“That’s the beauty of FDO 169-D!” Her smile would have lit up the bottom of a black pit. I almost wanted to squint away from it. “The amount of time you will be required to spend at the workhouse is entirely up to you and your family. The harder all of you work to get back under your debt limit, the sooner you can go home. I’m sure it makes you feel better to know you’re in complete control of the situation. Doesn’t it, Matthew?”
“Matt,” I said, without really thinking.
“You like to be called Matt?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I stiffened. “Whatever. So you’re taking me to some workhouse?” History book pictures from the early 1900s of old factories appeared in my mind. The child laborers—child slaves really—always looked half starved and exhausted.
“Yes. FDO—Federal Debt Ordinance—169, option D, allows children of a certain age to help reduce their family’s debt by spending some time at an FDRA workhouse.”
“What happened to options A through C? I thought families were supposed to be able to choose. I’ve heard stories, but I know of only one person for sure—a girl from Lakeview Middle School—who’s had to go to a workhouse. Most families choose supervised spending. Why didn’t my family get to choose?”
“Oh, Matt,” she laughed and patted my arm again. “I know you overheard me tell your mother that I don’t know why this option was chosen for your family.” She leaned in close, twitching her eyebrows, and whispered, “Trust me. You’ll like option D. FDRA workhouses are fabulous places to live—especially for kids like you.” Her last word came out with a puff of air that tickled my ear. I leaned back until my head bumped against the glass.
“Wha . . . what’s FDRA?”
“It stands for Federal Debt Rehabilitation Agency. It’s where I work. We oversee those participating under FDO 169-D.”
She went on and on about how amazing this workhouse was and how much I was going to love it there. After a few minutes I tuned her out. One thing I knew for sure, no place could be as much of a paradise as she seemed to think the workhouse was. I stared out the window. Soon we were speeding down the freeway, heading for the city. Honey Lady pulled out a case she’d brought with her from the front seat. It contained a portable movie player for me and a laptop for her. I only half watched the movie as my mind planned my next move. They were dead wrong if they thought I’d skip along happily to some slave-labor camp. No way, suckers. Just like Nana, I wasn’t about to go without a fight.
My movie was nearing the end when Gorilla Man pulled the limo onto an exit ramp. He had to stop at a light at the end of the ramp. That’s when I made my move, yanking on the door handle with all my might. My muscles burned with the effort, and I slammed my shoulder into the door—again and again. It didn’t budge. I’d thought that when Honey Lady climbed in back with me, maybe she’d left the doors unlocked. She hadn’t. It didn’t matter. I kept slamming.
“Matt.” Honey Lady slid her arms around me, coaxing me away from the door. How could arms be so strong and so soft at the same time? She drew me in close, like a mother comforting her upset child. She whispered soft sounds into my hair and rocked me for just a second, enough for me to unclench my fingers and let go of the door handle. “You’re going to be okay.” The mother in her disappeared and the sales-pitch woman returned. “I’m so excited for you. We’re almost to the workhouse. Just wait until you see it. You’re very lucky, you know. Six months ago you would have had to take an airplane to a workhouse in the east. Now they’re building them all over the place. Some people still have to travel much farther than you’ve had to—since our workhouse serves the entire Midwest area.”
I wriggled out of her grasp and turned back to the window, calculating the average number of windows for the buildings we passed. It wasn’t hard, since we had to drive slowly because of the traffic, and the buildings we drove by were small—eight floors, max. The really big skyscrapers stood clustered together in the distance. A few flower beds and trees appeared every once in a while between the buildings. I even saw a small park. Green and space nudged out steel and cement more and more as we drove.
“There it is,” said Honey Lady.
Even though I tried to keep my eyes sulkily staring at the piece of lint on the floor by my shoe, I couldn’t stop myself from glancing out the window on Honey Lady’s side of the car, following her gaze. At least I could sound unimpressed.
