Independent Study Page 6

  Before I can decide whether those odds put me at a disadvantage, Ian lays down the clipboard, grabs something from the girl next to him, and says, “Your guides will now show you to your rooms and help you settle in. Kaleigh, Raffe, Malencia, you’re with me.”

  Ian heads through a door to his left. I grab my bags and hurry after him, dodging other students looking for their guides. For once, my height and small build are an advantage as I zigzag under and around and reach the doorway first. Ian is standing in the middle of a dimly lit room filled with shelf after shelf of books. He grins as I cross the threshold, but says nothing until the other two first years arrive. Moments later, Raffe strides through the doorway. He stands at least a foot taller than I and scowls when he is bumped into from behind by the third member of our group.

  “First things first,” Ian says with a grin. “I’m going to take you on a quick tour of the place before showing you to your personal quarters. This is one of three library rooms in the building. All the books stored in our libraries can also be found in the main campus library. The main library’s books are in better shape than these, but we’re willing to put up with faded ink, broken bindings, and water-damaged pages, especially when it’s raining outside. Just make sure you put the books back where you found them when you’re done, or your fellow students will get testy. Follow me.”

  He leads us through a door in the back of the room that empties out into a large space illuminated by the light trickling in from four square windows. Eight long wooden tables with long benches on either side fill the room. “This is the dining hall. The kitchen is through the doors back there. They turn the lights on during meals. If you come in after the lights have dimmed, it means mealtime is over and you’ll have to make your own dinner.”

  We head back through the library to the room with the fireplace. “This is the hangout room. Just about everyone uses it for studying or just kicking back. Almost all the upper years are currently at class. That’s the only reason no one is in here now. On the occasions our faculty adviser, Professor Holt, asks to speak to us all, this is the room we use. It can get kind of crowded during those meetings, so get here early if you want to catch a seat.”

  I can hear the sounds of feet tromping above us as the others settle into their rooms. Kaleigh complains that her bags are getting heavy, but Ian isn’t done playing tour guide. He shows us the other two libraries, as well as three labs that we can use if we don’t have time to finish an assignment on campus. Etched on all the doors is the symbol of the balanced scales.

  When I ask about the design, Ian explains, “The balanced scales represent all Government Studies students.” He holds out his wrist, and I see he is wearing a thick bracelet engraved with a design that features the same scales. Below the scales is a crescent shape. “The symbol was chosen to remind us that government is supposed to balance humanity and kindness with law and justice. The imbalance of these principles caused the Seven Stages of War. It is our job and the job of all United Commonwealth officials to restore that balance and see that it is never allowed to shift again.” In a teasing tone, he adds, “And, of course, it looks way cooler than the other symbols. So we have that going for us, right?”

  The other two first years laugh. I study the symbol again, wondering if anyone realizes that The Testing process has already upset that balance we are supposed to seek. With any luck, the rebellion will restore the balance and I will be a part of it.

  “Now, time to see where you’re going to be sleeping. If you get to sleep.” He winks and heads up a wide wooden staircase. The wood is scarred but polished to a shine. “The top two floors are personal quarters. Boys are assigned rooms on the second floor. Girls on the third. Raffe—your room is this way.”

  “You have two hours before lunch to unpack,” Ian explains as we stop in front of a door on the second floor marked with the symbol of a coiled spring. “After lunch, Dr. Holt will meet with each of you to talk about your class schedules and answer any questions you have.”

  Raffe enters the room, and Kaleigh and I follow Ian to the third floor. There is no one in the hallway as Ian heads to the right and stops in front of a door marked with a key. When Kaleigh opens the door, Ian leads me to the door at the end. A lightning bolt says the room now belongs to me.

