Here is the first chapter! I'd love to get some feedback! Should I stick with her point of view or should I move it to other characters as well? Thanks!!

I wait for the sun to drop behind the trees before I escape. I slip on my thickest coat and check that my white scarf is still in the pocket. I toss an old burlap sack over my shoulder and put my long hair back in a tight ponytail. I slip a few pillows under my rumpled bed sheets. I leave my door open just the right amount.

The long, dark hallway of the orphanage is silent, except for a few chatty children who refuse to sleep without putting up a good fight. Typical, I suppose, for kids being raised in the midst of a rebellion.

Soft light streams from between the growing space between Will’s door and the old wooden floorboards. I’ll never understand how he can sleep so soundly with the glow of his lamp streaming into his eyes. I kiss the tips of my fingers and press them against his door. He won’t even know I’m gone.

I’m sure to skip the rickety third step and make my way to the side door of the house. In the courtyard, I inhale in the crisp scent of the cool night around me. Fall is on its way. The crickets make their usual music. The crescent moon and fireflies are my only light through the yard.

I hold my bag tightly against my body and crouch behind the old evergreen by the metal fence and wait to hear the sound of the soldier’s steps. The tap against the old brick walkway follows the same pattern as always.

Six clicks of the heel toward the fence. Pause. One click to change directions. Pause. Six clicks to get back to his original spot.

Nine clicks to the officers’ shed.

I tap my hand gently against my knee and wait for my cue. It couldn’t be long now. Tonight, the dark-haired solider is on duty. He usually lasts longer than the others but not much. Few of our soldier’s make it more than a couple hours without a break from the cold.

My knees burn from crouching against the wet, muddy ground and my stomach complains as well---a reminder than I gave my night rations to Will. But soon I’d have plenty to bring home for everyone. Tonight, the trees would be ready to pick and the corn ready to pull. My head repeats the pattern over and over again and I wait for my chance.

1-2-3-4-5-6—1—1-2-3-4-5-6

Finally, I hear it. The seventh step. I slide my feet slowly past one another and inch to the edge of the branches. The wet sludge covers the shell of dried mud on my shoes from night’s past. By now, they were more mud than shoes. At least the dirt is fresh.

On his ninth step I wrap my fingers around the cold iron that blocks us from the outside world. My toe digs into the ground, recreating the small ditch underneath the bar. I take a deep breath, it’s almost that time. Then finally I hear the click of the shed door, my starting gun. I pull back on the rod and swing myself underneath the fence. My bag catches on the sharp post of the fence and I nearly rip the fabric breaking it free.

I head north, toward the protection of the dark, thick, woods. I walk briskly in the small space between the old fence and the row of evergreens outside the orphanage. My heart pounds against my chest with every step and I calm myself with the same reminders. It’s just another minute until I reach the trees. From there, it’s a straight shot to the largest village in Peyor.

I pass between the first two trees of the woods and I double over with my hands on my knees. I inhale deeply, and slowly exhale trying to get my body back on a decent rhythm.

I pull my white scarf from my pocket and force my shaky hands to tie it in a small bow around my neck.  I take the safety pin connecting the inner lining of my coat to the outer and place it in my shoe for safe-keeping.

By the time I reach the village not a single light shines from the small houses. In the night, it looks so peaceful here. In the darkness you can’t see the leaky roofs, patched windows and empty ice boxes. You can’t see the children that are missing or the parents who let them go. Even the nightly illusion only lasts until my eyes reach the village guard station. Their station rises high above the rows of homes emitting a scanning bright light and orders for curfew. Behind the station, green crops spread across the land. If only the people here got to enjoy all they created.

The guard light forms an arc as it travels back and forth across the waving plants. I suck in my stomach and weave through the rising layers of corn. The dew on the leaves wet my face on my way to the perfect crop. I rip off an ear of corn and ignore my mouth watering from the smell. I lay it flat between the linings of my jacket. I add all I can find until the right side of my coat is full then start filling the left-side with the apples.

The light nears and I drop against the side of the tree. My only movement is the rise and fall of my chest as I struggle to breathe. The air out my mouth turns into a cloud of white with every breath—a smoke signal to the guards---and I sink my mouth below the neckline of my shirt. I close my eyes and see the darkness transform to a bright white against my lids. I lean further into the grasp of the tree’s protective branches and wait for it to pass. When it fades I return to my feet and grab any food in sight. Tonight would have to be an abridged trip.

I take the pin from my shoe and close the lining of my jacket. I can’t risk leaving a trail---or food---behind. The branches of the tree scratch against my face and arms on my way back home.

From the edge of the woods I can see the guard crossing the entryway to the orphanage. Now it’s the tall blond one with the large shoulders on duty. I wait for him to turn before I make my move. I run through the open space until I reach my small cocoon between the evergreens and metal fence.

My arm rustles the branches of the evergreens and the tapping the boots stops. I hold very still and I lean toward the solid fence. He looks around the area with his flashlight. When he spots a small rabbit running through the grass he continues his pacing.

 I make my way through the narrow path and, on his seventh step slide back under the fence.

I stop in the kitchen first and restock the rotting bins of produce we were so generously rationed. I take the last apple from the lining of my jacket and wipe it with the edge of my shirt. That one is coming upstairs with me.

I gently push against Will’s bedroom door and hope its creaking doesn’t wake the entire floor. I lift the corner of the pillow and slip the apple inside the pillowcase for later.

He would need it.

Will fidgets and I jump back, hoping he’s still fast asleep. He lifts his arm above his head and rolls to his opposite side. His steady breathing returns and the snoring sound he so fervently denies making comes with it. He’s out.

Back in my room I pull the small chain hanging from the ceiling and the solo bulb flickers above my cot. I drop my jacket over the headboard, and peel off my gloves. I force my gloves into my jacket pocket for next time and sit down on the bed to take off my muddy shoes.

I hear a slight knock at the door and look up in response.

“You did it again. Didn’t you?” Marco says.

I slide off my boot and turn it over, letting the sludge slowly drip into the old garbage tin.

“Someone has to.”

He closes the door behind me and lowers his voice, “Not you!”

I clap my boots together and create a snowfall of dirt on my cracked, wooden floor, “Are you volunteering then?”

Marco has just four months on me and he still uses them to his advantage. Apparently, those few weeks of wisdom taught him how to do just about everything better than me. Just ask him.

I should have told him off when I had the chance. Back then, he was the scrawny kid of the orphan house; he never wanted to play with us girls or ball with the boys. He was always coming down with something. I remember one time there was a rumor going around that his real parents stopped growing when they were ten and were only two feet tall. Nobody mentioned the fact that most ten-year-olds have well surpassed the two feet mark.  Anyway, thanks to an early growth spurt, there were a few years in there when I was bigger than him. Too bad I didn’t use them.

You’d never guess that tiny boy would grow into Marco. Now, when he tries to sleep his feet dangle over the edge of his cot. His arms bulge out his sleeves from years of chopping wood for the fireplace. His hair finally darkened enough so that it no longer matches his pale skin. And now, instead of constantly needing one of our caretakers, he is one of the caretakers.

He sits down beside me on my cot and it creaks in protest. My thin mattress caves in and we’re pushed even closer together. His voice turns to a whisper, “You promised me you’d stop.”

I give a little shrug and his eyes fire back at me, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I lower my shoulders and try to string together a decent answers, “It means--I didn’t think you’d still be up to find out.”

He slaps his hand against the bed and I nearly jump back, “That’s not funny!” Marco leans in closer and I can hear the tremble in his voice, “You know what could happen if they caught you.”

“I was careful,” I protest and drain the other shoe.

He pulls away my boot and cups my chin in his hand, forcing my eyes into his, “Last week they arrested six men in the village for stealing fruit---just fruit. They’re not even holding a trial. They’re just sending them West. Do you know what it’s like there?!”

My stomach squirms as it always does when someone here mentions Area Three. I force my breaths to stay steady and shake my head, “Of course not.”

“Nobody comes back from there, Carys. We can live without extra food. We can’t live without you.”

He pushes a loose strand of my dark hair behind my ear, “I know you mean well. But none of us should be out there.”

“Mrs. Tobbles did it for us.”

“Things were different then! When she was in charge---“

“She still is in charge.” I say.

“There were no guard stations or distance scanners twenty years ago.”

The guard stations are growing faster than the trees here in Peyor. I heard officials in Novo are giving extra rations to the men in Peyor who work as guards. They even get dark suits to wear that nobody has ever worn before them. I also heard they get bonuses for every person they catch in an illegal act.

