That was depressing. He was done in less than two minutes, and his allotted space seemed almost as empty as before. He’d have to work on his wardrobe when he got his first paycheck. “That’s one good thing about all this,” he grumbled. “At least I’ll get paid.”
With nothing else to do, he idled over to the window and looked out. The trickle of returning teens below had grown into a rush, and the Square was filled as they mingled to chat before scattering across the wet sidewalks to their dorms.
It was a larger crowd than Reed expected, at least two hundred strong with more coming and going all the time. It was like watching a human whirlpool: always shifting and never the same. Everyone below was so different, but here they were, dragged together from across the nation. Forced here, like Reed.
A burning anger shot through him. Why was he here? He should be back in California going to high school and hanging out at the beach with his friends, not living in a prison camp and working all day in a run-down factory. He pressed his fist into the cinderblock wall, ignoring the pain. A smoldering bitterness sparked inside him, building like a thunderhead flickering with stifled lightning. He wasn’t even sure who to be angry at, but he was angry. He was very angry.
At the same time, another sensation crept over him: a strange eagerness. What a world! Rows of dorms, an entire city spread across the valley below—there was so much here, waiting for him. His heart beat a little faster. This was a chance to build a life for himself, to find a place in a new world order. He could do whatever he wanted to do, be whoever he wanted to be. He was swept with the sudden longing for more—more from this place, more from life. But, as quickly as it came, the spurt of eagerness sank back into the shadows. None of it mattered. He’d been dragged into this place against his will, and he hated everything about it.
The sound of doors opening and closing at either end of the hall had been incessant for the last few minutes. Voices and footsteps passed by the room. As Reed turned from the window, one of the doors opened again and a cheerful voice rang the entire length of the hall. “That’s just girls, bro! Trust me, you just gotta know ’em.”
The door shut. There was a quiet response Reed couldn’t understand, but the cheerful voice laughed. The footsteps came nearer and, as they stopped in front of Reed’s door, the first voice said blithely, “Well, to each his own. Just don’t say I didn’t try.”
With the jingling of a key, the door was thrown open, and two boys entered. They stopped, obviously surprised to find a stranger in their room. The first was close to Reed’s height, though perhaps slightly taller, with light hair. The second, coming in behind him, was shorter and thicker with dark hair and eyes.
For a second, they stared at Reed, and Reed stared back. None of them moved until the first boy recovered himself and smiled. “Well, well! Our new roommate finally showed up! I wish Michael had given us a heads up. Anyway, hi! My name’s Reagan.”
He stepped in and extended his hand. Reed shook it. “I’m Reed.”
“Nice to meet you. This,” he said, waving behind him, “is Riley. Sweet, so we’re all Rs! He’s from Jersey, and I’m a Florida man.”
The shorter teen stepped forward and shook Reed’s hand as Reagan went on. “We’re just getting in from work. I see you’ve unpacked; been here long enough to get supper?”
Reed shook his head. “Michael said you guys would take me.”
“You betcha. We were just headed that way.” He tossed a small briefcase onto the loft bunk. “Come on! We can get to know each other on the way.”
As they left the room and turned down the hall, Reagan began asking Reed about himself. He kept up a steady stream of questions as they exited the hall and clattered down the stairway. By the time they reached the first floor and pushed out the door into the darkening drizzle, his curiosity seemed satisfied, and Reed began to find out more about his roommates. Reagan was nineteen and had lived in Miami, Florida all his life. He and Riley had been roommates since they arrived in the first wave of deportees six months before.
“Six months?” Reed was shocked. He had no idea this had been going on so long.
Reagan shrugged. “Yup. You’re one of the latest. I’m sure there’s more coming, too.”
Reed turned his attention to Riley. As Michael had said, the other boy was quiet, and the little Reed got out of him had to be pried out. Riley was eighteen; he had lived in Newark since he was twelve. Before that, his family had moved from Cleveland to Detroit and then from Detroit to New Jersey. That was all Reed could get out of him.
