Keystone

by Katie Delahanty

  …

  I read my roommate’s name—Rayelle Chen—as a pretty girl (shorter than me!) with glossy black hair walks over. She wears thick glasses that distort her eyes, making them appear impossibly large, and her lips are painted in black gloss, so her mouth appears smaller than it is. I’m instantly self-conscious of my attempt to paint the stars across my face.

  “Elisha?” she asks.

  “Yes.” Nodding, I hold my breath, awaiting recognition beyond the bird incident.

  “I’m Rayelle. I guess we’re roommates.” She offers a meek hand, along with a blank smile—the kind of smile you give a stranger when you’re sizing them up.

  Accepting her hand, I give it a little pump, my heart pounding.

  Her fingers squeeze mine, and I exhale relief. If she knew who I was, she would have recoiled, my Influencer touch being the acid that dissolved her kindness.

  “So, you’re new here? That’s weird.” She leads me through a fireplace different than the one I arrived from, where the fires have been extinguished, and into a short tunnel. “They barely ever let new people into the training program. Most of us were born into it.” We climb a ladder and emerge through a trapdoor into the forest. “Where are you from?” she asks as I crawl into the damp, cool outside air.

  “I grew up in a Maker complex in Ojai,” I say, reciting the cover story Allard prepared for me as I close the trapdoor and re-cover it with leaves.

  Her jaw drops. “How did you end up here? You must have done something terrible to have been forced to disconnect.”

  “It wasn’t really something I did,” I say quickly, fearful she could guess my identity. “It was more that I hated letting strangers’ opinions of me rule my life. I didn’t fit in.” That much is true.

  We walk side by side down a narrow trail, the leaves of the great sequoias pattering in the breeze overhead.

  “Then you came to the right place.” She smiles. “And if you’re here, you must be talented.” We approach a cute boy with dark hair and golden skin leaning against a tree, studying his schedule. His jaw is clenched, accentuating his face’s angles, and his arms are ripped, his biceps bulging beneath his jumpsuit sleeves. First Garrett, and now this guy? Now entering the forest of teenage male models… Is being seriously hot a requirement to be a thief? Or maybe if you can’t use technology, there’s nothing better to do than work out… Mysteries that may never be solved.

  Rayelle lowers her voice. “We’ve only had one other transfer— Hi Kyran!” Breaking into a megawatt smile, she waves like she’s trying to flag down a rescue drone.

  Kyran glances up. “Hey.”

  “You get to run your Initiation Heist this year! Aren’t you excited?”

  He glances over his shoulder like he’s searching for an escape hatch. “Sure.”

  “Are you going to the dorms?” she asks. “Do you want to walk with us?”

  “Nah. I’m waiting for Garrett.” Shrugging, he goes back to reading.

  I wince at his easy dismissal while my ears perk up at the possibility of a Garrett sighting.

  “Okay. See you down there!” she says, unfazed. We continue past him, and my cheeks burn for her.

  “That was him—the transfer,” she continues. “From the School of the Seven Bells in Colombia. He’s a legacy, though. His parents are big-time smugglers, and he’s a natural—he’ll be one of the final four for sure. Rumor has it he could pass the Seven Bell pickpocket test by the time he was five.”

  She’s speaking a foreign language. “What’s a legacy?”

  “It means your parents are thieves. I’m a legacy, too. In fact, all of us are, except you, I guess. My parents are hustlers in Vegas by day and Cirque du Soleil performers by night. Fitting into tight spaces is my specialty.” She smiles, and her cheeks bunch up.

  If by tight spaces, you mean your uniform. The cruel thought hijacks my brain, and I immediately compliment her to counteract the shallow thinking that’s ingrained in me. Ugh. I’m the worst. “Judge the girls and worship the guys” no more. “You must be really flexible,” I say, summoning genuine interest.

  “I am.” Coming to a halt, she bends over backward and grabs her ankles before wedging her head and shoulders between her knees and pushing into a handstand to get out of the pose.

  Jaw slack, I stare as she flips onto her feet.

