by Jenna Moreci
“Weshould’velethim.Would’vedoneusallafavor.Hell,Iwould’veshook
hishand—er,claw.Whateverthehellitis.”
Everandownthestreetasfastasshepossiblycould—which,fortherecord,
wasvery, veryfast.Shehadtogetaway—fromthepolice,fromtheonlookers, fromeveryone.FromSanFrancisco.Herheartbeatloudlyinherchest,andthe
coolbreezesuddenlyfeltlikeiceclawingatherface,butstillshekeptrunning, her body fueled with an unparalleled energy that didn’t cease even when she reached her apartment. She rarely grew tired, at least physically, though her mindwasexhaustedfromtheday’stribulations:thestares,thepawnshop,and
ofcoursetheInterloper.Sheclosedthedoorbehindherandthen,againsther
betterjudgment,pulledherphonefromherpocketandpressedthe playbutton.
Ahologram,thoughbarelyfunctioning,appearedfromherphone,displaying theimageofherhighschoolprincipal.
“Hello, Miss Kingston? I see you’re unable to answer your phone; I can’t fathomwhy.It’seighto’clock,andyoushouldbeherebynow.”
Shedeletedtheholomessage,andthenextoneplayed.
“Evelyn,I’mnotsureifyou’retryingtopullsomesortofstunthere,butit’s not funny, nor is it mature. Not only are you our salutatorian, you’re also the onlystudentofourstoeverbeacceptedtoBillington.Cometotheauditorium immediately.”
Deleted.Thenextoneappeared,andthenext,andthenext.
“Evelyn,whereinGod’snameareyou?Doyourealizewe’regoingtohaveto
rearrangetheentireceremonybecauseofyou?”
“Dammit,Evelyn,you’renotevengoingtoattendyourowngraduation?”
“Ihopeyou’reSATISFIEDwithyourself.Ican’timaginewhattheBillington
officialssawwhentheyacceptedyou,butIcantellyouwhatI’veseensincethe momentyouenteredmyschool:adeplorableCHIME.”
Eveflungthephoneacrosstheroom,sendingitcrashingintothewalland
shattering into tiny pieces. This act of defiance didn’t help—not even the fact thatshehaddoneitwithhergiftalone.Thephonewasoflittleimportanceto
her—besides,shehadnoonetotalktoanyway—butherprincipal’svoice
echoedthroughhermindoverandoveragain,repeatinglikesomeformof
cruelpunishment. Deplorablechime. Forsomereason,thosewordsseemedso
muchmorefoulthantheInterlopershehadseenonlymomentsprior.
Itwouldallbeoversoonenough:shewasmovingtoBillingtonintwo
months.Shewouldbelivingfourhundredmilesawayfromthisplace—away
fromthelingeringstaresandapastshecarednottoremember,inahomethat
never felt like home in the first place. That was all she wanted: to start over withacleanslateinacitywherenooneknewhernameorwhatshetrulywas.
Achancetoliveanormal,anonymouslife—thelifeofahuman.Shewould
haveallofthat,soonenough.
ShewouldhavethatatBillington.
***
“Evelyn,doyouwantsomewater?”
Eveheldherheadlow,hertangledcurlshangingoverherface.Shedidn’t
answer.
“Iknowyou’resad,sweetie,butwe’regoingtohavetoaskyouafew
questions,okay?”
Everemainedmotionless.
The officer placed a paper cup in front of her. He rested his hand on her shoulderandglancedatanotherofficer,whowaspacingbackandforthatthe
oppositesideoftheroom.
“Now,Evelyn,Ineedyoutotellmewhathappenedtoday.”Hepausedto
gentlyrubherback.“Ineedyoutotellmeabouttheaccident.”
Evewhimperedsoftly;shefinallylookedupattheofficer,hereyes
glisteningwithtears.“Aremymommyanddaddydead?”
Theofficerscratchedathismustacheandsighed.“I’mafraidso.”
Evewassilent.Herliptrembledasatearsliddownhercheek.
“Iknowit’shard,honey.Butweneedyoutotelluswhathappened.”
“Thisisuseless,”hispartnermuttered,adjustinghisbeltunderhis
protrudingstomach.
“Canyoujusttelluswhatyousaw?”
Evewipedherfaceandbreathedindeeply.“Hecrashedhiscarintomy
mommyanddaddy.”Hervoicewaveredasshespoke.“Hejust…justcrashed
intothem.”
