Independent Study (8 page)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?” I whisper back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enzo Laznar.”

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

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

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

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

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

“My friends call me Cia.”

Professor Holt smiles. “Well, first let me congratulate you on your performance in the final Early Studies examination. Your scores were quite impressive. I hope you do as well in your regular classes when they begin next week.” She takes a sheet of gray recycled paper off the table next to her. “Because of your high examination marks, your class list is more challenging than the others. Please let me, your guide, or one of the other faculty know if you feel overwhelmed by the work you are being given. We are here to teach, but, more important, we are here to help.”

Professor Holt pauses. Since no question has been asked, I simply nod my understanding. Giving me another smile, the professor says, “In addition to your classroom studies, you’ll also be assigned an internship that will, alongside your book learning, teach you how best to achieve success in your future career. Juggling both can be a challenge. Once again, if you have any difficulties handling that challenge, please let us know so we can alter your workload in a manner that will best benefit you, the University, and the United Commonwealth.”

If I hadn’t seen Obidiah after Redirection, if I hadn’t listened to my own recollections of The Testing, I’d feel reassured by her words. I would believe the expression of maternal concern on Professor Holt’s face. But I did see, and the words on the recorder are etched in my memory. No matter what the course load, I will not complain. More, I will not fail.

My resolve almost cracks as Professor Holt hands me my schedule. During our Early Studies semester, every student was assigned five courses. This schedule has me attending nine.

Professor Holt leans forward. “I know the schedule looks intimidating.”

Yes. But I’m not foolish enough to admit my concern. “I’m excited to see science and math classes. I assumed those were courses reserved for Biological and Mechanical Engineering students.”

Professor Holt’s eyes meet mine. “Those who depend fully on another person’s knowledge to decide what is possible are easily manipulated. The most effective leaders utilize experts from all fields, but rely on none when it comes to making a decision. I think you will find your excellence in math and science will be more useful in your selected career path than you might have believed.”

The thought makes me smile.

“Do you have any other questions?” she asks. When I shake my head no, the professor reaches for an ornate gold bell on the small table next to her and gives it a ring. “I hope you enjoy your new residence and class schedule, Ms. Vale. And please remember, I am always here if ever you need assistance.”

The purple-clad official appears at the doorway, signaling more clearly than the bell that the meeting is at an end. After thanking the professor for her time, I head for the door. It isn’t until I’m headed back up the stairs to my rooms that I realize that Professor Holt used only my last name as she said goodbye. Not Cia. Was that a deliberate choice? I believe so. Professor Holt is leaving it to me to determine whether she is a friend or if she is my foe.