“North.” His eyes still hadn’t left mine. They were doing that rapid back-and-forth thing that eyes do when they’re studying something. Or, in this case, someone. Heat sprung to my cheeks. I cleared my throat and looked past him to the chalkboard menu. Beside me, Hershey pulled out her Gemini.
“Don’t tell me you’re gonna let that thing order for you,” he said, his gaze finally shifting from me to Hershey.
“Never,” Hershey replied. She scrolled down to the very last entry on Lux’s recommendation list. “I’ll have the coconut latte,” she announced. “Lux promises I’ll hate it.”
This was her thing, I’d learned. Doing the thing Lux said not to.
“I’m experimental,” Hershey added, and smiled. North swallowed a laugh.
He turned back to me. “So what about you?” he asked. His voice was teasing. “Do you like to experiment?”
I blushed and hated myself for it. “I’ll have a vanilla cappuccino,” I said, glancing at my phone out of habit, even though I knew without looking what Lux would have me order. It was always the same.
“Okay, first, that’s the worst order ever,” North replied. “We roast our own beans, and everything is single origin, so if you’re gonna have coffee, don’t kill it with vanilla. Second, if you like sweet stuff, our spiced matcha latte is a way better choice.”
“I’ll have a vanilla cappuccino,” I repeated. “I don’t like tea.”
North shrugged. “Your call,” he said, punching in our orders. We scanned our handhelds to pay and moved to the other end of the counter to wait for our drinks.
“I’m totally going to hook up with him,” Hershey whispered, barely out of his earshot.
“Ew.” I made a face, but inside I felt a surge of envy. Not because I had any desire whatsoever to hook up with the smug, tatted-up barista, but because Hershey was the kind of girl who could. I glanced over at North as he steamed the milk for our drinks. The espresso machine he was using looked like an antique. It had to be the noisiest and least efficient way to make a cappuccino ever.
“One coconut latte, and one vanilla cappuccino,” North declared, setting two paper cups on the counter. His expression was neutral, but his mouth looked funny, like he was biting the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling. I smiled politely and reached for the cup with VC scrawled on the side in black marker. No printed drink stickers here. I felt like I was in a time warp. Hershey took a sip of hers and shuddered.
“Ugh. Gross.” She smiled at North. “Perfect.”
“Happy to disgust you,” he replied, then glanced at me. “Yours okay?”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, and took a sip.
The second it hit my tongue, I knew what he’d done. The fiery bite of the cayenne laced with the ginger. He’d made me the matcha drink. I hadn’t been kidding; I didn’t like tea. And I hated ginger. But this wasn’t like any tea I’d had before, and mixed with all the other ingredients, the ginger was kind of the best thing I’d ever tasted. I took another sip before I realized North was watching me. It was too late to pretend I hated it. Still, I refused to acknowledge the told-you-so look on his face.
“Well?” he prompted.
“This is a really crappy cappuccino,” I deadpanned.
North let out a laugh, and his whole face lit up with it.
“To be clear, the fact that I’m drinking this doesn’t prove your point,” I told him.
“My point?”
I rolled my eyes. “That I shouldn’t let my handheld make decisions for me. You thought I missed that not-too-subtle subtext?”
“An Academy girl? I’d never sell you that short.”
“Even without Lux, I never would’ve ordered this,” I pointed out. “I hate two of the four ingredients.”
“Ah, but there are seven ingredients. And so what if you hate two of them? The fact that I hate Russian dressing doesn’t diminish my enjoyment of a good Reuben sandwich. Ours is amazing, by the way.”
“We’re talking about sandwiches now?”
North pressed a button on the espresso machine and the steamer shot out a short burst of hot air, blowing a piece of hair in my face. I pushed it away irritably. There was something unnerving about this boy, and I didn’t like feeling unnerved.
I started to say something else, but he’d turned and headed back to the register.
“Flirt much?”
I jumped. I’d completely forgotten Hershey was standing there.
“I was not flirting with him,” I retorted, glancing over my shoulder to make sure North hadn’t heard her. He was busy with the next customer.
