Hold: Hold & Hide Book 1 (2 page)

“Do you know anything about this?” she said, repositioning her legs three times before finishing her sentence. “Did your parents tell you what’s going to happen here?”

I shook my head.

“Me neither.” She crossed her arms and reclined into the chair. “I’m so nervous.”

I nodded, still watching Blake.

“Which town are you from?”

“Lake Canary.”

“I’m an hour north. Kentzberg.”

A balding man in a very nice suit took the stage and tapped a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the day you’ve all been anticipating since birth.”

I held my breath. Anticipating was not the right word for me.

“Your parents have all been told very minimal information about this event, but we are so thankful for their willingness to devote their lives to our efforts toward a better world. You are important, a crucial role in the future around you. While other young men and women your age are going to high school today and beginning a year of momentary fun, you are here, sacrificing your time to make the world a better place.”

He clapped, lifting his hands above his head to urge us into the same rhythmic dance with our hands. A few of us on the black side quietly clapped out of what appeared to be sheer nervousness, while the orange side erupted in applause and standing ovation.

Pleased, the man readjusted his tie and hushed the room by lowering his arms. “To most people I go by Sir Anthony Worley, but you and I will become close over the next year and I implore you, please, call me Anthony.” He paused, cleared his throat, and went on, “Today your parents were told that this experiment can, at times, be dangerous and in rare cases only one twin may survive. However, this is rare and we do our best to prevent such extremes, so please do not be alarmed. Some of your parents may have been upset by the following news and we feel it’s best to share the truth with you from day one.” He paused again, made eye contact with various people throughout the room, then said, “At the end of the year only one of you will go back to your parents and the other will be given a choice. Your choice will not be revealed to you until your last day and it is reserved only for the one who demonstrates the most potential, but either way, your assignment will be great and you may never see your family again.”

The girl next to me whispered, “Is this supposed to make sense?”

I glanced at Blake, perfectly still, then to the orange side filled with smiles and high-fiving kids. What did they do? Arrange all of the fun, outgoing types in the orange camp and leave us introverted people to sit here with our hands folded while dressed in black?

Sir Anthony continued speaking, but I faded in and out as I imagined going back to my parents without Audrey. I knew they’d have a nervous breakdown and try to send me back. I tried to spot Audrey, but couldn’t. I wondered if she wanted to be the one to go back to Mother and Father or the one to do “great things” for the world.

Honestly, I didn’t want to do either.

Sir Anthony—I couldn’t call him Anthony, I was raised to be extreme in my manners—completed his speech and the girl next to me said, “My name is Emily. What’s yours?”

“Claire,” I said.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Claire. I’m going to try to find my sister before we leave.”

“Where are we going?”

She laughed. “I thought you may had been thinking about something else during his talk. He didn’t say where, just that we would be traveling by bus to our destination. We’re to file out in an orderly fashion, orange and blacks together, and randomly board a few buses.” She stood. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yes, thank you. Good luck.”

I waited in my seat as everyone stood and walked to the exit. Finally, Blake’s row stood and began to pile out. He didn’t look up as he scooted out of the row. So serious. And … more muscular, like his brother.

“Excuse me,” a voice said. 

I stood and turned around. 

A man in orange gently wrapped his fingers around my arm and urged me to walk out of the row. I turned back to search for Blake, but couldn’t see him through the other faces. 

“This way, miss,” the man said. “This is not the time to delay.”

I listened to his orders, but walked as slow as possible, turning back every few seconds to see Blake. But I didn’t. 

We were led down a gradual concrete slope at the back of the building that smelled of plastic and gasoline. The slope stopped by large double doors where we made our way outside. I inhaled the warm September air with relief. A line of buses awaited. One step at a time, I moved closer. The sun sparkled on the rims of the tires, sending bursts of blinding light in various directions. So far I wasn’t nervous, but definitely confused. Typical school-looking buses had “A Safe Nation is an Alive Nation” written along the sides of each one. One at a time, they pulled away as each one filled and finally I stepped up the stairs of a squeaky clean bus. I held the door and turned back to spot Blake, but too many faces clouded my line of vision. I glanced back to the bus driver as he waved me inside. Something eerie about his perfectly white smile and side-swept hair. He looked more like an old movie star than a bus driver. 

I walked by him and stared down the aisle that separated the seats, hoping to see a familiar face when someone waved me over. “Claire!”

I sat down beside Brayden, wishing it were Blake. But at least they looked the same. Mostly the same. They were identical in every possible way, just like Audrey and me. Except I could tell them apart by two very subtle differences. Blake had the ever so slightest hint of lines edging out from his eyes and his hair, although nearly a spitting image of Brayden’s in color and style, came out a little further near his temples. Not to mention the obvious personality differences. 

“You seen Blake?” he said as I scooted toward him. 

I shook my head and we watched the bus fill up in silence until every seat was taken. He wasn’t much for talking, but his presence alone comforted me. At least I wasn’t completely alone.

“All right, kids,” the driver’s voice burst through the speakers. “Enjoy the ride. We will arrive in approximately forty minutes.”

I believe thirty of those minutes passed without Brayden saying a word, though I tried to make small talk about dumb stuff. He’d only nod or shake his head, sometimes neither, but I think he liked knowing I was there too. Everyone else on the bus spoke quietly, which surprised me. The bus rides to school were always obnoxiously loud. This was different. Not one of us knew where we were going. How I wished I were on the bus to school. Senior year. Prom and elective classes and fun. Not this ... this experiment I didn’t want to be a part of. 

