The Limit

by Kristen Landon

  “What’s the big emergency now?” Crab Woman’s gravelly voice asked.

  “A Third Floor.” It was Honey Lady. “Fourteen-year-old boy. Seizure.”

  “Another one? It was easier when they just got headaches. You going to have to dump this one too?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We’ll bring him down to a holding room tonight and keep a close watch on him. If worse comes to worst, we’ll have to demote him to the first floor.”

  “Too bad.”

  I didn’t hear anything else—no more talking. No Honey Lady heels walking away. Guess she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I’d have to wait until later and try again. Maybe in the middle of the night—that probably would have been the smarter move to begin with. Sliding my feet, I inched backward to my room. When I felt the door handle behind me I eased it open. Whoops. Wrong room. This one was small, with only a desk and a computer. The door closed with a clunk that brought my shoulders to my ears. The sound seemed to echo through the long, empty hallway forever.

  Crab Woman appeared in the opening to the lobby so fast she nearly scared the eyebrows off my face. I yanked my hand away from the incorrect door handle and thrust it behind my back, as if I held something I needed to hide. She stood with her hands on her hips and her elbows sticking out at her sides.

  Her voice came out harsh and cold. “Going somewhere?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then get back in your room!” She threw out an arm to point me to the correct door. She didn’t have to tell me twice. My feet couldn’t get me behind my closed bedroom door fast enough.

  So much for trying to make another escape later. Now they’d be watching me too closely. Idiot! Way to blow your perfect chance.

  Half an hour later I heard a scuffling in the hall. It slowly made its way past my room. Pausing my video game I slid my door open an inch, just enough to get a glimpse into the hall.

  Gorilla Man led a teenager down the hall to the room just past mine. The kid was groaning. Both his hands were pressing tightly against the sides of his head. Honey Lady followed close behind them.

  “You’re going to be fine now, Tyson. The medication we gave you should be kicking in soon. A good night’s sleep is all you need.” I could just imagine that overly enthusiastic cheerleader smile of hers, even though all I could see was the back of her head. Go, team! As soon as Gorilla Man took the kid inside the room, Honey Lady turned on her heel and walked away. My door had eased open to a couple of inches, and I jerked it back to a crack. I still could see Honey Lady’s face as she briskly walked by. Her frown was deep, and her lips were pinched tightly. She looked like she wanted to punch someone. I slid my door silently shut. I sure as heck didn’t want it to be me.

  YOUR TEST IS NOW COMPLETE.

  I sat back in the chair, stretching my arms out on either side of me, my eyes remaining on the bright red words flashing across the middle of the screen. Finally, after hours stuck in this bland little room with nothing but a computer, I’d finished. It hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected.

  When Honey Lady had led me into this room right after breakfast, she’d explained that the test became increasingly difficult as it progressed and that I’d eventually come up against some tasks that I wouldn’t be able to complete. Yeah, a test that’s designed to make you fail. What kid doesn’t dream about that? In his nightmares, maybe.

  I did get stuck a couple of times, but not until late in the afternoon. Any task that required me to do something artsy or creative—like graphic design or computer animation—had me stymied. It was never long before Honey Lady—or whoever it was monitoring my work through a computer link in another room—would send me a message saying they were moving me on to my next task—something logical, like programming, or manipulating software so I could compute a super-hard math problem, which I’d zip right through.

  My fingers tapped the armrests of my chair. So what happens now? How long before Honey Lady comes in and tells me the results—and just what exactly will those results mean? Part of me wished for more problems to appear on the screen. Those I could deal with. How well I did on this test had been totally up to me. I had no say in our family money issues. I hadn’t been able to prevent Gorilla Man from shoving me into the back of the limo.

  I spun my chair around to face the door. What was keeping Honey Lady? I spun around in a complete circle. The door remained closed. Was that sick kid locked behind some other closed door in this hallway? Last night, when I went into my bathroom, I could hear him moaning through the wall. It made me wonder if he should go to the hospital, but I never heard anyone come and get him during the night. I hope that meant he got better. They would take us to the doctor if we got sick, wouldn’t they? I mean, that would be child abuse if they didn’t. Right. Like what’s in the kid’s best interest matters to anyone in the government.

  The door burst open. “Matt, you did great!” Honey Lady click-clicked across the floor on her high heels and threw her arms around me. “I knew you could do it. You made top floor!”

  I almost felt obligated to jump to my feet, clap my hands, and cheer along with her. Go, fight, win!

