Turning Eighteen
Mo stood. “No, that’s okay. I’ll feel rushed if I know you’re waiting.” She turned her back and started to sort through the pile of clothes on the bed.
Sensing that Mo didn’t want to chat, Lesley gathered up the dirty dishes and napkins and returned them to the bag. She hesitated, then pressed herself against Mo’s back and wrapped her arms around her. “See you in class?”
Mo nodded.
She kissed the top of Mo’s head and searched for something reassuring to say. But there wasn’t anything. Nothing Mo would want to hear, anyway. “Enjoy your shower.” She forced herself to let Mo go, picked up the bag, and headed for the door.
“Les?”
She turned.
Mo met her eyes. “Thanks for breakfast.” She shifted her attention back to the shirt she held, her face tight.
“Sure.” Lesley stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Halfway to the stairs, she stopped. Maybe she should go back, tell Mo she understood how difficult today was and how it would be nice if they did turn out to be— No! She wasn’t weak in the Way. She trusted the Chosen Council, and so should Mo. Lesley squared her shoulders and continued walking.
Mo sat paralyzed at the desk, one of her knapsack’s straps in her hand. Fellow cadets rushed by, eager to leave the stuffy classroom. She should get moving, too—Mama and Papa’s train would arrive in ten minutes. But a courier from the Chosen Council could be waiting for her in the corridor, waiting to hand her a Solitary Notification.
Her hand tightened around the strap. She willed herself to stand. That morning, it hadn’t been so hard, not after Les had practically said she didn’t care one way or another if they were Chosens. But as the day had worn on, Mo had forgiven her. What else could Les have said? That whole part of the conversation had been stupid. She should have known better than to put Les on the spot and expect her to thumb her nose at the Chosen Council. Too bad they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk during their three classes together. Then again, what would they have said?
Mo slipped her arms through the knapsack’s straps and fell into step behind another cadet. As she left the classroom, she walked as close to him as she could without risking a strike for harassment. For once she was glad she was short. A courier scanning for her could easily miss her. But what good would that do? She was acting like those supposed half-wits in Papa’s story. She couldn’t escape the Chosen Council’s will. Nobody could, if they wanted to live.
She stopped. A Rymellan was coming toward her, a man she didn’t recognize. He didn’t look like an instructor, didn’t have a knapsack or books, didn’t seem familiar with the layout of the building. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t breathe. Everything around her looked distorted, except the man—the man a few feet away from her, closing fast. She clawed at her throat to assure herself that it wasn’t really collapsing and stared at him in horror.
He strode past, not even glancing at her.
She scurried away, not caring where she went. Somehow, she made it outside. She sucked in air until her senses returned to normal and her brain started to work again, the brain that had seized up the moment she’d spotted the stranger. Of course he hadn’t been a Chosen Council courier. They wore gold cloaks—his had been green. Wait! She frantically scanned the crowded courtyard for gold cloaks, ready to duck back into the building if she saw one.
Her eyes welled up, making it impossible to see clearly. No, she wouldn’t cry. Not here, in front of everyone. But Argamon, she was tired, and frustrated, and fed up with feeling scared all the time. Maybe it would be better if she did receive a Solitary Notification. If she was having such a hard time coping with today, how would she cope if she and Les were still together when they turned twenty-five, when their Chosen Papers could arrive at any time? Every day would be like today. Every flaming day!
“You all right, Mo?”
Mo turned toward the voice. Bruce, a member of her study group, peered at her. “You look lost.”
“No, I was just wondering if I have time to drop off my bag before I go meet my parents.” She made a show of checking the time on her comm unit. “But I don’t think I do. I’ll see you in class.”
“Yeah, sure. See you in a bit.” He strolled off.
Mo hustled to the train station and dashed down to the platform, arriving as the train pulled in. The doors slid open. The number of disembarking passengers in orange and light blue cloaks made it easy to spot her parents. Despite her mood, she smiled and waved.
Mama waved enthusiastically and made a beeline for her. “Happy birthday!” She held out her arms.
Mo clung to her, struggling to control herself. At least now she wasn’t alone. If a Solitary Notification arrived, she’d have Mama’s shoulder to cry on. And Papa’s. He enveloped her in a hug as soon as Mama let go of her.
“You look tired,” Mama said, studying her.
“I was up early . . . preparing for class.”
“Have you lost weight?”
Papa touched Mama’s arm. “Stop fussing.”
“We should head over to my room,” Mo said, half because it was true and half because she wanted to distract Mama. “I have a class in twenty-five minutes.”
“Lead the way,” Papa said.
“You’re dressed normally,” Mama said as they climbed the stairs to the waiting area.
“What do you mean?” Mo asked.
“You’re not wearing a uniform. Or your cadet cloak.”
“We only have to wear our cloaks when we leave the academy,” Mo said. “And we don’t get uniforms until our second year, after we’ve chosen our division.” She figured they didn’t want to waste time sewing uniforms for first-year students, when thirty percent of cadets failed their first year and were ejected from the academy. “To be honest, I feel like I’m still at the Learning Academy, except I live here.”
“That sounds more like the Indoctrination Academy,” Papa said.