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Breakfast conversation in the dining hall is subdued, and I notice I am not the only one who barely eats the food on the tables in front of us. Ian catches my eye as I push back my chair and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. He nods. I nod back, grateful for the support if uncertain as to the motive. It is time for my first class. Global History.
Fourteen of us are seated in the classroom when Professor Lee arrives carrying an armload of papers. He drops them on a large black table in the front that is already stacked with worn books. The only students I recognize in the room are Enzo and a broad-shouldered boy named Brick, who is a colony student like me. The rest are Tosu City students I know nothing about. Enzo does not look at any of them as they talk among themselves. He looks up only when Professor Lee finishes organizing his materials and addresses the class.
“Welcome to Global History. To make sure we don’t repeat the mistakes that led to the Seven Stages of War, we must understand past mistakes. In this class, we will learn what the landscape of the world looked like before the wars and study the countries and governments that dominated that landscape. Each week, we will focus on a different time period. You will be required to learn the names of the leaders, identify countries based on maps, and explain the pros and cons of the government structures of the most influential countries during that time. I will then select the most advanced students in the class for a special study of what is known about the current global structure and what it means for our future.”
The prospect of learning how the world is recovering beyond the United Commonwealth borders has me sitting up straighter. And I’m not the only one. The room crackles with excitement and something more. Under the exhilaration is an underlying tension. Only the select few chosen by Professor Lee will be allowed to participate in that portion of the class. Another competition. Another test.
He gives us a big smile and pushes a button on the wall. “So, let’s get to work, shall we?”
A large screen descends, and depicted on it is a world from the past. The next hour is filled with names of countries and people long dead. Governments destroyed by war or corruption. New regimes that rose to take their places. My pencil races across the page in front of me as I try to capture every word, knowing that any detail missed might be the difference between success and failure. Almost two hours later, my hand aches as I scribble down the homework instructions before heading to the next class. Enzo walks with me across the campus to Science Building Four.
Advanced Calculus.
Vic smiles at me from a corner desk. A boy named Xander nods from his seat in the front. Then class begins. Ordinary differential equations. Partial differential equations. Bessel and Legendre functions. Several pages of homework are assigned. A test will be given on Wednesday to assess our understanding of the material.
When class is over, I hurry out to avoid the familiar faces in the room. While I am grateful to see them, I am not sure I’m prepared to hear what they have to say. Will they tell me Stacia, whom I have yet to see, or other members of our Testing candidate class have failed their Inductions? That they have been Redirected? Instead, I find a spot outside that is mostly hidden from view to eat the apple and roll I slipped into my bag this morning. I have an hour to start on my homework before the next class begins.
United Commonwealth History and Law are followed by World Languages. Then my last class of the day: Chemistry. States of matter, properties of solutions, kinetics and atomic and molecular structure are discussed. A project assigned. And finally, classes are done, but my day is far from over. There are chemical equations to balance, a paper on the Commonwealth Government’s founding debates to write, and maps to memorize. All must be complete by Wednesday, with more to be assigned by my other professors tomorrow. I know Dr. Barnes will be watching to see which students fall behind. I will not be one of them.
The dining hall is filled with laughter and conversation. Students compare notes on their homework and teachers, and buzz about the n
ews that internships will not be assigned for at least another week. I say nothing as I fill a plate with greens, some kind of spicy pork, and sliced potatoes cooked with onions and walnuts. Part of me is relieved to have one less thing to worry about for the next seven days. The other part is anxious to learn whether or not I will be assigned an internship that will allow me to collect information for Michal and the rebels. Pushing thoughts of the internship aside, I ignore Ian’s and Will’s beckoning waves and head upstairs to study while I eat. When I finally sleep that night, Malachi and Zandri join me in my dreams. They quiz me on the names of country capitals, help balance chemistry equations, and insist the ending to my paper could be stronger.
They’re right. When I wake, I rewrite the final page before getting dressed for the second day of class.
More professors. More assignments.
Electrical and Magnetic Physics. The Rise and Fall of Technology. Art, Music, and Literature. Bioengineering.
Here and there, I see familiar faces. Brick and Kit in Physics. Will, a girl named Jul, and a Boulder kid named Quincy in Art and Music. And finally I see Stacia—along with Vic and a girl from Grand Forks named Naomy—in Technology. All are here. All wear bracelets that report their movements back to Dr. Barnes and his officials.
