Chapter Two
When The Ball Started Rolling

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Moisture began covering Simon's cheek as he lent on the cool glass. His skin was hot, adrenaline pumping through him giving him the same feeling he had on a rollercoaster - invincibility. He wasn't though. He was in the back of a cop car with his arms trapped awkwardly behind his back. Two men were in the front and though he wasn't listening to their conversation, he had heard the word dangerous thrown around a few times. The passenger cop caught his eye one time and he knew they were describing him. He was dangerous?

The police station wasn't far from his house, he knew the neighbourhood like the back of his hand. It felt like an eternity though, watching as the houses passed. He felt like he hadn't moved from his own street - every turn looked the same in the twilight and it was beginning to hurt his head. He closed his eyes. He had never even gotten detention so how did he end up here?

The car lurched to a stop, causing Simon's head to jolt against the window. He hissed in pain as the cops climbed out first, one moving to open his door. Getting out was awkward, he never realised how much he used his hands but now he didn't have the access, he desperately wanted them free. It didn't help that they were starting to tingle. The cop was nice enough, carefully taking him by the elbow instead of shoving him and leading him towards the building. It suddenly seemed taller than it ever had, taunting Simon as he walked forward sluggishly. Another car pulled into the lot before they reached the double doors and over his shoulder he could see the boy that he had helped. Simon didn't regret helping.

The floors squeaked under his polished shoes causing anyone in the main office to look at him. He wasn't marked and they stared at the fresh meat. They stopped outside another set of large double doors. These, however, were made of metal - he guessed steal - and had to be unlocked with one of the keys from the police officer's waistband. He didn't take long to find it so Simon guessed he used it a lot.

As they walked through, Simon recognised the room from TV. Whenever there was a large interest in a marking case, a shot or two would be taken of the prisoner in these cells. They were made of reinforced glass and contained a bed and a toilet. Simon's nose wrinkled at the thought of going to the toilet in front of cameras and decided he wouldn't need to use it. They wouldn't keep him long - he could hold his bladder if need be.

"This is yours," The police officer spoke. He had been the driver, not the one who cuffed him and Simon decided he liked this one much better. His arms were released as he was motioned into one of the glass cells. He spun to watch the police officer lock the door after him before looking up. Simon had barely realised how thick his beard was, covering the bottom half of his face in dark brown hair. He smiled at Simon slightly, a kind gesture in the unknown and Simon smiled back.

After a while, he sat on the bed. He may as well rest, it was late after all. Next to his bed was another, clear as day through the transparent material. The sheets, and that's all there was - two sheets and a pillow - were perfectly folded and Simon fell asleep tracing the stitching of his own pillow.

Plaguing his sleep was the face of someone particular, Yaris May, the new prime minister. She had gained power after England's last prime minster stepped down feeling as though he had failed England. His negativity set the public to feeling the same and then praising their 'saviour' Yaris May. Only a few spoke against her, spoke against the fact that she didn't hold an election and wasn't voted in, spoke against the fact that the country was a democracy.

Those were the first Marks. Simon remember some of their faces, they were plastered on posters and text books. Painted with sneers on their faces and deep red cuts on their cheeks.

Bad. Evil. A lie.

Simon knew his grandma - he had found pictures of her in the attic once when he was looking for christmas lights. Her face was instantly recognisable from his history lessons but she was smiling. Happy. Welcoming. She was nothing like the history books made her seem. He had never met her though and his mum refused to talk of her.

In his sleep, Yaris May was laughing at him as she strung a puppet in front of him on the stage. When he concentrated on the puppet, all he saw was himself. Clear as day, it was almost like a mirror except the puppet was smiling. He could feel in his chest his expression didn't match the puppets and he tried to pull away.

Struggling, he gasped as his eyes flew open. Simon half expected to be back in his room under his duvet and looking up at the swirls on the ceiling. Instead, he shivered. The sheets were only covering one leg - he hadn't pulled them over him when he fell asleep. His eyes adjusted to the low lighting to see a shape in the bed next to him. Scrambling with fear he sat up, before he remembered there was impenetrable glass between them. It was too dark to make out the shape but Simon turned his back to it - he felt uncomfortable being so close to an unknown person.