 I still find it a little that they choose to call them ‘guards.’ It makes sense, of course, that in Novo they would have guards. Over there they have jewels, paintings, things worth protecting. But over here, what’s to guard? 

“It just keeps getting worse.” I say so quietly it’s little more than a thought.

His eyes grow wider, “That’s why we need be careful.”

            “No,” I say, quickly moving my head side to side, “That’s why we need to do something.”

            “She was asking for you tonight.” He says.

            My stomach tightens, “Tobbie?”

            He looks down at his hands and gives a slight nod.

            “How is she doing?”

            He shrugs, “Same as yesterday. Except she barely ate today.”

            I turn and start arranging my pillows so he can’t see the redness in my eyes, “Did the doctor finally decide to show up?”

            “He did.”

            I swallow hard and turn back to face him, “And?”

His voice is little more than a mumble, “There was a medicine he used to use a lot in Novo. He thinks it might help the infection.”

My mouth hangs open, “She has a chance?”

            “With the medicine.”

            I sit up straight, “So we’ll get it for her.”

            Marco rolls his eyes at me, “Come on, Carys.”

“What?” I say.

He leans in close and even though he’s whispering, his tone is harsh, “You know we can’t do that.”

I hold up one of my apples and shake it in front of his face, “Just like I couldn’t get this.”

            He avoids looking at my red apple and instead, examines the floor, “How would we do it?”

            “I don’t know. We’ll bribe a guard. We’ll ask around. Somebody must know somebody!”

“I don’t want you going out again!” he repeats as if his opinion matters.

            “Then you’ll do it.” I say.

            “Carys…”

            I take his hand in mine, a desperate attempt, “Please, for me. If it’s that common in Novo maybe somebody has it here.”

            Marco pulls his hand from mine and just shakes his head, “We could get caught.”

            “And Tobbie could die! Don’t you get that?”

            “Of course I do!” He snaps.

            I move in close to him once again and keep my voice soft, “She would have done it for us. Please, we’re a family. We have to help each other.”

            His eyes move around the room until finally travel back to me. He takes a deep breath, “Alright.”

I let out a sigh of relief and he continues, “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

            “Thank you.” I say.

            “Don’t thank me yet.”

           

 

“Who can tell me one of the five rights Novo granted the Peyorians?” I say.

I look back at seven blank stares sitting around our fold-up table. One of the boys fiddles with a crumb on the table leftover from last night’s dinner and one of the girls doodles. The girls sit on one side of the table while Will and the other boys claim their territory on the left side. They’re so funny about mixing at this age.  I always wonder if there is a matching set of kids on the other side. Somewhere in a freshly-painted classroom in Novo, are there four well-dressed boys sitting as far as they can from the girls in school? Do the leaders over there realize how similar our kids are to theirs?

“Come on, guys. We went through this last week.” I say.

I wouldn’t exactly call what we do here ‘classes’ but I like to think we teach the kids something. Most of our kids can read and write and do basic math by the time they leave us. We do the best we can with the few books Novo sends us. It doesn’t help that we’re teaching from the same books that were outdated when I was a student here. Which, I must say, wasn’t that long ago but it was that recent either.

            Mrs. Tobbles always told us not to worry. She said true knowledge comes from life, not from books. For their sake, I hope she’s right.

Will slowly raises his hand, “Yes, Will.”

He stands and and shifts his weight back and forth between each of his feet, “We have the right to be protected by our superiors.”

“Good!” I say, “And what did the Novians mean by that?”

Another little boy raises his hand, “That they can put guards where ever they want and they can tell us what to do whenever they want.”

My stomach turns at his answers but I continue to follow orders. Marco says I can’t risk a kid repeating how I really feel. At best, he’ll tell a friend, at worst he’ll tell a guard.

“Excellent!” I say, “And why is that?”

A little girl speaks before her hand is in the air, “Because they’re doing it to help us.”

Of course. Setting laws limiting the amount of crops we can keep for ourselves, limiting supplies to their side, they’re doing all that to protect us.

“Right,” I say and flash a smile at my students, “And would we want to fight back against people who are trying to help us?”

Seven heads shake back and forth in unison and my legs go weak. I’m worse than Marco.

“What other rights were they kind enough to give us?”

Will speaks first, “The right to support those who know better than us.”

“Excellent!” I say.

Before I can continue a small woman peaks her head through the door, “Carys?” she says.

“Yes?”

She lets herself in and walks toward our fold-up table, “I have a letter for you. From the headmaster.”

“Oh,” I say, “Did he say what about?”

“No,” she says flatly.

She sets a tiny white envelope on the table and turns away. She doesn’t even respond to my “Thank You.” The woman simply shuts the door behind her and continues on her way.

I put the envelope in my drawer and dismiss the group for a small break.

“Will?” I say as the rest of the kids shuffle through the doorway. He tells his friends to go on without him and comes to my side.

“Yeah?” he says.

I take his hand in mine and lower my voice, “What are the five rights Novo granted the Peyorians?”

He rolls his eyes, “Again?”

“Again.” I say, “What are the five rights Novo granted the Peyorians?”

This time his small eyes look straight into mine, “Peyorians don’t have rights.”

I give his hand a slight squeeze of approval, “Good.”

I reach into my drawer for my letter from the headmaster. He’s not one to make his presence known. 

In all the years I’ve been here I’ve met the headmaster just twice. Once in the breakfast line and once when I accidentally walked into the bathroom. He’s in charge of at least five different orphanages. I doubt he even knows exactly how many he’s the Headmaster for.

Around this house, he was always more of an idea than an actual person. He was the name the caregivers used to force kids to pick up the play area and do their schoolwork.

“Do you want me to send you down to Headmaster Harris?” They’d say, and it worked; At least, for the little kids. By about age twelve, kids begin to doubt his existence entirely.

I open the note and my eyes catch the familiar name first.

“What is it?” Will says leaning across me to get a glimpse of it.

I fold the paper before he gets the chance to see it. My throat goes dry and a hard lump grows. I clear my throat and attempt to use my usual voice, “Go to break with your friends. I’ll be right there.”

 

 

“What does the headmaster want with Will?” I pull Marco into the small pantry off the kitchen and turn on the light bulb.

“What do you mean?” he says.

I force the piece of paper toward his face, “I got a letter today. He wants to see Will tomorrow morning. You work in the main office. You expect me to believe you don’t know anything about this?”

He shrugs, “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

I glare back at him and he shrugs again, “I don’t!”

“Could you find out?”

He nibbles on his top lip and slides his hands into his pockets, “You’re too close to this kid.”

“He’s my—”

“He’s not yours! He was sick. You took care of him. That’s makes you his caretaker. Nothing more.”

“He has no one.” I say.

“I know. Just like you had no one. I get it. You care about him. But at what cost?”

“You don’t get it.” I say.

“You’re right. I don’t!” he yells.

“Keep your voice down!” I say in a sharp whisper.

He leans in closer and speaks with just his breath, “We’re lucky to have the positions we have. Why are you always trying risk it?”

“Please, I am asking you as a friend. Could you just try to find out?”

“Carys—”

“Just so I can prepare him.”

“Or hide him?”

“I would do it for you.”

He backs away and shakes his head side to side, “I’m sorry. I can’t. You have to get your distance. Believe me. I know. You feel like you have something special with him. But then they grow up. They all grow up and they all move on. We’re not a family here!”

I shove the letter back in my pocket, “Clearly.”

 

I spent most my nights at the house with Tobbie. She’d always say, “What do you want to spend time with an old lady for? Go play with the other kids.” But I wasn’t exactly the most social child. And since most of the other kids had been together since they were babies, at the ripe old age of five I was too old to join their group. So on nights I didn’t feel like being the “pickle in the middle,” or the “distant neighbor” in their messed up game of House, I’d hang out with her.

I’d help her cook. I’d help her clean. Looking back I was never great at either. And most nights I was probably more trouble than help. But she always let me stay. Even on the nights when I’d spill the water or use the wrong soap, she’d laugh and say, “How about you just be my entertainment tonight?”

Even as a teenager I’d prefer to stay in with her. It was during one of my nights “helping,” Tobbie that I first met Will. We don’t know for sure but we think it was right around his first birthday. Now, we celebrate that day as his birthday.

 A friend of Tobbie’s brought him to the house and begged her to take him in. Tobbie didn’t ask where he came from or who his parents were, she just took him in her arms and brought him in the house.

The first night, he kept the whole house awake. Nothing worked. Tobbie tried feeding him, changing him, rocking him, but he was a stubborn little guy. Tobbie had dark circles under her eyes and she was clearly a bit overwhelmed. But even so, whenever I’d walk by she’d just smile at me and say, “I guess he likes the night life.”