  I stayed firmly planted in my chair. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a giggle that reminded me of Lauren when she’s on the phone with her girlfriends. “Of course you don’t understand what I’m talking about. I’m just so excited for you. Top Floors are few and far between. You’re going to love it on the top floor. It’s where the brightest, most gifted children live and work. You get to do the most rewarding tasks. The work is the most difficult, by far, but all our Top Floors enjoy the challenge. That’s the kind of kids they are—it’s the kind of kid you are. That’s why we group you together. We find you tend to get along best with peers on your own intellectual level.”

  “Like . . . what kind of work do we have to do?” The schoolbook child slave-laborers, pushing heavy wagons full of yarn around giant, noisy machines, popped into my mind again.

  “Come on,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “I’ll explain more while we walk. I can’t wait to get you up there.”

  She pulled me from my chair and led me out of the room. Her grip around my wrist seemed tight enough to cut the circulation to my hand. I wiggled my fingers, just to make sure I still could.

  Bright sunshine from big windows covering the front of the building reflected off all the silver surfaces in the lobby, making the entire room sparkle and shine. If a room could look happy, this one did. In fact, it looked too happy, like it was trying too hard. The wide front doors and the world outside them attracted my eyes. Later. Too many grown-ups around now.

  “We’ve got a new Top Floor here,” Honey Lady called out, her voice all bouncy and bubbly. Crab Woman looked up, not even trying to hide the sour look on her face.

  “Good for you,” she said in that sharp, sarcastic tone of hers.

  Honey Lady flipped her long, flowing hair and, ignoring her, guided me across the lobby to a short hallway.

  “Emergency stairs are there.” She pointed to a closed door. “Here’s the elevator. You’re already programmed into it.”

  Programmed into an elevator? That was new. Honey Lady pushed a button, and the doors slid open for us to step inside. The elevator had no floor buttons.

  “Say your full name, loud and clear,” she said.

  “Matthew Dunston.”

  The elevator moved.

  “Well done,” she said. “You will now be taken directly to your floor. It works the same way if you ever need to go down—say your name and it will take you to the lobby. You’ll rarely need to use it, though. You work, live, and spend your leisure time on the top floor—you really have no reason to leave it.”

  My feet moved back a few steps. This top floor place was starting to sound like a prison. “I can’t leave the top floor?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she said. “I said you have no reason to leave it. If in the future you develop a need to
leave, just check with me. There is a certain protocol for these things. I’ll help you make the arrangements and fill out the forms. But, as I said before, besides in an emergency, I really can’t think of a reason for you to leave your floor.”

  “This sounds complicated. How many forms would I have to fill out if I wanted to go outside?”

  Honey Lady laughed. “Oh, Matt. You’re making a bigger deal of it than it is. We just need to keep track of our workhouse residents. Unless they get permission and complete the paperwork, each child needs to remain on their assigned floor. It’s a safety issue.”

  It still sounded complicated to me. I couldn’t just pop downstairs and ride my bike whenever I felt like it. Then again, I didn’t have my bike with me. I didn’t have anything of my own with me. No one I knew, either. It was like starting over in a brand-new life. My stomach bounced up and down along with the elevator. Was there a garbage can in here in case I needed to throw up?

  Ding.

  “Here we are,” said Honey Lady as the elevator doors slid open.

  Ugly, gray cement walls—without a single window—stretched in front of me as far as I could see. My prison cell. I shuffled away from the door until I bumped into the back of the elevator. Honey Lady had already disappeared into the hallway and around a gray corner. The only thing worse than walking into that dark top floor was being left here alone.

  The instant the last part of my body cleared the elevator door, it swooshed closed behind me. It must’ve been weight or motion sensitive. If I hadn’t been in such a panic I would’ve stopped to get a better look at the cool tech.

  I sprinted around the corner into another dim hall. I didn’t even look; I just ran. Two seconds later, bam, I found her.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said, smiling sweetly down at me. “Ready for the top floor?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she pushed through the heavy swinging metal door that stood at the end of the hall.

  I had to squint. Nobody told me I’d need sunglasses up here. The room was so full of light I thought for a second we’d gone too far and ended up on the roof. My eyes adjusted quickly and allowed me to begin processing all the sights and sounds of the top floor. We stood in a huge room with a high ceiling covered with skylights. A double row of cubicles ran down the middle of it. The cubicles were covered with typical blue-gray fabric, except the closest one. It was completely enclosed and made out of glass panels. What’s the point of having a cubicle made of glass if you’re going to cover the walls with blinds? And close them all?