Then again, everything around him was unknown. He reassured himself by thinking that they couldn't have a trial till the day time, they couldn't let him go without a trial the next day. He started to tap his foot. What was he supposed to do?

Slowly his ears tuned in on another tapping. It was a higher pitch than his sole on the floor but it matched perfectly, blending in with the tune he was making. For a moment, Simon thought he was losing it. Or maybe he already had, maybe that's what made him dive over his fence to a strangers aid. He stopped suddenly, the other tapping stopping just seconds later but it was enough to cause Simon to turn back around.

There, sat with his legs crossed and facing their shared wall, was the boy Simon had stood up for. Simon stared. The boy stared. Neither knew what to do for a moment before Simon moved to sit opposite him, legs crossed in the same way. He then wrote on the glass.

S I M -

The boy shook his head before holding up a hand, a signal to wait. Simon furrowed his eyebrows and waited till the boy put his finger on the glass near where Simon started previously. He then moved his other hand anti-clockwise. Simon racked his brain for how he could write counter-clockwise. Counter-clockwise was backwards on a clock, did the boy want him to write backwards?

Thinking harder this time, Simon wrote the letters of his name backwards:

И O M I Ƨ

As he did, the boy traced where he moved his finger. As he finished the N, the boy nodded before mouthing his name. Simon smiled in response then pointed to the boy. They repeated the process:

Ǝ ᗡ I Ⴑ

Simon copied the boy and followed his finger. His own skin looked even paler against his chocolate coloured hand and he struggled to focus. Spelling out the word, he tried to pronounce his name. "Jidy." He muttered to himself, testing the word on his lips. Simon decided the boy's name mustn't rhyme with 'tidy' and tried again, more confident this time. "Jeed." The boy in the other cell, Jide, smiled and waved to him. When he smiled, the cut on his cheek stretched and he winced painfully.

Raising his hand, Simon placed in to be in line with the boys Mark. Jide shied away, turning his head slightly so his mark was hidden in the shadows playing across his face. The only light was opposite their cell doors, lining the ceiling of both their cells and the cell on the other side of Simon's. It was dull though and Simon had guessed it was the middle of the night.

"It's okay," he spoke, trying to reassure the stranger across from him. As Jide moved to lean against the back wall, hugging his knees, Simon wondered if they were strangers anymore.

That thought didn't matter though. Simon was leaving the next day and Jide wasn't. A marked wouldn't be arrested and allowed to leave without a punishment, it depended completely on why he was marked in the first place. Simon took in the other boy's appearance, trying to figure him out. His head was close shaved, his clothes hung off him as though he was wearing hand-me-downs from an older sibling. His shoes were caked in mud, the shoe laces missing. It was possible the police had taken the laces, however Simon wouldn't know as he was still wearing his school's slip ons. Embarrassingly, he was still in his whole uniform. Undoing the top button of his shirt, he started to roll the sleeves up.

The door swung open, causing Simon to look up instantly. The police officer with the facial hair came back, smiling at them both before stopping outside their cells and turning to stand guard. Simon shot a look to Jide who was pointing to his mark. He then pointed to the man, signalling a beard and retracing the tip of his triangle. Confused, Simon gestured his cluelessness. Jide visibly sighed as a response before standing, walking toward the guard and beckoning Simon too, who followed in his own cell.

Jide knocked twice to catch the guard's attention. He rubbed his stomach, pouting slightly and pointing to the blonde boy beside him, who nodded. Simon stared at the guard as he looked to him, concentrating his eyes on line where his beard met the skin of his cheek. There, healed and hidden by facial hair, was the tip of a triangle. His mouth fell open, extracting a glare from the guard. Simon quickly pointed to his open mouth, as though asking for food.

The guard was a marked?

Simon barely had time to process this before light flooded the room, momentarily blinding him. He watched four silhouettes enter and blinked, refocusing. He half wished he hadn't when Yaris May herself was stood, surrounded by three guards, staring right at him.

Out of habit, Simon bowed his head, as did the bearded guard. Jide crossed his arms, defensive. Yaris May and the guard were talking, their mouths moving too rapidly for Simon to read any words but one guard was sent away. Jide hoped it was for food, he hadn't eaten well for a good few days.

Yaris May had Simon's cell unlocked and she entered with two of the guards - Simon glanced to Jide, an expression of shock on his face. He guessed not many prisoners were visited like this.