“Andthenwhathappened?”
“Then…”
Shepausedandlookeddownatthepapercuponthetable.Herminddrifted
to the scene of the accident and then faded into darkness. She flinched. For a second,shethoughtshesawthecupmovinginfrontofher,butshewas
mistaken.
“Idon’tknow,”shemurmured.“Itwasreallyfast,I…Ican’tremember.”
“That’sBULLSHIT!”
Thesecondofficerkickedatanearbychairinafitofrage.Eveshriekedaloud
ashechargedtowardherandshovedhisround,sweatyfaceinfrontof
hers,hislipsquiveringwithdisgust.
“Youlistenhere,you chime.You’regoingtostarttalking rightnow. ”
Eve looked up at the first officer in desperation. He was leaning casually againstthewall,hisformerlysoft,kindeyesnowhardandcold.
“I…Idon’tknow—”
“YOUTELLUSRIGHTNOW!”Thesecondofficergrabbedhershoulders
andshookherviolentlyuntilsheburstintotears.“Youkilledthatman,didn’t
you? You killed him and you did it on purpose! And you’re going to tell us howyoudiditandwhy,thisverysecond!”
Evescreamedandcriedastearspoureddownherrawcheeks.Sheyelledout
for her mother and father, knowing all too well that there was no way they couldhelpher.Noonewasgoingtohelpher.
Evejumpedinherseat,knockingherheadagainstthewindowbesideher
andsendingthenearbypassengersintoafitofgiggles.Sherubbedheraching
temple and muttered profanities under her breath as she tried to regain her composure.Ithadbeenanotherdream,ofcourse.Theairinthebuswasthick
andhot,enoughsotolullhertosleep,andshewonderediftheweatheroutside
couldbeanyworsethantheswamp-likeatmospherewithinthecrampedshuttle.
Suddenly,thebuslurchedtoasharpstop,sendingeveryunsuspectingbody
swayingforwardinunison.Evelookedoutthewindow;shehadarrived.
Thegatedentranceoftheuniversitywaslargeandforeboding,likethesolid
black bars of a prison. The resemblance was unintentional, and probably one onlyEvewoulddiscern,butstillshewrinkledhernoseindistasteasshepeered
out at the campus. So, this was Billington—the nation’s highest ranking and mostwidelyacclaimeduniversity,centeredintheheartofupscaleSouthern
California in the city of Calabasas. It was a gem among pebbles, a stallion
amongasses,orwhateverotherclichédmetaphoritsbackerscouldconjureup.
But the hype, for the most part, was accurate: the courses were difficult, the competitionwasfierce,andtheadmittanceprocesswasgod-awful.
Evehadknownthatgettingintotheschoolinthefirstplacewouldbeanear
impossibility, but she’d thrown her name into the hat despite her doubts and cynicism.Andnow,somanymonthslater,hereshestood,immersedinthe
beautiful Southern California weather— God, was it hot out—staring at the infamousBillingtonUniversity
campus,themeccaofinnovationand
enterprise,theplacewherebrilliantyoungmindsweremoldedintolawyers,
doctors,soldiers,andCEOs.
Eve didn’t care about any of that. In fact, she thought there was something almostpretentiousandoff-puttingaboutthewholething.No,Evewastherefor
one reason only: anonymity. The chance to live as a human—not as an outed chimera.Ifanyplacecouldchangeherfate,ithadtobeBillington.Andeven
better,shewasthereonascholarship—well,atleastforherfreshmanyear.
Eveclungtoherbelongings—twoawkwardduffelbagsandalumpy
suitcase stuffed to the seams—and with an effortless swing, she hoisted them overhershoulderandmadeherwaythroughthegleaminggates.
Eveenteredthepristinecourtyard,whereperfectlymanicuredmapletrees
stoodlikestatuesatoptheimmaculatelygroomedlawn,creatingaseaofgreen
forwhatseemedlikemilesintothedistance.Eachleaf,twig,andbladeofgrass
hadbeencutwiththeutmostprecisionandexactness;themeticulousnatureof
thecourtyardcreatedapainfullysterileatmospherethatleftEvewithan
overwhelmingfeelingofdiscomfort,andsoshehastenedherstride.