She’d laugh and, although I didn’t get why that was so funny, I’d laugh too.

When she went to go warm his bottle she sat him down on a small blanket on the floor. She told me she would only be gone for a moment and that I was to watch him until she got back.

It wasn’t a hard job for me and I was happy to not have to go back to the rest of the kids. It was especially easy because he didn’t do much back then. He just kind of sat there screaming in his cloth diaper and let the drool run from his lips to his chin to his chest.

I tried to ignore the noise and started sweeping the kitchen for Tobbie. I don’t remember exactly when but soon the boy had quieted down. He was still just sitting there, and by now the drool had reached his stomach, but his eyes were following me. I’d move and they’d move. I guess I was his entertainment as well.

I slowly stepped closer to him, hoping the waterworks wouldn’t return. I took the old broom and gently brushed them against the bottoms of his feet.

You would have thought I had told him the funniest joke in the world. His eyes sparkled, his belly jumped with every giggle, and his smile revealed two tiny teeth in front.

“You like that?” I said. “More?”

I ran the bristles across his toes and he laughed so hard he nearly toppled himself over. I caught him just in time and sat him back up straight in his spot. His laugh was contagious, and, for a moment it cured the memories from that day. I forgot about how the other kids wouldn’t let me sit with them at lunch, how they wouldn’t say hi to me in the hallways, how they didn’t include me. With him, it just didn’t seem to matter as much.

“I have to finish before she gets back.” I said, “Can you stay put for just a minute.”

He wrinkled his tiny forehead like an old man. He had no idea what I was telling him. But when I started sweeping again his eyes tracked my every movement. He rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. He slowly moved his hands, then his knees, until he made his way to my toes. I felt his little hands on my feet and when I looked down, there we was, smiling back at me.

And that was it. He was mine.

 

We were able to find a collared plaid dress-shirt that fit Will in one of the older boys’ things. Matched with his brown pants and his roommate’s dark shoes he looks like he belongs in Novo. Which is good, because he has to look his best today. It’s not everyday one of our kids is called into a private meeting with Headmaster Harris. I smooth his shirt and adjust his collar.

“How come I gotta dress like this?” he says, tugging at the insides of his pockets.

I start latching the tiny white buttons down his shirt, “I told you. We’re meeting with someone very important today.”

“The Headmaster guy?”

I nod, “That’s right. Remember, what I said? Be polite. Be kind. Don’t talk back.”

“Why do I have to be good to him? You said he wasn’t a nice man.”

“That’s why you have to be good to him.” I say.

“Is he meeting with the other kids too?”

I shake my head, “I don’t think so.”

“Why does he want me?”

I keep my head down and force my voice to stay steady, “I’m not sure, buddy.”

He inhale sharply and his eyes grow big, “Maybe I won something?” He says. His smile is bright and perfect, even without the two teeth in front.

I force my expression to be just as cheerful, “Maybe you did! Maybe he heard about how well you’re doing in school.”

He points his little finger at me, “Or how well I did my chores last week.”

“I bet that’s it.” I say. I part his light hair with my fingers and force it lay flat, “You ready to go?”

Will holds out the edge of his shirt, “You forgot a button.”

“I did?” I take a closer look at his shirt. A tiny string dangles where the last button should be. “I think it broke off, buddy.” I say.

He wrinkles his forehead like an old man, “What are we going to do? Do we have to look for another one?”

“Just,” I look at the clock then back at Will, “tuck it in.”

 

The light-haired guard stands waiting just outside the front gate. Armed with a small pistol and a passion for power, he makes sure to look the part. He dresses in a solid black officer’s uniform and wears a matching black beret.

            It’s not unusual for Novo to arm the borders between us and them. But soldiers generally stay away from Peyor territory; mostly because they don’t want to be here anymore than we d0. But Marco was right, things are changing and now a solid man stands between us and our home.

            I take Will’s hand and walk swiftly toward the iron fence. Should I put my head down and avoid this new man’s eyes? Or perhaps it would be better to give him what little charm I have with a smile. Before I can decide a low voice sends my heart racing.

            “Hand please.” He says in his thick, Novo accent.

            I step between Will and the guard, “Children don’t get scanned.”

            He holds up his scanner as if it were a weapon, “Everyone gets scanned.”

            Will looks up at me with his dark eyes and squeezes my hand, “Just do it.” He whispers.

            I hold out Will’s letter to the light-haired guard, “He’s supposed to be here. We were ordered to be here by the headmaster himself.”

            The guard ignores the flap of paper waving in the fall air, “Your hand, please.”

            “But we’re not guests, officer.” I point to the old brick house behind us, “We live over in building five. We we’re asked to be here—”

            The guard snatches the paper from my hand, nearly ripping it in two. He drops it to ground and uses his leather boot to cover our invitation with dirt. He hand latches around my wrist so hard my blood pulses to get through. He tugs at my arm causing my shoulder to pop and my other hand lose its grip on Will’s. He raises his scanner and the solid blue line of light projects across my scar. His finger wraps around the trigger and I know what comes next.

            “Get off me!” I say, my voice deep and demanding

            With all my force I snap my elbow into a perfect bend and smash its tip directly into his stomach. The guard doubles over and struggles to moves air into his lungs. With each breath he makes a sharp shrill sound until his body allows him to return to his usual straight posture. The guard’s eyes grow wide and his pupils turn to pinpoints. The light-haired guard flattens his hand and raises his arm up and back. I step away and lift my hands in front of my face. But before his hand can reach my cheek a high voice takes charge.

            “Here!” he commands.

            I slowly let my hands drop from my face. In front of me my boy is standing just inches from the light-haired guard with his hand outstretched.

            “Scan me!”

            The pounding of my chest continues and Will takes a step closer to the guard. He holds his hand up to the man’s scanner.

            “Do it!” Will commands and points to the scar just below his thumb.

            The guard’s expression remains flat and he lifts his only source of power. The solid line blue light glows across Will’s hand. The guard pulls the trigger and, as the machine beeps, the light turns to green. The guard stares at the screen for a moment waiting for the results.

            “William?” he says.

            Will nods and he looks directly into the guard’s eyes with a composure far beyond his nine years; A composure he didn’t learn from me.

            “A level two disability?” he says.

            “According to you.” He says.

            I force my lips not to curl upward. Now that, he learned from me.

            The guard is clearly less amused. He pushes his shoulders back and clicks his scanner back into his belt. “Go on” he says to Will.

            Will looks to me, “Go. I’ll be right there.” I say.

            Will slowly walks toward the building and the guard turns back to me.

            “He’s a level two?” he says.

            I gesture to his scanner, “You saw that he was.”

            He nods to Will, “So what’s wrong with him?”

            Disgust flows through me, “There’s nothing wrong with him!” I snap back; It was a phrase I was forced to use far too often in Peyor.

            The guard gives an odd hint of a smile, “There’s something wrong with all of you. That’s why you’re here!” he says.

            “He can hear you.” I snap.

            “So he’s not deaf. That narrows it down.”

            I lower my voice, “There’s nothing wrong with him except the fact that you people force him to live in a place like this.”

            “You act like I make the rules.” He says enhancing his sickening accent, “Like I tell President Yano what to do.”

            I shake my head and turn to walk toward the building and he grabs my left wrist, “Wait.” He says.

            He reaches for his scanner, “I don’t want to lose my job over some little Peyorian.”

            I glance down at the scanner then back at him, “Fine.”

            I hold my right palm out to him and show a scar identical to Will’s. I cradle my hand in my left in a weak attempt to mask the shaking of my arm.

            The pounding in my chest returns and my mouth goes dry. The blue light flashes and his cracked finger wraps around the trigger. I swallow hard and wait for the beep. The machine beeps and the light turns a bright red.

            The guard scoffs, “These things never work. Hold still.”

            I follow his order and he repeats the same process. The blue light streaks across my scar and finger pulls back on the latch. I look away, and close my eyes, hoping that just maybe his scanner will read something and shine a bright green.

            “Officer!” A man’s voice yells.

            We both look toward the source of the call. Down the pathway to the building, small man in a suit stands in the doorway, “Let’s go! The headmaster is waiting!”

            The guard’s finger releases its grip around the trigger and I let out the air I had been holding in for far too long.

            The guard yells something back in Novo and the small man screams back. You don’t have to speak a word of Novo to know that small man is not happy. They go back and forth and finally I make out a single word, “Will.”  Finally satisfied with the guard’s response, the small man goes back inside and the light-haired man turns back to me.

            “Go.” He says. “Now.”

