The Institute

by Kayla Howarth

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Chad knocks on my door to walk me to class. I’m suddenly aware that I’m nowhere near ready. I haven’t done my hair, I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I’m still wearing the top I spilled raspberry jam on while eating breakfast. I’m a mess. Sure, I’ve looked worse since I’ve been here, bruised and swollen, but I’m self-conscious about how I look now that I’m not in any pain.

  All I could think about when I was bruised was how much I wanted to stop hurting, and now I’m able to think of other things like how much my hair looks like a bird’s nest—you know, the important things.

  After I let Chad in, I run into the bathroom and quickly brush my hair and clean my teeth. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognise the girl staring back at me. The bags under my eyes make me look older, the frizziness of my hair … well, it looks like it did before Ebb taught me how to maintain it properly. I tie it in a bun to tame some of the frizz and walk out of the bathroom to find Chad sitting on my bed.

  “I just have to put my shoes on and we can go,” I say as I pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down to lace up my boots.

  “It’s a nice place you have up here,” Chad says.

  “Is it not the same as yours? Were you put in a dorm too?”

  “Too? I have my own apartment. It’s just not as big as this one. I only have a single bed, and it’s kind of squished in a tiny room with a bathroom attached. I guess it’s similar in size to Tate’s cell, but you know, with walls instead of bars.”

  “Why is it that I have this one? Shilah, my brother, was moved up here when I asked them to put him close to me, but I think he must have a similar apartment to yours. Before that he was sharing a dormitory.”

  “Well, if I had to guess, your boyfriend probably had something to do with it.” There’s that pissed-off tone again. I’m guessing Tate’s filled him in on Drew.

  “Well, we’d better get going,” I say trying to change the subject and move on. I don’t want to get into that right now, not with Chad, not with anyone for that matter.

  We get up and make our way down the hall. I can’t help but fidget and pull at the sleeve of my top. I’m too self-conscious about saying something stupid in front of him. It’s clear from what I heard of his thoughts last night that he thinks I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

  I have to break the silence though. It’s driving me crazy. “So today should be fun,” I say with thick sarcasm.

  He doesn’t respond, but he does smile, and the sour look is gone from his face. His square jawline becomes more prominent when he smiles, and as I look up at him, I see just how attractive Chad is, or could be if he didn’t look so angry all of the time. The smile doesn’t last long though, and his sullen, brooding look is back.

  When we arrive at the history classroom, it’s a lot busier than our orientation yesterday. We sneak in and take seats in the back, behind everyone who’s already sitting. I count and there are eleven, twelve including me.

  Shilah’s down the front, and so are the boys from yesterday. I want to go sit with Shilah, but he’s probably still mad at me. I haven’t spoken to him since our fight, and I don’t really want to sit at the front of the classroom anyway, in front of everyone else. I know they’d only be staring at the back of my head, but that’s still too many eyes looking at me for my liking.

  I guess my paranoia of being the centre of attention didn’t come from having to hide Shilah’s secret after all. It’s just part of who I am.

  It isn’t long before our “teacher” walks in. I should’ve guessed Drew would pop up again soon. I slouch down in my seat and cover my face. I’m definitely glad I didn’t go sit with Shilah now.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—your boyfriend?” Chad mutters, slinking down in the chair next to me.

  “Yeah. Well, no, not anymore. Do you know him?” I whisper.

  Chad nods. “From Eminent Falls, I always knew there was something suspicious about him; the way he carried himself, the way he transferred schools with only two weeks left in the school year, it just didn’t sit right with me.”

  I guess I never thought of that before. I think I remember Ebb saying he transferred so late because his mother wanted him to find friends to spend time with over the break. Something like that anyway, I didn’t really give it much thought.

  Drew’s voice startles me. “Hmm, it’s a shame you two don’t have an ability that could make you invisible, you’d be more successful that way.” He looks up at us, him and everyone else. So much for hiding in the back of the room. Everyone’s silent until Drew finally breaks his glance and continues with the class. “Now as most of you know, your usual teacher is out on assignment right now, so you’re stuck with me for the next few weeks before I get re-assigned.”

  Ooh, yay for us. Drew shoots me a look, and I almost forgot he’d know what I’m feeling. I think it’s time to put everything Tate taught me about keeping my thoughts to myself to use. I just keep thinking white noise, white noise, white noise.

