by Casey Hays
His eyes trail across the room and land on me. He raises a brow.
“Ian.” He straightens to his full six foot eight height. “Have I mentioned how good it is of you to join us today? I hear you’ve had yourself another adventure.”
All heads turn, expectantly hopeful that this time, I might have a better tale to spin. I sit very still, shooting darts at Jones, who looks back at me with the pretense of innocence smeared across his face, as if he’s merely welcoming me back into his fold. I see the humorous gleam in his eye. He’s about to use me as an example.
The class sits like stones, waiting.
“Case in point, class.” Jones clasps his hands and moves around to rest one hip against the front of his steel desk that has rusted to a brown tinge at the corners. “Leaving the city before you’re ready comes with a high price. I believe Ian could enlighten all of us in this area.” He raises a hand, presents me to the class. “Would you like to take a stab at educating your fellow students by a synopsis of your experiences?”
I clench my jaw, all my unkempt tension flying to the surface and burning just beneath my skin.
“No sir,” I say tightly between my lips.
“No? Well, just know I was really looking forward to your presentation. I’ll reschedule it for another time, when you’ve had a chance to prepare.”
His smug expression boils my blood. I know what he’s doing. Teaching me a lesson. Reminding me that my recklessness brings trouble on all of us. I don’t deny this; there’s no way I can. But I don’t like his tactics. If he thinks they’ll work, he’s mistaken.
I suddenly regret showing my face. I could be at home safely staring at my walls right now.
“Self-discipline,” he continues, reverting to his lesson. “Something all of us might want to take to heart. Its practice can mean the difference between victory and defeat.”
He stands, edges around the desk again as the enthusiastic eyes of his students follow his every move.
“Next week, you will participate in a physical exercise of self-control,” Jones announces.
A rumble of excitement bubbles into the air. I remain neutral, disinterested. Jones straightens a stack of papers and lays them on his desk again before continuing.
“Between now and then, you will choose a partner. You will be prepared to answer a series of questions to determine your own areas of struggle. As you may have noticed since the Shift, each of you contains unique variations in your abilities. Some of you are faster, some stronger. Some of you are infused with more defining traits of anger, anxiety, fear, and so forth. All of which take us right back to our main subject.” He taps the board right over the words self-discipline. “Undesirable traits can be abated, lessened, controlled with a little work.” He raises a brow, a smile tickling the edges of his mouth. “And the end result? Well, that depends on each of you individually.”
With this final thought, he dismisses class. They shuffle around, gathering their books and bags, a quiet humming of voices filling the room. A few people toss a glance my way as they pass. I ignore them. Bethany hands me her angriest look before slipping through the door. At least she won’t be following me home.
“I heard you’re on restriction.” Derek Fram leans in confidentially, as if he’s on my list of closest friends. “Is that true?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” I say blandly. He smiles.
“So it is true. Ian Roberts gets to see what it feels like for those of us who have yet to step outside the wall. Enjoy it.”
I scowl, rising to my feet as Derek slings a bag over his shoulder and exits. But Jones motions for me to take my seat again. Begrudgingly, I do, and my scowl deepens. Here comes the real lecture.
How many of these am I going to have to suffer? The end to this day could not come any slower.
“What was all that about?” I ask after the last student has left us. I let my irritation speak for itself. “All that nonsense about my experiences?”
Jones merely shrugs and takes a seat in the desk next to me. He taps the wooden surface with his knuckles a couple times before answering.
“You have a few areas that need some extra attention. Your attitude being one; your attendance the other.” His eyes rest on me. “You think you can traipse in here whenever you feel like it, learn a little, and jet back outside?”
“No. I’d prefer not to come at all.”
He frowns. “Did you catch what I said about attitude?” When I don’t answer, he unfortunately takes it as permission to continue scolding me. “Let me paint a picture for you. I’ll make it nice and clear so you don’t have to play dot to dot to figure out my meaning. If you don’t attend classes regularly, I will make a personal effort to restrict you until you’ve completed every test with perfection.”
The temperature in the room seems to rise with his words. I press my lips together, staunching my next comment before it can fly out of my mouth of its own accord.
I have great respect for Jones. My demeanor at the present time is a poor reflection, but it’s true. I understand his agenda. Over the past few months, I’ve observed his nurturing characteristics. He teaches us what we need to know because he actually cares. It’s not just a job. And I know what he wants of me. He’s passionate about disciplining negative actions, about living with integrity, about stomping out those characteristics that hinder our capacity to become better than we are. There is something admirable reflected in his efforts. But I knew the first day I stepped into his class I would fail. I don’t have the will power to meet his expectations. Nor do I want it.
There is nothing more aggravating than being told to hold back when you know you’re ready to push on. He wants me to wait—to learn all of his little instructions step by step. My parents want me to stifle my progress, to not move so quickly. My friends ask me to use restraint. No one seems to understand that I don’t need to wait.