They had left the dorm by the back entrance and threaded their way through the rows of other dorms. Teens began to fill the sidewalks, pushing out of the buildings and turning in the same direction as Reed and his roommates, toward the dining hall. The Mushroom, a large, brick building with a matching covered porch, sat down a long slope behind the Dorms. Its matronly form presided over a huge parking lot dotted with wrought-iron light posts that already shone in the gathering gloom. Teenagers were everywhere, crowding the wet pavement and pushing in and out of the cafeteria’s brightly lit glass doors.
As they worked their way down the crowded stairs, Reagan informed Reed over his shoulder, “Just so you know, we call these ‘the North Stairs.’ There’s another set on the back side of the hill called ‘the East Stairs’—somebody was real creative with the names—that comes out behind the Mushroom; nobody ever uses it, though.”
Reed tucked the information away for future reference.
The crowd was thick on the sidewalk, with people going both directions, chatting and laughing despite the cold and wet. Reed shivered and hunched his shoulders as he pushed after his roommates. The drizzle trickled down his collar, and his jeans were damp. He was glad when they finally reached the protection of the porch and shoved through two sets of double doors into the warm interior. He shook the water out of his hair and looked around.
The place was enormous, filled with long tables and chairs like a college dining hall. It was already packed, and talk and laughter rose to the high ceiling of arched wooden beams. Three steps led down into the main part of the hall, sectioned off from the entrance by a wooden barrier filled with artificial plants. A counter manned by several women guarded the stairs, and a long line led up to it. Reed wondered how much supper was going to cost.
When it was their turn, Reagan and Riley held out some sort of ID cards for one of the women to scan with a hand-held device. Reed, a little hesitant, did the same with the red tag pinned to his shirt. The woman scanned it without a second glance and waved him through. He joined his roommates on the other side.
“That was easy. So it’s free?”
“Absolutely.” Reagan stuck his card back in his pocket. “They don’t charge us for anything around here. Man, something smells amazing! Come on, I’m starved.”
For his first meal in a place called “the Mushroom,” Reed’s supper was more pleasant than he expected. Reagan and Riley introduced him to their large group of friends and squeezed him in at a long table already jammed with teens talking and eating.
Reed quickly found that, even in such a large group of both boys and girls, Reagan was definitely the favorite. When he first sat down, cries of “Reagan!” went up and, for the rest of the meal, he was the center of attention. His popularity was no surprise. Reagan had a cool, nonchalant way about him. He was witty and fun with a lively laugh and quick smile. He was good-looking, too, with a fit figure; honey-blond hair; pearly, straight teeth; and a handsome face kissed by the Florida sun. Reed thought he looked like a model for a Caribbean travel brochure.
Riley, on the other hand, didn’t attract the same kind of attention, socially or physically. He was exactly Reagan’s opposite—short, dark hair; a thick, beefy build; and a plain, ordinary face. He preferred to sit back and watch the interaction at the table, saying little, but he, too, could be witty when he chose. Between the two of them, Reed was soon at ease and scarfed down his greasy burger and fries with relati
ve enjoyment.
After dinner, when they had taken leave of the main group, the three roommates strolled out of the cafeteria into the cold night. Reagan stretched and yawned. “Boy, I think I’m turning in early tonight. That was the best supper I’ve had in about a week. What did you think of it, Reed?”
Reed shrugged, sliding his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “It was okay for cafeteria food.”
“Well, it’s not gourmet,” agreed Reagan, “but you’ll get used to it. You’ll get used to all of it: staying here, working, and all that.”
Reed didn’t want to get used to it, but he said nothing. They walked in silence down the almost empty sidewalk, its wet surface glinting in the light of the street lamps.
Later that night, when the three were settled back in their room, Michael popped his head through their room door. “I see the ‘Rocking Rs’ have settled in nicely.” He grinned. “Make sure you don’t get too crazy in here now that there’s three of you.”
Reagan glanced up from his computer. “Yeah, dude. It’s always a party in here.”