            “Thank you,” I say, unsure of why that slipped from my mouth, and I meet Will in the lobby outside the Headmaster’s office.

            Will sits alone in a small metal bench in the long dark hallway outside the headmaster’s office. His bony legs dangle off the edge of the seat, still too short to reach the cracked brick below him. He swings his feet back and forth and his eyes travel around the room, stopping at each stained glass window and oil painting. When his eyes reach mine, I get a hint of his crooked smile.

            “You ready?” I say, keeping my voice light.

            He shrugs, “I guess.”

            “Scoot,” I say.

            I nudge him over and take a seat by his side.

            “What do you think he wants to see me for?” he says.

            “I told you. I’m not sure.”

            I see the wrinkles forming between his brows and fix my answer, “Probably some big award like you said-- maybe for school or for…”

            “Or maybe they’ve found them.” he says.

            I shake my head “Found who?”

            My boy stares at me as if I should already know, “You know, them. My parents.”

            My stomach gives a little shift. In nine years he’s never mentioned them; and I was sure never to bring it up.

            I push his light hair out of his eyes, “I don’t know about that, buddy. They’re probably living far away.”

            I try to ignore the unwelcome reminder in my head--If they’re living at all.

            “Do you think they’re looking for me?” he says.

            A hard lump forms in the back of my throat and for a moment my mouth is too dry to speak. But is it pain for his loss? Or sorrow for his dream that will never come true? No, deep down, I knew its cause was the most selfish one of all, jealousy.

            I suddenly resent the woman I have never met. The man whose face I would never see; A face I never want to see. He might have Will’s straight hair and she his dark eyes but that means nothing. They’re not his family. I’m his family. His only family.

            I put my arm around him and pull him close, “I’m sure they are.”

            He leans back and stares up at me “You think yours are looking for you too?” he says.

            I give a little smile, “Maybe.” I say, “But you know what?”

            “What?” he says.

            “It doesn’t matter. You know why?”

            He shakes his head. I lift his chin with my pointer finger and bring his forehead close to mine, “Because I have you. And you have me. And as long as I’m here, you will always have a family.”

            My eyes burn and I try to hide their redness from Will. But he doesn’t budge. He doesn’t smile or return my subtle squeeze around his shoulder. Finally, he gives me just a little nod and a tiny response, “I still want my real family.”

            I tell myself he’s only nine. Kids say things they don’t mean—things they don’t understand. But deep down, a part of me can’t shake the truth. I’m not enough for him either.

            The door to the headmaster’s office creaks open and the small man pokes his head into the hallway.

            “The headmaster will see you now.” He says.

                       

                       

            I lead Will to the front office where the Headmaster Harris sits waiting for us. The heavy-set, balding man in a suit stands when we enter and gives us a larger smile than I’ve ever seen on his face.

            “So glad you could make it. Please have a seat.”

            I hold out a chair for Will and hang his worn coat over the back of it. William’s eyes dance around the room. I too am mesmerized by the shiny wood, the clear glass in the window, the unfrayed rug below our tattered shoes.

            “Look,” Will whispers to me, pointing at the ceiling.

            “Do you like our chandelier, William?” Headmaster Harris says.

            He smiles his usual toothless grin and gives a slight nod.

            “How would you like to have one for yourself one day?” he says.

            He shrugs his bony shoulders, “Sure.”

            Headmaster Harris looks at me, “He’s a man of very few words, isn’t he?”

            “Just around new people,” I say.

            He looks back at Will, “Then we will just have to become old friends. Won’t we?”

            Will nods once again.

            “Well said, young man.”

            “You said there was something important you wanted to discuss?”

            “Yes. Last spring all residents of our house were given various tests. Among them a physical endurance test, a logic test, and other academic exams. Do you remember that, Will?”

            Again, my boy just nods.

            “Wise word-choice, Will. The results were analyzed and our boy here has been selected for a special training program.” He looks to William and smiles, “Would you like that?”

             Hold up my hand in front of him before William has the chance to do his nod.

            “What kind of training program?” I say.

            He leans back into his chair casually, “Oh, you know, boy stuff.”

            “Like what?”

            “Athletics, dexterity…”

            “And weapons training?”        

            He adjusts his gold-rimmed glasses, “That is part of the curriculum, I believe, yes.”

            “The rebels are recruiting him, aren’t they?”

            “He scored top in his age group for physical endurances, top ten in logic…”

            I put my hand on Will’s shoulder, “Will, could you please give us a moment to talk?”

            “Sure.” Will says. He stands and wraps himself in his winter coat.

            “There’s snacks around the corner if you’re hungry, Will.” He says.

            The door shuts behind Will and I fix my eyes on Headmaster Harris, “I don’t care how well he did. He’s not going.”

            “You don’t understand. This is a huge honor for this orphanage. Children like Will rarely get an opportunity to make something of themselves.”

            I shake my head, “No. They turn those boys into machines and you know it.”

            “Machines that supply us with what few supplies we have left.”

            “I don’t want that for him.”

            “With them he’ll have good food, an education, new clothes.”

            “All smuggled from Novo.”

            “What did you expect for a boy like Will? He’s a level two.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with him!”

            “With all due respect, the decision has been made.”

            “You can’t do that! He’s my boy!”

            “He is an orphan. He belongs to this territory. This is my house. I get the final say on what happens to my children.”

            “Your children? You just learned his name thirty seconds ago. He won’t even speak to you!”

            “You’re out of line, Carys.”

            “I’m out of line? You’re recruiting a nine-year-old for the military.”

            “Only training. Basic training. Who knows? The rebellion could be over by the time he’s old enough. Believe me, this is what’s best for Will. You really want him to spend his whole life in an orphanage like a…”

            “Like me.” I say.

            “Like you.”

            “And what’s in it for you?” I say.

            “I’m sorry?”

            “You expect me to believe you don’t get a reward for delivering brand new recruits?”

            He stands and pushes his shoulders back, “We’re done here. The boy leaves next month.”  

            “And if he doesn’t?” I say.

            His eyes narrow and he lowers his voice, “Not far from here there is a train destined for Area Three. Keep this up and you’ll both be on it.”

 

 

            Tobbie didn’t need much help at first. She probably could have pulled through this with a few of the pills from the other side. But that was eight months ago. Now, she barely leaves her bed much less her room. And everyday I come to her door, hoping it’s not the last time.

            I knock softly on the scratched, wooden door.

            “Mrs. Tobbles?” I whisper, “It’s Carys.”

            I gently push the door open allowing a tiny track of light to illuminate her ragged carpet. The creak of the hinges make their usual music and I see her stir under the sheets.

            “I brought you some soup,” I say, “Are you hungry?”

            Her lungs make a crackling sound as the struggle for air and a heavy cough follows.

            “Come in,” she says.

            I leave the door open behind me and raise the shade of her window. She squints as the bright light from the streets reach her eyes. She sits and leans against her headboard. Her face is just a faded mask of the young woman she used to be. Creased skin droops under her cheeks and chin. Her hands, once the delicate hands that brushed my hair and tucked me in, now shake with every move. But her eyes, her pale blue eyes remain the window to the woman who rescued me. They were the first thing I saw when she took me from the car and brought me here. She tucked my knotted hair behind my ear and said, “Not to worry, darling, You’re safe here with me.”

            And now it is my turn to save her. I stir the broth and hold out the spoon to her lips. She shakes her head and turns away.

            “Please, Tobbie. You need to eat something.”

            She takes another crackled breath, “Not soup again.”

            “It’s all we had left that you can still eat.”

            She opens her mouth and I feed her the first bite. I wipe away the broth that dribbles down her chin and feed her another spoonful.

            “Tobbie?” I say, stirring the mix of noodles and old carrots, “They want to take Will. They think he can help the resistance.”

            She nods so slightly I’m not sure that she has heard me correctly.

            “They want to train him for war.”

            “If he is recruited there is nothing,” she coughs repeatedly before continuing, “you can do.”

            “But he’s only nine.”

            Her eyes start to close as if I just told her the weather for the day.

            “Tobbie,” I whisper, “Please, I don’t know what to do. You know these people. You were one of them. Isn’t there something you can do?”

            She runs her dry, shaky hands under my chin, “Darling, that was years ago. Now, there is nothing we can do.”

            “What about Mr. Neese or Cade?”

            “They are older than I am.”

            “I can’t let him go. They’ll destroy him.”

            “Who? Our army or theirs?”

            “Both.”

            There was a time when she would have fixed this. A little smile and chat with the resistance officer and Will could stay at the orphanage with me. But I don’t have her smile, her charm, or anything of her. I only have Tobbie, I can’t do it without her.

