Headmistress Burns hobbled over and took the medal from Teacher Florence’s hand. “Now, now, let us begin!” she cried, as the forty twelfth years lined up to watch. Ruby, our other best friend, stood on her tiptoes to see. “You’ve all worked very hard during your time at School, and perhaps no one has worked as hard as Eve.” She turned to me as she said this. The skin on her face was wrinkled and loose, forming slight jowls. “Eve has proven to be one of the best, brightest students we’ve taught here. By the power given to me by the King of The New America, I present her with the Medal of Achievement.” As Headmistress pressed the cold medallion into my hands, all the girls clapped. Pip added a shrieking finger-whistle for good measure.
“Thank you,” I said softly. I glanced across the long, moatlike lake, which stretched from one side of the wall to the other. My gaze settled on the giant windowless building beyond it. The following day, after I gave my valedictory speech in front of the entire school, the guards across the lake would extend a bridge and the graduating class would follow behind me, single file, to the other side. There, in that massive structure, we would begin learning our trades. I’d spent so many years studying, perfecting my Latin, my writing, my painting. I’d spent hours at the piano, learning Mozart and Beethoven, always with that building off in the distance—the ultimate goal.
Sophia, the valedictorian of three years ago, had stood at that same podium, reading her speech about our great responsibility as the future leaders of The New America. She spoke about becoming a doctor, and how she would work to prevent future plagues. By now she was probably saving lives in the King’s capital, the City of Sand. They said he’d restored a city in the desert. I couldn’t wait to get there. I wanted to be an artist, to paint portraits like Frida Kahlo or surreal dreamscapes like Magritte, frescoed across the City’s great walls.
Teacher Florence rested her hand on my back. “You embody The New America, Eve—intelligence, hard work, and beauty. We’re so proud of you.”
The band started a much livelier song and Ruby belted out the lyrics. The girls on the lawn laughed and danced, swinging each other around and around and around until they were dizzy.
“Go on, eat some more.” Headmistress Burns nudged Violet, a shorter girl with black, almond-shaped eyes, toward the food table.
“What’s her problem?” Pip asked, sidling up beside me. She took the medal in her hands to get a closer look.
“You know Headmistress,” I started, about to remind Pip that our head of school was seventy-five, arthritic, and had lost her entire family when the plague finally ended twelve years ago. But Pip shook her head.
“Not her—her.”
Arden was the only twelfth year not celebrating. She leaned against the wall of the dormitory, arms crossed. Even in the unflattering gray jumper with the crest of The New American Monarchy sewn over her chest, even scowling, she was still beautiful. While most of the girls in School kept their hair long, she’d chopped her black mane into a short bob, making her fair skin look even fairer. Her hazel eyes were flecked with gold. “She’s up to something, I know it,” I told Pip, not taking my eyes off her. “She always is.”
Pip ran her fingers over the smooth medallion. “Someone saw her swimming across the lake. . . .” she whispered.
“Swimming? I doubt that.” No one in the compound could swim. We’d never been taught.
Pip shrugged. “Who knows with her.” While most of the twelfth years had come to School at five years old, after the plague ended, Arden had arrived at School at eight, so there had always been something different about her. Her parents had given her over to the School until they could establish themselves in the City of Sand. She loved to remind students of the fact that, unlike the rest of us, she wasn’t an orphan. When she finished learning her trade, she would retire in her parents’ new apartment. She wouldn’t have to work a day in her life.
Pip had decided this explained some deeper truth about Arden: because she had parents, she was not afraid to be thrown out of School. Often her rebelliousness took the form of harmless pranks—rotten figs in your oatmeal or a dead mouse on the sink, complete with a white toothpaste beehive. But other times she was mean, cruel even. Arden had cut off Ruby’s long black ponytail once, just for laughing at the C she’d gotten on a Dangers of Boys and Men exam.
In the past few months, Arden had been strangely quiet, though. She was the last to meals and the first to leave, and she was always alone. I had the growing suspicion that for graduation tomorrow, she was planning her greatest prank of all.
In an instant, Arden turned and started toward the dining building, kicking up dirt as she ran. My eyes narrowed as I watched her go. I didn’t need any surprises at the ceremony; I had enough to worry about with my speech. It had even been said that the King himself would be attending for the first time in the school’s history. I knew it was a rumor, started by the ever-dramatic Maxine, but still. It was an important day—the most important of our lives.
“Headmistress Burns?” I asked. “May I please be excused? I left my vitamins in the dormitory.” I felt around the pockets of my uniform dress, feigning frustration.