  I switch on the light and step into a sitting room. A table with two chairs sits against one wall. A small sofa rests against another. Straight ahead is a doorway that leads to sleeping quarters, complete with a bed covered with a dark red quilt, a trunk for personal items, and a small wooden wardrobe for clothes. Under the one narrow window is a scarred wooden desk with several drawers. Off the bedroom is a small bathroom. The rooms are almost identical in style to the ones I left this morning.

  “Are the rooms big enough?” Ian asks from the doorway.

  “Are you kidding?” I laugh. “I used to share a bedroom not much larger than this with my four brothers.”

  He smiles. “I know what you mean. There are six of us in my family. My being selected for The Testing meant my youngest sister’s getting her own bed.”

  “You’re not from Tosu City?” I know the answer before he shakes his head. The Testing is only for candidates from the colonies. And in the corner of my heart I find myself wondering—what did Ian have to do to pass The Testing? “Is that why you decided to be my guide instead of taking whoever you were supposed to be assigned?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, but the gleam in his eyes says different. “Remember, you have just shy of two hours before you need to be downstairs. No matter what happens, don’t be late.”

  Before I can ask what could possibly happen, Ian closes the door behind him. By the time I open the door and look down the hall, he’s gone.

  Carefully, I unpack the vase with my father’s dried flowers. I place the flowers on the table in the sitting room to remind me of where I came from and what I am fighting for. Bit by bit, I empty my bags. Clothes in the wardrobe. Zeen’s Transit Communicator under the mattress. My few books, pencils, and stray odds and ends get neatly stored in desk drawers. While I unpack, I check the room for signs that someone is observing me. While there weren’t any at the Early Studies residence, I still remember the glint of the camera lens in the skimmer as we traveled to The Testing and am relieved when I don’t find cameras here.

  As I place the now-empty bags next to the desk, I hear a loud metallic click from the sitting room. I start toward the sound and hear another click from the bedroom behind me a moment before the lights go out.

  Chapter 5

  I BLINK, TRYING to clear the inky darkness from my eyes, but to no avail. Whatever light the narrow bedroom window provided is now gone. I can see nothing.

  My heart pounds. Michal said the upper-level students would challenge us to assess our skills and our personalities. An Induction he called it. Well, let the Induction begin.

  In the darkness, I can hear female voices calling for help. I stretch my hands out in front of me as I creep across the unfamiliar sitting room, looking for the exit. Pain sings up my leg as my shin connects with something hard. Probably the bottom of a chair. My hands rub the injured area, but at least now I know where I am.

  Cautiously, I inch my way across the room. The wall greets my fingers, and I slide them across the smooth surface until they find the door. My hand closes around the knob. Locked. I try to flip the deadbolt. It won’t budge. Disappointment is quickly replaced by chagrin. Surely I didn’t expect this test to be that easy.

  Leaning against the wall, I think through the goal of this challenge. Ian’s final instructions were that we must be downstairs in time for lunch. So, while I might be able to splice wires and use the Transit Communicator’s solar cells to illuminate the room, creating a light source isn’t the point. Escape is. To escape I need to open the door. To open the door I need . . . what?

  Once again, my fingers probe the area around the doorknob as I try to learn what I can about the lock. I’d been too focused
on the rooms themselves to notice how the door was constructed. If I make it past this test, I vow, I won’t make that same careless mistake again.

  The wood is scarred but smooth. My fingers run over the lock. I think it’s a single-cylinder deadbolt. A key opens the lock from the outside. The latch mechanism opens it from here—only the lock isn’t working. For a moment, I wonder if the deadbolt is the only lock holding this door in place or if something more is keeping it shut. Ian warned me not to be late for lunch. That warning implies the possibility of an on-time arrival. Since the lights went out about an hour before we need to be downstairs, I assume the locking mechanism must be simple in order for me to meet that expectation.

