7
Ryker stands in the entryway with the representative from State on his left and a bag of his belongings slung over his shoulder. He, Beck and Maz give each other one arm hugs. To my surprise, Ryker doesn’t act upset. After the hugs, he and Maz punch each other’s arms and Maz jumps on his back. Beck hops on top and the three boys collapse into a laughing pile on the floor.
But moving to another house may as well be moving to a different society—we’ll only see Ryker in passing, if then. Sometimes, I don’t understand boys.
At least the State waited until after breakfast to transfer him and didn’t rip him away last night. I’ve heard of that happening.
I strain to hear what the Statesman says to Bethina, but Lina’s hysterical sobbing drowns him out.
“This is why you need to stop, Kyra,” I whisper. “Or that could be you.”
Girls crowd around Lina, patting her back and trying to console her. But Kyra and I stand away from them, on the stairs. She slips her hand around mine. “Lina’s not special, Lark. The State doesn’t care about her. She’s going to just be some low-level Stateswoman.”
“And we are?” I say, knowing the answer: I am. I’m special. Everyone knows it. But Kyra? She’s the daughter of upper-mid level Statespeople. Her brother is dead. And she’s not particularly wealthy.
“Trust me.” She squeezes my hand. “They wouldn’t dare touch us.”
I follow a noisy pack of students away from the school’s main building and out across the sweeping empty space of the Presidio campus. Guards, armed with stun guns, now patrol the perimeter. Several even roam the halls of the main building, mingling with students. A precaution until the school finds out why the barricade failed.
Their presence—a constant reminder of what happened—makes me nervous.
In the distance, endless rows of greenhouses cover the hills like a small village. This area bustles with activity in the summer. But now, in the winter, only students forced outside rush about.
My classmates’ retreating figures aren’t much larger than ants from my position. I spot Kyra leading a group of girls, and hold my thumb and index finger in front of my eye and pretend to squash her. A laugh tumbles out of me. Not that I want to actually hurt Kyra—it’s just a little thing Beck and I found amusing as children.
“Heya.”
I jump at Beck’s voice.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask. Student brush past us, too intent on fleeing the cold to pay us any attention.
“Mr. Trevern needed to see me about something. He pulled me out of Calc.” Beck jerks his head toward the main building. “I’m heading back inside. You going to the greenhouse?”
A gust of wind blows up and over the hillside, sending snow whirling around us. Beck’s red scarf flutters against his shoulder.
“Of course.”
He takes my hand in his. “Would you consider skipping and holing up with me in an empty classroom for the rest of the day? To study,” he adds quickly. “For the make-up assessment.”
I stretch and push on his nose with my fingertip. His blond waves peek out from beneath his knitted hat and his cheeks look like some old caregiver has pinched them.
“No. We need to set an example and that includes going to class.” He scowls. “Besides, after the security breach yesterday, I think everyone would notice if you or I went missing. But I’ll see you at lunch.”
Quickly, before I can register what’s happening, Beck pulls me to him and brushes his lips softly against mine.
I tense up. After what happened with Ryker and Kyra, we can’t do this.
“Beck—”
He places his finger over my lips. “I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
And then he’s gone, running through the snow, away from me.
Snow beats at me as I stand dazed. Granted, it wasn’t a passionate kiss, but he’s never kissed my lips before. Heat tingles inside of me and I hold my gloved hand against my thick jacket, just over my racing heart.
As soon as I gather my senses, I look around to see if anyone saw. In the distance, two guards patrol near the barricade, but they’re too far away.
A slow smile spread across my face. I should be upset—Beck broke a rule and risked getting us both in trouble.
But I’m not. He did what I’ve wanted to do for so long.
I skip across the last few yards of the vast lawn. The lashing snow is not at all like the soft, dancing flakes yesterday.
A chill runs through me. Even though up until two minutes ago today had been the most uneventful day of my life, I’m still not convinced the school is one-hundred percent safe. Best to not be outside by myself.
I reach the edge of the greenhouses and quickly step down the icy path to number thirty-four. Around me, the howling wind sounds like a song of lament.
I shiver and heft open the door to the greenhouse. Kyra leans against the wall, the brunette curls of her ponytail weighed down by humidity. She snaps her fingers impatiently as I remove my outerwear and hang it on a hook.
“Heya, Kyra.” Excitement bubbles in my voice.
“What have you done with Lark?” Kyra places her hands on her hips playfully. “You can’t possibly be her because you almost sound happy.”
I grin. “I just saw Beck.” A dramatic pause. “And he kissed me,” I whisper.
Her mouth drops open. “He didn’t! Lark, you have to tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”
It’s odd, the way she says it. Like she’s interested but also concerned. Like Beck kissing me isn’t a good thing when all she’s been doing is egging me on for the past two days.
“It was nothing.” I blush, recalling the warmth of his mouth. “He just brushed his lips against mine.”
A huge exhale tumbles out of her. “That’s it?”
I nod.