“Yeah, it’s a building. So what?” I fought for every ounce of boredom I could squeeze into my voice. This was no child slave-labor workhouse. The silver and glass building sat almost glowing in the growing darkness. A wide spread of grass stretched out around it, and trees grew everywhere. Lampposts lit up the grounds like a ballpark. A clump of trees stood in the middle of the front lawn. Short trees straddled the walkway to the building from the parking lot. A whole bunch of trees—enough to make a small forest—stretched up tall and strong behind it.
“Home, sweet home,” said Honey Lady as Gorilla Man pulled off the street.
Home? Not for me. Never. Even if I had to spend the rest of my life here, this building would never be home.
A security arm blocked our entrance into the parking lot. Through the side window I watched as Gorilla Man’s hand reached out and his long fingers punched a few keys on a keypad that hung from the end of a white, candy-cane-shaped pole. A narrow red laser beamed out to scan his retina. The gate lifted.
With only three other cars parked in the small lot, Gorilla Man pulled lengthwise across the spaces closest to the curving cement walk that led to the building entrance.
Honey Lady let out a little-girl squeal and gave my knee a sharp squeeze. “We’re here!” She sprang out of the car, seeming to have forgotten about her laptop. Maybe Gorilla Man would clean up after her. I followed, leaving the portable movie player behind as well. I didn’t have a suitcase to fetch from the trunk, so we headed straight up the walkway.
A few feet in front of the wide glass doors Honey Lady pulled a remote out of her pocket and pushed some buttons. She froze for a second while a laser scanned her eye. The doors slid open.
“Come on in, Matt,” she said, gesturing with her hand like a butler on TV.
Okay. I had to admit, nice place. It reminded me of the lobby of the five-star hotel we’d gone to for Aunt Rachael’s wedding last summer—every surface sparkly or plush or polished.
“One minute,” Honey Lady said. Her heels clicked across the marble floor as she crossed the wide room to what would have been the reception desk at a hotel.
I sauntered through a grouping of furniture—sofas, chairs, end tables. The marble tops of the tables reminded me of the big marble slab Nana pulls out around Christmastime to make candy—the marble keeps the candy’s heat down. I ran my hand over the smooth top. Not as cool as I expected. My fingers slipped around the edge of the table.
Ouch!
I jerked my hand up to my face, holding it with the other hand. A bee sting? In here? I looked closer. A thin, brown sliver had imbedded itself in the pad of my index finger. Since when did marble have slivers? Fake piece of junk. Honey Lady was still occupied with the scowling, grumpy lady behind the reception desk—what a crab—so after I pulled out the sliver, I wandered through the rest of the lobby, discovering that all the plants were synthetic, the bright candy in a dish was glass, and the Zen water feature was a holograph.
Yeah, nice place.
“Okay, Matt, let’s get you settled.” Honey Lady’s rah-rah cheerleader voice drowned out the clicking of her heels as she scurried away from the desk. With that butler arm she guided me to a hallway off the right side of the lobby. The thing went on forever, like a tunnel into nowhere.
I backed up a step. Crab Woman, behind the reception desk, barked something into some sort of speaker as she sprang to her feet, making the reading glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck sway back and forth. She seemed older than mom age, but younger than grandmother age. A second later Gorilla Man lumbered into the room and stood, sta
ring me down, with his overmuscled arms folded high across his chest.
“Come on, Matt.” Honey Lady wrapped one arm around my shoulder and leaned in close to my ear, speaking in that airy voice of hers that made me want to pull away. “I know you’re going to love it here. We’re so glad you’ve joined us. Why don’t you take a look at your room and give this place a chance before you decide you hate it? Hmm?”
I shrugged my answer, mostly to nudge her arm off.
“Good choice. Come on!” Rah, rah. With a flick of one hand she waved Gorilla Man back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of. I filed that bit of info away for later as we started down the hall—Gorilla Man wasn’t permanently camped out in the lobby. Maybe it emptied out completely at times—like late at night.
Honey Lady led me past one door before she stopped and opened another one. I stretched around her to get a look inside. Not bad. Not amazing, but not bad. Besides a bed, the room held one large bookshelf full of books and another one of video games. The TV wasn’t nearly as big as the one in the family room back home, but almost as big as the one Mom and Dad had in their bedroom. A computer sat on a small table next to the head of the bed.