“Whatever. Can we go now? I want to change before the assembly.” I started to remind her that this little expedition had been her idea, but she was already halfway to the door.
4
BACK AT OUR ROOM, Hershey changed into an off-white minidress and bronze flats, and pulled her hair into a sleek low ponytail. I looked about twelve years old standing next to her in my navy sundress and espadrilles. I fought the creeping, sinking disappointment that kept wrapping itself around my ribcage. Of all the roommates I could’ve been matched with, I’d ended up with her.
We made it to the auditorium a few minutes before the assembly was supposed to start. While Hershey went to get our name tags, I stood near the entrance, taking it all in. The pictures I’d seen hadn’t done the room justice. The ceiling was painted to look like a summer sky and rose into a steeply pitched dome. The floor was polished marble and was inset with the Theden logo.
A lanky blond guy in seersucker pants and a navy blazer stepped up beside me. His hair was parted and combed flat, and he was wearing penny loafers. Like, with actual pennies in them. “Hey,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Liam.” Even though his preppy getup would’ve relegated him to the social fringes back home, I could tell that he was popular here. Maybe it was his posture or the confidence in his smile. Or the fact that people kept calling out his name and slapping his back as they passed.
“I’m Rory,” I said, caught off guard by the attention and the hand-shaking. No one my age had ever shaken my hand before. Then again I’d never stood in a room that looked like this one either. Liam’s palm was rough and callused against mine, but his fingernails were neatly clipped and buffed to a shine, like he’d gotten a manicure. The rest of his appearance followed this rough versus polished pattern. He was dressed like he belonged on a sailboat, but there was a scar at his hairline and the bluish-yellow remnants of a bruise beneath his right eye. Sports wounds, I guessed, since Liam had both a water polo pin and a rugby pin stuck to his blazer.
“So what do you think of Theden so far?” he asked. “It’s a little surreal, right?”
“A little?”
Liam smiled. “It’s easier to get used to than you’d think,” he said. “I grew up on the south side of Boston. Less than a hundred miles from here, but it feels like a world away.”
The south side of Boston? I’d been expecting him to say Nantucket or Martha’s Vineyard or some other place where rich kids were hatched and groomed. “So you weren’t a legacy?” I asked.
“Hell, no. Whatever the opposite of being a legacy is, I was that. You?”
“My mom went here,” I told him, feeling like an impostor. It was true, but it didn’t mean what he thought it did. My only connection to this place was a woman I never knew who, for reasons I’d probably never understand, didn’t even want me to know she’d gone here.
Hershey came up behind me and slipped her arm through mine. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, sizing Liam up.
“I’m Liam,” he said. His eyes slid down her legs as he extended his hand.
“Hershey,” she replied, not bothering to shake it. She turned to me. “We should go in,” she said. “I don’t want to sit in the back.”
“You can sit with me if you want,” Liam said. “I’ve got seats down front.”
“Great.” Hershey flashed a plastic smile. “Lead the way.”
“So what’s his story?” she whispered as we made our way toward the auditorium. “Is he as boring as he looks?”
“He’s nice,” I hissed.
“We can go around the side,” Liam said as we stepped inside the auditorium. The rotunda was impressive, but this was breathtaking. The heptagonal room was lit by crystal chandeliers, and its marble walls were framed on all sides by rows and rows of gold pipes. I’d read that there were more than fourteen thousand of them, making the Theden Organ one of the largest in the world, and the only one of its size that was still operational.
I tilted my head back, taking it all in, as we made our way down the far left aisle to the second row, which was blocked off with orange tape and a sign that said RESERVED FOR STUDENT COUNCIL MEMBERS. Liam lifted the tape and gestured for us to sit.
“You’re sure it’s okay for us to sit here?” I asked.
“A perk of being class president,” he said, crumpling the sign in his hands.
The row in front of us was occupied by faculty. When we sat down, the woman on the end turned her head. She had flawless black skin and one of those stylish Afros that only the excessively attractive can pull off. She was striking, with sharp cheekbones and deep-set green eyes that locked on mine and didn’t budge. I smiled. She didn’t smile back.
