The Complex Life (The Complex Trilogy Book 1)

by Heather Hayes

  Nothing, silence. The complex staff must have known we'd figure out how to speak into it. There is some kind of sound barrier in there.

  Ow, something in my pocket is poking me as I squat. Ooh! I have an idea. I take the squarish spoon out of my pocket and see if it will fit into the screw heads. It does! The spoon makes a clumsy screwdriver, but I slowly get a screw out. Garth nods and smiles down at me through the glass.

  Avra looks over at me and comes unglued. "What are you doing, Elira?"

  "I'm making a way to pass notes to the boys. Stand guard at the door for me, please?"

  Avra looks furtively at the other girls in the room. They are oblivious to what we're doing. They are crowded around the telephone with boys on the other side who are doing the same thing. "Okay, Elira. You owe me, and you only get five minutes." She blows a kiss to Scott and then marches to the door.

  I work as quickly as my hands can. I get another screw out. Garth is trying to block what I'm doing from Scott on the other side while he talks to him. I get three more screws out and notice that the metal face plate is loose and will swivel up and over with only one screw left in the wall. Woohoo! Garth gives me a wink and a thumbs-up while he pretends to stretch. It doesn't work. Scott can totally tell what I'm doing. Luckily, he'll benefit from this too. I get on my hands and knees and stick my head into the 12-inch square hole that is now exposed in the wall. Bonk. My forehead hits something I can't see. Cold air tugs my hair down. There is a clear sound barricade inside the cold air return. I must not be the first person to try to speak through it. I wiggle the square piece of plexiglass and pull it out of the hole. I can see the slotted metal plate on the boys' side of the wall less than a foot away. Do I dare speak through it?

  I tap the metal softly with my fingers first, "Garth?"

  He taps back, "Elira?"

  I try not to tremble as I hear that deep alluring voice, so similar to his brother's. "I don't have much time, Garth, but we should try to do this again soon. Take this letter. I have written down everything I know about odd things at the complex." I shove the folded paper through one of the metal slots on his side.

  "Thank you. Rocky will be thrilled, but be careful, Elira."

  "Why?"

  "Have you noticed anything different about my group of friends?"

  I smile as I think about how good looking they are. I'm not going to say that though. "You guys are the smart ones."

  Garth laughs. "Well, thanks, we like to think so, but have you noticed anything else?"

  "Andric takes things apart and steals things."

  "Yeah, that makes him stand out, doesn't it? He is trying to find a way out of here. I can't believe he didn't figure out how to take this cold air return apart already. Oh, it looks like he tried, but he destroyed the screw heads. Ha! He can't stand sitting around being told what to do 24/7."

  "I hope the mentors haven't noticed the same things I have. They will charge him as a dissident."

  "Yeah, that's the problem. They have noticed. He is being watched and we are his friends, so we are being watched too. I'm afraid you'll be watched on your side for your interest in us."

  "Elira! Could you bring me another cleaning rag, please?"

  I take that as a sign from Avra. "I have to go. Bye Garth."

  "Bye, Elira."

  Oh! That's my name coming out of his lips. Tremble, tremble. My hands don't want to work as I force the soundproof plexiglass back in place and then slide the square metal cover back into its worn grooves. I stand up just as Mentor Roberta walks into the room. Garth quickly leaves his school room before he is recognized. I hide the loose screws in my left fist as I walk across the room with a smile on my face and a rag in my right hand. "Here you are, Avra. I think we're about done. We should go to bed. I'm tired."

  "Yeah... me too." Avra hesitantly agrees as she looks at Scott's disappointed face.

  Mentor Roberta frowns as she watches us put our cleaning supplies away. We smile at her and leave the room. My heart is beating a thousand times a minute as I walk down the hall. My hands are shaking. I just hope that Mentor Roberta's attention is drawn to our retreating backs and not to the unscrewed grate cover in the back corner of the school room.