“You’ve got a lot to learn about this world, Ian.” I avoid his eyes. “More than you’ve had the chance to see in your young life. And unless you master what I have to teach, you don’t deserve any kind of freedoms beyond the wall.”
I quickly hide the beginnings of a smirk. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve endured. I’ve seen plenty more in my young life than he’s seen in all of his. I’ve been to the other side—had more training on the outside than he could ever teach me in this dull classroom. In fact, I should take him up on his offer to “educate my fellow students.” A field trip or two to one of the other villages would be an eye opener for most of them.
“You’re parents have come to me on more than one occasion for advice on what to do with you,” he continues, and by his tone, I detect his exasperation. “And I’ve told them my opinion. Don’t let him out. And then . . . they let you out.” He sighs and rubs his temple. “Frankly, I’m at a loss. But I do recognize one thing in you.”
I face him. “And what’s that?”
“You’ve got secrets. And they make you vulnerable.”
I’m silent, but my heartbeat begins a rapid assent. My eyes dart around the room, instinctively tracing an escape, even though I don’t need one. Jones steps too dangerously close for my comfort, and my survival stem begins to vibrate, a slow humming that causes the tiniest of aches in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“They aren’t hidden, these secrets.” His voice drums with the aching. “You pretend that none of us can see how you’ve changed since your return, but we notice. Whatever happened to you out there changed you. You’re like a million candles just itching to be blown out. Like an army of ants trapped just below the surface begging for air. For release. That’s you. And that’s what hinders your learning.”
I clench my fists. He drones on. The pounding in my head grows stronger. What is he trying to accomplish?
“It’s also what prompts your parents to continue giving you freedoms you don’t deserve. That restlessness scares them. I believe it makes them afraid to tell yo
u no.” He pauses, folds his fingers together on top of the desk. “I’ve never been fond of their letting you go on expeditions so early. They’ve expressed their desire to make you well-rounded. To give you and Ava the opportunity to experience everything necessary to prepare you for life—within safety limitations. Until recently, that’s what they’ve done. But you’re making it harder and harder for them, aren’t you? ”
I toss him a bland expression.
“And now—with your strength and speed to consider—you aren’t ready. None of you are ready in my book. Not you and not your friends.” A quick pause. His intuitive eyes search me out. “I understand they have yet to return.”
“That’s right.” I breathe evenly, focus on it until my heartbeat begins to drop and my head clears.
“And I understand all of you will be on indefinite restriction.”
“Yep.” I’m done. I rise to my feet, shove the Code into my bag. It’s all I brought. My bow I left at home. I know how Jones would react at seeing me with it.
I search him for a moment, and for a fleeting second I almost ask him the same question I asked my dad this morning. What is our cause, really? Why the training? Why the memorizing? Are we really only being taught how to control ourselves? How to be good citizens? How to live with what we’ve become? Or is there more?
I catch a glint in his eye, watch his jaw tighten slightly, and I can’t help but wonder: Maybe we’re being prepared for much more than the authority in this city has let on.
“And now . . . your parents have finally come around.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and then he stands, too. “I know you don’t like any of this. But it’s for your own good. The world is already full of dangers, Ian.” He sighs and looks me squarely in the eyes as he adds, “I don’t want you to be one of them.”
I raise an astonished brow. This isn’t what I expected him to say. All along, I thought he was trying to save me from a dangerous world. It’s an eye-opening moment, and I seize it as my opportunity to share my achievement.
“You know, I mastered the leap and land.”
This peaks his interest. He raises an incredulous brow. “What?”
I nod. “I did. Cleared a good twenty-five feet. Or more.”
I watch his eyes narrow into small slits as he stares in disbelief. “That’s impossible. It takes even the most diligent student up to a year of strenuous training to master that skill.”
“I think I can do better,” I say off-handedly.
He stares at me. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”
“Sure, Jones. But are you listening? The outside has been good for me. It has been my greatest teacher. You have me restricted, and you slow my progress.”
He sighs with a shake of his head.
“Self-control, Ian.” His chin lowers slightly, and he fixes his gaze on me. “If you don’t master that, nothing else matters. The outside can’t teach this.”
I nod once. “I think it can, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
“No, you won’t.” There’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “You wanna show me this jump?”
I shrug. “You wanna see it?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a handful, you know that?”
“I do know that.”
He stands, clasps his hands behind his back. “Okay, when and where do you want to do this?”
I smile, satisfaction seeping into every part of me that likes to win.
After dinner, I take Ava out. And as promised, we run—all the way to the empty park on the opposite end of the city. As always, the action relieves some of my anxiety, allowing me to relax despite my tremendous desire to get out of this city. Ava clings to my back, her arms wrapped securely around my neck, and giggles the entire time. And the imprint of her little body pressing into mine is comforting. She is warm, yet this doesn’t register with me so severely. Perhaps the warmth of my own body, constantly hot since the Shift, mingles with hers and drowns it out some. I let her down in the park, and she skips across the turf to the slide. I settle on a park bench opposite the playground and watch her climb and slide again and again. After a while, she lumbers over and snuggles up beside me.
