement that our society has seen." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Becca move quickly from her stomach to her feet. Citezenwoman allows a beat of silence, no doubt to create suspense and ensure that we're attuned to each of her words.

"Yesterday," she continues, "our society saw an unruly and poorly organized, but no doubt important, demonstration. The members of the Collective recognize that such demonstrations are integral to a healthy society and we recognize, as such, that there are concerns to be addressed. Rest assured knowing that you have been heard." A tight smile.

I look around. It's clear that none of us know what to think. It's incredible that the Collective acknowledged us, but at what cost?

Citizenwoman continues. "But our internal struggles are—and must be—of little matter. Despite our differences, we need to come together to remind each other of the greatness and unique promise of our society. Now is the time for neighbor to call upon neighbor, for citizen to call upon citizen. It is time to unite as something greater." She pauses, takes a small breath, looks down, looks straight back up into the camera. "Next week, we go to war."