  Chapter 11

  The guard is standing in front of my window again tonight. Blast him! I wonder if I really am being watched... To be honest with myself, I don't know what the mysterious woman is signing yet. I know there is a C, and I'm pretty sure there is a K as well, I'll know tomorrow when I finish my sign language alphabet. Avra rolls over in bed and whispers to me, "Did you get your letter through the grate?"

  I can't hide the smile on my face. "Yep!"

  Avra grins from ear to ear as she stares at the ceiling. "I'm going to write Scott a letter tomorrow. Will you stick it through the grate for me?"

  I can't help but giggle. "Yes. Thank you for standing guard tonight."

  "You're welcome. Did you see Mentor Roberta's face when she came in? It was almost like she was sure she'd find us breaking the rules."

  I look at her incredulously. "We were breaking the rules."

  "I know. We need to be careful, but man, am I excited about this new hole!"

  I don't let Avra know that as excited as I am, I'm also equally scared that they'll discover what I've done and charge me as a dissident. "Yeah, Avra. Me too."

  "Which of your boy gang do you like the most?"

  I pause and think about my smart gang before answering. "They are all handsome in their own way, but two of them are tied in my mind. Who do you think I like the most?"

  "Well, when one of the twins looks at you, I swear you stop breathing."

  I blush under the edge of my blanket. "Yeah, I like the twins. My eyes find them no matter how crowded their school room is." Avra giggles.

  Words keep spilling out of my mouth without my permission, "Oh, and their voices... Their voices sound as nice as butter tastes on hot bread." Avra smiles as she reaches out and nudges my arm. I take a deep breath and let it out to slow down my heart. "I'm not sure which one I like the most, Avra. They both make me weak in the knees."

  Avra rolls onto her side to look at me better. "Which one do you have the most in common with?"

  "I don't know, I've only spoken to each of them once."

  "Good point. Can you even tell them apart? I can't."

  I giggle in exasperation. "As far as looks go, not really. Jefrey has a yellow button and some purple marks like mine. Garth's fingers are stuck together on one hand and has an orange button. That's literally the only way I can tell them apart without speaking to them."

  "Ha ha! Good luck with that!"

  "Yeah." I sigh. I like them both. The same. So far.

  •

  Mentor Bridget claps her hands with delight. "Welcome to job research weeks everyone!" The older girls smile and cheer while we 16 girls just stare blankly at her. "Each day for the next 12 days, we will have professional workers from the 12 jobs come into the school room to help teach skills used in their particular job. Today is cooking day." Avra claps her hands happily. I guess this means I won't be working on my sign language for a while. Dang. Oh well, the guard keeps standing in front of my window anyway.

  Six cooks enter the school room dressed in purple jumpsuits. They bring in rolling carts filled with fruits, vegetables, dry powders, slimy pink stuff, and many other weird looking things that I can't name. We all gape as they set up machines and ingredients at six of the experiment stations around the room.

  Mentor Bridget clears her throat. "There are six stations that you will rotate through. At each one you will make something different. There is a green salad station, a fruit salad station, a waffle station, a meat station, a soup station, and a pudding station. You will be making your own noon and 5:00 victuals. These cooks usually make them for you, but
they are in here today. So, it is in your best interest not to mess anything up too badly. Get in groups of 10 and get to work!"

  I just love how everyone is in a group before I've even had time to process what is happening. Avra tugs on my sleeve. "There's only room left at the meat station, let's go!"

  "Okay, okay." I look at the meat station with its cutting boards and electric things I've never seen before plugged into the wall, then I look at the girls in that group. Oh goody. We're with Mara and Julie. Gee, I wonder why no one else wants to be in this group. "At least we aren't with Vanessa..." I mutter under my breath as I pull a long black apron over my head.

  "Look who came to join us, Mara," Julie says as she slides a blob of pink slimy stuff on a cutting board toward me. "It's raccoon face and baldy."

  I turn from Julie's smug face to our cook's sweet, smiling, light brown face, "I'm sorry, but I don't know if it will be safe to have these two and me in the same area with knives."