Asshewalked,shewatchedtheothernewstudentsmovingintotheir prospectivebuildings.Mostwereaccompaniedbytheirfamilies:motherscried
astheirpreciousbabiesmovedoutontheirown,andfathersbeamedastheir
strong,capablesonsandsmart,accomplisheddaughtersbecamerealmenand
women.Thewholespectaclewasallsotouching—inthemostsickeningway,
at least to Eve. She rolled her eyes and continued on her trek to Rutherford Hall,westofHutchinsonHall,whereverthatwas.
Shepausedforamoment.Hadshepasseditalready?Itwashardtotell.The
architecturewassouniformandconsistent,itwasnearlyimpossibletotellone
endofthecampusfromtheother.Feelingoverwhelmed,hereyesdarted
acrossthepathwayinfrontofher,andshespiedatall,lankyboywithaface
filledwithcysticacne.Likeher,hejuggledseveralmustyduffelbags,and,like her,hewasalone.
“Excuseme.”Shetappedhimlightlyontheshoulder.“Doyouknowwhere
RutherfordHallis?”
Theboyraisedhiseyebrows,lookingherupanddownwithacriticaleye.
“You’relookingforRutherfordHall?”
“Yes,why?”
“Youdefinitelydon’tlookliketheRutherfordtype.”
Shescowledimpatiently.“Canyoujusttellmewhereitis?”
“Makealeftatthestudentunionandgostraight.Youwon’tmissit.Trustme,”
heanswered,tiltinghisheadtopointherinthecorrectdirection.Evegathered
herbagsandhurriedonward,eagertofinallyfindtheroomshe
wouldbecallinghomeforatleastthenextyear.
At last she spotted it: just as her pimply-faced guide had stated, it was impossibleforhertomiss.Onegiantdormitorystoodbeforeher,its
grandioseappearancealoneexceptioninablanketofuniformity.Thebuilding
was stately, almost majestic, with a tower atop it that extended at least ten storiesabovetheothers;barredbalconiesadornedthefrontlikerowsofbows
acrossanalreadyliberallydecoratedgift.Thetwofrontdoorsofthebuilding
werejetblack,muchlikethefrontgatesoftheuniversity,withgolden
embellishmentsandsparklingdoorhandles.Abovethedoorsingleaminggold
lettersreadthewords RUTHERFORDHALL.
Evestaredindisbeliefathernewhome. Theremusthavebeenamistake,she thought.Sheobservedtheotherstudentswhomadetheirwayintothe
dormitoryand,indeed,theywereverymuchlikeoneanotherandnotatalllike
her.Eachandeveryoneofthemseemedtocarrythesamedesignerluggagein
variouscolors,andmanywereaccompaniedbysharplydresseddriversand
obedient-lookingservants.Asshewatched,asleek,whitelimousinepulledup
alongsidethebuilding,andateamofuniformedworkersbeganunloadingan
endlessarrayofpinkleatherbagsandcarryingthemintothehall.Elsewhere,
twomuscularbodyguardswearingsuitsandsunglasseswereescortinga
youngmanthroughthefrontdoors,whileanotherguardbarkedordersintoa
radioearpiece.
Evepulledacrinkledpieceofpaperoutofherbackpocket.Thewords
“FALLSEMESTER2087”wereprintedatthetop,andunderneathwasalistof herclassesandherdormitoryplan.Sureenough,nomatterhowmanytimes
shereadthefineprint,thewords“RUTHERFORDTOWER,ROOM1226”were
still neatly printed across the bottom of the page. She half expected to find a disclaimer—“Kidding,moron!”—splatteredunderneath,asiftheschoolwere
trying to play a cruel joke on her. However, no such prank could be found, leavingEveperplexedastowhythedeansoftheschoolfounditnecessaryto
househerinabuildingwithstudentswho,forwhateverreason,needed
limousines,pinkluggage,andbodyguards.
“Lost,hon?”
Eveflinched,startledbythestrangegirlwho’dsuddenlyappearedather
side.ShewasmuchshorterthanEve,whichultimatelymeantshewasof
averageheightandbuild,andhadshimmeringredhairthatwasperfectly
waved and pinned to the side with a pearl barrette. Her mint green sweater blousesubtlymatchedheremeraldeyes—thepairingwasmostlikely
intentional—andshesmiledatEvewiththelargest,toothiest,andphoniest
smileEvehadeverseen.
