Independent Study

“The clock tower is several hundred years old.” Ian’s voice breaks the silence. “The earthquake that caused the fissure we just passed tore apart several buildings, including the one with that tower. While most of the tower’s original building was reduced to rubble, the clock portion survived. When the founders of the University decided to construct the Government Studies residence, they had the architects include the tower as an homage to the past.”

I look at the tower with new appreciation, but can’t help wishing the builders had made the rest of the residence more hospitable. Aside from the lovely tower, the building is all hard lines and massive stone. Tall, narrow windows line the second and third floors. A large black door at the end of the building looks to be the only entrance or exit. A small sign next to the door says WELCOME, which is almost funny, since I feel anything but.

“Don’t worry,” Ian says. “It’s homier than it looks.”

“It would almost have to be.” I laugh as a drop of rain hits me.

The sky rumbles, and rain falls faster as we race for cover. Ian pushes open the heavy wooden door, waits until all of us step inside, and then closes it behind us. Lights blaze in the foyer, giving me a clear view of the framed portraits that line the room. The first president of the United States, George Washington. The last United States president, Nicholas Dalton. The five presidents that have served the United Commonwealth. A few others, whose faces I don’t recognize but whose names I’d probably know from my history lessons. People who ran our country. Did their best to change the world for the better.

“As you can probably guess, the students have no say in decorating the common rooms. Otherwise, the portraits would have been used for firewood years ago.” Ian gives our current president’s face a pat as he passes through the doorway and beckons us to follow him into a wide room filled with cushioned benches, faded armchairs, an enormous fireplace with a burning fire, and people. At least two dozen of them. Whispering. Eyes wide with curiosity as they study us.

I scan the faces. Most appear close to my age, but a handful look like Ian—older, more experienced, watching our every move.

Ian tells us to take a seat. A girl with short curly blond hair and cheeks filled with freckles shifts to the end of her bench, giving Will, Rawson, and me room to sit. Once we do, Ian walks across the room, stands in front of the arched stone fireplace, and says, “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ian Maass. I’m a final-year Government student. For the next several weeks, I’ll be serving as one of your designated study’s guides. Each first-year student will be assigned to a guide who will show you around, help you figure out where your classes are, and answer whatever questions you might have. This year, there are sixteen of you in the first-year class.”

Will sucks in air. Rawson blinks. Even knowing the Tosu City students would be here, I feel my heart race at the sight of the faces turned toward us. Some look smug. Others are curious. Many snicker, which says that while we did not know of their presence, they have not been unaware of us. I don’t know where they have been studying these past months, but no matter where they have been, they are here now and ready to do what it takes to make top grades.

I see Ian assessing our reactions from across the room. His eyebrows shift upward as he looks at me. Then he continues to speak. “Adjusting to University life and to your new residence is always a challenge. The guides are here to make that easier. Think of us as a big brother or sister and come to us with any questions, concerns, or fears. We can’t help you if we don’t know there’s a problem.”

The older students smile.

“When I announce your name, please stand so your guide can identify you. Once all assignments are complete, your guide will show you to your room and help get you settled in. And since I’m already standing, I’ll announce my little siblings first.” Ian takes a clipboard from a dark-skinned girl who gives him a flirty smile.

“Kaleigh Cline.” The freckled girl at the end of our bench swallows hard and stands. “Raffe Jeffries.” A tall, broad-shouldered boy with bushy eyebrows stands to my left. “Last, but by no means least, Malencia Vale.”

Most eyes in the room swing toward me when I stand, but I can’t help noticing the quizzical look the dark-skinned girl gives Ian. She had the clipboard with the list of first years and the guides they were assigned. Did Ian alter the assignments?

I continue to wonder as Ian announces the rest of the mentoring assignments. Three Tosu City boys are assigned to the dark-skinned girl, whose name turns out to be Himani Biseck. If I was supposed to be placed with her, I’m grateful to Ian for the change. Himani’s smile is bright, but something about the narrowing of her eyes reminds me of a cat stalking a field mouse.

As Michal suggested, I try to memorize names and faces. Will is called next, along with a slightly rounded girl named Olive and a boy with no hair named Griffin. The three are assigned to a big brother with large black-rimmed glasses who I think is named Sam. Rawson’s trio is completed by a sweet-faced boy named Enzo and a girl with sharp features called Juliet. They are assigned to a hulking final year Ian introduces as Lazar. The last four first years, three boys and a girl, are assigned to a tall, brown-haired girl with wide-set eyes. Due to the murmurs in the room, I have a hard time catching their names. I can’t help noticing that first-year girls are outnumbered at least three to one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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