“This is where you’ll spend the first night—tonight.” Honey Lady walked across the room and opened a door near the far corner. “Here’s your private bathroom.” She walked around the end of the bed to the computer table. “Use this remote to access TV programs or movies. And here”—she turned on the computer and sat down—“I’ll show you how to order dinner. You’ll also need to order clothes and toiletries—anything you think you might need before tomorrow. In the morning you’ll take your test and get your permanent assignment.”
Test? Permanent assignment? Great. Something else to worry about. I hope your floors are thick, Honey Lady, or else my pacing tonight will wear a hole right through them.
“Don’t be shy, Matt, come on in here.” She’d pulled up the Midwest FDRA workhouse’s home page by the time I shuffled to the desk. I ran my fingers over the top of the monitor. Sweet machine, especially for a temp room. The process for ordering food from nearby restaurants and clothes and toiletries from nearby stores was so easy I focused more on checking out the computer than listening to Honey Lady’s explanation—until the end.
“Of course, the laser will scan your eye after you order.”
“Oh, uh, I think my parental permission card is almost empty.” I’d used it to buy lunch at school today—was it really only today?—and the lunch lady had warned me that I was running close to empty.
“You don’t need a parental permission card here,” said Honey Lady.
No way. Kids always had to present a card, or slide one into a computer slot, before they could get an eye scan to buy anything. Otherwise, what was to stop us from going out and buying a new game room full of gadgets every time we felt like it?
She stood up. “Don’t forget pajamas and underwear when you’re ordering your clothes.” She winked at me and pulled out the chair for me to sit down. “Would you like me to wait here with you until your dinner arrives?”
“No. I’ll just surf the Web or watch TV.”
“All right, then. I’ll be in my office for another hour or so. If you need anything, pick up that phone by the bed and ask to be connected to me. Do you remember my name?”
“Yes.” No, wait. They’d think I was nuts if I asked for Honey Lady. “I guess not.”
“Sharlene Smoot,” she said as she ruffled the hair on the top of my head. I twitched away to let her know I didn’t like it. The hands lifted from my head and settled on my shoulders.
I shrugged them off of there, too. “You can leave now.” I fixed my eyes on the monitor as my fingers started going at the keyboard.
“All right. If that’s what you want. Listen, go to bed soon after dinner, and make sure you get a good night’s sleep. The testing will last all day tomorrow, and it’s important for you to do your best. Good night. And Matt, I can tell you’re going to love being a member of our FDRA family.”
THE MEAT LOAF I’D ORDERED FOR dinner didn’t taste right. Mom made a killer meat loaf. It’s what I asked for anytime she gave me a choice.
The gravy-drenched bite of meat turned to glue in my mouth as I pictured eating at home with my family. Dinnertime had come and gone ages ago, but everyone in my family had probably been too upset to eat anything. At least they’d better have lost their appetites. Abbie should be in bed by now. I bet she’d been too scared to sleep alone in her room. Lauren would let her sleep with her. What were Mom and Dad doing? Making phone calls, doing Internet searches, and examining every single cent in their account, I hoped.
I shoved the plate of food away and jumped to my feet. Why weren’t there any windows in this room? The other floors had windows. I’d seen the light glowing through them from the outside.
I paced a nervous circle around the room, like a rat in a cage, trapped and cut off from the world I knew, not knowing what the people in control had in store for me.
Wait a minute, I thought as I dug my cell phone out of my front pocket. I wasn’t completely cut off. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of my phone earlier. I stared at the buttons for a few seconds, deciding who to call first. Two questions burned in my brain. One, what was my family doing? And two, what was everyone at school saying about me—would I ever be able to show my face there again?
Duh, idiot. Although I felt as if a week had gone by since Honey Lady showed up at my house, only hours, not days, had passed. No one at school was saying anything about me, because no one had been to school since I’d been taken. I’d wait and call Brennan or Lester tomorrow.
I pulled up my home phone number and anxiously waited to hear a familiar voice. Instead I heard nothing. I looked at my screen. No signal. Oh, come on. Wait a minute. A landline phone sat right by the bed. I picked it up and punched a few buttons.