“Uh…”Evestutteredforamoment,fumblingtounfoldherfallitinerary
oncemore.“I’mnotsure,actually.ItsaysherethatthisiswhereI’mstaying,
but—”
“Oh,you’reEvelynKingston!”ThegirlpeeredoverEve’sshoulderand
brieflyreadheritinerary.“Irememberyoufromthefacedatabase.”
“It’sEve.”Shepaused.“What’sthefacedatabase?”
“It’sacategorizedlistofallthestudentshereatBillington.”Thegirlflipped herwristsasshespoke,herperfectlymanicuredfingersalmostasexpressive
asherpluckyvoice.“IliketoperuseallthenewcomerstoRutherfordHall.I
havegreatintuition,youknow.Icanreadafaceandinstantlytellyou
everythingaboutthatperson.That’swhyI lovethefacedatabase.”Shepointed toaslenderboywithauburnhairandatleastamillionfreckles.“Seethatguy?
ThomasCooper.Schemer.Troublemaker.Double-crosser.”
Everaisedasingleeyebrow.“Andyoucantellthatallbyhisface?”
Thegirlcockedherheadandgrinned.“Amongotherthings.Youwerea
standoutinthedatabase,youknow.”
“Oh?”Evehesitated.“Andwhyisthat?”
“Well,forstarters,youdidn’thaveanybackgroundinformation.How
mysterious.Ifiguredyouhadjustforgottentosubmitapersonalityinventory.”
Eveflashedaninsincerehalf-smirk.“Youcaughtme.”
“AndwhenItookalookatyourpicture,Ijustfeltlike,oh,Idon’tknow…”
Thegirlstoppedforamoment,hergrinspreadingevenwideracrossher
cheeks.“LikeIknewyoufromsomewhere.Tellme,Eve:havewemet
before?”
“NotthatIcanremember.”
“Areyousure?BecauseIcould’veswornIrecognizedyoufrom
somewhere.”
ApangofdiscomfortburnedinEve’
sstomach,butsheremainedcalmand triedtoappearunfazed.“IthinkIwould’verememberedmeetingsomeonelike
you.”
“Hm.Ohwell.”Thegirlshrugged,hereyesquicklyglancingoverEve’s
itineraryoncemore.“Itlookslikewe’regoingtobeneighbors.Well,
practically.”
“I’msorry,Ididn’tcatchyourname.”
“HeatherMcLeod—Room1230.Juststartingmysophomoreyear.”She
pointedtowardthetwelfthstoryofthetower.“Seethatbalconyrightthere,with theflowerbox?That’smyroom.Iplantedthosedaisiesmyself.”Shebeamed
withpride.
Eveshadedhereyesasshestaredupatthemassivetower,completely
underwhelmed by Heather ’s green thumb. “I don’t understand. This place
looks
morelikeahotelthanadormitory.Isn’tit,Idon’tknow,excessive?”
“Excessive?Maybe,butIliketothinkofitas architecturalpanache.
RutherfordHallhaseverythingyoucouldwantinadormitory:comfort,class,
a hint of opulence, not to mention privacy, especially if you live on the fifteenthfloor.That’swherealltheluxurysuitesare.”
“Luxury suites?Who’ssoimportantthattheyneedaluxurysuitein college?”
Heathernoddedtowardthegroupofbodyguardshuddledbythefrontdoors.
“See all that mess over there? They’re here for the president’s son, Marshall
Woodgate,”shewhispered.“Reallystandoffishguy,butyoudidn’thearitfrom me.”
“Damn…”
Heathergiggled.“EveryonestayinginRutherfordHallishereforareason.
Youeitherhavealotofmoney,alotofpower,oryou’rereally, reallysmart.”
HereyesscannedoverEve’sclothingandfadedduffelbags.“Youmustbe
reallysmart.”
BeforeEvecouldrespond,Heathersqueezedherhandexcitedly.“Here,let
megraboneofyourbagsandI’llshowyouaroundabit.”
Withaplayfulskip,HeatherpluckedEve’slightestbagfromthegroundand
dashedupthefrontstepsofRutherfordHall.Evehadnochoicebuttofollow.
Thelargedoorsswungopen,andEvesteppedintoastunninglobby.Plush
redcouchesandebonytablessatatopablack-and-whitecheckeredfloor,and
portraits of ex-presidents in gold leaf frames lined the walls like guardians watchingoverthebustlingstudents.Beforelong,thegirlshadreachedafork