Shymers (10 page)

“If you go down the hallway and take a left, you’ll find the director’s office. He would like to speak to you before you get any kind of orientation.”

With that, her oversized smile is gone and her attention returns to the tablet on the counter. I’ve been dismissed.

Still, it is the first time since my mother was taken away that another adult has shown me the slightest bit of compassion. “Thank you,” I tell her before turning to the hallway ahead.
 

My sandals are muffled against the rugged stone floor as I move. My heart, however, beats so loudly that I am sure everyone around me must hear it. The long hallway is flanked with a row of windows between each arched pillar, casting small squares of light onto my path.

Another group of younger Shymers pass by quietly, veering off to the right and leaving me alone. I stop in front of a tall wooden door three times my height where the name KRISTOFF MAHR flashes across a screen. Gathering all the courage I can, I slowly bring my knuckles up to rap against the door. All at once, the door opens on its own.

The room is much darker than the hallway. Either there aren’t any windows, or they are covered with heavy material to keep any sunlight out. The room smells curiously of cinnamon. Musical instruments play softly and distantly in a melody I vaguely remember as something my father would sing to me at bedtime. So many nights I had fallen asleep while his deep voice carried the same tune in perfect pitch. I can’t remember the words, only the melody of different notes strung together, slow and low.

The only furniture—a large desk in the corner and leather chairs on either side—is bulky and takes up nearly the entire room. I pause in the doorway, afraid to take a step inside until a deep, commanding voice barks for me to come in. My feet are reluctant to budge after being scared by the sudden instruction. I nearly trip over a rug.

I find the silhouette of a man sitting behind the desk. As his features are revealed to me, I discover him to be quite unusually large—much like the girl who I met in the schoolyard—only this man is even bigger. His dark, beady eyes are nearly lost behind rolls of fat in his cheeks, and there are too many chins to count them all. His long hair curls behind his ears and is a shocking shade of blond—almost appearing to be white. With each breath, his large chest rises up and his nose wheezes with the forced air passing through.

“Miss Mensing,” says the man. Each of the rolls of his chin shakes as he speaks. “Welcome to the Traverse Orphanage.” Although his hard eyes don’t change much in appearance, there is a slight curl to the edge of his lips that makes him look to be smirking in amusement.

“Thank you,” I say, my insides quivering.

The man leans forward in his seat. The top of his eyelids disappear into their sockets, making him appear angry. Considering I have only just met him, I think I must be imagining things. As more seconds pass by, however, I’m not sure.

“I understand they found you in the Free Lands.” His voice is even deeper now, as if he is disgusted to even speak about the place.

I give him a very miniscule nod of my head. “Yes, they did.” I don’t know what else would be considered an appropriate response to his question.

“So your family thought they were too good for Society, did they?” he asks, folding his hands and bringing his arms to rest against his giant chest. The edge to his voice comes across as some kind of cold warning. Without question, this man dislikes me.

I shake so badly that I have to squeeze my arms together and will myself to calm down. “My parents didn’t want me to live counting down every minute of my life.”

He snorts. It’s a sharp, deep noise. “Is that what they told you?”

I only nod, too fearful to speak.

“Well that wouldn’t make any sense, considering you are registered as
a
Futur
e
. I suspect your parents had some other reason to keep you hidden away.”

I don’t answer, although the same thought had crossed my mind a few times. Wh
y
woul
d
they keep me away from Society if I am truly a Future? It must be because my parents were against Society in general and didn’t want to raise me in such a cold, hard place. Then again, Bree said I have the Shymer mark. What other explanation could there be? Does this man know about my mark?

“Let me tell you something.” He rests his hands on the desk, leaning forward to glare at me. “You’re in my facility now, and I follow the rules of Society. You follo
w
m
y
rules and you only do things as you’re told. Don’t be getting any ideas that you can go against the way things are, just because your parents did. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes,” I answer in a tight voice.

He settles back into the chair. “I’ll arrange for one of the other children to give you a tour before you start in on your selected job. In the meantime, I don’t want to hear any reports of you acting up. I will be watching you.”

His eyes are filled with so much hate and anger as he looks back at me, it feels like an ice-cold hand has reached down to scoop my insides out.

7 – You Shouldn’t Have to Live This Way

There are so many long hallways and winding stairways in the orphanage that I begin to fear I will easily become lost. My tour of the old building is given by a young girl named Ivy who is as quiet as she is small, and won’t look at me when she speaks.

Our last stop is the girl’s lavatory on the second level of the building, where I will start my selected job. Dozens of toilets and showers line the walls of the deep room. Although I had seen the remains of bathrooms in some of the houses my father fixed up, we did not have running water. Earlier at school I had figured out how to flush the toilets, but I have yet to use my first shower.

Ivy shows me where to find the cleaning supplies, and shoves a piece of cloth into my hands. “Scrub each and every one of them until you hear the dinner whistle sound,” she tells me before disappearing.

I discover another girl crouched underneath the showers, staring at me. She looks too old to be here with lines on her face and an empty, hollow look in her eyes. I offer her a smile, but she turns away to scrub at the tile floor.

The liquid for cleaning is strong and vile smelling. I hold a hand to my mouth to keep from breathing it in while scrubbing until my knees ache and my fingers throb. Tears fill my eyes when I realize this could be the rest of my life—attending lessons in a place I’m not welcome, followed by hours of hard work, and nothing more. No music, no campfires, no love.