Crab Woman’s voice came on, making me wince. “You need something?”
“I was . . . just trying to call someone,” I said.
“This is an in-house line only.” She hung up, the loud click making my eardrum ring.
Sweet dreams to you, too, Crab Woman.
Well, I knew the computer worked at least. If Abbie hadn’t forced Lauren to come to bed when she did, chances were good that Lauren was online. I sent her a message, just asking if she was there.
Ten seconds went by. Then twenty. Come on, Lauren. Be online. Shoot. Maybe Brennan was online. A knock at my door pulled me away from the computer. It ended up being a delivery person who handed over several wrapped paper packages in shiny blue-and-white-striped shopping bags. The new clothes I’d ordered—pajamas for tonight and jeans and a T-shirt for tomorrow. Socks and boxers too. And a toothbrush and toothpaste.
After I closed the door and tossed the packages onto my bed, I walked back to the door. I opened it again—just a couple of inches. And closed it. Huh. I opened it and closed it again.
My mind started calculating. Distance equals rate times time—one of the most basic math formulas in the world. The distance between this door and the end of the hallway—about fifteen feet. Plus another fifty feet to get to the front sliding glass doors equals sixty-five feet. I could do an eight-second fifty-yard dash. Converting to feet made a rate of 18.75 feet per second. Dividing the distance by the rate gave me a time of 3.47 seconds. I figured I should round up to five or six seconds to allow for the fact that I’d have to turn a corner and dodge a chair or two. Would that be fast enough to make it outside before Crab Woman caught up with me? If she wore high heels like Honey Lady, I’d make it out no problem. Now, Gorilla Man—if he happened to be in the lobby, I’d be toast.
I slid into the chair in front of the computer and cracked my knuckles. Time to do one of the things I did best: in-depth online snooping—okay, call it hacking, if you must. I just needed to break into this workhouse’s files, and I was sure to find some sort of Gorilla Man guard-duty schedule that would let me know if I was home free or sh
ut down.
It took longer than I’d anticipated to get in, but I found it—not the minute-by-minute breakdown of Gorilla Man’s location I was hoping for, but a schedule that listed guard A’s assigned duty in the monitoring room for this evening along with guard B’s duties today in backup monitoring and retrieval. “Retrieval,” a polite way to say “kidnapping.” So guard B would be Gorilla Man. If I understood this schedule correctly, both guards should be safely stashed away in a monitoring room right now. Well, workhouse, it’s been real, but the time has come for me to make my exit.
I slipped into the hall and eased the door silently closed behind me. Instead of breaking into a sprint right away, I realized a better idea would be to sneak down this hall and then make a break for it once I emerged into the lobby. That would cut the response time Crab Woman had to chase me down or call for a guard.
Hugging the wall, I crept nearly noiselessly toward the wide arching opening at the end of the hall that led to the lobby. I paused in the shadows out of reach of the lobby light, near the opening. Holding my breath, I listened. I couldn’t hear anything other than Crab Woman barking some instructions to someone over her intercom system. Good. If she was distracted, that gave me just that much more of an edge. Stepping forward, I took a quick peek. No Gorilla Man in sight.
A nagging thought nudged at one corner of my brain. Where, exactly, did I think I was going to go once I burst through those glass doors? What harm was going to happen to my family if I didn’t stay here? I shoved those thoughts aside. I’d make it home somehow. Mom and Dad would want me there. They’d take care of the rest of the mess.
Another step, another look around. Crab Woman had stopped talking, but she’d shifted her attention to her computer. No one else in sight. This was it. The best chance I was going to get. I took another second to pump myself up. Go. Go now! My leg muscles tensed, ready to spring.
The heavy thumps of big feet moving fast threw me back into my shadowy hiding spot like a punch in the chest. I froze, not even breathing—waiting for those gorilla hands to reach around the corner and grab me. The blood pounding in my ears obscured the sound of the footsteps. It took me a second to realize they’d disappeared, replaced by the sound of clicking high heels across the tile.
The Limit Page 4