“You are my best brother, Ian.”
She reaches out her little hand and rests it against my cheek. I laugh, tugging on her fingers.
“I’m your only brother, nut.”
“I know. But you’re still the best.”
The snake of her braid slides around the side of her neck and hangs over her shoulder. I reach for it, run the loose ends through my fingers, and for a split second, she reminds me of Kate—so alike with her dark features and big chocolate eyes. Always searching. And a deep ache in my chest—a sharp longing for Kate—wells inside me again. I tug my sister closer, wrapping my arm around her.
“Are you going away again?” she asks, and I tense beside her.
“Why do you say that?” I asked tentatively, bending to catch her eyes. She merely shrugs.
“You just go away a lot. I miss you when you do.”
My fingers tighten around her shoulder. Sometimes, I forget how my leaving affects her. I forget in my selfishness that she needs her big brother, and I only remember it when I return from an expedition, and the sight of me sends her running into my arms.
“I always come back, don’t I?”
My words carry a heavier burden this time, with the hint of a broken promise cracking right through them. This time, I’m not sure I will.
Her big, round eyes—nearly black in the fading light—take on a sudden change. A kind of intensity fills them that triggers a warning bell inside me, and I lower my head level with hers. “What’s the matter, Ava?”
She doesn’t move for half a minute other than to swallow what appears to be a nervous lump swelling in her throat. Her tiny muscles are tense against my hand. She trembles slightly, but finally, she answers me.
“I want to tell you something, but Mommy says it’s a secret. She says bad things will happen if I tell.”
I straighten in surprise, studying her face. She lowers her head, plays with her thumbnail, avoiding me. I’m lost for words. What “things” could be so bad within the walls of the city that my mom would have to say such a thing? Eden is safe, and Ava has never been outside since she was brought in from Gaza.
She sits very still beside me, and after a few more seconds, I recognize the need she has for me to take up where she left off because, well, she’s seven, and she’s more than likely just made the biggest confession of her life. It could possibly be the first time she’s crossed a line, disobeying our mom by saying even this.
I pull her up onto my lap, and she immediately wraps her chubby arms around my neck, pressing herself into the safety and trust that I represent. Our bond has grown stronger over the months since I returned from the Pit. She relies on me to show her what to do. And her dignity, her worth, the woman she will one day become means more to me than it ever had before my captivity. Before I saw the strength and steady resolve in Kate that proved what one girl could do. And I want this for Ava, even if it means I have to be her strength and her security until she can be those things for herself.
“Did Mom say you couldn’t tell me?” I ask it softly, nearly a whisper wrapped in tendrils of tenderness for her sake. To assure her I’m on her side.
She nods, piercing me with the darkness of her eyes again. “She said not to say anything to anybody.”
I contemplate this as her heartbeat, rapid and rhythmic, thumps against my chest. She waits, planning to take my lead in whatever I say next. She wants permission to tell me. It’s a need in her that echoes from her so strong I can almost feel it. And this puts me in a strange predicament. I cannot give her permission to defy our mother. This is an example I never care to teach her. So I tread carefully, steadily.
“Did Mom . . . did she say you couldn’t “show” anybody?”
She’s thoughtful a moment, and then a slow smile creeps across her lips.
The sense of relief in that one small word floats between us like a vapor, and in the midst of it, she reaches for her chance to shed a small bit of this burden. I stand, letting her slide off my lap, and I take her hand.
“Okay. Show me.”
“You have to take me down town.”
Curiously, I bend in front of her. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you, remember? Only show.”
I muse at her determined expression, but I sweep her up and take her straight to the center of Eden where Town Hall towers right across from the city library.
She tugs on my hand the moment her feet hit the ground. “We have to go this way so no one can see us.”
There is no one in sight to observe whatever Ava is planning to show me. Other than the library, which is not very busy at the moment, the streets are virtually empty. But she drags me down the side of the old Town Hall building anyway. I’m impressed by her sense of caution. And proud, too. She’s already learned the importance of being discreet.
We stand together, staring up at the white-washed backside of Town Hall, its shadows draping over us in long, haunting outlines. I raise a brow, glance down at Ava. She looks left, then right.
“Mommy doesn’t know I can do this part.”
A jolt of concern charges through me, and I think for a moment I should stop her. But then, she bounces twice on the balls of her feet, and in a blink, she perches fifteen feet above me on the edge of the lowest segment of the roof.
My mouth falls open in astonishment as my little sister peers down at me intently. She giggles.
After a moment, she stands and takes a brave step out into midair, and my heart nearly ceases to pump. I fight the impulse to reach out my arms to catch her, and instead pin them stiffly to my sides. She lands two feet from me with hardly a thud.