“Too bad they haven’t got Atlas Shrugged,” I say, patting myself on the back for remembering the name of her favorite book.
“What’s that one about?” she asks.
Strike one, Indie.
“Just some cool book,” I mutter. God, how far back did they wipe?
She gives me a weak smile and returns to reading.
“Do they let us listen to music?” I ask.
She furrows her brow. “No, not really.”
“Not even a radio? Why do you think that is?” I lean forward, but then I realize the guard is watching our interaction and force myself back against the couch. When I glance over at Paige again, she’s still watching me.
“I don’t know,” she answers carefully.
I see it in her eyes—the spark of curiosity. The doubt.
“Do you think there’s something they don’t want us to hear?” I whisper.
She looks up at the guard’s glass case.
I should shut up. I should stop talking to her when she’s becoming anxious. But I’m so close now. I can feel it. She doesn’t trust the guards or she wouldn’t be nervous about them hearing our conversation. And Jezebel could tell on me any minute—this might be my only chance.
“They’re not good people, are they?” I whisper.
She snaps her book closed.
“Paige, don’t go.” My words come out in a rush. “I have something important to tell you. I know you don’t remember me, but that’s because these people have erased your memories. We’re best friends. These people killed my mom and they kidnapped you and took you here. They’re not who they say they are. I can get us out of here.”
She gets up.
“Paige!” I grab her wrist.
She glances down at my hand.
And then she screams.
19
I quickly release her wrist, but it’s too late. An alarm sounds, and a red beam of light flashes across the hall. And over it all is Paige’s screaming.
Four more guards appear in the glass cubicle. The first one points me out to the others.
No, no, no.
I get up and grip Paige by the forearms. She shrinks under my touch. The action burns like a slap to the face.
“Paige!” I cry. “Come with me. We have to get out of here. There’s still time.”
Tears well in her eyes. She glances around nervously, like an animal backed into a corner. I hear heavy footsteps behind me.
“Paige, it’s me! It’s Indigo. You have to remember me.”
I’m grabbed from behind. Her eyes are full of apology, but she gives a little shake of her head.
“I—I don’t know who you are,” she mutters.
I’m dragged away, but I don’t fight back. The room has gone silent, the weight of dozens of eyes following me as I’m pulled away. I don’t know if I could stand if it weren’t for the people holding me up.
The next few hours pass by in a blur. I’m brought to some sort of examination room with only a steel table and a chair, and lit by a single bare bulb. One guard after another takes turns coming in to try to coax answers out of me (“What really happened in the mess hall? Why did Paige scream? Do you know that private conversations are strictly against the rules and can be viewed by the Chief as conspiracy to commit treason?”), but I don’t talk to any of them. My tears have dried on my cheeks. I’ve finally stopped crying. I don’t have the energy left.
It’s impossible to tell time here, but it feels like I’ve been gone from Los Angeles for ages. I keep waiting for the head-splitting pain to signal that I’m getting shot back home, but it never comes.
Finally, a female guard lets me out of the examination room. I think she must be taking me to the Chief for some sort of punishment for insubordination, but I’m surprised when she opens a door to a dormitory full of military-style steel-frame bunk beds. The kids from the mess hall are inside. They stop chatting and watch as I’m led down the aisle between rows of beds.
My stomach is coiled into a knot at the thought of seeing Paige again, and I sweep my eyes over the room looking for her. The guard stops at an empty bunk at the back of the room.
“Change into the nightgown,” she says dryly. “Bathroom is at the back.” She turns to leave.
“Wait!” I say. “What happened to Paige?”
She looks back over her shoulder at me, one eyebrow quirked high. “The screamer? You’re no longer allowed to associate with each other until one of you tells the truth.”
She gives me a pointed look before spinning on her heel.
I stare slack-jawed at her back as she retreats, her words spinning inside my head. Two male guards step aside from the double doors as she passes, then resume their post and watch over us.
I realize I’m smiling—Paige didn’t tell them what I said. Strong, rebellious, independent Paige is in there somewhere.
I can feel everyone staring at me, so I wipe the goofy grin from my face and sit down on the hard bed. There’s a thin green bedroll at the end; laid over it is a white nightgown and a ziplock bag containing a toothbrush, travel-sized toothpaste, and deodorant. I guess kidnapping is okay in their books, but not smelly victims.
Slowly, the silence gives way to chattering. The girls pass back and forth as they use the bathroom to get ready for bed and, I suspect, to get a better look at the crazy new girl. But I don’t pay them any attention. I split my time between thinking about how I can find out where they’ve taken Paige, and how I can get her to come with me once I’ve found her.
A girl walks down the aisle toward the bathroom, and an idea strikes me. I grab the nightgown and bag-o’-supplies and follow her.
The bathroom has a dozen or so stalls opposite a wall of sinks, plus a row of open showers at the back. The girl I followed is standing at the sink, squeezing toothpaste onto her brush, when I enter. She freezes when she spots me.
“Hi,” I say.
She must sense my intentions, because she runs, her bare feet slapping the gritty tile. I leap in front of her before she can pass me. She opens her mouth to scream but I clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shhh, I won’t hurt you,” I whisper. “I just want to know where they’re keeping Paige.”
She whimpers, shaking her head.