“Outsiders, no doubt,” said an older man, looking disgusted.
Sure enough, at that moment a large car pulled up, its rare, non-electric engine sounding weirdly loud. A young woman in a suit jumped out and opened the rear door, and Provost Allen got out. The woman handed him a megaphone.
“Neighbors!” The Provost’s voice made me wince. “Cellfolk! This tragedy is upsetting for all of us! And once again, it shows our increasing need and determination to rout these Outsiders!”
The crowd yelled their agreement; several people raised fists in the air.
“He’s saying that Outsiders did this?” I whispered to Nathaniel.
Nathaniel kept his public, “outraged” face on, but spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Yep. We didn’t, of course.”
“The same Outsiders who have been taking our children!” the Provost went on. “But fear not, citizens!” He lowered his voice and leaned forward as if about to tell a secret. “We have discovered who these Outsiders are!”
People around me roared their approval. Nathaniel punched his fist in the air and yelled, “Yes!”
I stared at him. What a hypocrite!
“Start yelling your agreement,” he said in a low voice only I could hear.
“No! I—”
“Cassie. Start yelling your agreement.”
Everything in me protested even looking like I agreed with the Provost and his thugs. Becca was still missing, for God’s sake! And my folks— “Do. It. Now.” His voice was quite definite, and his elbow pressed into my ribs.
He’d survived as the leader of the Outsiders for a long time, all while looking like the best son the Provost could hope for.
“Arrests are imminent!” the Provost cried.
With bile rising in my throat, I punched my fist in the air. “Yes!”
PART
TWO
42
BECCA
DEFIANCE AND A LACK OF regard for rules has always been part of my personal charm, but let me tell you, they were long gone. After my miscarriage, they sent me back to my prison room as soon as they were sure the bleeding had stopped. I shuffled between two guards, knowing that this was my absolute lowest, both physically and emotionally.
The guards pushed me through the sliding door of metal bars, and I went to a lower bunk and gingerly sat down. My roommates knew enough to wait until the guards had gone before they gathered around me in support.
“Oh, my God, Becca,” Merry said, hugging me. “I was sure you were dead!”
“Almost,” I agreed dully.
“What happened?” Vijay asked.
“The guard kicked me, and it made me miscarry.” No point in prettying it up. “But it wasn’t complete, so they aborted the rest of… it.”
“Oh, Becca.” Merry’s face, already blotchy from crying, crumpled again.
“You were pregnant?” Diego knelt in front of me in concern.
I let out a breath. “Yeah. I guess so. I didn’t want to admit it—even to myself. But I was.” I met my roommates’ eyes. “A teacher back home—he raped me. I wanted to tell the police, but right then my pa tried to kill himself. Things were crazy, and by the time Pa was stable, in the hospital, I couldn’t think about anything but him. Anyway. I got pregnant. Well, now I’m not.”
Gingerly I lowered myself onto the bunk and curled up, my back to them. It occurred to me that I was on Robin’s bunk, and I could stay here, sleep here, because Robin was gone. And so was my baby.
I started to cry, muffling it in Robin’s blanket.
“Becca Greenfield!” A guard was waiting for me out in the hall.
Diego, Vijay, and Merry looked shocked that I wouldn’t be given more time to recover, but I wasn’t. I knew not to expect special consideration. I knew not to expect anything anymore.
43
THE GUARD CUFFED MY WRISTS and took me to the classroom. I walked as slowly as I dared, my insides burning with each step. Glancing up at the windows, I longed to catch a glimpse of Hope, but not even my dragonfly was with me now.
The Strepp was already in the classroom, pacing as she always did, rapping a wooden ruler against one palm.
“Sit,” she said.
I did. Obedient Becca. Becca in pain.
Strepp wrote on the whiteboard: “Despite my discouragement, I shall rise again; I will take up my pencil which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing.” - Vincent van Gogh.
Did she want me to draw something now? An art test?
But she wasn’t done. Her next quote was: “Defeat should never be a source of discouragement but rather a fresh stimulus.” - Robert South.
“Do you know what these quotes mean, Becca?” she asked.
My brain was hardly working well enough to know my own name, but what the hey. I took a stab. “Don’t give up?”
“Yes!” Ms. Strepp pointed her marker at me. “Yes! Truly great people do not see their defeats as steps backward, but merely as steps along their journey.”
Whatever. Okay. I kept quiet, wishing I could get my hands on a bottle of ibuprofen. A whole bottle.
“Do you feel defeated, Becca?” she asked.
For the first time, I met her gaze. Maybe she wanted a rote answer, like, “Never!” or “Yes, I’m ready to do anything you say,” but I gave her question serious consideration. What did defeat mean? On the one hand, I felt pretty damn banged up and abused. I didn’t care if I woke up tomorrow. On the other hand, would I try to break out of here if it meant I could see Cassie again? Hell, yeah.
“Um, I guess not totally?” I hazarded.
Her face took on an expression that I couldn’t fathom. But she said nothing and instead handed me a sheaf of papers: today’s tests.
I did them all as fast as I could and turned them in in record time.
Ms. Strepp glanced at them. “Be careful, Becca,” she said, flipping pages. “Remember—there are executions all the time. You’re on a short list.”
“Yep. Got it,” I said.
She nodded, still looking at me thoughtfully. “You have to do your best.”
“Yes,” I said, praying I could go back to my room and sleep, but strongly suspecting I was about to do thirty push-ups over the nail board instead.
Ms. Strepp stood up briskly, tapped the papers into a briefcase, and seemed like her usual cold, hateful self. “Okay. Good job, Becca,” she said, and left the room without looking at me.
Mouth open, I just stared after her.
Then it hit me: This was another one of her crazy-house games. She was keeping me off-balance, unable to know what to expect.
It was working very well.
44
CASSIE
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” Nathaniel’s voice was low in my ear.