“Just in time,” I heard Liam say. I looked up and saw Dean Atwater approaching the podium. He didn’t wait for the room to get quiet before he began to speak.
“You are here because you have two things your peers back home do not,” he declared, his words reverberating off the pipe-lined walls. “Qualities known by Ancient Greeks as ethos and egkrateia.” He overenunciated the Greek for emphasis. “Character and strength of will. Here you will put those qualities to work in the pursuit of something more noble. Sophia. Wisdom.” He gripped the podium now, leaning forward a little. “But wisdom is not for the faint of heart. Not all of you will complete our program. Not all of you are meant to.”
I looked at my hands, the anxiety I’d felt on the plane rushing back. My mother didn’t have what it took. Maybe I didn’t either. I was the daughter of a high school dropout and a general contractor. What made me think I could even keep up?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dean Atwater said then, as if he’d read my mind. But he was gazing past me, into the center of the crowd. “You’re second-guessing your fitness for this program. You’re questioning our decision to let you in. Could the admissions committee have made a mistake?” The crowd twittered with nervous laughter. Dean Atwater smiled, his face kind. “Let me assure you, students”—he looked directly at me—“your presence here is no accident.”
It was meant to be comforting, but I squirmed in my seat.
The dean’s gaze shifted again. “Now, for some housekeeping matters. Each of you has been assigned to one of twelve small sections. Section members share a faculty advisor and will meet together daily for a reasoning skills intensive, which you’ll learn more about tomorrow. Your section assignments will appear along with your course schedule under the ‘academics’ tab in the Theden app.” There was much rustling as people pulled their handhelds from purses and pockets. “I said will appear,” Dean Atwater added with a knowing smile. “When you’re dismissed for dinner. We’ve got one more announcement first. Please welcome your student-body president, Liam Stone.”
The room erupted in whistles and applause as Liam joined Dean Atwater at the podium. “On behalf of the student council,” Liam’s voice boomed into the mic. “I’m happy to announce that a date has been chosen for this year’s Masquerade Ball. Mark your calendars for September 7.” The room erupted into loud cheers. “For you first-years—the Masquerade Ball is a black-tie fundraiser for all alumni and current students. As is tradition, a shop in town will provide the tuxes and dresses, and we’ll all be given masks to wear. Though, as we second-years can attest, the word mask is a bit of a misnomer. They’re more like gigantic papier-mâché heads, most of them more than three hundred years old and worth more than your parents can afford.” He grinned. “In other words, make it an idiocy-free evening, guys.”
Dean Atwater chuckled as he took back the mic. He looked over at Liam. “Anything else, Liam?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, then,” Dean Atwater said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s eat!”
Sleep came easily that night, partly from physical exhaustion, and partly because I’d eaten so much lobster and steak that all the blood in my body had rushed from my head to my stomach, draining me of whatever mental energy I had left. I drifted off with the silver pendant between my thumb and index finger, wondering if they’d served surf ’n’ turf at the welcome dinner nineteen years ago and whether my mom had felt as out of place then as I had tonight, but I awoke later with a start, my hand still pressed to my collarbone. My chest was heaving a little beneath it. I’d been having a nightmare—running somewhere, or from someone—but the details slipped away from me as soon as my eyes adjusted to the dark. I listened for Hershey’s breathing, worried that I’d cried out and woken her. But the room was quiet. I slid my hand under my pillow, feeling for my Gemini, and blinked as my screen lit up: 3:03 A.M. Still rattled from the dream I couldn’t remember, I tiptoed to the bathroom for some water, using my handheld as a flashlight. As I passed my roommate’s bed, I realized that the tiptoeing was unnecessary. Hershey wasn’t in it.
I quickly sent her a text: where r u??
Half a second later, her handheld lit up in the dark. She’d left it on her nightstand. I picked up her Gemini and erased my text.
I lay awake for a while after that, wondering where Hershey had gone. It was stupid, but I felt a pang of disappointment that she hadn’t invited me to go with her. Not that I would’ve gone, but still. When an hour passed and she still wasn’t back, I started to worry. You’re not your roommate’s keeper, I told myself, forcing myself to go back to sleep.