“How was your summer?” I said to Brayden as he picked at a loose string on his orange shirt. “Did you guys survive your intensive thing?”

“It was ... weird.” He pulled the string out of his shirt and formed it into a straight line on his jeans. “This sucks though.”

I nodded and stared out the window. “We stay here an entire year. You think we will have nice rooms and get to go outside?” 

“Doubt it.” Bitterness oozed from his voice like moldy yogurt. “They aren’t interested in our welfare.”

“But they wouldn’t—“

“I wouldn’t talk about it. Not out loud. Not inside your head either.” He made eye contact with me for a brief second and I could see the pain in his eyes. What did he know that I didn’t? I’m sure he researched everything as much as possible. That was his way of coping with everything. Knowing as many details as possible beforehand. I think I preferred the mystery, at least then I didn’t worry so much. His eyes though ... his demeanor told me that worry was warranted. 

“Okay, kids,” the driver blasted through the speakers. “We’re here. When we are parked, please file out in an orderly fashion. No talking please.”

He wouldn’t have to worry about excessive chatter with this group. I wondered if other orange senior-filled buses talked more than this one did. 

The bus squealed to a stop in front of a tall building that peeked above a brick wall about the size of my house. The wall seemed to wrap around the entire building, not leaving much room for land surrounding it. We stood, all of us taking in the nature of our new home. An iron gate connected the brick wall and stood opened, welcoming us with its ivy-covered arms. The sign on the gate read, The Order of the Day. Then, just below that in smaller text it said, The Third Rite. 

It made absolutely no sense to me and didn’t serve as a particularly warm entrance. 

One foot in front of the other, right behind Brayden, I pushed myself forward until I found myself walking between the arched gate and entering my home for the next year. We walked on a brick path surrounded by greenery, little white flowers, and a freshly cut yard of grass. I switched my bag to my left shoulder and took one last glance of the sky, hoping it wouldn’t be the last. Two men stood at the ornate wooden doors, holding them open as we walked inside the building. 

First impression: beautiful. Way more beautiful than I imagined. Not that I spent time imagining it too much. 

Brass chandeliers with dangling crystals reflected specks of light throughout the entryway and a set of amazingly gorgeous steps stretched out in front of us, like something reserved for royalty. The room smelled of vanilla and cinnamon, warm and inviting. Bookshelves adorned the walls, fitted with colorful spines from top to bottom and complete with a ladder reaching its way to the top. Not too bad, I thought. Inspiring even. 

I noticed the twins in front of me were given a small slip of paper before they trailed up the stairs. As I got closer I saw red ink printed on each one. Numbers. The man handing them out said, “Odd numbers to the right, even numbers to the left.” I took mine, realizing Brayden was already up the stairs and walking toward the left. I glanced at my slip as I continued forward. 413. When I reached the top of the stairs I turned right and followed the crowd toward the back of the hall. Each door to my left was closed with no signs on them. Another man stood at the end of the hall, waving everyone up the stairs and saying, “200’s are the next door up, 300’s the next, and so on.”

We continued up the spiral staircase, our heels clapping against the wood as we held the railing and stared ahead. A few people disappeared behind the first door. The 200’s. I kept going until I reached the fourth floor. Before entering the door I peered up at the ceiling and counted three more floors, making seven total.

“You going in or what?” A guy shoved me to the side as he walked through the door.

I shook my head and entered the fourth floor, surprised to find a brightly lit hallway with no one else in sight except the guy who pushed me. He went into room 401. The next door said 403. Then, 407, 409, 411, and finally 413. My door. There were no numbers between and only two doors after mine. 433 and 439. I tried to figure out the pattern, but gave up and twisted the knob while giving the door a gentle push. Nothing happened. A girl walked by me, scanned her wrist on a censor next to the door, and walked inside her room without acknowledging me. I held my wrist to my own censor. The door clicked and I finally entered, shutting it quietly behind me.

The open window carried a warm September breeze into the room, fluttering the sheer white curtains in its way. Everything was white. The bed frame and its quilt and sheets. The walls. The small dresser and the chair in the corner. White, white, white. Even the wood floor was painted white. What surprised me more than that, however, was the large television mounted across from my bed. Definitely didn’t expect to watch television here, especially considering how limited the availability was back home. Each household in our province had a television, but it only functioned one day per week with pre-programmed channels and shows. None of our electronic devices allowed video usage either. Dad said when they were kids even their phones played movies and videos of random people doing random things on the Internet, but phones had also become a thing of the past. Something I only saw in photographs. Now we had wrist watches or necklaces to access the news and communicate with others. I kind of liked it. So many photographs of the past showed people looking at their phones instead of each other. I was happy not to have an extra distraction in my life. 

The television beeped and lit up. “Please sit down,” a woman’s voice said as her face suddenly stretched across the screen. “It’s time for your orientation.”

I sat down, nearly tripping onto my bed. “Can you hear me?” I said. “Is this a recording or....”

“Welcome to your new residence. I do hope you will find yourself at home here. We have a wonderful year of adventure and discovery planned for you. Let’s start with the basic rules. One, your door can be opened only from the outside. When you hear the door beep once you are permitted to leave your room for meals or some other event, but not required. If you hear three beeps you are required to leave the room and follow the directions given. Each time the door beeps the speaker next to your bed will provide directions. Meal times are not always consistent, so please do not expect a pattern. Listen to all directions closely.