  “What do your parents do?” she asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  “I was adopted, so I’m not sure if I’m a legacy,” I say, regaining my wits. “I suppose it’s possible.” We continue down the trail.

  “Oh.” She frowns. “I’m sorry about your real parents.”

  “Don’t be. I never met them, so I don’t miss them. But my adoptive parents definitely weren’t thieves.”

  We stop in front of a massive tree. “This is the entrance to the dorms,” she says, running her fingers lightly over the trunk. To my surprise, the tree splits up the middle, opening to reveal an elevator.

  “How did you do that? Does the tree recognize your fingerprints?” We step through the opening.

  She laughs. “No. Keystone doesn’t allow biometrics. There’s a button on the ground next to the tree that opens the doors. I stepped on it while you were watching my hands.”

  “I guess I have a lot to learn.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you up to speed.” She presses the letter D on the panel inside the elevator, and we descend below the earth—I have no idea how far.

  “What are your adoptive parents like?” she asks.

  “They’re farmers who make and sell organic jams, but, like I said, I never fit in. I was always in trouble—I’ve been stealing for as long as I can remember. I can’t help it.” I conjure my real mother’s acting lessons to deliver the lies. “They didn’t know what to do with me, so I made it easy on them and disconnected. They won’t miss me. They’re probably relieved.”

  “That’s so sad,” Rayelle says. “You must be lonely.”

  “I am,” I admit, and it’s a relief to tell the truth for once. “It’s like I just got to camp and I’m counting down the weeks until I go home, but then I realize I don’t have a home anymore.” My voice cracks.

  Putting her arm around me, she squeezes my shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’re your family, now. This will feel like home in no time. You’ll see.”

  She sounds so genuine my throat aches. I wish I could tell her everything, could reveal myself to this girl who, in another life, could have true friend potential. But it’s impossible.

  “Thank you.” Smiling, I wipe away a tear. “I hope so.”

  “I know so.”

  The elevator doors open, and we step into a greenhouse with high glass ceilings and a scaffold system of bright, white lights. Rows of plants are lined up in black barrels. It smells of damp earth, life.

  “What is this place?” I ask, putting the past behind me, where it belongs.

  “It’s the grow house and the dorms. There are vaults that store every kind of seed in existence, and the weather changes in each corridor to mimic actual climates. The first-year dorms overlook Brazilian sugarcane fields, second-year is China rice terraces, and our rooms are in California—strawberries and oranges. Next year, we’ll be in the Netherlands—tomatoes and chilies. Our wing smells like orange blossoms. It’s my favorite.”

  She points out each farm as we walk through the glass hallway that forms a circle around the grow house, separating the dorms from the crops, our footsteps echoing on the bamboo floors.

  “Keystone is completely self-sustaining. We can grow anything,” she says. “And survive if we have to.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, in awe that a secret of this magnitude exists.

  Up ahead, Kyran picks an apple and tosses it to Garrett. My stomach drops at the sight of him, my arm hairs standing on end.

  “Don’
t get your hopes up,” Rayelle says, studying me. “That’s Garrett Alexander. Yes, he’s hot, but he’s practically married to Chloe over there.”

  On the other side of the crops, a copper-haired girl with tawny skin is headed for Garrett. Her jumpsuit somehow manages to make her look like a curvy goddess. In my old life, I would have pinged her as a potential friend—the prettiest girl I’ve seen, and therefore a required ally.

  “She’s a total decoy,” Rayelle says. “The only thing she’s good at is distraction, but Garrett seems to be into that.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  Rayelle smiles. “It is. He’ll probably pick her as his partner when he wins the Quest, but every girl here wishes he’d pick them.”

  “Not me,” I say as we pass into another glass room. The air here is thick and humid, and sweat beads on my forehead. “I hope nobody picks me.”

  “It’s not an option. You have to assist in the Initiation Heist—it’s your training for next year, when you lead your own heist. But don’t worry. He won’t.”

  Disappointment dips in my belly, and I’m annoyed that I care in the first place.