It wasn’t even light yet when I woke up again, jolted awake by the screaming chorus of a This Is August Jones song. Hershey’s alarm. She fumbled for her Gemini, knocking it off the nightstand in the process. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then pulled her pillow over her head and promptly fell back asleep. Her alarm was still going off. Any relief I felt about the fact that she wasn’t dead in the woods somewhere was overshadowed by the immense irritation of having my eardrums accosted by excruciatingly crappy pop music at 5:45 in the morning.
“Hershey!” I barked.
“Fine,” she grumbled. She slid her hand along the floor, feeling for her Gemini. It took her another thirty seconds to actually turn it off. By the time she did, we were both wide-awake. I rolled onto my side. I’d seen Hershey wash her face before we went to bed, but she had mascara smudges around her eyes now.
“Five forty-five? Seriously?”
Hershey rubbed her eyes. “I may have forgotten that my phone readjusted itself for the time difference.”
I burst out laughing.
“I was tired when I set it,” she said irritably. I expected her to elaborate, to boast about her late-night escapades or at least hint that she’d snuck out, but she turned away from me, toward the opposite wall.
“How’d you sleep?” I asked, giving her another opportunity. She didn’t take it.
“Great,” she replied. Her Gemini lit up again as she launched Forum.
I watched her back for a moment, wondering what other secrets my roommate was keeping, and why.
5
A SMALL CROWD WAS GATHERED at the doorway to my first class. There was a sign next to it that read ELECTRONIC DEVICES MUST BE LEFT OUTSIDE. NO EXCEPTIONS, with a cubby station beneath it. I figured no one wanted to abandon their phones until they absolutely had to, but when I got closer, I noticed that none of my classmates were looking at their screens. They were all staring into our classroom, which was still out of my view. I moved toward the door and peered inside.
The room was the most hi-tech I’d ever seen. Every wall was a screen, and instead of desk
s, there were twelve egg-shaped units that reminded me of those sleeping compartments they had on luxury airlines, except that those are made of gray plastic and these were made of something shimmery and translucent and almost wet-looking. “Even without a bell, you all can still be late,” our teacher said, then stepped into view. It was the woman I’d seen at the assembly yesterday. When I saw Dr. E. Tarsus on my schedule, I’d pictured a man, an older white one, with gray hair and thick glasses. This woman was the total inverse of that. Standing still, she had the countenance of an eagle, her shoulders broad and her posture perfect. But when she moved—as she did now, toward the front wall, with purpose—she reminded me of a jungle cat, the sharp, angular edges of her shoulders and hips visible beneath her clothes.
She taught Plato Practicum, the official name for the practical reasoning intensive Dean Atwater mentioned at the assembly and the only class on my schedule that met every single day. She was also my advisor, so I wanted to make a good impression.
As we filed into her classroom, milling around and looking generally uncertain (do we stand next to the pods? inside them?), Dr. Tarsus stepped up to the front wall and wrote with her index finger, her words appearing like chalk on the wall’s surface. Instantly the wall transformed into an old-fashioned chalkboard, and she was writing in chalk. I knew it wasn’t actually a chalkboard, just a rectangle of interactive wallpaper resembling one, but the texture was so reminiscent of the real thing that for a split second I wondered if somehow it was. The beginning is the most important part of the work, she wrote in impeccable script. Plato, The Republic, book two.
“Pick one,” she said, turning to face us now. She gestured to the egg-shaped compartments. I went for one in the middle.
“You should see a small square in the center of your screen,” Dr. Tarsus said as I sat down in my pod’s metal chair. I felt it adjust beneath and behind me, sliding forward a few inches and conforming to the curve of my spine. “Press your thumb firmly into the box,” Dr. Tarsus instructed. “Your terminal will activate.” The screen she was referring to was oblong and rounded outward like the nose of an airplane. When I touched my thumb to the little box, the door to the compartment slid shut, sealing me inside. Within seconds, the surface I’d touched and the walls around me had become completely transparent, like glass. I could see my classmates in the row in front of me, the walls of their enclosures as invisible as mine. Dr. Tarsus was perched atop a stool at the front of the room.
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