The Testing (The Testing 1)

“Where’s Dreu Owens now?” I ask.

“Kerrick wasn’t sure.” Tomas frowns. “He suggested I go through the files he used for his research project. The files he said are kept in one of the offices in this building.”

“Did you talk about anything else?” Anything that would cause this kind of attack?

“He was curious why I was looking for Dreu now instead of when I first came to the University. When I said you overheard someone at the president’s office mention Dreu and the fact that he, too, was from Five Lakes, Kerrick said I might want to wait to go through the records and look for Dreu. Otherwise teachers might assume I have too much free time and come up with more work for me to do. I thought he was just joking the way he always does.”

Instead, Kerrick was issuing a warning to Tomas. To stay away from Dreu Owens. Tomas didn’t, and now Kerrick and Marin are dead.

“They must have been members of the rebellion.” It’s the only explanation I can come up with. “Zeen said the rebels had been given orders to remove anyone who might interfere with the success of their mission. Either Dreu has something to do with the rebellion or just mentioning his name was enough to cause worry that you could disrupt their plans.”

The sound of a door slamming makes us jump. Someone is in the building.

“You need to get out of here.” Tomas helps me to my feet.

“What about you?”

“I’ll go, too, but first I want to look around the offices and see if the files Kerrick talked about really exist. I doubt it, but if Dreu is important to the rebellion, it would be good to know why. Kerrick and Marin lost their lives. I’d rather it wasn’t for nothing.” Tomas looks out into the hall. “This way.”

He leads me to the unlocked westernmost entrance he arrived through and tells me to wait as he steps out and looks around. A moment later, he leads me out into the cool, crisp air.

“How’s the leg?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Tomas runs a hand over my cheek but then frowns. “I don’t think we can wait much longer to put the president’s plan into action. If Kerrick was ready to attack on the chance I might interfere with the rebellion, there’s no telling what the other rebel students might do. This place could end up as a battleground any moment. If we’re going to finish this, we have to act now.”

Anger simmers below Tomas’s logic. One of his hands is clenched in a fist at his side. He who once wished to flee has found in Kerrick’s and Marin’s deaths the need to fight.

“Stacia is in. If everything goes according to plan, by tomorrow morning the others will be, too.” I entwine my fingers through his. “Then we make this right.”

I stand on tiptoe and place a kiss on Tomas’s jaw. Then, as much as I hate leaving him, I turn and walk toward the south. When I glance back to look for him, he’s gone. My leg aches as I hurry down the walkway. The pain reminds me that the bullet that ripped open my pants also left them stained with blood. I can’t go back to the residence looking like this.

I duck into one of the Science buildings at the edge of campus, locate the bathroom on the first floor, and change into the pair of gray pants I have in my bag. I wash the blood from my hands and then run my fingers through my hair in an effort to erase all evidence of my time at the stadium. In the past several days, three students have died on account of my actions. At any moment another might be injured or killed because of something I created. Somehow, remarkably, my image in the reflector looks unchanged. How wrong that seems and yet how lucky it’s true. Because there is still so much more to do before this ends. Maybe once it is over people will understand what I have become. Maybe I’ll understand as well.

Since classes have ended, I am not the only one hurrying to get back to the residence. That allows me to move quickly without worry that I will attract attention. Despite the dread that churns inside me, when I reach the Government Studies building I put a smile on my face and walk through the residence’s front door. The sound of laughter trickles down the hall. After everything that has happened, I long for the relative safety of my quarters upstairs. Instead, I head down the hall and glance into the main gathering room. Raffe isn’t there, so I head for the stairs.

When I reach the second-floor landing, I make a decision. Instead of going up to the third floor, I turn and walk toward the door marked with a coiled spring. Raffe’s symbol. For the first time I wonder which kind of spring Raffe’s symbol is meant to be: a tension coil that stretches and shifts to work with the machine it’s a part of or a compression coil that will not allow itself to be pushed down. Is Raffe the type who truly wishes to resist the current methods of selecting our leaders, or is he working with his father and Symon to prevent change? I raise my fist and pound on the door. The time has come to find out.

When the door opens, in spite of the monitor’s assurance, I let out a sigh of relief to see Raffe alive and whole.

As soon as I step over the threshold, Raffe closes the door and throws the lock. “I was starting to worry. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not exactly.” I look around for signs of listening devices or cameras. The room is almost the same size as mine and contains the same table, chairs, and sofa, but Raffe has transformed the space. A blue and white quilt hangs over the top of the couch. A handwoven rug with a circular blue design lies in the middle of the floor. And hanging on the walls are paintings. Some framed, others affixed at the corners with adhesive strips. Abstract swirling colors. Beautiful renderings of flowers and trees. And in the center is the largest canvas. Deep brown wood frames the portrait of a girl with light blue eyes, dark blond hair, and a chin the same shape as the chin on the boy who stands in front of me. She isn’t what I would call beautiful, but there is something striking about her face, and the look in her eyes is haunting.

“I don’t normally let people in here.” Raffe stands next to the painting. Now that his face is beside the girl’s, the resemblance is even more pronounced. “I don’t think we have a lot of art lovers under this roof.”

I look at the slashes of vibrant colors next to muted earth tones and find myself wishing Zandri were here to explain why these paintings make me want to catch my breath. She’d understand the emotions on these canvases because she had this kind of talent. The talent to make someone feel without saying a word.

“They’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

The pride in his voice makes me turn. “You made these?”

“Only a couple of them. The rest belong to my sister.” He glances at the girl in the frame and I wonder—is she the sister he referred to long ago? If so, she is part of the reason he sought to ally himself with me. Raffe promised he would trust me with his secrets if I trusted him with mine. This painting and his having passed my test tell me the time for sharing those secrets has come.

“Do you have a piece of paper I can borrow?” I ask.