            “You’ll be strong, Carys. I know you’ll get through this.”

            I shake my head, “Not without you.”

            I wait for her to fall asleep before quietly tip-toeing out the door. Marco waits for me in the hall. He leans against the peeling paper on the walls with his arms crossed.

            “How is she?” he says.

             I make sure her door is shut and step closer to him, “No better. No worse.”

            “Did she eat?” he says.

            “Barely. I’ll add some honey tomorrow. Maybe we’ll have better luck with something sweet.”

            He glances around the hall for any stray kids, “Come here,” he whispers and leads me into a small corner.

            “I think I found someone who can help us.” He whispers.

            “Someone has it? On our side?” My whisper nearly turns to a shriek.

            “Keep it down,” he says and examines the empty hall behind me, “The doctor put me in touch with a man who can get what she needs.”

            “Another doctor?” I say.

            “I don’t think so. It’s somebody he’s worked with before. He called him Garwin.”

            “Did you meet with him?”

            “Not yet.”

            My face turns hot, “What do you mean? Why not?”

            He does that thing where he looks everywhere except my eyes. It’s so annoying. I put my hand on his cheek and force his gaze back to me.

            “Marco, why not?”

            “I wanted to check with you first.”

            I step back in disgust, “You knew what I would say.”

            “Yeah and I think it’s something we should talk about.”

            I fold my arms across my chest, giving myself time to bite my tongue “So talk.”

            “The doctor spoke with Garwin. They arranged for one of his guys to be at the market tomorrow. They’ll do the drop at noon.”

            “What do we bring? What do they want from us?” I say.

            “The doctor said nothing.”

            I almost let out a laugh, “Nothing?”

            “That’s what he said.”

            “I don’t believe that. They must want something.”

            I reach behind my neck, “Here. Take this with you.”

            I pull off my only piece of jewelry I’ve ever had. It’s a blue crystal dangling from an old chain. It doesn’t shine, or sparkle. The stone isn’t even from the ground. Tobbie called it a funny name--- ‘plastic.” I don’t know where she found it, but she gave it to me; and every time I wore it she said how pretty I looked. So I wore it a lot.

            I place the necklace in Marco’s hand and he lets it dangle from his fingers.

            “What’s this for?” Marco says.

            “They’re gonna ask you for something once you get there. Some form of payment. Just take it with you.”

            For once, he doesn’t argue with me. He simply wraps his fingers around the necklace and slips it into his pocket.

            “Have a good night,” he says.

            He turns to walk away and I reach for his wrist, “Wait,” I say softly.

            “Forget something?”

            My eyes start to burn and I have to clear my throat to speak, “Do you think this will help?”

            His face remains blank, unsure of how to respond, “Of course it will.”

            I run my hand under my eye before any tears can escape down my cheek, “You sure?”

            He steps closer and slowly wraps his arms around me. I let my face fall into his shoulder, “Of course it will help.” He whispers.

He gently touches the small of my back, “We’re in this together. We won’t let anything happen to her.”

“She’s all I have.” I say, my face buried in his shirt.

I feel his chest rise and fall, “She’ll be okay.”

Marco pulls me back and I look up at him. He runs his finger under my eye and wipes away a tear, “I’ll make sure of it.”

I swallow the saltiness in my mouth, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He says flatly.

“No really,” I say looking directly into him, “Thank you.”

 

Will is still wide awake when I pass his room. He’s on the floor, lying on his stomach, playing with some action figures an older boy passed down to him at his twelfth birthday celebration. At twelve, the children here pass down their few toys to a younger child at the orphanage. Will had been begging the boy to give him those for weeks, and now, for a short while, they’re his.

He’s got his red pajama pants on—the ones that barely reach his ankles—and his shirt is still the same collared one he had on all day. He’s never been great at finishing a task. I lean silently against his door, trying to hear what he has to say; trying to enjoy every moment that he remains a little boy.

He makes some shooting sounds, and then deepens his voice to make one toy threaten another. I can’t tell exactly what he’s saying, but I think the red toy is winning. He lets out a mock scream then makes an explosion sound with his lips. He lifts his blue figure up in the air then lets it crash into the floor.

I peak my head into his room, “Is he dead?”

Will’s head jolts up. He moves his finger across the tiny doll’s neck.

“No pulse. He’s not going to make it.” He says in his high-pitch voice.

I sit down beside him on the floor and cross my legs, “Explosion?”

He shakes his head, “He wishes. It was a gunshot wound.”

I nearly choke on my own spit, “Gunshot wound? Your doll shot the other?” I say.

“They’re not dolls they’re action figures,” he corrects.

“Why would he shoot him?” I say.

He shrugs his bony shoulders, “’Cause he’s a level 3.”

“So?”

“He was out past curfew.”

For a moment I can only look at his hands wrapped around his action figures. His tiny hands with dirty fingernails look so large and powerful compared to the little dolls. Will reaches under his bed and pulls out a yellow action figure. He holds it up in front of my face.

“This guy is a level seven.”

“He has a level seven disability.” I automatically correct, “Nobody is their level. That’s not how we talk about people.”

I’m so busy lecturing him it takes me a moment to realize there’s no such thing as level seven.

“Why did you add four more levels?” I say.

Will shrugs again, “I don’t know. I just did.”

He knows. And he’s not the first kid to do it either. Being a level two doesn’t seem nearly so bad when there’s a total of seven instead of three.

I point to the floor, “Why does he live under the bed?”

“That’s jail,” he says, “That’s where level sev---“ he catches himself, “I mean-- people with a level seven live. It’s like Area Three but worse.”

“And what’s that on his hand? Did you do that?”

 On the palm of the doll’s hand is a tiny semicircle drawn in blue ink.

“His PID,” Will says simply, “So the guard knows he’s a seven.”

He’s just a kid, I repeat over and over in my head. It’s just a game. But still, I can’t help but think that all of what I’ve taught him since they day he moved here will one day be just a distant memory for him. And now, I have so little time left to teach him right.

“You know,” I say, “Levels---they don’t really matter.”

“But everyone’s got one.” He says.

“I know.” I say quietly, “But they don’t really mean anything. Just because you’ve got a level two doesn’t mean you can’t do the same things the Novian kids do. You know that, right?”

His mouth dangles slightly open and he nods.

“You didn’t like today when that guard called a level 2, did you?”

He tries to hide it, but still his little lip quivers. He looks down at his toys and when he looks up his eyes have turned red.

“I don’t like being a level two.” He says, his voice turning to a whine. “The guard was making fun of me!”

I hold him closer and mentally curse the light-haired guard, “Don’t listen to people like that.” I say.

“But they’re in charge,” he cries.

“It doesn’t matter.” I whisper.

“Why not?” he says.

“Because the level you were assigned—that’s someone else’s idea of who you are. Does that make sense?”

He takes a deep breath between sniffles and nods.

 “It’s someone else’s idea of what you can or cannot do.”

“Someone who knows better?” he says, wiping his nose.

“No.” I say, “That’s not it. It’s someone who doesn’t have any idea how special you are.”

“But—“ he says softly, “How can become a level one?”

“You don’t have to,” I say, “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter,” he says, “Why are we here?”

I hold him tighter still, trying to think of something I can tell him that would make his world make sense. How do I explain to a nine-year-old something that I can’t understand as a grown adult?

“Hey,” I say quietly. I lift his chin with my pointer finger and he looks up at me, “You know the real reason you’re not a level one?”

He shakes his head, his cheeks all red and wet.

“Because level ones are ugly.”

His quivering lip turns to a little smile, “No!” he says with a tiny laugh.

I lean in closer, “It’s true! And, don’t quote me on this, but I hear they smell too.”

He laughs harder, that same scratchy laugh he had a baby, “No!”

“Horribly!” I continue, “Like cow manure!”

He cracks up and I list more disgusting things people could smell like. He adds in a few suggestions of his own. I didn’t even realize he knew some of those words. Soon I’ve turned a lesson about how levels don’t mean anything into a bashing session against all Level Ones. Oh well. At least I made him smile. 

 

I don’t have the chance to worry about Marco the next morning. Before the medicine and Mrs. Tobbles can even enter my mind I find a note under my door. It’s from the office of Headmaster Harris and it is stamped with the word, “Urgent,” in red, capitalized letter. The Headmaster would like to see me once more---immediately. He even signed the letter himself. This time, though, he doesn’t want to see Will. Just me.

I force myself to ignore the turning in my stomach. I’m sure it’s just part of the routine. Of course he would want to speak with me. Next to Mrs. Tobbles, I know Will better than anybody. And everyone knows Mrs Tobbles isn’t feeling up for a meeting right now.

