Independent Study (18 page)

Before anyone can notice me, I head to the dining room, where I find an array of breads, fruit, cheese, sweets, and milk chilling in a large bowl of ice. The rest of the room is empty. I cut off a hunk of white cheese and make a sandwich with two thick slices of some kind of bread with tomatoes baked into the top. I keep an eye on the watch on my bag as I make myself eat the sandwich and drink a glass of milk. The sounds of laughter and conversation grow fainter as the minutes tick by. My fellow students must be starting to seek out their beds. I clean the crumbs off the table, put away my glass, and sling my bag over my shoulder.

I hurry past the doorway to the hangout room without stopping to see who is still awake and walk to the other end of the building. The lights on this side are set to low for power conservation, and this part of the residence is silent. I see a bright glow under the door to the lab. A creak of the floorboard makes me jump, and I glance back down the hall. When no one appears out of the shadows, I take a deep breath and turn the doorknob.

Ian pushes the door closed behind me. There’s a loud click as the lock bolts into place. “You’re in trouble.”

Unease churns my meal. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You did everything right.”

I don’t understand. “Then why am I in trouble?”

“Because you did too well.” Ian takes a seat on a high metal stool. “Every year the Induction is different to ensure students don’t have advance knowledge of how best to approach the problems that are given. You figured out the purpose of the final test faster than anyone expected. It makes Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes wonder whether you received help.”

“They think I cheated?” Anger punches through me. I would never cheat in order to make a better grade. Just the thought of doing so is offensive. I was taught to respect myself and those around me more than that. But the flash of anger burns out fast and is followed by an icy streak of fear. Do they penalize students for cheating? If so, what could the punishment be?

“They don’t know what to think.” Ian sighs. He nods for me to take the stool next to him. “Look, I only caught part of the conversation. Professor Holt and Dr. Barnes were disturbed by how quickly you recognized the insolvability of the task. Dr. Barnes said The Testing demonstrated that one of your greatest strengths is your willingness to trust your intuition. You trusting your instinct now is to be expected, but there were things about your Testing that were never explained. Things that, in light of these most recent tests, concern him now.”

“Like what?”

“He didn’t say, but Professor Holt seemed to know. She agreed that there have been irregularities and your past results should be reexamined. If necessary, she said, the University should take action.”

“What kind of action?” Redirection or something else?

“I didn’t hear anything more, but Professor Holt pulled me aside after your team went inside the residence.” Ian frowns. “She wants me to use my influence as your guide to get close to you. I’m also supposed to tell her the minute I see you struggling to keep up with your studies.”

“If you’re going to spy on me, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not going to be spying on you.” Ian smiles. “I’m going to help you. When Professor Holt asks, I’m going to tell her you’re a hard-working student who’s dedicated to her studies and the University.”

“Why?” The word is barely a whisper. “You’re graduating this year. Why risk your future to help me?” Michal said he would find someone to assist me. Is Ian that person? Is he one of the upper-year rebels? If so, which faction does he support? And what does he remember about his own Testing?

I can’t ask. And he doesn’t say. So I can only wonder and worry as his smile fades and he says, “You’ve done everything they’ve asked. You left your friends, your family, and your colony behind to come here. You not only made it through The Testing, orientation, and your Early Studies exams, but you excelled. If you were from Tosu City, Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt would be praising your deductive reasoning. Instead, they are looking for a reason to eliminate you from the program, because they’re worried you’re too smart. That you could be too strong a leader.”

I can barely breathe. “Has Professor Holt asked Will’s guide to spy on him?”

“I talked to Sam a couple of hours ago. Professor Holt never spoke to him.”

Will, who proved his inability to trust and be trusted, who killed and betrayed during The Testing, is not being watched. Only me.

Did someone besides Michal see me running from the Tosu Administration building after Obidiah was Redirected? Do they suspect I now know what Redirection means and that Dr. Barnes’s precious Testing process disposes of those who are not deemed smart enough but are too smart to let go? Did Michal say something that made them wonder?

“So now what?” I ask.