Michael chuckled and beckoned to Reed. “Hey, the man’s here who’s supposed to get you an ID and assign your job. Come on; he’s on the first floor.” He accompanied Reed down the hall, explaining as they went. “This guy’s supposed to take your picture for your ID card and give you a sheet with all the rules. Hopefully, you’ll get your ID day after tomorrow. He’ll also give you a print-out with your job info. Everybody’s hired automatically when they get into the system.”
When they reached the first floor, they found half a dozen other boys, all from the bus earlier, waiting in line. A short man with a black moustache stood each in turn against the wall for a picture before waving them on to another man, who took their information and handed them two sheets of paper. After Reed had his picture taken (more like a mug shot, he thought), the other man handed him a job description and a rule sheet. “I assume you know the basic rules already?” he demanded.
Reed felt his jaw tighten, but he nodded. “Yeah, Mi…” He caught himself. “My RD explained them to me.”
The man turned away, and Michael shot Reed a wink behind his back.
After the pictures had been taken and each boy grilled to satisfaction, the short man made an announcement. “You will receive your cards tomorrow night here at the same time. They will be used for admittance into the dining hall, your place of work, and eventually into your dorms. If you have any questions, talk to your RDs.” With that, he wheeled and marched down the hall, the other man close behind.
“What does he mean by ‘eventually the dorms’?” Reed asked Michael as they turned in the opposite direction.
“Aw, they’ve been talking for a long time about installing card readers on all the doors,” the RD explained. “That way nobody could get in without a card. You know, safer and all that.” He paused, eyeing Reed curiously. “Well, what job did you get?”
Reed glanced down at the paper in his hand. “I’ve been afraid to look,” he admitted. He flipped the page over and read the company name aloud. And then, “‘P Belt 2B. Standard Shift. Red Line.’ What does that mean?”
“Sounds like you got a good factory job. That company makes computer hardware and ships it all over the world. You’ll be packing parts in Room Two at Conveyer Belt B. You got a regular day shift—eight to five on weekdays, half a day Saturday. The Red Line is the shuttle system that takes all the workers from the Dorms to the factories in that area.”
Reed scanned further down the page. “Well, I’m making more than I thought I would. Not bad.”
“It’s better than some,” agreed Michael, “but not as good as an office job. You won’t need much, though.”
Reed flipped to the rule sheet and ran his eyes down the page. “No smoking, no alcoholic beverages, no possession of firearms, no use of illegal substances.” He stopped. “‘No attendance of unauthorized religious ceremonies.’ What does that mean?”
“Just that.” The RD held the hall door open for him. “If the government doesn’t approve of a ‘religious ceremony,’ don’t go to it. There’s a list of acceptable places on the back, mostly government-controlled churches and mosques.”
Reed shrugged. “I don’t care. I don’t do the church thing anyway.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” Michael muttered, more to himself than to Reed. Reed chose not to respond.
When Reed reentered his room, Reagan glanced up from his computer. “So’d they take your mug shot and all that?”
“Yeah,” replied Reed, tossing the job description toward him. “Got this, too.”
Reagan glanced at the page. “Hey, that’s a good place! You’re lucky. It’s right next door to where Riley and I work. We can ride together.”
“Yeah, plus you won’t have to put up with him all day,” added Riley from behind his phone.
Reagan good-naturedly threw a pair of socks at him.
Reed flung himself up onto his bed and watched through half-closed eyes as Reagan’s fingers typed furiously on his laptop. “How’d you get to keep that thing?” he asked. “They wouldn’t even let me bring my phone.”
Reagan’s fingers didn’t stop. “You fought ’em, didn’t you? Like, about coming here? That’ll do it. They take away your privileges if you’re ‘dissident.’ I didn’t, and they let me keep this. They went through it and put on a bunch of bugs and trackers, but it’s not too bad. I’ll let you use it sometime.”
“Thanks,” yawned Reed. “That would be nice.”