  Drew starts the class with a slideshow of photos, showing the damage Defective people have caused. It mainly focuses on the boy who made the entire west coast of our country a toxic wasteland, but it has other delightful things thrown in like forest fires, riots, vandalism—you know, all of the things only Defective people could be responsible for, of course. I roll my eyes and then quickly remember to fill my head with white noise. It’s confusing Drew, I can tell. Trying to suppress my smile, I look at Chad and see he’s just as entertained by the slideshow as I am. I think he might even be asleep.

  It’s the longest hour and a half of my life, and when it’s finally over, I realise exactly what that class was: the “influence” class I overheard Lynch and Mr. Brookfield talking about. I’m sure if you put anyone in those classes for months on end, they too will start to believe they’re doing the right thing. Maybe that’s what happened to Drew. It’s clear that’s not the first class he’s ever run, and if you stand around talking about how horrible Defective people are, eventually you’re going to believe it, even if you are one yourself.

  I walk out of the classroom absolutely exhausted. That was mentally draining. According to my schedule, I have fitness next. Great.

  Chad and I actually have four out of five classes together, so it looks like I’ll have to endure his not so pleasant behaviour for the majority of the day, every day. At least I won’t have to go through this alone, even if he’s barely civil.

  I follow him down the hallway to our next class, which turns out to be a giant room about the size of a basketball court, filled with rows of different machines. I have no idea what they do, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

  A tall, buff man comes and greets us and lets us know that he will be assessing us today. I recognise him from my first interrogation. His biceps are as big as my head. He’s the one who bruised my face. I scowl at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Either that or he just doesn’t care.

  “Okay, new recruits,” he says as he looks down at his clipboard. “I’ll be assessing you today and will be with you for your first few fitness classes until you settle in.” He sounds so thrilled about that too, about as thrilled as I feel.

  I don’t want to have to work with the guy who attacked me. Oh, but of course, it wasn’t an “attack,” it was a “test,” according to Mr. Brookfield. He sends us to get dressed, and I can tell I won’t be getting an apology anytime soon, not that I should really expect one from a person like that.

  When I come back out of the locker room, the room’s filled with people, and they’re already using machines. I watch intently, trying to work out what they’re doing.

  Chad and I are put on side-by-side machines that have a kind of conveyor belt. I look at others on similar machines and take note of what to do. When the machine starts, we walk on the spot. It’s a weird sensation to begin with, almost an unbalanced feeling, like I could fall off it at any minute.

  It feels good to clear my head, ju
st focus on my steps and my breathing. Our trainer kicks it up a notch, and we’re lightly jogging. The mental funk I was in after Drew’s class is clearing, and I’m actually smiling; I’m sweaty, but smiling.

  Chad hasn’t even broken a sweat. I’m so unfit.

  When the trainer comes over and starts touching the buttons again, I come to the conclusion that this is really just another torture activity. They should’ve made me do this when they wanted me to talk. I’m running now, my chest burning, my lungs not getting enough air.

  It’s not long before I have sweat dripping down my face, and Chad’s telling me to “Keep it up, keep going, keep going.”

  It figures he’s one of those fitness enthusiasts, the kind of person who thrives on exercise, and gets really annoying and chipper when they should be puffing and panting from exhaustion. I’m grateful for Chad’s encouragement but embarrassed he can tell I’m struggling.

  How do I get off this thing? I think I’m going to throw up.

  Our trainer just stands there watching. I look at him with what I can only assume are the widest eyes he’s ever seen—they certainly feel like they’re popping out of head.

  “Just put your feet on either side of the treadmill when you think you can’t go any further,” he says.

  I immediately move my feet, and he comes over and presses stop on the machine. I’m out of breath and gasping for air. All I want to do is lie down on the ground. Getting off the machine, I sit on the floor with my head between my knees. The trainer hands me a cup of water, and it’s gone within two seconds flat. While he goes to fetch more for me, I look up at Chad—he’s still running very casually, but at least he’s started sweating now. I get more water, and Chad gets his machine sped up.

  “We’re going to need to work on your stamina,” the trainer says to me.

  No shit. I’d say this out loud, but I’ve already felt the power of this man’s hand, and I can almost feel my cheek burning in memory.

  “Let’s see how strong you are then.”

  “We’re not done?” I say, extremely breathless.

  “Not even close.”