“Ew, yikes. Okay, let’s go to the
wakenu
.
They’ll have stuff there.”
We leave the lake and walk to the meetinghouse where a counselor gets me an ice pack. Since they’re serving lunch, we stay in the dining hall to eat, and I load up my tray. Now that the
kiipooyaq
contest is behind me, I can feel the canyon in my stomach. We find a table and sit down.
I’m halfway through my sandwich when Naira enters the cafeteria and steps onto her platform. Everyone looks up.
“I’m pleased to inform you,” she begins, “that this evening we will have a dance. At eight o’clock, here in the
wakenu
.”
All of the initiates turn to their neighbors, and whispers fly around the room. Naira continues, “I would like to impress upon everyone the importance of following the camp rules. I know discipline has been slack in the past, but this year violations will not be tolerated. I don’t think I need to remind anyone of the Incident.” That’s all she says. Then she pounds a fist on her chest and steps down from the platform.
“Drat,” Lila mutters. “This dance won’t be any fun, not if we can’t ride.”
“Lila! Kit!” Holly drops into a chair next to us. “I can’t believe it—all of the guys from ten have been suspended!”
“What?” Lila and I say at the same time.
“Naira found out about the fire. Now none of them are allowed to compete. They can stay the rest of the week if they want, but they won’t get an assignment.”
“That’s crazy,” Lila exclaims. “The Incident was like a bajillion years ago. Why is Naira freaking out?”
Holly shrugs. “Maybe it’s a power trip.”
“She needs to take a chill pill,” Lila says, biting into her sandwich. “No one’s going to spy on us.”
“What would happen if someone did?” I ask, holding my breath.
Holly snorts. “Knowing Naira, she’d probably give it to them slowly.”
“Yeah,” Lila says. “The old-fashioned way.”
Holly makes a face. “Ugh. Decortication is super nasty.”
“What’s decortication?” I ask.
Lila turns to me. “You know, it’s like when you peel the skin off an orange.”
“Hey ladies!” a skinny boy yells as he passes our table. “We’re starting a game of volleyball!”
“Sweet!” Holly jumps out of her chair.
“I’m totally there.” Lila scoops up her tray. “You coming, Kit?”
“Sure,” I mumble. I’m not going to be able to finish my sandwich anyway. As I follow Lila and Holly out of the dining hall, the hammering in my brain threatens to split my skull.
Outside, we find the initiates playing volleyball, or at least something that resembles volleyball. There’s a net and a ball, but the net is really a laser projection between two trees, the ball is small and black, and their Quils keep score.
I sit down on a tree stump, telling Lila I’ll just watch. The players are too good, and I don’t know all the rules. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to play even if I wanted to. For a while,
I watch the initiates send the ball sailing back and forth above the laser. That extra high jump. Last-second save. Powerful spike. The wind’s behind all of it.
After a few minutes, I can’t even focus enough to be a spectator and instead turn to my Quil, hoping for a better diversion. Now that I know how it works, I slip it easily off my wrist, press my thumb on the box, and experiment with the options on the screen. Most of the buttons are locked, but I investigate the ones I can open. One of them tells me how fast the wind is blowing and in what direction, one offers me an option to link to another device, and another gives me a list of stats about my body: my pulse, weight, blood pressure, height.
A girl sitting next to me shows me how to customize the Quil’s display when it’s in watch mode. I can remove something, like my bunkhouse assignment, or I can add something, like the schedule for the day or someone’s number. I do both of these, assigning Lila’s information to my favorites, since hers is the only number I know. When I’m done, I put the Quil back on my wrist and flip to the abbreviated schedule, set in English. It tells me another battle is at two o’clock, and I count down the time, tapping my foot and trying not to think about decortication.
Shortly before two, the ball players finally pack up their game, and we head to the Aerie. We grab jackets and masks from the bins and find seats as close to the front as we can get. Soon the gong rings, and when the contestants enter the field below us, I lean forward, eager for the distraction.
“
Kauna
1
”
begins, and a thrill runs through my chest as the contestants zoom around the arena. I try to see what they see, to find the wind currents, imagining I know which ones will be stable, which ones will take me in the direction I want. I see myself leaping from one to another, soaring beside the other players, dodging bullets, firing my own. Flipping and spinning and wheeling. And then I imagine leaving the Aerie altogether. Gliding with the birds above the trees, free from all dangers and fears.
I lean back in my seat, feeling the sun on my face through the mask, and realize the pounding in my head has faded.
See? I just needed to relax.
Even if they did catch a spy a long time ago, I don’t have to worry about it because, for one thing, I’m not a spy and, for another, they’re not going to catch me. So far, everything has been going perfectly, far better than I had hoped. I survived the
kiipooyaq
contest, and tomorrow I’ll run a race. Easy enough. The rest of the week, I’ll continue to hide out from the cops, eat good food, and, best of all, watch the windwalking. There’s nothing to worry about.
I turn my attention back to the battle as the first round ends and two-thirds of the players leave the field. Looking at the scoreboard, I do a double take when I see a familiar face on the blue team. It’s Diva.
Then the obstacles rise out of the floor—in different places than last time—the fans turn on, and the teams plan their attacks. As the battle begins again, I glance at Lila. She’s pulled her Quil off her wrist and is studying the screen.
“What are you looking at?” I ask.
“I know someone down there. I’m tracking her score.” Lila whistles. “Oh man, she just caught some sweet surf.”
Just then a blue player zooms in front of us. A second later, a member of the red team pelts him directly on the circle on his back, sending him flying into the netting. The tightly woven mesh springs him back into the arena, and he lands face up on the mats.
Lila cups her hands together. “
Taitai
!
” she yells, laughing. “Watch your back!”