I throw on my clothes from yesterday and pull back my hair into a bumpy excuse for a pony tail. I take a look at myself in the mirror hanging over my door. The reflection, as usal, is quite unfortunate. Sometime, I wish the mirror was distorted.

It’s no wonder I’m the last of the group to get married. The guys don’t have to know the truth about me to lose interest. My dark hair makes my pale, rough, skin look even whiter. Unlike the other girls in Peyor, I don’t even have one dress to wear when I go into the city. I’m lucky if I have a pair of pants that stays up around my waist.

            The orphan girls I was raised with tried to fix me when I was a kid as if I were some sort of project. They would try putting makeup on me, they’d try new tricks they’d learned to de-frizz my hair, but it never helped much. All the makeup in the world can’t hide my long face and bony frame. All the hair gel in Peyor can’t control my curls.

            When each girl announced they were getting married and leaving the house I’d remind myself that they were older than me. I’d tell myself not to worry, that my time would come. But soon the girls leaving were a month younger than me. Then they were a year younger, then two years, and but still my time never came.

            “You could marry, Marco,” I remember one of the girls teasing the day she announced her engagement, “He’s single.”

            Apparently, I was at an age when the only requirement for a husband was that he had to be single. And even that, wasn’t so important to some of the other girls.

            At night, staring at the ceiling, I’d tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’d remind myself that I already have a family. I may not have parents or siblings or a husband. But I’m not alone. Tobbie loves me. Little Will loves me. Marco tolerates me. We have each other; which is a lot more than most people around here can say.

            “Yes,” I’d think each night before falling asleep in the same small bed I’d used since childhood, “I have a family.”

            Besides, there is no use wishing for things that can’t come true. People on my level aren’t supposed to be alive nonetheless married. How could I hide the truth from someone I’m with every second of every day? How could I live with myself knowing I put him in so much danger?

Even Level Twos are discouraged from marrying in Peyor. It is considered to be risky. What if they have children with the same weakness? There is already so little food to go around.

            I force the thoughts from my head. Tobbie says worrying about things we can’t change doesn’t help. Instead I force my mind back to getting ready for the meeting with Headmaster Harris.

            Like the other girls, I put a little concealer under my eyes and then smear the tiniest bit over the scar on my hand. The scar, although needed, is considered unattractive for a woman in public. Some wear gloves or wear longer sleeves; I just use a little makeup.

            I don’t get why it’s such a big deal for the girls here. The guys never bother covering their scars up. But since I don’t want to have one more reason to stand out here, I take the thirty seconds each morning to cover the scar.

            I pass through the still silent hallway of the orphanage, hoping not to wake any of the kids. I kiss my fingers and press them against Will’s door, and later, Tobbie’s. Marco is already dressed and in the kitchen.

            “Do you have everything you need?” I ask him.

            He nods, “I shouldn’t be gone long.”

            I open the side door to the kitchen, “Don’t wait for me. Give it to her right away.”

            Again he nods. But this time he doesn’t speak.

            “Make sure they give you instructions.” I continue, “I don’t want to give her too much.”

            “Carys,” he says, “I said I’ll take care of it.”

            But he doesn’t speak with the confidence he had just last night. Instead, he speaks quickly, as if he were waiting for me to finally leave.

            “I shouldn’t be gone long.” I say.

“You know I don’t like you going out.” He says, his voice deeper.

            “It was the Headmaster’s request.” I say.

            He points to the window, “There are guards at every station. Can’t it wait?”

            “It’s for Will.” I insist, “I have to go.”

            “So have him come to the house.” Marco says. “It’s safer for you here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

            Outside, the freezing air stings my face. The wind rushes through my ear and for a moment, I can’t hear anything else around me. Clouds cover the sky blocking any hint of the sun reaching me eyes. I button my coat and cross my arms to keep the heat in. I trudge through last night’s snow toward the other brick building. The snow trickles down my boot dismissing all sensation from my toes. Winter time is the worst around here.

My luck only worsens the closer I get to the headmaster’s office.

Of course the light-haired guard is standing by our fence in his dark suit and belt of weapons. These guards are like ants, you find one near the house, and suddenly they’re everywhere. I wonder how much the people in Novo are paying this guy to do their dirty work. I give him a quiet ‘Hello,’ and continue on toward the brick building. He holds out his arm before I can cross the gate.  

            “Your ID please,” the guard says without a hint of expression in his dark eyes.

            The words send a wave of chills down my back but I force a friendly smile back, “Is that really necessary?”

            “We’re under strict orders to ID everyone who wants to enter the main office.”

            “Please it’s freezing out,” I start digging through my bad, “Can’t I just show you my card from the house? I have it in here somewhere.”

            “Your PID.” He commands, holding up his scanner.

            “Ok,” I say, ”Ok,” and I slowly set my bag down behind me .

            I pull back my hair behind my ear to reveal the small scar Tobbie had made for me when I had first arrived. All children in Peyor had one and she said I couldn’t risk being different. So one night, with the shower running behind us, she gave me the tiny semilunar scar the other kids received as a bonus with their PIDs. Theirs were made by the metal implantation device, mine was made with a small kitchen knife dipped in alcohol. She had an icepack all ready for me to put on beforehand. She was right, it did dull the pain. Her dry hands were gentle and before I could count to five, it was over. She had perfectly replicated the mark.

            Afterward, she wrapped her warm arms around me and held me tightly against her chest, “All done,” she said and kissed my head, “All done.” Then she sent me to bed with an extra apple in my hand.

                        “Go ahead,” I say to the light-haired guard, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

                        He wrinkles his forehead as if he’s surprised by the offer. 

            He holds out his shiny new scanner and presses the cold metal against my scar. I hear a high pitched beep and he pulls away. He stares at the screen and waits for information that will never arrive. I keep my voice steady, “Those new models never work.” I say.

            He shakes his head, “I haven’t had a problem yet.”

            I push back my hair once again and hope he doesn’t see the sweat beading on my cheek, “Want to try again?”

            He holds up the device and once again tries scanning a chip that isn’t there. He looks down at the screen then moves his eyes back to mine.

            “Anything?” I say, feeling the pounding against my chest. 

            His eyes dart back and forth between my eyes and the screen and he gives the machine a little shake.

            “Third times a charm?” I say showing him my scar and a smile.

            “No,” he says and my stomach turns. I keep my hands by my side where I can’t pick at my nails.

            “Maybe it needs charging?” I say.

            He shakes his head slightly, “No. Your information came through. You’re good to go.”

            What? What information came through? There’s nothing in there for his machine to read. I try to find the right words with which to respond; but before I can find them, he speaks again.

 “Go on,” he insists, “Get out of the cold.”

            “Thank you,” I manage to say and move toward the main office.

            “And Miss?” he says.

            I turn around and face the man, “Yes?”

            He waves me closer and I slowly inch back toward him and try to steady the cloud of air coming from my mouth. I force my hands into my pockets to mask the shaking.

            “Is there something else you needed?” I say, forcing down the pitch of my voice.

            The guard leans in close to me, “Nine o’clock.”

            “Nine o’clock? I’m sorry I don’t—“

            “Be back in your house by nine. You understand?”

I nod and he goes on, “Not a minute earlier.”

            I’m so shocked I just continue nodding at the man standing in front of me. His eyes narrow and he pushes me forward.

            “Now go!” He says. “Go on!”

            I glance at the clock above the entrance to the building, 8:32.

           

 

 

I stand in the doorway of the headmaster’s office, “You wanted to see me?”

Headmaster Harris holds his arm out toward the brown leather chair across from him, “Please, take a seat.”

I sit down and cross my legs, trying not to stare at paintings on the wall and the gold figures on his desk. I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and smooth out my pants. In his office, I suddenly feel very underdressed.

He licks his finger and sifts through some papers on his desk, “I couldn’t find many records on the boy.” He says

“On Will?” I say, half-hoping he’ll take the hint and refer to “the boy” by name.

“Yes, of course.”

“We don’t have any paperwork for him ourselves.”

“I was hoping perhaps you could help me fill in the blanks. After all, you’ve known him for quite a while.”

Be good, Carys, I remind myself. If they dislike you they’ll take it out on Will. “What do you want to know?”

“Just some basic information.” He says with a hint of a smile.

“Like?”

He holds up his arms as if he were just figuring out what he wanted to know, “Like…what is wrong with the boy?”

I lower my voice, “There is nothing wrong with him.”

He laughs like the guard from the fence, “He’s a level 2.”

I glare back at him; So much for being good. “So?”

“So they don’t assign levels at random, Miss Carys.”