  The rumble of thunder makes me jump. Taking a deep breath, I search the other side of the door with my hands and smile into the darkness. The door is hung with old-fashioned pin hinges. The same kind my family uses back in Five Lakes. Five years ago, my brothers locked me into our bedroom. They said I had to tell them all how smart and handsome they were before they let me out. While they made jokes on the other side of the door, I popped the hinge pins and came strolling out with the threat that I’d tell Mom if they didn’t do my chores for seven days. If I have my way, today will be no less triumphant.

  Careful to avoid getting another bruise, I inch my way to the bedroom and picture the layout of the space. I walk to where I think the desk should be. There. I yank open the top right drawer and close my fingers over the pocketknife given to me by my father. The knife is complete with a blade, file, screwdriver, and other tools. Several of those should come in handy now.

  I make my way back to the door and flip open the pocketknife, feeling for the right tool. The file, with its flat pointed edge, worked when I was twelve, and it does the trick now. I work the tip of the tool under the pin and use the file as a lever to pry up the metal rod. One down. I climb on a chair to get a better angle on the top hinge, and it isn’t long before I am placing the pin in my pocket and hopping down. Wedging the file between the door and the frame, I wince as a splinter lodges into my thumb. But within minutes, I work the door free.

  The hallway lights are off, probably to ensure we couldn’t use the sliver of light they’d provide under the door to aid us in our task. However, the dim glow near the staircase, probably light from the first floor, makes it easy to navigate the path to the steps. Aside from my own, no doors are open. Banging and the sounds of muffled cries tell me my fellow female students are still working to pass this Induction.

  I stop at the second floor and glance up and down the hall. Two doors open. The rest are closed—although, judging by the sound of cracking wood, one more will be open soon. Not sure how much time remains before the deadline, I make my way to the brightly lit first floor. A fire still crackles in the hearth of the hangout room, but no one is there to enjoy the warmth. Rain pelts the windows, and for an instant, lightning brightens the world outside. A clock over the mantel tells me I have arrived with ten minutes to spare. I take a minute to run my fingers through my hair and smooth down my shirt before straightening my shoulders and walking to the dining room. When my feet hit the threshold, dozens of people applaud.

  Near the back, Ian is standing and gesturing me toward him. I weave around tables while looking for familiar faces. Will is not here. Neither is Rawson. But I spot two faces I recognize from the meeting where we were assigned our guides: the first-year student with no hair named Griffin, who watches me with a fierce intensity, and the slight, curly-haired boy named Enzo. His face is thin and narrow. His smile warm and angelic. Trustworthy. Since both he and Griffin finished this test before me, I plan on keeping a close eye on both of them. Just in case.

  Ian tells me to take a seat between him and a pretty girl with a sleek braid running down her back. When I’m seated, the room falls quiet and all eyes shift from me to the door as they await the next successful first year.

  All eyes but Ian’s. His are stilled fixed on me. Leaning close he whispers, “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I whisper back.

  “I bet Jenny you’d be the first female student to arrive.” Ian grins over my head at the girl seated beside me. “She’s got to do my laundry for the next two weeks.”

  “I suck at laundry,” Jenny says under her breath. “He’ll be lucky if his underwear comes back in one piece.”

  “As long as I don’t have to clean them, it doesn’t matter to me.” Ian looks at the clock. “Seven minutes left. I have to think at least one or two more first years will make it downstairs before the limit.”

  Jenny smiles. “You want to go double or nothing on that?”

  Before Ian can take her up on the offer, a red-faced blond boy appears in the entrance, and the room breaks out in applause. From the hulking girth of the boy and the way sweat pours down his face, I’m guessing he was the one using brute force, not guile, to get through his door. Just before time expires, two more first years make it through the door—one boy, one girl. They come in together, both looking winded and disheveled.

  A buzzer goes off as the clock strikes noon. The first challenge is over.

  “What happens to the first years who didn’t make it out of their rooms?” Ten are missing, including Will and Rawson. Too many to warrant an extreme punishment. I hope.

