Ms. Strepp stopped in mid-pace and turned to me. “Yes, Becca,” she said. “Becca aces these tests. She’s a star pupil.”
“Becca?” I couldn’t help asking. “Becca Greenfield?”
“Yes, Becca Greenfield,” Ms. Strepp repeated snidely. “She now gets almost perfect scores. Like you.”
Well. All I could think was: What the hell happened to Becca?
“In fact, I think you’ll find your sister very changed from when you last saw her,” Ms. Strepp went on.
No kidding, I thought. She’s a different person.
“And you’re about to find that out in a very visceral way,” Ms. Strepp said.
I raised my eyebrows as she motioned for the guards to come in.
“Take her to the ring,” she said.
58
NATHANIEL
“HERE.” NATHANIEL’S FATHER THREW ANOTHER photograph down. Like the others, it was grainy and obviously taken from a distance. Like the others, it was a picture of Nate. Nate and Cassie Greenfield. His father had photos of him talking to Cassie in the school parking lot, outside by the town square, in the hallway at school by her locker, and then, from very far away, Cassie and him on their mopeds, heading for the ring road, the day he’d taken her to meet the Outsiders. To his relief, there were no photos of the abandoned farm or its barn.
Rage began to heat in Nate’s chest but he knew not to show it. Instead he put an innocent, puzzled look on his face. “Gosh, Dad. Why do you have pictures of me and Cassie?”
“Because you’re my son and you can’t be too careful,” his father said. “You’re the son of the Provost. You’re going to be Provost yourself someday. There can’t be any hint of a scandal in your past.”
“Provosts are chosen by the system,” Nate said, legitimately confused this time. “It’s not inherited.”
His father looked smug. “We’ll just see about that, my boy. Your dad has some plans in place.”
“Dad. I’m not going to be Provost. I don’t want to be.”
A familiar coldness came into his father’s eyes. “You’ll do what I tell you, son. I’ve done a lot to increase the position of the Provost here. You’re going to do even more. Your son will do even more. And the next thing you know, they’ll be talking about the reign of the Allens. They’ll be talking about Overseer Allen or President Allen.”
Nate felt the blood drain out of his face. He’d had no idea his father’s delusions of power ran this deep. Automatically he glanced into the living room, where his mother sat as still as a statue in her chair. She was dressed and tidy, all matching, hair done, but her face was blank. Had she seen this side of his father? Had she objected to it? Is that why he’d sent her away for a mood-adjust?
It was one thing for his father to be power-hungry. It was another thing for him to expect the same of Nate.
“I’ve been slated for higher schooling,” Nate said stiffly. “We can talk about it after that.” Because he would be long gone by then and would never see him again. He hoped.
His father’s icy green eyes bored holes in Nate’s skull. “There’s nothing to talk about, Nathaniel. This is the right path for you, and you will follow it! And when you’re my age you’ll thank me for it!”
Highly unlikely, Dad, Nate thought, but said nothing. Saying nothing had served him pretty well so far in his messed-up life.
The Provost tapped the photos on the table. “You know this girl, this Cassandra. You know she’s been expelled from school? That she’s had her vocation taken away?”
Nate frowned. “Yeah, I heard that, but I was sure it was a mistake. Cassie’s a Goody Two-shoes.”
“It was no mistake, son. We’ve determined that the Greenfields are weeds, and they must be uprooted!”
“What?” Nate blurted. “Who determined that?”
“Never you mind. Lucky for you, I’ve taken steps to avoid having you tainted by the Greenfield independence. This girl, Cassandra, is salt! And she will ruin every acre she touches!” His face was turning red: Nate’s signal to disappear.
This was just craziness. He had to find Cassie immediately. He needed to help her plan her escape.
“Okay, gotta go, Dad.”
“You wait a minute, young man! We’re not done talking!”
“Yes. We are.” Nate grabbed his moped key and headed for the door. “You’ve gotten it all wrong, Dad,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You always get it all wrong!”