  The cook's smile slides right off her face. "Really, girls? I wanted this to be a fun day. Fine. I'll go get Mentor Bridget to babysit you three."

  Oh no. That's not what I want. "Why can't I switch groups?"

  The usually smiley cook points around the room. "Everyone in the other groups has already started their recipes. You'll just have to learn to get along. Now wash your hands and start chopping your chicken into bite-sized pieces while I get Mentor Bridget."

  We wash our hands obediently at the experiment station sink. Julie watches the cook talk to Mentor Bridget, then turns to her cutting board and starts chopping her pink glob with more force than is necessary. "I would back up if I were you, Elira."

  "I think I will. Thanks for the suggestion," I say sarcastically as I scoot as far away from Julie as possible. Avra scoots next to me. "When is she going to give us the chicken, Avra?"

  "I think this pink stuff is the chicken."

  "Uh, I've eaten a lot of chicken in my life, it's not pink and slimy. It's white, sometimes it's browned a bit."

  "We haven't cooked it yet. It will probably turn white."

  "Oh, right."

  The cook finds her smile again once Mentor Bridget is planted behind me. "I am going to get the frying pans and woks heating up, so don't touch them, or you'll get burned." I scoot a few inches away from the nearest pan.

  As hard as it is to have Julie, Mara, and Mentor Bridget glaring at me as I chop, it's kind of fun to watch Avra thriving in this environment. She was right, the pink slimy chicken did turn white when we put it in the hot frying pans and electric woks provided.

  "Elira, you cook your chicken chunks with that olive oil stuff and that bottle of seasonings and I'll cook mine without anything. Let's see who's tastes better."

  "Okay, you're on."

  I turn around to see if the boys are doing this same thing today. They are. Bicep is at the chicken cutting station too and I see him stick a knife up his sleeve. It makes my heart race just imagining a loose knife flopping around in my sleeve. Oh, he just asked to go to the bathroom. He's good at what he does, I admit. "Ow!" My skin screams at me as I shove the back of my hand in my mouth. The olive oil pops and snaps out of the pan when it's hot. When I've calmed myself down, I take my hand out of my mouth and watch a red spot appear before my eyes.

  "Hey, Mara. Raccoon face is adding more splotches to her body. Do you think she knows that the rest of us aren't following her fashion trend?" Mara laughs out loud until Mentor Bridget makes her stop.

  "You're right, Julie. Maybe I should be rude and nasty to everyone I meet so I can be fashionable like you."

  "Enough, you two," Mentor Bridget says, "One more outburst and I'll send you both to a solitary cell. This is supposed to be fun and educational. Stop ruining it for everyone around you." Julie turns her back to me, which suits me just fine. I only open my mouth if she does.

  Avra and I do a taste test on our chicken once it's done. Mine is a little bit darker than it probably should be. I've been a little bit distracted in this hostile environment. Avra's chicken is the perfect golden-brown color. I try a bite from both pans. "Avra, I think yours is cooked to the perfect doneness, but I think the oil and seasonings on mine give it better flavor."

  Avra tries some chicken from both pans and nods in agreement. "You're right. I will cook my next batch with oil and seasonings."

  Her next batch is perfectly delicious, —even our smiley cook wants to try it. Avra knows what her gift is and I'm kind of jealous. I don't care that I'm not a natural at cooking, but I wish I knew what job I am meant for.

  Mentor Bridget looks at the clock. She announces to the room at large, "You have fifteen minutes to clean up then switch to the station on your left."

  The chicken residue in my pan takes more scrubbing than I expect it to. I get it clean just in time for the next group to kick me out of my spot.

  We switch stations. We make green salad. We switch again. Avra impresses each cook we work with. I barely keep from getting in a fight with Julie each time Mentor Bridget turns her back. What a day.