Finally, the whistle rings through the hallways, bouncing off the walls into the lavatory. I return the cleaning supplies as instructed and find my way back down to the dining hall, mostly by following the unusual smell that makes my stomach roll.

The hall is large enough for hundreds of people. It is filled with more high ceilings and arched pillars that make the tables and chairs underneath look miniature sized. A line of Shymers stretches behind a wall of glass. The hall is quiet except for the sound of plates clinking together and the low hum of the long, bright lights above. I stare at the lights, having seen very few electrical things in my lifetime. Before long the brightness burns against my eyeballs. The slight pain is almost a welcoming sensation to keep my mind off the dreadful visit with Director Mahr.

When golden halos fill my vision, I press on my eyes and turn sharply, slamming into a hard body.

“What now?” Harrison asks in his low voice. I remove my hands from my face to see him giving me the dismayed look I have come to expect.

“Sorry,” I say, flushed with embarrassment.

I can’t tell him what just happened with the light
s
o
r
with the director. Everyone already thinks I am so odd. Besides, Harrison is angry with me for bringing up his family and I will have to go out of my way not to irritate him again.

He looks to the line ahead. “Did you eat yet?” When I shake my head he nudges my back. “C’mon. You’re in for a real treat. I’m guessing this meal won’t be like anything you had out in the Free Lands.”

From my tasteless breakfast earlier in the day, I already knew that would be the case. We gather the food when it is our turn and find an open spot across from each other at one of the rectangular tables. After taking small nibbles with my fork, I discover it all to be horribly bland, lacking in any flavor. I should be excited by the rare chance to eat any kind of meat, but it is dry and almost too tough to chew. The potatoes are not much different than eating air. The remaining food sits in lifeless clumps on my tray.

Once again, I find myself yearning for my mother, only this time it’s for the wonderful talent she has for making everything taste delicious. I would do anything for even a slice of fruit from the forest.

Across the table, Harrison shovels the mystery meat into his mouth, obviously having grown accustomed to it in his time here. Is this how all food tastes in Society? Had his mother known how to cook like mine?

“Does it always taste like this?” I whisper. His blue eyes flicker up to mine. I look down, not wanting him to see the heat that is once again filling into my cheeks. Why does my body always react in such strange ways to him?

“You’ll get used to it. We have the same meal every night, so yo
u
hav
e
to get used to it unless you want to starve to death.”

The thought of having something so plain tastin
g
every nigh
t
makes my stomach turn again. I push the meat around with my fork before finally shoving my plate away. “Why even bother?”

Harrison takes his last bite and then nudges his own plate to the side. He folds his arms and looks back at me with his eyebrows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

I wish I could see him smile—to see how that would transform the light in his eyes and the curve of his rose-colored lips. He is so maddeningly attractive, and it really doesn’t help things any when he is staring at me so intensely. Between the almost turquoise color of his eyes behind his incredibly thick lashes and the way his nose bends down to meet the curvature of his lips, he takes my breath away. Why does he seem to have a natural aversion to me?

My thoughts revert back to the way Shymers are treated, and I frown along with him. It doesn’t matter if I’m a Shymer or Future. No one should have to live in a Society that treats humans so differently based on something they can’t control.

“Why even bother feeding us? Our lives apparently mean absolutely nothing to anyone in Society. Why go to all the trouble of keeping us fed and housed here? Why bother keeping us out of the sun? Why even make us go to school? They are obviously just counting down the moments until each of us dies!”

Harrison looks around the dining hall, fearful that someone may have heard my ranting. Only a few Shymers remain a few tables away. Guardians mill around, their eyes mostly trained on the floor. They don’t show the slightest bit of interest in our conversation. From what I’ve seen so far, there wouldn’t be any reason for them to be on alert. Everyone here does as they’re told and acts how they’re expected to act.

Slammed with rage and frustration, I push away from the table and run blindly to the hallway, past the staring gazes and stunned silences. These people—who will never know the joy of playing carefree with a friend in the forest where rules and sullen moods are not seen—somehow thin
k
I’
m
the unusual one. They were abandoned by their parents all because they will never amount to anything important in the eyes of Society. Anger takes over every part of my body, making my blood boil.

“Olive!” Harrison calls after me.

I don’t stop. I continue running until I am outside, beyond the canopies. The sun has begun setting behind the earth, but still gives off warm and harmful rays that burn red-hot against my skin. I stop to bend over with my hands resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

The orphanage is surrounded by great big walls of metal, keeping us from having a life beyond here. There is nowhere to run. We’re stuck inside this orphanage. I wonder if this is how my mother feels in suspension. Is she even allowed to speak to other people? Do they ever let her out of the room with bars that Kai had described?

“Where…do you think you’re going?” Harrison asks between huffs. “Get out of the sun!”
 

I look over at him. One of his feet rests beyond the canopies as he decides if he wants to step out or not. “I have to get away from this place,” I say in choked sobs. “I can’t stay here!”

Harrison tilts his head back briefly before jogging over to where I stand. His expression remains hard, although for once his resentment is directed at something other than me. “Believe me, I know how you feel. You need to understand that there is no place else for you to go. What would you do for food? Where would you sleep? If there was any other way, I wouldn’t still be here. You’re going to have to learn to adjust, Olive. Your mother is in suspension. This is your new home. This is your life now.”

I shake my head. Giant tears splash down on my cheeks. “It can’t be.”