She touches my arm and little pricks run down it. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I stare at her. “I thought it didn’t matter what Beck and I did?”
She draws her eyebrows together. “After this morning, I’m not so sure any more.”
“That’s funny, you seemed fairly confident we’d never get in trouble. We’re special, remember?”
She chews on her lip. “Maybe I was wrong.”
Apparently Ryker being removed from the house has resonated with Kyra. Finally. Something.
Without waiting for a response, she walks to her seat.
I cross the long hall to my station and toss my bag under the worktable. I grab my apron, tie it on and start collecting supplies from the storage closet. Humidity clings to me. Even though I hate the heat of summer, I love being in the greenhouse. Probably because when I’ve had enough, I can leave.
I’ve spent some of my favorite days here, working side by side with my teacher, Mr. Trevern. Advanced food production—developing new strains of commonly grown foods to meet vegetarian diet requirements—is my dream job. There’s something relaxing about digging in freshly prepared soil and watching small, green shoots break the surface. Mr. Trevern promised to put in a good word for me, after the binding, with the Ag branch of State.
I reach for a fennel and dill seed hybrid and pour the tiny specks onto my collection tray. With tweezers, I place a seed under the magnifying lens and dissect.
Another teacher enters the room, speaks quietly to Mr. Trevern, and leaves. That’s strange. Normally, teachers communicate by wristlet, so as not to disrupt the class.
Over my lens, I can see Mr. Trevern move to the front of the class. I turn my attention back to my work.
A tiny bell calls us to attention. Engrossed in my work, I glance up, more out of respect than anything.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Trevern says as he looks us over and waits for the group to quiet down.
I blink my eyes and rub them hard. Mr. Trevern’s face is out of focus—blurry, except at the edges. Around him, everything is in crisp, sharp focus. The contrast is unnerving. Must be eyestrain from staring too long into the microscope. I press my palms into my eyes and blink again. He looks normal now.
“Attention.” He pauses again and looks toward me, his face trying to mask something. “There’s been an unfortunate incident involving some of our students.”
Whispers. I try to hear what they say, but Mr. Trevern starts again, his voice shaky.
“I have been instructed to ask you to return to your homes immediately. Further information will be distributed as needed.”
The whispers break into a roar. A blur of noise. An incident? Something so bad we’re being sent home? It can’t be another security breach. If it were, we’d be on our way to the safe rooms, right? It has to be something else, something worse—if that’s possible.
I strain to pull information from the conversations of others, but no one knows anything. The lights flicker, adding to the overall sense of confusion.
Not wanting to add to the panic, I organize my supplies on a tray and carry it back to the pantry. I begin placing each bottle in its proper spot. I will not let myself become hysterical. I will remain calm. I need to set a good example.
“Lark?” Mr. Trevern is next to me.
“Yes?” I continue handling the tiny bottles.
“Let me finish that for you.” He takes the tray from my hands. “I think you should get back to your house as quickly as possible.” His uneven voice shakes.
Throughout the steamy room, the confusion turns to chaos. “Mr. Trevern? What happened?”
“I think you should go home, Lark,” he repeats. He focuses his attention on putting away the bottles. “Bethina will have more information for you. Go.”
A dread fills my body and slams into Mr. Trevern’s words: an unfortunate incident.
Beck. Where is he? My wristlet runs through his schedule until it locates him. Calculus. He’s over in the main building—far from here.
My stomach churns. That’s not right—he had Calculus last period. I’m sure of it. Is his wristlet malfunctioning? He should be in English. I’m positive he comes from there when we meet for lunch, which is next.
Mr. Trevern rings his bell again and shouts over the din. “Please pair up with your housemates who are in this class, and walk as a group. There is nothing to worry about, but we ask that you go directly home. Do not wait for the rest of your housemates.”
I stare at my favorite teacher hard, challenging him to look me in the eye. But he doesn’t. Mr. Trevern sees me and turns away.
He’s not telling me something.
My stomach lurches. I can’t draw a breath and my vision spins. Before me, the room shakes and turns vibrant shades of red.
Somebody screams. A shrill, heart-wrenching scream, over and over again. I slam my hands over my ears trying to block the noise but it won’t go away. Instead, it grows louder. Surprised, I lower my hands.
It’s coming from me. From inside me.
But no one else seems to hear it. The other students pass me, talking amongst themselves, lost in their own little words of worry or excitement.
The noise disappears and my mind clears. But my heart feels like something is missing. Like a piece has been stolen.
I race to the coat room, frantic to get home. The other students mill about, exchanging speculations. They prevent me from moving quickly. I shove and elbow my way to my belongings, not caring if I hurt someone.
As I tug on my coat, Kyra grabs my arm. She’s smiling.
“Kyra, what’s happening? What do you know?”
She moves her head from side to side, her finger on her lips. “Shhh! Not here,” she whispers. “It’s starting.”
She stops short, her eyes wide. Mr. Trevern stands beside me.
“Kyra, will you please join me? The Headmaster would like to see you.”