“Classes start on Monday. You go to class. You do the work. Your class schedule is going to be tough. Professor Holt wants you to fail. We’re not going to let that happen.” Ian takes a piece of paper off the metal lab table. My class schedule. One by one, he tells me what to expect from the classes. What kinds of tests the teachers will give. Which professors favor students who speak up in class and which ones like those who stay silent and prove themselves through papers and exams. And though I listen carefully and am grateful for the assistance, I can’t help wondering why Ian is giving it. Yes, he is a colony student like me, but I know that doesn’t tell the entire story. There is something more at work here. Something I believe directly relates to Michal and the rebellion. But without Ian’s confirmation, I can’t know whether my suspicions are right.

“The homework and tests are going to be hard to keep up with when you add in the internship. Officially, your internship responsibilities will only fall on Fridays, when no classes are in session, but that’s rarely the case. When the internships get assigned, we’ll know exactly what you’re dealing with in terms of extra workload.”

“What was your internship like?” I ask.

My father once mentioned he worked with soil scientists during his time at the University. They were perfecting a method of removing radiation from samples collected during a research tour made of the East Coast. I always assumed his work was part of a class, but now that I am here at the University, I understand that it was something more. He wasn’t working with professors. My father was working side by side with the people who were in charge of the biological revitalization plan for the entire country. The idea that we get to in some small way begin to help alter the path of the country is thrilling, but the fact that my father said so little about the experience makes me nervous about what surprises the internships themselves might hold.

Ian describes his job working as an aid for the department head of Resource Management, which sounds less exciting than I might have imagined. “Mostly, I ran errands and wished I was back here studying for whatever test I was worried I’d fail. At one point, I was given the job of summarizing colony reports about resource production. I spent hours detailing crop yields and livestock births, thinking I was finally doing something important. Then I learned the reports were several months old. They just wanted to see whether I understood which parts of the reports were important.”

Another test. Ian passed. I hope I can do the same.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. When it does, my dreams are filled with images of events that may or may not be real. My father telling me to study hard. Malachi’s hand in mine as life drains out of his eyes. A dim hallway, at the end of which are brightly lit doors marked by numbers. Blood being washed down rain-soaked streets. A yellow dress. The sound of gunfire. Broken streets.

I bite back a scream as I wake. The sky is still dark. The clock says only an hour has gone by since I climbed into bed. I push away the dreams, force myself to breathe in and out until my muscles relax. In three days, classes will begin. Professor Holt has set me up to fail. Why? Do the administrators believe I have regained my memory of The Testing and because of that understand better how they think? Is there a chance Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt know there is an underground movement to remove them from power and are looking for people who may be in contact with it?

Whatever the reason, Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt have a problem with me. They have set things up in a way they believe will lead to my downfall. Or, at the very least, my being ranked below the other first-year students. They mentioned irregularities in my Testing as the cause of their concern, but I can’t remember enough to know what I did to gain their attention.

The Transit Communicator recording tells me I figured out how to remove the bracelet and the listening device it contained. I must have removed it to make the recording. Could they be aware of my ability to keep some things hidden from them? Is whatever I kept from their watchful eyes now the source of their concern? I don’t know. And while the only way to beat them at this new game is to do as Ian says and excel at my classes, I cannot help but worry. If they expect me to fail, how will they react when I do not? Will scoring top marks keep me safe, or will it prompt anger and punishment?

All my life, I have believed that hard work and effort will be rewarded. Not just with grades but with results. Healthy plants. Abundant food sources. Clean water. Energy to light our homes. Machines that make it possible to communicate and share information to further our country’s growth and help us all not only survive but thrive. For the first time, I am forced to contemplate the possibility that the harder I work, the less I will achieve. That I should work to be average instead of endeavoring to excel. But I’m not convinced that doing so would not draw even more attention, since I have spent the last several months striving for the top marks in my class. Anything less might make my professors question my dedication to the University or make them wonder if I’m aware of their scrutiny. The only real hope I have for success is Michal and Symon’s rebels.