Later, after a shower, Reed lay in bed, still listening to the click of Reagan’s typing. So much for going to bed early, he thought, smiling. As he drifted off to sleep, he decided that, between Michael and his roommates, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad here after all. But, some-where far in the distance, low thunder rumbled over the hills.
Chapter 3
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Reed jerked into consciousness. It was morning. He could hear Riley slapping around below him, trying to silence the persistent alarm. Reed moaned and rolled over. The room was still dark, barely lit by the gray light that seeped through the closed blinds.
Reagan’s groggy voice came from the other side of the room. “I thought you put that thing on radio mode last night.”
“Me, too,” mumbled Riley, at last smacking the right button to silence the annoying buzz. “Guess not.”
Reed groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “I hate that noise. Wake me up in an hour.”
“Sorry,” Reagan yawned. “It’s seven; time to get up for work and breakfast. If we get there early enough, there might be donuts left.”
Reed sat up. “Donuts for breakfast?”
“Only if you hurry. There aren’t many, and they go fast. Otherwise, it’s cereal and bagels.” Reagan threw off his covers. “Plus the shuttle leaves at seven forty-five. If you don’t wanna walk, you have to be ready.”
A few minutes later, all three were dressed and heading down the hall toward the Mushroom. Other boys were coming out of their rooms, some still buttoning shirts or running hands over their hair. Many, like Riley and Reed, wore jeans and t-shirts. Others, like Reagan, had on dress shirts and slacks.
They left the hall at the back end of the dorm. The stairwell was already filled with dozens more boys from other floors, slamming doors and pounding down the staircase in a crushing pack. They poured onto the first floor and out into the cold, gray morning.
Reed, rubbing the last of the sleep out of his eyes, nearly stopped in his tracks when he stepped out the door. It was rush hour at the Dorms. Hundreds of teenagers covered the Square and filled the sidewalks in a crowd that dwarfed even last night’s. More spilled out of the dorms in a never-ending flow, streaming away toward the left side of the hill and the Mushroom. Though no one stopped to talk, most of the teens called to each other or chattered as they went. The noise was terrific. Reagan and Riley, used to the crowd, expertly threaded their way in and out, keeping Reed with th
em, even down the packed North Stairs.
The Mushroom was much like the night before—the woman with the scanner, the full room, the smell of coffee and new carpet. But there was one striking difference: the quiet. Forks scraped on plates; the juice machine hiccupped occasionally; no one talked. Compared to the din outside, the silence seemed deafening. Reed wasn’t sure he liked it.
The boys were not too late for donuts; a dozen still remained when they arrived, placidly eyeing the world from inside their glass cabinet. But Reed could hardly enjoy his. The room seemed goaded by a driving rush, and even Reagan and Riley stuffed in their breakfast as fast as they could, washing it down with gulps of orange juice. Reed burned his tongue on his coffee trying to keep up with them.
When they finished, Reagan and Riley shoved back their chairs and made for the door. Reed stuffed in the last half of a donut and scrambled to follow, chewing and choking his way across the room. He stumbled into a table in his hurry, banging his shin on a chair, and nearly lost his mouthful.
The other two paused at a counter near the steps, spread with rows of identical brown paper bags. “Lunch,” Reagan whispered over his shoulder as he and Riley each swooped up a bag. “Don’t miss it.” And he was gone.
Reed snatched up a bag and followed. He tried to catch a glimpse of its contents as he lurched up the stairs but nearly face-planted and gave it up.
“Sorry to rush you,” Reagan apologized when Reed caught up to him outside. “We’re supposed to hurry through breakfast so everybody gets to eat before the shuttles leave. The Council made that really clear from the start.”
“The Council?” Reed favored his smarting shin. “What’s that?”
Reagan shot him an odd look. “You don’t know who the Council is?”
“No, how could I?”
Reagan glanced around at the crowd. “Let’s go back to the dorm,” he said quietly. “We can brush our teeth, and I’ll tell you on the way.”
When Stars Go Out Page 2