  “Hey Sophia,” Rayelle calls out. “Who’s your roommate?”

  Up ahead, a girl with white-blond hair that reaches her butt turns around. “Ugh. Harbor.” Her eyes are huge, painted like a cartoon, and the only thing asymmetrical about her is a set of whiskers snaking over one of her cheeks.

  “Weird,” Rayelle says as we fall into step with Sophia. “Who’s Chloe rooming with, then?”

  “Nobody. The boys are in a triple, and she has a single. Wonder who arranged that.” Sophia rolls her eyes.

  “This is Elisha, by the way,” Rayelle introduces me. “She’s my roommate.”

  “New girl. Nice work at the assembly,” Sophia says. “Were you trying to jump out the window or something?”

  I feel the blood drain from my face as I picture my ridiculous-scarecrow-act—all flailing arms until I launched myself across the room. Awesome first impression. “There was a bird flying straight for the glass, and I thought I could stop it.” Tripping over my words, I quickly change the subject. “Do you two want to room together? I’ll stay with Harbor. Everyone is new to me anyway.”

  They glance at each other and come to a quick decision. I’m jealous of their obvious telepathic connection, no doubt the result of years of friendship. It’s how Deena and I should have been.

  “Nah,” Sophia says. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I can handle Harbor.”

  “We call Chloe and Harbor the HMs—they’re high maintenance,” Rayelle says. “If you ever care what’s what in Influencer culture, they’re the ones to ask.”

  Got it. I’ll steer clear.

  The temperature shifts to a dry, mild warmth, and a soft breeze washes over us, as promised, smelling sweetly of citrus. We arrive at a single-story row of three rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows flanking each yellow door.

  “Here we are.” Rayelle inserts a key into the doorknob at room 222.

  “I’m in 223,” Sophia says. “But you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

  “Come over anytime,” Rayelle says, opening our door.

  Inside, the quarters are small but clean, with bamboo floors and white walls cast in the illusion of natural light. Each side of the room contains a tall bunk tucked with white linens and a desk with a bright yellow plastic chair beneath it. A low bookshelf and two white-lacquered dressers are the only other furnishings. At the back of the space, a narrow door leads to the restroom and shower.

  Rayelle chooses the bed on the right and starts to unpack. Framed photos of her family and a ceramic elephant-shaped bamboo pot soon adorn her desk. A Cirque du Soleil poster with a unicorn painted in rainbow colors gets taped to her wall.

  It doesn’t take me long to unpack my meager belongings. I fold my jumpsuits into a drawer, burying the Balenciaga dress deep beneath them. It’s my only worldly possession, the only thing linking me to my past, and I can’t bring myself to part with it.

  Climbing onto my sparse bed, I compare Rayelle’s half of the room—colorful and full of life—to mine. Empty. A black-and-white sketch.

  Wishing Adam had survived—that I could build my new life with an old friend—I blink back tears.

  I’m so alone.

  Inhaling, I hold my breath to keep myself together.

  But my only choice is to begin again. I’ll add color bit by bit until the pencil marks disappear…

  Chapter Five

  September 20X5: Keystone

  Rayelle and I wind our way up the stairs inside a giant sequoia on our way to master thief Weiss’s Escape and Evasion lesson.

  “Rumor has it Weiss went kinda nuts when he tried to escape from a burning coffin and almost didn’t make it out alive,” Rayelle says, her words coming out in little puffs. “He’s a little off, but don’t worry, he shouldn’t make you try to escape from anything your first day.”

  “That’s a relief,” I say, heaving for breath in the thin air. “I’ve never escaped from anything. I wouldn’t know where to start,” I lie. Never escaped from anything except my former life and maybe duct tape and rope ties, thanks to Allard’s tutoring.

  We emerge onto a wide platform hidden high among the branches, invisible to the naked eye from the ground. It’s cool and foggy up here, the rustle of leaves in the wind the only sound, until my ears pop and I catch the whispers of my fellow thieves. There are four tables in front of us, three of them occupied with two kids each.