  “We starve them,” Ian says with a serious expression as the kitchen staff bring out platters of food. The smell of roasted meat fills the air, making my stomach yearn for sustenance even as it swirls with anxiety. The concern I feel must show in my face, because Ian laughs and says, “Don’t worry—it isn’t for very long. As soon as everyone down here is served, the locks on their doors will open.” Ian stabs at a chicken leg and passes the platter to me.

  “So, they just have to wait for us to start eating?” Not such a bad punishment, I think as I put a slice of meat in front of me.

  “They also have to clean the dishes after everyone is done.” This from Jenny, who takes the plate of chicken. “You should be glad you got here before time was out. When motivated, we can make quite a mess.”

  The other students sitting at the table laugh, but the amusement isn’t malicious. They remind me of my brothers, teasing me and my friends whenever they got the chance. Which always seemed to coincide with my mother being out of the room. Aside from the kitchen staff, I don’t see anyone who isn’t a student in the dining hall. While most things here in Tosu City are different from what I grew up with, it’s nice to know that some are the same.

  Ian nudges me and hands me a plate filled with some kind of cooked greens. “You’ll also be meeting with Dr. Holt in the order you arrived in the dining hall.” The tone Ian uses is light, but the way he holds my gaze tells me this is an important advantage. One I should not discount.

  Aside from Jenny and Ian, four other students are seated at our table—three male, one female. Despite my success with the first Induction test, none of them gives me more than a fleeting glance. I’m starting to ask Ian for an introduction when the rest of the first years arrive.

  Some look angry. Others appear nervous as they walk to the seats their guides have reserved for them. Will catches my eye and gives me a wide grin before taking his seat. Of all of the students, he looks the least flustered by the day’s developments. His hair is perfectly slicked back. His shirt is tucked in. Not a hint of strain shows around his bright green eyes. Perhaps it is his ability to mask his true feelings that prompted University administrators to direct Will into Government Studies.

  It’s a skill the two first years at my table could learn from. The puffy redness around Kaleigh’s eyes speaks volumes about the distress she experienced during the blackout. Raffe is better at keeping his emotions off his face, but his clenched fists tell their own story. A scan of the room tells me that all unsuccessful Tosu City first years are still working to regain their composure. Though the inequality between the different methods used to choose Tosu City and colony students for the University still grates, I’m forced to admit that those
of us from the colonies have an advantage over the others. Our Testing memories might have been erased, but we are still the same people who used our skills, intelligence, and wits to survive.

  Conversation gets louder. Older students lament cramming for examinations or difficult assignments. Others quip that they’re thankful they don’t have to do the dishes as they smear the last vestiges of their meals around on their plates. From the mess I see at my table, I’m thankful too. The first years at my table don’t talk. We eat. We watch. We listen.

  “Enzo Laznar.”

  Conversation ceases, and we all turn toward a young, purple-clad University official who stands in the doorway. Enzo rises. Here and there, I see Tosu City first years whispering to one another. Enzo is stopped by the massive-looking boy next to him, who says something I can’t make out. Whatever he says has Enzo nodding before he heads out the door with the official. A moment later, the dining hall once again buzzes with laughter.

  “Was Enzo the first to come downstairs?” I ask Ian. Because of his size and intimidating demeanor, I had assumed Griffin was the first.

  “Enzo arrived two minutes ahead of Griffin. You came in five minutes after that. You’ll be called to meet with Professor Holt after Griffin has talked to her.”

  Turning toward Raffe and Kaleigh, Ian adds, “The students who didn’t make the time deadline will be called at the end in alphabetical order. Professor Holt will ask all three of you a few questions. Then she’ll hand you your class schedule. No big deal.”

  I hope not, because fifteen minutes later, my name is called. I follow the purple-clad official to one of the small libraries. Two gray armchairs face each other. Professor Holt is seated in one. She gestures for me to sit opposite. When the man in purple leaves, she says, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Malencia. Although, I’ve heard people call you Cia. Which do you prefer?”