Tension makes my head throb. Closing my eyes, I pull the blankets tight around my shoulders and will the nightmares away. But the dreams still come. A gray-haired man smiling through a fence. Zandri asking me to explain how she died. I open my mouth to tell her, but nothing comes out. Because I don’t know. I need to know.

Zandri fades away, and I see Tomas smiling at me. Holding me in the dark. Speaking of love. Whispering that he might have found a way to keep our memories. He holds up a pill and smiles, and I yank myself out of sleep. Pushing aside the sweaty, tangled sheets, I sit up and work to hold on to the dream. Or is it a memory?

There is only one way to find out. Tomas.

The idea that Tomas has retained his Testing memories is hard to believe. That would mean he not only betrayed me by not telling me what happened to Zandri in The Testing but has deceived me ever since by keeping silent. The Tomas I grew up with in Five Lakes Colony was always honest. He would never have kept his memories of The Testing to himself.

But Tomas is changed. Just as I am. Memories or no, all of us who went into The Testing emerged different. Despite the alterations of our memory, somewhere in each of us resides the truth. Whether I like it or not, it is time for me to discover what that is.

Unfortunately, until the other three teams arrive and the bridge is replaced, I have no choice but to wait. With Professor Holt monitoring my behavior, the enforced inactivity is probably a good thing. All morning, I find myself pacing the floor of my room or walking around the grounds outside.

It is early afternoon when Griffin’s team arrives at the ravine and climbs out of the skimmer. After several minutes, I see them doing what we did—exploring the length of the divide for a better spot to cross. An hour later, they are joined by the four members of Jacoby’s team. From my place under the willow, I squint into the late afternoon sunlight and try to make out what both teams are doing. Jacoby’s team has begun to tinker with their skimmer—perhaps thinking they can use the parts to activate the motor on the bridge. Most of Griffin’s team is working to knot ropes together. All but Raffe. From here, I can see him rubbing the bandage on his arm as he stares into the void. Griffin yells at him to help with the work, but Raffe ignores him. When Raffe does finally turn back to talk to his team, it is obvious he has figured out the solution. They all drop their ropes. Then Jacoby’s group stops work as well. Ten minutes later, they are all standing in front of the residence.

The bridge has barely retracted when the last skimmer comes into view. Olive, Rawson, and Vance climb out. I wait for the fourth, and realize it is only these three. The fourth of their team, a girl with long brown hair whose name I can’t recall, is missing. Stranded at the zoo? Locked in a metal box, screaming for those who abandoned her to return? Or has her voice or air run out? I look toward the residence entrance, where Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt stand. Neither looks surprised by the missing team member. Do they know if she is alive or dead? Do they care?

I turn back and watch Olive and her remaining team members pick up the knotted rope Griffin’s team constructed. An hour passes. The rope bridge grows longer. Vance hammers pieces of wood together and attaches them to the ends of the rope. The sun begins to sink. The wind picks up, and several of the older Government Studies students disappear inside. After fifteen more minutes, Rawson throws down a section of rope and stalks away. Olive screams at him. He turns and yells something back. Vance stops his work and watches as his two teammates argue.

I see Rawson walk to the edge of the ravine and point across. Has he figured out the solution? Whatever he yells is too muddled for me to tell. Olive storms toward him, screaming something I can’t make out. I see Olive’s arms extend, make contact with Rawson’s torso, and shove. Deliberate? Out of anger? It doesn’t matter, because whatever the intent, the momentum pushes Rawson backward and he disappears over the edge.

Screams fill the air. I race with everyone on this side toward the ravine. Ian pushes a sequence of buttons that engages the bridge’s mechanisms. Several students peer over the edge. I pray that Rawson somehow landed on a ledge or grabbed on to a piece of protruding rock and choke back a sob as those who are closest shake their heads. The bridge locks into place, and I can’t help it—I run onto the platform and look down into the hole that goes on for hundreds if not thousands of feet. And see nothing. Rawson, a boy who left his colony and survived The Testing, is gone.