News of Rawson’s death has spread. In the minutes before and after class, we band together and talk about the loss of our classmate. I had almost forgotten Naomy and Rawson were from the same colony, but Naomy’s puffy red eyes speak loudly of her sorrow and the love she has felt for him since she was ten years old. While I have never been close friends with Naomy, I find myself feeling sorry for her. During class, I notice some of the Tosu City students passing scraps of paper. Notes. With paper so precious, our Five Lakes instructors punished this practice with extra work. Here, where paper seems to be less of a concern, the instructors don’t seem to mind. Biting my lip, I tear a small corner off the page in front of me, write a couple of words asking to meet after dinner and work on homework, and pass the note to Naomy. The smile she gives me when she reads it makes me feel happier than I have in days. When Stacia shoots me a questioning look, I tear off another corner and pass her a note too. When she grins, I feel better, more in control, knowing I will spend part of tonight with friends.
All through the day, I find myself looking for signs of Tomas. When I finally see his familiar gray eyes watching me from the back of the Bioengineering classroom, I realize I am unprepared to deal with the emotions storming inside me. Love. Guilt. Need. Uncertainty.
My heart pounds loudly in my chest as I slide into the seat next to him. I can’t help but notice the pallor of his skin and the smudges of fatigue under the eyes that meet mine. Class begins. The teacher drones on about viscoelasticity, and though my pencil is clutched tight in my hand, my writing is barely legible as I try to ignore the ache in my heart. The same ache I know is in his at the possibility that we will never be able to look at each other without death and guilt between us.
The two of us stay seated when class ends. We say nothing as we watch everyone shove papers into their bags and head for the door. A few glance in our direction as they file out, but none linger. I wait for Tomas to speak. The quiet grows more uncomfortable with each passing second. In his eyes, I see self-condemnation and a weariness that scares me. Now that Tomas has admitted his actions to me, he is drowning in guilt. And though I still feel the sting of his betrayal, the anger I have held since hearing his confession fades, and fear takes hold. Unless Tomas finds a way to forgive himself for Zandri’s death, the weight of guilt could drown him. I see a flash of my roommate Ryme swinging from a yellow rope. I want to convince Tomas that Zandri’s death was an accident. He, unlike so many, did not make the choice to kill. But I have known Tomas too long to think words will help. Until his confession, Tomas pushed aside the guilt in order to protect me. He had a purpose. Now he needs another.
Leaning forward, I ask, “Did you work with my brothers on the livestock accountability project?”
Curiosity crosses Tomas’s face. “My brother did most of the work, but I had some input. Why?”
I look around the room. Not sure if someone could be listening, I grab my bag and stand. “I should get going if I want to make it back for dinner. Do you want to walk with me?”
We exit the building side by side. When we are far away from anyone who could hear us, I explain about the transmitter locked inside my bracelet and my desire to outwit it. Tomas asks questions as we walk toward his residence. By the time we reach his destination, his eyes have lost some of the shadows.
“A few of us are meeting together at the library to study tonight.” I brush my fingers against his hand. “You could join us.”
Tomas looks down at our hands. His fingers tighten against mine for a brief moment before they drop away. “There are some things I have to do.” As he holds up the wrist circled by his Biological Engineering symbol, I once again see the mix of determination and hopelessness.
His lips brush my cheek. Then Tomas turns and walks away before I can think of anything else to say.
Dinner at the residence is filled with undercurrents of tension. At least a half dozen first years are bent over books while they eat. The upper-year students look less tense, which leads me to believe the first-year course work is designed to test not only our knowledge, but our ability to cope with stress and adversity. To keep from failing that test, I once again fill a plate with food and take it to my room. Naomy and I agreed to meet at seven. I will work on other homework until then.
When I was too young to attend school, I used to watch my brothers do their homework at the scarred kitchen table. I longed for the day when I too would sit beside them with my mother close at hand to lend guidance. However, when my turn finally came, I found it almost impossible to concentrate surrounded by my brothers’ antics. So, each day, I would abandon the table and spread out on the floor in front of the living room fireplace. Which is why, when I enter my rooms, I ignore the desk in my bedroom and dump my bag on the floor. Sitting cross-legged, I eat bites of chicken and carrots while working on potential difference equations.
I jump as someone pounds on my door. Ian barely waits for me to get out of the way before coming into the room and shutting the door behind him.