59
CASSIE’S HOUSE WAS DARK. HER moped was gone. Shit. Nate headed to where there might be people hanging out, some of whom might have news of Cassie: school.
Actually, he was still freaking about what his dad had just revealed: That he’d been overreaching his position as Provost. That he expected Nate to continue in his power-mongering ways.
It was hard to admit—this was his dad, after all—but Nate had just realized that he wasn’t simply an egomaniac who should be avoided or circumvented as much as possible. That last conversation had revealed that his father needed to be stopped. He needed to be taken out. For the good of the people.
Nate would just have to figure out how.
At school, the only kids still around were the soccer teams. He had no idea if Cassie was friends with any of them. Probably. She was pretty popular. He parked his moped, grinning slightly as he moved the chain holding his new radio in place. The look on Cassie’s face when she’d seen that…
“Nate.” Eddie Carter, still sweaty and in uniform, nodded at him. His mom was waiting in their beat-up van.
“Yo, Eddie,” Nate said casually. “Hey, you seen Cassie Greenfield around?”
Eddie’s friendly face immediately shut down. “Naw, man,” he said, and headed to his mom’s car.
The Provost’s influence. The blanket of fear that had crept over the cell in the last couple of years with hardly anyone noticing.
A girl named Stephanie Morrow came out next. She’d changed out of her soccer uniform and into her waitress uniform—Nate had seen her at Mrs. Kelly’s Kitchen, when he and his parents had gone to the diner after church.
“Stephanie?”
She looked surprised. “Yeah?”
“Um, you’re friends with Cassie, right?” he asked. “I’ve seen you hanging out.”
Just like Eddie, Stephanie’s face went from friendly to wary.
“Yeah?” she said. “So?”
“I’m looking for her.”
“Why?” Distinctly unfriendly.
“I’m worried about her,” Nate said. “She got kicked out of school. I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Uh-huh,” Stephanie said. “So you can rat on her to your dad?”
Because of his carefully cultivated public face. “Cassie and I are friends, actually,” he said mildly.
“I don’t know where she is,” Stephanie said tightly. “She’s not at home, she’s not at the All-Ways.”
A cold feeling curled up in the pit of his stomach.
The sound of tires squealing caught his attention. Two police cars pulled into the school parking lot and jerked to a stop by the front doors. Nate stayed very still—maybe his dad had sent them to get him. Maybe he should quietly get on his moped and split.
“So no one knows where Cassie is?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.
“No. It’s like she disappeared. Like Becca.” Stephanie gave him a withering look, then unlocked her bicycle from the rack. She didn’t glance at the cops.
“You!”
Nate turned at the cop’s voice, but he wasn’t speaking to him.
His friend Jake was heading toward him, his face intent, like he had to get to Nate before the cop did.
“You!” the cop shouted again. “Stop!”
Jake picked up the pace, keeping his eyes on Nate’s.
“Jake?” Nate said, heading over to meet him.
“You!” The cop shouted, and then two other cops ran up and seized Jake.
“Hey!” Nate yelled. “That’s m
y friend!” Usually the cops would give him a respectful nod—one time, someone had even called him sir.
Now, however, they ignored him. Jake was struggling in their grasp, and Nate grabbed one of the cops’ shoulders to pull him off. The cop elbowed him hard, and then there was a sharp buzzing sound and Jake went down like a sack of potatoes. They’d tased him.
“That’s my friend!” Nate shouted again as they started to haul him off. Jake’s eyes had rolled back into his head, and his mouth hung open. The cops ignored Nate, except to shove him out of the way as they stuffed Jake into the backseat of their cruiser.
Then the two cars peeled away, their tires spitting tiny rocks. Jake had slumped down in the car, and Nate couldn’t see him.
The cops had just arrested his friend. And a fellow Outsider.
60
CASSIE
BECCA HAD TOLD ME ABOUT the ring. She and her friends had tried to give me as much advice as they could in case I was picked to fight. A tiny part of me hadn’t accepted that this might really happen.