Taitai
,
I repeat as
I look at the blue player struggling to get back on his feet. I think I’m beginning to understand what the expression means, where it comes from. It’s not just “good luck” or “take care.” It’s more like “good luck taking care.” A cynical kind of well-wishing.
The round ends, and I look at the screen. Diva is still in. “Someone tell me how that’s possible,” I mutter.
Lila leans toward me. “I’m so nervous!” she says. “I can’t believe I’m going to be down there tomorrow.”
I wrinkle my brow as I turn to look at her. I didn’t know she would be fighting in the arena. “You’ll do great,” I say.
“Probably not as well as you will. The way you threw the
kiipooyaq
this morning, I know you’ll be awesome.” I stare at her as she keeps talking. “I wonder who will be fighting with me. You haven’t met anyone with a number between one-twenty and one-eighty, have you?”
I’m glad I’m wearing the mask. It hides my creased forehead, the sweat on my hairline. When I don’t answer, Lila points to her Quil, and then I get it.
“No, I haven’t,” I manage to gasp.
Our numbers. Naira said there were approximately three hundred trainees, and there are five days of testing … that’s sixty people in the arena each day. I recall how Lila said my number was bad, and now I know why: it puts me in the very last group. I fight on Day Five.
Quickly, I take off my Quil and open the schedule of events, search for my number. It pulls up the two pages with the
kiipooyaq
contest
and foot race. Hand shaking, I slide my finger across the screen. A third page appears. There it is.
Day 5. 2:00. Aerie Challenge.
I lower the Quil.
This is bad. Very bad.
I’m not going to be able to pull this off. I can’t even get out on purpose, like I did when we’d play dodge ball at school. Y
ou aren’t eliminated automatically in the first round. I’ll be the only one standing on the arena floor, and then everyone will know that I don’t belong here, that I’m an imposter. They’ll think I’m a spy.
And then they’ll peel my skin off.
No, no, no!
Everything was going so well—I killed my goose. I’m going to run in their race. This isn’t fair. I bounce my knee up and down, rub my fingers along my forehead, but I can’t think of any solutions.
The gong sounds, and the contestants return to the air. They twirl and flip, launch themselves up, nosedive back down, but I’m not watching anymore.
What do I do? I need a plan.
I could try hiding again, but missing the Challenge would draw as much attention to myself as not being able to windwalk. I look out through the netting on the far side of the arena, at the endless stretch of trees and lakes, and then I know my only option. I’m going to have to run away.
The clouds cover the sun, and the white jackets of the spectators around me turn ashen. I can hardly bear to watch the contestants now. Each drop and lunge makes my chest tighten. Fortunately, the battle ends quickly.
Diva earns eighth place, and it’s another boy who wins first. He wasn’t quite as dazzling as Rye, but he does score one hundred and thirty points. I don’t pay much attention until he removes his helmet, and I recognize the thick neck and stern eyes. It’s Titan.
“He was in my van,” I mumble.
“Really?” Lila asks. “What’s his name?”
“Ti—I mean, I don’t know.”
“He’s cute,” Lila says. “Do you know if he’s single?”
“No idea.”
“I wonder how he’ll match up with Rye,” she muses.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You know, when all the winners fight in front of the tribe. For the title of
Tookapuna.
”
“Of course,” I mutter. Well, I certainly won’t be there to see it. I slide my lips back and forth under my teeth, jab my fingernails into my palms.
Concentrate. What do I need in order to get away from here?
Camping gear—I won’t survive long without some basic supplies. I’ll have to figure out where to find them.
As we leave the Aerie, I look back into the field, at the obstacles sinking into the floor and the weapons littered across the mats. The billboard is turned off now, its blank surface glinting dully in the sun. I drop my facemask and jacket in a bin and walk out the door.
Lila and I are shuffling along with the rest of the crowd when a single
gesture in the horde of people grabs my attention. The quick swipe of a tiny hand to brush back fine, honey blonde bangs. Charity.
“I’ll be right back,” I say as I push my way through the mob. I almost call out to her but then remember I don’t know her real name. “Excuse me,” I say, squeezing past the people in front of me. “I need to get through.”
But I’m too late. When I get to the bridge, I catch a glimpse of her feathery hair more than halfway across it. I won’t be able to catch up. Instead, I wait for Lila.
“See someone you know?” Lila asks.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t get her attention,” I say.
“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll see her later.”
“Probably.” I watch Charity’s head melt into the throng, not sure why I’m feeling so disappointed.
Lila and I use the rope ladder to get to the ground so we don’t have to fight the crowds crossing the bridge, and I ask her what she plans to do for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’m going to go down to the course,” she says. “I need to practice for my race. What are you going to do?”
“I think I’ll go practice too,” I lie.
“Wanna meet at the
wakemo
before dinner?”
“Sure.”
As she tromps off through the pine needles, I turn and walk in the opposite direction, toward the bay.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the kayaks. Hundreds of them are stacked along the beach.
Probably three hundred and three
, I think
.
If they found all the stragglers.
No one will notice if one is missing.
I walk toward the watercraft to make sure they aren’t tied down, sinking to a crouch to investigate the kayaks on the first stand. No ropes, no chains, no locks. Free for the taking.
But there is one setback: I don’t see any paddles. I traipse further along the shore, wondering if they might be at the far end, but there’s nothing. I scramble back up the beach and stride toward the
wakenu
. I only know one place to look.
I climb the spiral staircase and enter the first level of the meetinghouse. The hallway is empty. As I walk toward the doors by the table, I hear my pulse in my ears.
I pause briefly at the first door. In the center of the steel panel is a porthole window, and I peek inside at what must be the kitchen. Several people mill around large stoves, preparing dinner. I won’t find what I’m looking for in there.