“They might as well.” I say, my heart gaining speed.

“I would watch your tone if I were you.” he says, his voice stif.

I look off to the side and bite my lower lip, “He had a patent foramen ovale when he was baby-- A heart defect.”

“That’s it?” he says, more cheerful than one should be about a heart defect.

I keep my tone flat, “Yes.”

He scribbles some illegible notes on the paper in front of him, “Lucky boy.  Those usually close up on their own.”

“His did.”

His eyes lighten, “He’s been checked?”

“No.” I say.

He shakes his head, “Then how do you know?”

“Nine years without symptoms.”

He gathers the pile of papers then taps it against the desk to align them, “Either way, he’ll be checked by our doctor before he’s sent to training.”

I lean forward in my seat, “For what?”

“Basic health, vaccinations…”

“Vaccinations?”

He mocks giving a shot with his thumb, “It’s an injection, a little needle…”

“I know what they are.” I say, “I didn’t know you had extra supply.”

He attempts another reassuring smile but it just gives me more chills, “We’re not the horrible people you think we are. He’ll be well cared for. I assure you.”

I force my eyes not to roll, “And if he doesn’t pass?”

“Pass what?” he says as if we weren’t just discussing it.

“His physical with the doctor.” I say.

He leans back in his chair causing the floor to creak, “I don’t see any reason he wouldn’t if what you tell me is true.”

“But if he didn’t…you’d send him home?”

His face falls flat, “He’ll be at home with us.”

I only nod in response. I didn’t want to fight the man in charge of Will’s future. Will’s going to be stuck with these people whether I like it or not. He deserves the perfect first impression. I owe him that much.

“Is he ready to go?” he says.

“Almost,” I say, “He will be.”

“Anything else I should know about the boy?” he says.

I twist in my seat, “There are lots you should know about him. You’re his headmaster.”

The perfect first impression, I remind myself. Frustrating his superiors won’t help him stay safe.

He leans forward, “Anything relevant? Emotional issues?.Allergies? Learning disabilities?”

I take a moment to fiddle with one of the small gold figures on his desk. I lower my voice to a whisper, “I didn’t want to mention it before.” I say.

He pushes closer to me, his pupils wide, “What?”

I turn away from him, “We try not to point it out to him around the house.  I try not to say anything in front of him but…”

His eyes grow wider, “But what?”

I lift my shoulders, “He just tends to…lack coordination.”

His face scrunches in confusion and he starts flipping through the pages of Will’s file, “I’ve never been made aware of this. His tests all came back---”

I reach my hand over the papers, leading his glare back to me, “We tried to teach the kids to use BB guns one time at the house—in all three weeks Will only hit the target once…”

He almost smiles, “Well that’s not bad.”

“It was his neighbor’s target.”

The headmaster keeps his tone relaxed, “I’m sure he could be taught.”

“Oh please, the boy can’t even hit a baseball!” I let out, “I know what your tests said. But I’ve known this kid his whole life. There’s no dexterity in him. I’ve never even seen him win a fight with the other boys.”

He holds out his hand to shut me up, “Carys—“

“But his mind,” I lean closer to him and point to my own head, “He has an incredible mind. Already everyone at the house can see it. He’s good with math, memory, patterns—“I make sure he’s looking right at me, “Encryptions. He has a gift. He can help you I know he can.”

“You can verify this?” he says.

 “I don’t have to. William can verify this!” I announce. “I know you want Will to serve Peyor the best way he can. Don’t you?”

“Well, yes.” He says.

I reach out and rest my hand on his, “Believe me, if you want the most out of this kid, use his mind. He won’t let you down.”

To my surprise he doesn’t snatch his hand back. He simply stares at me, completely dumbfounded. He slowly pulls his hand out from under mine, “I’ll let them know,” He says, “Anything else?”

I want to say, “Yes. He’s also allergic to gun powder!” but instead I just shake my head, “No.”

The headmaster scoots back his chair, “Very well, then.” He stands and holds out his arm, “Thanks for coming in.”

I shake his hand tightly, “Thank you for showing Will his true potential. I know you’ll use him teach well.”

He gives a slight nod and leads me to the door.

“He won’t let you down.” I say and let myself into the hallway.

He closes the door behind me and I glance at the clock above the door, 8:54

 

Outside, the wind is picking up. The breeze picks up the snow creating a cloud of white floating across the walkway. The light-haired guard remains at his post. He hasn’t moved at all from his usual back and forth across the gate. He turns when the door closes behind me and stops his march to watch my every step. He looks to his right and left, and then behind himself. The closer I get to his station, the more odd his stance becomes. He seems almost, uncomfortable in my presence.

“About time,” he says.

I lift my hand to tuck my hair behind my ear, but his voice commands me first.

“I don’t need to scan you again. Go on.”

His hand presses against my back and he forces me toward the house, “Go!” he says.

I rush forward to the house. My trudge becomes a run and the white cloud of blowing snow blocks any view of my boots. Questions I should have asked the guard flash into my head but there was no time for any of them.

I swing open the side door by the kitchen. Will and his friends sit at the kitchen table doing their work sheets. I kick my boot against the door step, sending the snow I’d picked up back to the ground.

“Have you seen Marco?” I say.

Will shakes his head, “Nope.”

I lean over the sink to get a look out the kitchen window. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of the house. It’s all white. Everywhere is just snow.

I open every drawer and start digging. It’s got to be here somewhere.

“Something wrong?” Will says.

“Everything’s fine.” I say, pulling the drawer from its hole in the cabinets. “Has Mrs. Tobbles been out at all today?”

“No. The doctor’s with her upstairs. Why?”

Because she was the one to have it. I dump the contents of the drawer across the counter and begin sifting through every old fork and spoon this house has held.

“Do you need help?” Will says.

Then finally, I see it; the key to the cellar. I slip the tiny piece of metal into my pocket and turn back to the kids.

“Remember when we had that emergency drill last month?”

Their faces don’t move at all.

“In the cellar?”

“Yes! We’ve got another drill today. The Headmaster wants to know that all the kids can do it without our help.”

I force the key into Will’s palm and wrap his finger tightly around it.

“He wants you down there and silent until I come get you. Got it?”

“You’re not coming?” Will says.

I turn to the rest of the kids in the room, “If anyone makes a sound they will be sent to the headmaster. Go! Now!”

The kids scramble to the small, dark space the house and scan outside the window.

“Where are you, Marco?” I mumble.

And then I see it; the small hint of red lights flashing in the distance. The lights grow brighter the closer they get. I hear my own heart beating in my ear and for a moment, my throat is too tight to breathe.

The Novians.

.

I’ve never seen so many trucks in our little village. They’ve added guards to Peyor before but never like this.  There must be ten men with weapons across their chests at our tower alone. I look across our yard, where the light-haired guard stood. Now in his place are two new guards dressed in solid black. Each one has their very own scanner hanging from his belt.

My hand travels to the small scar on my neck. I run my fingers over the slight rise and fall of my skin. It won’t help me anymore. There are too many of them.

One of the new guards starts looking around our land. His eyes shift up and down our building until, for a moment, his eyes meet mine. I fall to the ground, leaning against the painted cupboards.

It’s not a crime to be standing in the kitchen, I remind myself. I’m allowed to be here. For a moment, I almost believe myself. But I’ve never belonged here.

 I look down at the floor. A few feet under me, the kids are huddled in perfect silence, completely hidden from the guards. They are the ones who are allowed to be here. They are the ones who should be up here while I sit silently in the cellar.

How will I go into the city? I was barely able to avoid the guards as it was. Now, I can’t even leave the front gates without being scanned. Marco will have to get all we need--Or one of the kids; some are old enough to go into the city alone. They’d be alright, they have their PIDs.

I hear the kids shifting in the cellar and I look down at the floor under my bare feet. One child yells something at another and a girl’s voice shrieks back. They’ve never been good at emergency drills. They are probably arguing over who gets to sit closer to the heater. I pound my foot against the wooden floor and silence answers back.

I’ll call them up later. Apparently, they could use the practice.

“Carys!” a voice calls into the kitchen. A skinny boy stumbles into the room. I can’t remember his name but he’s one of the boys that helps Tobbie’s doctor. “Are you Carys?” he says.

My head pops up, “What is it?”

“They told to come get you.” He says, slightly short of breath.

I grab the side of the counter and pull myself to my feet, “He got the medicine?” I say, “I told Marco not to wait for me.”

He shakes his head violently back and forth, “That’s not it.”

“Then what?” I say.

“They told me to come get you. She’s having trouble breathing.”

I can feel the blood draining from my face. My palms turn cold. Words won’t come together and my feet refuse to move.