  As we take our places at the last table, I lean over to Rayelle. “Where’s Sophia?”

  “She’s in the front row, next to Stewart.” She points to a wiry, dark-skinned guy. “He’s the smartest of all of us—can hack into any system—nobody thinks faster than him.”

  “That’s Sophia?” I don’t recognize the girl with pale-blue hair, a slim black ribbon tied around her throat, and gray boots inked with sketches. There’s no way that’s the same girl I met yesterday.

  “Yep. She’s a true artist. She’ll look completely different tomorrow.”

  “Amazing.”

  “In the next row,” Rayelle continues, “is Chloe—you know who she is—and she’s sitting next to Harbor.” With her translucent skin and wheat-blond hair, she’s aptly named, as wispy as the fog rolling in on a December morning.

  “In front of us are Toby and Marcel. Toby thinks he’s hilarious.” She rolls her eyes. “And Marcel is his sidekick.”

  “Settle in.” Weiss appears at the front of the platform, his mouth set in a firm line. Despite his unruly brown hair, his eyes are serious, and he seems perfectly capable to me. “I trust you all had a productive break. Hopefully you used your time wisely and practiced escaping as much as possible.”

  “You bet we did,” Toby says. “Watch me.” He stands and heads for the stairs.

  “Sit down, Toby. That’s not what I mean.”

  Throwing his hands up, Toby retakes his seat.

  “I’m not sure how good he is at escaping, but he could work on his stand-up routine,” I mutter.

  Rayelle giggles.

  “As you’re well aware, we have a new member joining us.” Weiss gestures in my direction. “Welcome, Elisha.”

  Six heads turn toward me. “Thank you.” I cringe, still afraid of being recognized as Ella Karman.

  “I’ve heard you’re quite the talent,” he says.

  “I am?” I squeak, hating being put on the spot. What does he know? In my periphery, Rayelle cocks her head to the side.

  Weiss smiles, and something wild enters his eyes. “Would you like to do the honors and take today’s challenge first?”

  “Not really?”

  “Interesting,” he says, his expression unwavering. “Rayelle! Come up here and show her how it’s done.”

  With a sigh, Rayelle makes h
er way to the front of the class, where Weiss binds her wrists together with zip ties.

  “Escape,” he commands.

  Flattening her hand, she pushes her thumb and pinkie to her palm and slides out of the zip ties.

  Weiss frowns. “That’s one way to do it, but it’s not the way I taught you.”

  “But that’s how I do it. I’m not strong enough to do it the other way,” Rayelle says. “I still escaped.”

  He ignores her. “Go back to your seat. I’ll expect you to do it correctly by the end of class or you’ll be doing extra hours with me. Elisha!” He gestures me forward. “Your turn. Come on up. Show us why you’re so special that rules don’t apply to you.”

  Not understanding his meaning, I swallow hard, but knowing I have no choice other than to obey, I tuck my hair behind my ear, quickly securing it with a bobby pin from my burglary kit so it will stay out of my face, and walk to the front of the room. I face him as he zip-ties my already black-and-blue wrists together. Even though I hate being tested onstage, I try to hold my shaking hands steady, making sure to keep my elbows together as he pulls the ties so tight they cut off circulation.

  “Now, escape,” he says.

  Escaping zip ties is something these kids probably learned in preschool, and I’m glad Allard brought me up to speed. When I first tried this a couple weeks ago, I wasn’t able to create enough momentum to break the ties, but practice has paid off, and I have the bruises to prove it. Raising my arms above my head, I yank them down hard so my elbows split to either side of my body. The force almost knocks the wind out of me, but the zip ties pop off.

  “Excellent. Pass.” His voice betrays no emotion. Turning on his heel, he walks to a curtain at the side of the platform. If he was wearing a cape, he’d have made sure it swung out behind him in a wide arc. “Come here and bring your things with you.” His index finger curls with the suggestion I follow.

  Collecting my backpack from the table, I meet Rayelle’s wide eyes. My throat goes dry at the terror reflected there, but I dutifully obey Weiss.