“I just know you’re going through a lot with . . . everything that’s happened.”
Is he referring to my part in Damone’s death or to something else?
He jams his hands into his pockets and keeps his voice low. “I just wanted you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I’m a good listener. My father always says the reason I seem smarter than the rest of my brothers is because I watch and listen to everyone else, instead of jumping in and getting my hands dirty.”
“Jumping in before you know what you’re getting into is a good way to get hurt,” I say, wondering why he is pushing to bring himself into my confidence. What does he think I am doing, and what would he do with the information if I gave it to him? The intensity with which he waits for me to say something more makes me certain there is another agenda aside from friendship at play. Trying to sound casual, I add, “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not ready to talk.”
Enzo shrugs. “Well, I just thought since I saw . . . well, you know . . . that I sort of understood and that I can be trusted.”
The more he tells me I can rely on him, the less I want to.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s nice to know you stand by your friends.” When Enzo shifts his weight and looks uncomfortable with my gratitude, I say, “Come on. We don’t want to be late for class.”
It’s a good thing we aren’t. Our professor assigns eight pages of homework, most of which deals with equations he covered in the first few minutes. I am so busy writing notes I barely have time to glance down at the tracking monitor in my bag to verify that Ian’s device is still on campus. Where Ian said he was going to be. When the professor is done answering questions about the assignment, he announces that Professor Jaed is not on campus today. My next class, United Commonwealth History and Law, is canceled along with the others Professor Jaed teaches, which gives me a two-hour window until my next lecture. Time enough to talk again to Stacia and, I hope, construct an appropriate test for Raffe.
Stacia is waiting where I last saw her. Before I can take a seat, she stands and says, “You don’t have to convince me that what you said the president asked you to do is the truth. At first I thought it must be an elabora
te joke, but I know you wouldn’t joke about something like that. So, tell me what I can do to help.”
“Just like that?” I ask. Walking here, I’d come up with all the things I could say that would convince her to be a part of this team.
“Dr. Barnes runs this University. If we were still in The Testing, I’d probably side with him—since he’d control whether or not I got here. But the president’s in charge of the country. If we succeed, I’ll be a hero. Heroes get more options for their future. They also have more power. I want both. So where do we go from here?”
Good question. “I have something I need to do in the Early Studies building. We can talk about it there.”
From what I have heard, the building’s classrooms and labs are only used in the beginning of the school year. Once students are divided into their designated areas of study, the facilities are rarely utilized until the following year. If that holds true today, Stacia and I should be able to work there on a test for Raffe while talking through the details she needs to know.
“I’m assuming Tomas is part of our little band?” Stacia asks as we head up the steps of the building. As with all of the University educational buildings, the front door is unlocked during daylight hours. The labs on the first floor are open and empty. The rest of the building is silent.
I tell her yes as I lead us into the chemistry lab—a large room with ten black tables, behind each of which stand two silver stools. Light streams in from three large windows that face the back lawn of the building. In the front of the room is a large, floor-to-ceiling gray cabinet filled with chemicals, microscopes, burners, and other tools.
I set my bag on the table least visible from the windows, open it, and take out the tracking monitor so I can watch it while I work. Ian is still on campus, only a couple of buildings away.
“What’s that?”
I explain about the tracking device I placed in Ian’s bag and the tests I need to create for Raffe and Enzo.
“How many people are on the list the president gave you?”
“Twelve.” I run down the names on the list and the reasons the president gave for each one. Stacia seems surprised to hear that the head of her residence is on the list, but doesn’t interrupt. While I speak, I pull out the other items I brought with me. Six four-inch-square pieces of steel. Wires. A switch. A thumb-size solar battery. More metal for a circuit board.
“What are you doing?”
“Building a pulse radio. Or at least something that will look like one,” I say as I work to attach wires. “I want Raffe to believe there’s information recorded on this that will help the president bring an end to The Testing.”
“Why?”
“I’m still working out the details, but if he takes it out of my room or finds a way to steal it I’ll know he can’t be trusted to follow my lead.” I need people who are willing to stop The Testing, but whom I can also depend on at any cost.
“And then what?” Stacia crosses her arms. “Raffe isn’t stupid. If he takes the recorder and figures out that the recording isn’t real, he’ll know you’re onto him. The minute he tells his father or one of the administrators on your list we’re all in trouble.”
I put down my tools and sigh. “Do you have a better idea?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Stacia takes the box I have built in her hands and turns it over. “If Raffe fails this test, there has to be a consequence that ensures he is unable to tell anyone about it. And the only way to guarantee that is if after failing the test, Raffe is dead.”
Chapter 8
“I CAN’T . . .”