As the guards shoved me toward the boxing ring in the middle of this huge auditorium, I tried to remember what Becca had told me. Something about my jumpsuit—that I’d be better off without it. How? Why?
Two kids were waiting for me. One of them grabbed my shoulders, spun me, and quickly twisted my hair into a tight braid that he shoved up under a rough metal helmet.
“Jumpsuit on or off?” the other kid demanded. I couldn’t see stripping down in front of these two guys, much less a whole audience, so I said, “On.” He shrugged, as if it were my funeral.
The rest of the armor was heavy and looked like it had been made from old car parts. It didn’t fit me at all, pressing painfully into my spine and collarbones, and pinching my waist every time I moved. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The image of Becca’s gaping tooth socket kept crashing into my brain, and I was so scared I could barely stand.
One of the guys laced gloves onto my hands. There was lead shot sewn into them to make my punches hit harder. Where was I? What in the world was happening to me?
The other guy rapped his knuckles against my helmet. Terrified, I looked at him. “Keep your tongue in your mouth!” he said, which made no sense. “You don’t want to lose it!”
My eyes flared wide, and he gave me a crooked grin. I saw that half of his face didn’t move—it was paralyzed. He grinned wider—halfway—when he saw my shock, and pointed to the other guy. The other guy grinned also—evenly—but then opened his mouth.
My knees buckled, and they had to quickly grab my arms to keep me upright. The other kid had no tongue—just a healed nub where it had once been. He was also missing most of his front teeth.
I almost barfed. But then they were pushing me up the wooden steps and shoving me through the ropes. Bright lights made the ring almost glow; the rest of the auditorium was relatively dark. I’d heard hundreds of kids coming in and climbing up the squeaky wooden bleachers. This time two weeks ago I was stocking rolls of paper towels at the All-Ways.
Was Becca one of the kids watching? Becca, help me.
There was an excited roar from the audience, and several shadowy figures climbed the steps opposite me. Squinting into the lights, I tried to control my shaking. Becca had said, Just get through it. You will be broken down. Go ahead and be broken down. Do what you have to to survive. In an hour it will only be a bad memory.
What would happen if I turned and ran out of here? How far would I get before I was caught and dragged back? How would I be punished? Was it too early to start crying and pleading for mercy?
My opponent climbed through the ropes. I was so frantic with terror that I could barely focus. But when I did…
I blinked several times, wondering if I was hallucinating.
It was Becca.
61
I’D NEVER BEEN SO GLAD to see my sister in my whole life. But a split-second later, that feeling faded. This Becca was gazing at me coldly. She wore armor, like me, but had taken off her jumpsuit. She turned her head and spit onto the canvas. I saw the bruises on her arms and legs, saw her grim expression and clenched jaw. Her heavy, gloved hands were swinging by her sides, as if she was eager to get started.
To get started fighting me.
Well, she knew more than I did. She would know how to make this look good without really hurting me. I would go through the motions of hitting back, and then I would just fall down and pretend to pass out.
It was a plan.
The bell dinged. Becca motioned for me to join her in the center of the ring. I met her with a slight, hidden smile: we were in this together.
Then my sister drew back her right arm and walloped my chin so hard I staggered, my arms flailing, and then fell to my knees, scraping them painfully on the hard canvas. My mouth filled with blood from where I’d bitten my tongue, and after a few seconds of stunned numbness, an unbelievable pain made me feel like I’d been hit by a truck.
“What are you do—” I tried to say, but my tongue was swelling and I was gagging on blood.
“Get up.”
I stared at her. Was this even my sister?
“Get up!” she ordered.
Stupidly, still somehow trusting her, I got to my feet and put my arms up like I’d seen boxers do. One of her feet snapped out against my knee, making me buckle, and then she punched me in the stomach so hard I lost my breath.
Doubled over, wheezing, I wobbled clumsily to the side ropes and grabbed one to keep from falling. I was trying to suck in breath, blood dripping out of my open mouth, but as soon as I stood up slightly, Becca was there.