Kyra? For a brief second, I imagine this is all about Kyra and Maz being inappropriate with each other. But that’s ridiculous. No one sent students home when Ryker and Lina were caught. But then I notice Mr. Trevern’s eyes. They are full of pity as he tries to avoid my questioning gaze.
His face confirms my suspicions and the emptiness in my heart grows. Something happened to Beck.
As if paralyzed, I stand and stare. At my friend. At my teacher.
“Lark, you may return home with your group.” I can hear Mr. Trevern’s gentle voice, but his face blurs again. Is this a side-effect of yesterday’s headache? As I rub my eyes and try to bring his features into focus, a cool breeze blows through the room and I shiver.
Mr. Trevern places one hand across Kyra’s back and takes her wristlet with the other. Whatever she did, she’s in trouble.
I press the locator button for Beck again. This time, it shows him in the Headmaster’s office. My stomach drops.
What did they do? What the hell did they do?
Mr. Trevern guides Kyra through the door. She looks completely unfazed. A sharp gust of wind howls through the opening and I pull my coat tighter. The blast of cold air brings Mr. Trevern back into focus.
Before the door swings shut, I catch one last glimpse of Kyra. She reaches up and rips the hair elastic from her ponytail, letting her curls beat against her face. Maybe it’s the confusion of the room, but I swear she almost looks excited.
My legs shake and I force the suffocating air in and out of my constricting lungs. I need to be outside. I need fresh air.
I shove my way out the door, my mind racing to catch up to my actions. It wouldn’t be the first time Beck or Kyra got into a bit of trouble, but they’ve been at each other non-stop. Arguing. Snide comments. They wouldn’t do anything together. Maybe they had a fight? But when? And where was I?
I pause, waiting for the rest of my housemates to catch up. In the silence of the outdoors, Kyra’s strange parting smile bothers me. She also knows something. Something she’s happy about. I’m sure of it. What did she say—“It’s starting?” What’s starting?
Someone calling my name interrupts my thoughts. My housemates gather around me as we walk toward the path.
Our progress is slow as we plod near the barricade and the armed guards. The snow is about a foot deep now, much deeper than the dusting we had earlier. The wind whips around me and lashes at my small group. My housemates’ conversations range from excitement at being sent home early to confusion. I don’t say anything, just silently battle my way down the path.
As we trudge along, I can’t remember the walk home ever taking so long. Each passing minute is excruciating. I want to run, to find Bethina, to find out what’s happened, but the snow and wind keep pushing me back. They don’t want me to go home.
Finally, our house comes into view. The last on a block with just three others. I slip and slide over the icy sidewalk. The wind knocks snow from the trees down onto us. With no concern of falling, I sprint up the walkway to our blue two-story home.
I heave open the wood door, the cold clinging to me, and stomp inside. Other than the muffled noises of the others with me, the house holds no sound. The familiar scent of cinnamon wafts around us, but Bethina’s not at her normal post, waiting to greet us with a boisterous, “Welcome home!”
“B?” I call. A deafening silence answers. My heart races and fear courses through my veins. The sick feeling intensifies and I grab at my stomach. Please, please Bethina, please be here. Hunched forward, I run ahead of my housemates, toward the kitchen.
The fully lit kitchen is abandoned. A pot of water boils on the burner. A cookie sheet of biscuits has been flung haphazardly on the counter.
Terrified, I march through the throng of students in front of me. Their scared whispers fill the air. Once past them, I sprint from room to room searching. “Bethina!” I yell. “Bethina! Where are you?”
Room after room, empty. I begin to believe the unbelievable—that Bethina is gone—when I see her sitting in the oversized striped chair in the living room, not moving. So still she looks almost asleep, except her eyes are open. Open but not really seeing. She’s just staring.
“B?” I ask softly, but she doesn’t answer. I grab her shoulders and shake her.
“Bethina! Are you okay?”
All the others have joined us. The confused group looks to me, as if I should know what’s going on.
The melting snow from our shoes and hats puddles onto the wood floor. I force myself to calm down and take a deep breath. I step back from Bethina into the semi-circle my housemates have formed in front of the chair and survey the scene. Not knowing what to do, I raise my hand and slap Bethina sharply across the face.
Someone gasps.
“Bethina!” I scream, becoming more frightened. “Wake up! Do you know what’s happened?”
The outline of my hand on her cheek turns into an ugly red print.
She moves her head from side to side as if making a mental checklist. I’ve seen her do this many times on our outings—making sure she’s left no one behind, counting and identifying each of us.
“Kyra?” she whispers.
I kneel in front of her and take her hand. “Mr. Trevern took her to see the Headmaster.”
Bethina groans and balls her hand under mine. “But no one else?”
“Not from our group.” I swivel around to scan the group of boys who just entered. My eyes dart over each face, searching.
“Where’s Beck?” I ask.
Bethina makes a weird choking sound. Her tear-stained face contorts. A small movement of her head to the side. The world spins. I know before she says it.
“Beck’s not coming back.”
I hear nothing else because the world goes black.