  The victuals are delicious at least. We have chicken on green salad with pudding for noon victuals and chicken noodle soup with fruit salad for 5:00 victuals. The other half of the room does the opposite. The waffles are eaten as soon as they come off the waffle irons as what Mentor Bridget calls ‘a snack.' I think it means eating something during unappointed times. The waffles are our last station, and Avra needs a chair to sit on through the whole thing. She stirs the batter while I run the waffle iron. I get nervous when Mentor Bridget writes something on her clipboard. Please don't take this away from her, I beg Mentor Bridget in my head. Please don't take away the one job she loves. She is meant to cook.

  Mentor Bridget clears her throat loudly. "Girls, may I have your attention? You did a wonderful job today, some more than others. That is the way it is supposed to be. As the job research days go on, you will notice what comes naturally to you and what does not. You'll then be able to make an informed choice when filling out your job interest papers. Get a good night's rest, and we'll see you all back here tomorrow for gardening day."

  We are all surprisingly tired after we clean up the school room and send the cooks away with their wheeled carts. Hardly anyone even tries to flirt with the boys before we're kicked out of the room. Is this what having a job feels like? Twelve days of this in a row seems like a lot. I guess I better get used to it. When I turn 18, I'll have the same job the rest of my days in a row.

  Chapter 12

  Gardening day is fun. The gardeners wheel in carts full of bagged soil, seeds, and tiny pots. I like planting seeds in little tiny pots. We are told that the tomato and cucumber plants we plant today will be planted in the outside soil once they get too big for their pots. I start to think I should be a gardener if it means I can wander around outside.

  Mentor Bridget overhears my group talking and clarifies something. "For those of you who don't know, the complex is a giant octagon with a basement, a main floor and a second floor. The dorms are mostly on the second floor, you have probably guessed this because there are occasionally windows in the dorms. You probably remember being moved down a flight of stairs once you were moved to the wooden dorm. That dorm and the glass dorm are the only ones on the main floor. Half of the jobs in the complex are located in the basement, like cooking, laundry, textiles, and chemistry. The other half are on the main floor, like artistry, metal welding, and gardening. The gardens are located in the center of the octagon with a glass ceiling to let the sun in. So gardeners can't wander off into the toxic world and no outsiders can steal our vegetables."

  Well, never mind. I don't want to be a gardener then.

  •

  The next day is janitorial day. I am dead set against doing this job after scrubbing the left-side bathroom from top to bottom with only a tiny brush to separate my hand from the grime. But
then one of the janitors tells me something that changes my mind.

  "When I chuck bags of garbage out the garbage chute, I see daylight through the flaps. It's my favorite part of the day. It's beautiful." That's pretty cool.

  I turn to Avra, who's scrubbing the base of a toilet. "If I was a janitor, I could stick my arm out the garbage chute and feel the sun and the wind that I'm so curious about."

  The janitor who is helping us notices my excitement and clarifies, "No, missy. We wear protective suits when we send things out the garbage chute. You can't feel a thing. We don't want to absorb toxins doing that."

  "Oh." Never mind.

  •

  Textile day is terrible. My back is absolutely killing me. I glare at pillowcase number 12 as I feed it through my sewing machine. How many pillowcases can this complex possibly need anyway? The boys sew pillowcases all day too. I can tell Andric is frustrated with his sewing machine. He's trying to do a two-handed job with his one good arm. I watch as he pounds the table he's working at in frustration and the sewing machine falls off the table onto the floor. Parts and pieces go flying, and Andric is escorted from the room by a tall, chocolatey brown mentor with biceps almost as big as his own. I catch Garth's eye after Andric is gone. I wish I could communicate with him. I need to meet with him, but there are too many mentors and workers on both sides of the glass during ‘job research weeks.'

  •

  On guard day I am hopeful that we'll get to leave the complex. Ha ha ha. Nope. Four guards come into our school room wearing their white protective suits. I can't tell them apart other than they stand at different heights. When they push a button at neck level, the helmet detaches from the rest of the suit. All four helmets come off at the same time. I am surprised to see a woman and three men staring back at me. I am paying attention today. This may be the job for me.