She slammed her glove into my lower back, sending an electric, radiating pain through me, and then spun on her heel and punched me in the stomach again.
“Wh-why?” I gasped, and turned just in time to see an enormous, blood-spattered glove aiming right for my eyes. Instinctively I jerked back so instead of barreling into my forehead, she hit my left eye. I felt my eyelid split, felt the sudden heat of blood running down my face.
Then, in about two seconds, every single thing that Becca had ever done to piss me off came flooding back to me. New anger rose up in me, and I swung fiercely in a kind of punch I’d never thrown in my whole life.
Right before my weighted glove connected with her head, whipping it sideways, I saw… her smile, just a tiny bit.
Then she used the force of my blow to continue a spin, and came at me with an arm that felt like it was made of steel. That punch made me see stars. I wasn’t aware of falling, but I realized I was looking up at lights. A big dark shadow loomed over me.
My sister.
“Becca?” I said, my words garbled and full of blood. “Why?”
62
BEATEN AND BLOODY, I’D EXPECTED to limp back to my jail room, where I intended to smother Becca to death with her blanket. Instead, after they bandaged my split eyebrow, two guards pushed me into a tiny room—four walls of cinder blocks with a steel door that had one weensy window in it.
“Oh, no way!” I said, as my waiting sister gave me a tiny smile. “Why the hell are you in here? And by the way—you’re a goddamn bitch!”
My one working eye widened as Becca smiled a bit more. She gave a quick glance at the door’s window, then came closer to me.
“I’m gonna kill you,” I warned her, holding up a finger. “You better get back.”
“They always put fighters together in this pen after a bout,” Becca whispered, her back to the door. “And as far as I know, this is the only place that isn’t bugged.”
“The second we get out of here, I’m going to run you over with the tiller,” I promised her, conveniently forgetting we were on death row.
“Cass—listen to me!” my sister said. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be in here!”
“It’s already been too long!” I snapped, lisping slightly because I’d bit my tongue during the fight.
Becca got the mulish expression I knew all too well, and I tried to
angrily clench my jaw, but couldn’t because it hurt too much.
“I can’t believe I wasted so much time looking for you!” I said.
“Shut. The. Hell. Up!” Becca said, grabbing my shoulder. She pressed her forehead against mine, the way we used to when we were little. I glared into her eyes, and she glared back into mine.
Then we had a prolonged shout-whispered argument, going back and forth, until we heard the lock of the door click open. Becca drew back and gave me a hard-eyed stare.
I spit on the ground by her feet. “I don’t accept your apology!” I hissed as one guard grabbed my wrist to shackle.
“Well, you can go screw yourself!” Becca yelled back. She jerked her hand away from the guard. “I’m not sharing a room with her! You put her somewhere else! I never want to see her again!”
Ten minutes later I was in a new jail room, on a different hall, far away from my sister. This one had only three kids in it, so I got my own bunk. I lay down on it gingerly and put tentative fingers up to my puffy eye. Oh, Ridiculous, I thought. What are we doing?
63
NATHANIEL
CASSIE WAS GONE. NATHANIEL KNEW that, but he looked for her anyway until it was close to curfew. Crap. Both Greenfield sisters gone. Goddamnit. It was all happening too fast. He’d hoped to have more time. Worse, he couldn’t help feeling that it was all his fault. Had Becca been taken because he’d recruited her to be an Outsider? Yeah. Had Cassie been taken because she was poking around too much? Yeah. Probably. This was on him. Squarely on his shoulders.
At Healthcare United, Nathaniel parked his moped and glanced up at the modest building. He’d only been inside once, eight years ago, to see his mother. He’d run to the bed and thrown himself against her. She had opened her eyes and looked at him, giving him a slight, quizzical smile, and Nathaniel’s heart had turned to ice. His mother wasn’t there anymore. They were a stranger’s eyes.
“I’m here for Mr. Greenfield,” Nate told the receptionist. She looked puzzled, but gave him the room number. Nate wondered how long it would take before she called his father. Well, he would make this quick.
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