“They told me to come get you.” He repeats. The boy tugs at my wrist, “Come on,” he says, “We don’t have much time.”

 

I rush into Tobbie’s room, “What happened?” I say to the crowd surrounding her. They don’t look up from the chaos, “What happened!” I repeat.

Tobbie let’s out a deep, painful cough. A sound so deep I can’t imagine it came from such a tiny, frail, woman.

Marco is the first to turn around. He pulls my arm and leads me to the hallway. “She’s okay. Just having a little trouble breathing.”

The words take my own breath away, “There’s no such thing as a little trouble breathing.”

He does that thing with his arms I can’t stand, “Let’s take it easy. The doctor thinks…”

“Did you give her the medicine?” I say.

He runs his thumb across my cheek, catching a stray tear.

“I know this is hard,” he says.

I push his hand away, “Did you give her the medicine?”

He lowers his gaze “I couldn’t get it.”

My eyes wide, “What do you mean? Why not?!”

He only looks down at his shuffling feet, unable to put a sentence together.

“Marco, why not!?” I say, my voice cracking.

He puts his hand on my shoulder, “It was too risky.”

I flinch back, nearly hitting the wall, “Too risky?!” I say, “Too risky for whom, Marco? That was her last chance.”

He leans in and lowers his voice, “Before I could even get to the market the trucks were coming in.”

“Save it!” I say.

He glances back at the door, “Keep your voice down.” He whispers, “They’ll hear you.”

I run my sleeve across my face, “You knew what she needed. You could have gotten it for her. You chose not to.”

He shakes his head, “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple!” I scream and he raises his hand in defeat.

“The guards were blocking the drop site. I couldn’t get there without getting caught myself.”

“Bullshit!” I say.

His hands grip my shoulders and he forces my eyes into his, “Even if I could have gotten to the market I wouldn’t have made it back. There were guards everywhere. There was no way I could have gotten the medicine past them.”

“They wouldn’t have known to look for it! They’re probably brand new recruits!”

“It was too risky. There was nothing I could do.”

I look up at him with my eyes filled with disgust, “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Carys—”

I point my finger at him and he shuts his mouth, “Because tonight, when she dies, everyone else will know the truth.”

 

I couldn’t even go to her ceremony. It was already three weeks ago and I still can’t stop thinking about it. At the house beforehand everyone said a few words but it didn’t help.  I should have been there.  I wish I could have been there. There were so many things I wish I could say. Not to Tobbie. She knew how I felt. But to those who didn’t know who she really was; the people who saw her as an old, weak woman instead of the young lady who saved so many of us.

It turns my stomach when I think of the way her life ended. It didn’t have to be that way. She was so confident, so powerful. Even after she got sick, and the Novians left her a shell of the woman she once was, she still had a shell of stone.

The Novians think they’re saving their resources by sending away the weak. But the truth is, they’re sending away their best resources. And perhaps they are the ones with a weakness, because so far, all of them are too dumb to see that.

Marco said her ceremony was beautiful. A few of the kids spoke and even the headmaster managed to make an appearance. Even if it was a perfect ceremony, it still wasn’t a fraction of what she deserved. She saved me. She was all I had left.

Marco is now in charge of the house. He says he was picked because he’s a few months older than me.  That may be true---but I also don’t think it helped that I argued with the headmaster.

The only thing that takes my mind of Mrs. Tobbles is little Will. Tonight is my last night with him. We’re not supposed to pack up too many of his things. They say they’ll provide him with everything he needs. Too many reminders of home can make the transition harder on the kids.

I sit Will down at the kitchen table the night before his train leaves. I give him have an extra late night snack. It’s my last chance to teach him something, to make sure he knows right from wrong. But as we sit there, me in my robe and him in his red pajamas I don’t want to talk about that. I just want to enjoy him. I want to hear his crackled laugh and see his smile. I want to nudge his foot under the table and pretend it wasn’t me.

He only knows he’s being sent away to school. I told him it was an honor to be chosen and gave him the usual speech---“you’ll make new friends; it’s going to be great!” I’m sure that’s what other little boys were hearing. But I knew better---and my boy deserves to know better too.

“These people who run your school—they’re going to teach you some things that I don’t want you to know about.”

He almost seems excited by this idea, “Like what?”

“Like---how to hurt people; How to fight.”

“To fight the Novians?”

I nod.

“Awesome!”

“Not awesome! It’s not with little weapons like BB guns.”

His forehead wrinkles, “What’s a BB gun?”

“Doesn’t matter. My point is they’re going to want you do dangerous things.”

His face lights up, “Cool!”

Honestly, I will never understand little boys. It doesn’t matter how many I’ve worked with, they will never make sense to me.

I lean in closer to him and lower my voice, “You need to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Not like an ‘I’m gonna clean my room promise’ you need to swear to me you’ll do what I say.”

“Ok, I swear,” he says.

“When you get there you show them how smart you are. Don’t show off in sports or when they’re teaching you to use a weapon. Only do well in your academics.  Do you understand?”

He nods but barely.

“If anyone asks you want you want to be when you’re big, you tell them you want to work with encryptions.”

“With what?” he says.

“Encryptions. They’re like codes.”

He shrugs, “What kind of codes?”

“Just say it. I want to work with encryptions.”

His voice is flat, “I want to work with encryptions.”

“Sound excited about it!” I smile wide, “I want to work with encryptions.”

Will smiles a big fake grin, “I want to work with encryptions”

“That’s good! And if they ask you why say, “I’m good with patterns.”

He forces a smile again, “I’m good with patterns.”

“That’s great!” I say, “Do it again.”

He repeats my words with more enthusiasm.

“Perfect!” I say. “That’s what you want to learn about. Got it?”

He nods quickly, “Got it.”

“Good,” I say. I let him take another bite of his snack before I say, “What is it you want to study again?”

He smiles back at me, his mouth full of crumbled cookie, “Encryptions.”

A pound against the door sends both of our hearts racing. Will looks at me, his eyes begging for guidance.

“Stay here,” I say and move to the door.

The pounding returns, three solid ones in a row.

“Who is it?” I say.

Before anybody responds I hear metal clang against the lock. The knob begins to twist and I press my body against the door. My weight is no match, and the door swings open. He bangs his boots against the side of the house, a polite burglar, and steps into our kitchen. A hint of light brings his face into focus and I step closer.

“Headmaster Harris?”

“Took you long enough to get the door.” He says.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for the boy.”

“He’s not scheduled until tomorrow morning.”

“There was a change of plans.”

“You can’t do that!”

He glares back at me.

“Where is he?”

“Wait!” I say.

The Headmaster moves past me into the kitchen. Will’s eyes widen and he curls up in his chair.

“Hey there, William!” Harris says cheerfully, “You ready to go?”

Will’s face turns stiff. He wraps his arms around his knees and shakes his head.

I put my hands gently on Will’s shoulders, “He needs his bag. Let me take him to his room to get ready.” I say.

“He’ll get new things,” the headmaster insists.

Harris reaches out and grabs Will’s arms, “Come on, William. Time to go.”

I step in between them, “Please, just one little bag.”

He turns his nose up at me, “We can’t allow it.”

Harris leads Will to his feet and leads him toward the door. I reach my arm out to them.

“Wait…Wait! Just give me a moment with him!”

Harris stops and turns to me, “You’re only making this harder on him.”

I drape one arm across Will’s chest, “Just one minute to say goodbye! I’m all he has. Please!”

He looks down at Will then back at me, “Make it quick.”

I kneel down to Will’s level and reach around his waist. His eyes are already a bright red.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to go!” he says.

“I don’t want you to go either, buddy.” I say.

“I’ll stay here! I’ll be good I promise!” he says.

“Listen to me, Will. It’s just for a little while. Okay? They’re going to take good care of you and teach you things.”

“But I don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want you to go either. But I know you’re going to do great things there. You’re going to make me so proud.”

He sniffles and attempts to steady his breaths, “You’ll come visit me?”

“I wish I could, Will.”

“You’ll write me?”

“I can’t, buddy. But I’ll be thinking about you. Everyday I’ll be thinking about you. I promise you that. Come here.”

I squeeze him tightly and his wet cheek falls on my shoulder.

“Please don’t make me go!” he cries into my ear.  

I rub my hand on his back, “Remember what I used to tell you? About putting others first?”

He looks up and me and nods, his face red and glossy.

“That doesn’t matter anymore. You’re first, second, and third now. Got it?”

He nods and falls into my arms on last time. 

“I love you, Will.” I whisper, slowly making circles on his back, “Let them see how special you are.”