  “Work is over for the day,” said Honey Lady. “The other kids are eating or playing somewhere. Except . . .” She paused at the glass cube and knocked on the sliding door. “Reginald?” Honey Lady called. “You in there?”

  A deep voice answered back. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I thought so,” said Honey Lady. Lowering her voice she said, “Reginald loves his computer. He loves his privacy, too. That’s why he has the special setup. Respect his wishes and give him his space.”

  I followed her as she proceeded down the row of cubicles. They were big. I’d seen Brennan’s dad’s cubicle once, and it was probably half the size of one of these.

  “Boys on this side, girls on the other.” Honey Lady pointed briefly as she power-walked toward the other side of the top floor. She seemed to be in a big hurry all of a sudden. “Now, if I can just find some of our other Top Floors to drop you off with, we’ll be all set.” Pausing in front of a glass door with a metal bar across the middle, she turned to me, her all-business face morphing into the super-sweet, sugar-coated one. “I just know you’re going to love this room.” She reached a long-nailed finger out to poke me in the shoulder—attempting playfulness, I guess. “It’s a favorite with our Top Floors.”

  As she pushed through the door—and pulled me after her—a soft wave of warm wet air wrapped around us. No way. A swimming pool? Inside a building? On the top floor? The pool had a diving board and a big slide that curved a couple of times on the way down. A raised hot tub sat in the far corner, spilling a waterfall into the pool. This was beyond amazing. The entire ceiling and the outside wall were pure windows. Even though the sun was starting to set, the room sparkled with light. There were even girls here, wearing bathing suits! Wait until I told the guys back home about this. They’d all beg their parents to go over their limits.

  “Miss Smoot. Hi, Miss Smoot!” Three girls who looked close to my age climbed out of the pool and ran over to Honey Lady.

  “Hello, girls,” said Honey Lady. “This is Matt. He just made top floor today. Madeline, Paige, and Neela.” She pointed to each girl. Madeline crinkled her nose—nothing different here than at my school, where the girls snubbed me. Paige smiled a little and waved, though. The last girl, Neela, nodded her head, like a queen to a loyal subject. In fact—wow—now that I looked at her, she was pretty enough to be royalty. With that rich golden-brown skin and all that dark hair she could be a princess from India. Do they have princesses in India?

  “Hi,” Madeline said in a flat tone before flipping her wet hair and turning to speak with much more enthusiasm to Honey Lady. “Do you like my new bathing suit, Miss Smoot?” She turned around, stopping and posing a couple of times like a model. “I just got it this morning.”

  “Very nice,” said Honey Lady. “That color really complements your skin tone.”

  Raising her chin, the girl smiled smugly. “I chose the color after I did a beauty analysis on myself at the Cluminair Cosmetics website. Cluminair is a new company I found while doing my research assignment for the P and N Brokerage Company last week. I recommended it as an investment to consider. I hope they looked into it, because Cluminair’s stock went up eight points in two days.”

  “P and N did take your advice. They’re very pleased with your work. So am I. Keep it up.” Honey Lady’s smile flattened out instantly as she turned to the Indian princess. “Neela, did you receive the message I sent you this morning?”

  “Yes.” The girl’s voice was barely audible.

  “And what do you plan to do to remedy the situation?”

  “I’ll finish the mock-up on the spread first thing tomorrow.” She spoke in a one-hundred-percent American accent—there went my Indian princess theory.

  “You’d better. You’re two days late as it is.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Honey Lady continued with the lecture, even though Neela had told her straight out that she’d take care of whatever problem it was she was having. Blah, blah, blah. Get your work done on time. Be responsible. Blah, blah. Adults were the same everywhere. How long was this going to take?

  I pulled out my cell phone and tried to text Brennan. Still nothing. Weird in the middle of the city. That last girl—Paige, I think her name was—watched me mess with my phone. She crinkled her lips and shook her head.

  “All right, then!” Paige and I both jumped at Honey Lady’s rah-rah voice. “I’ve got to run, girls. You’ll look after Matt, here, won’t you? Show him around. Make him feel at home.”

  “What? Ew!” said Madeline. “We’re in our bathing suits!”

  Turning pink, Paige crossed her arms over herself.

  “Besides, we’re not done swimming yet. Can’t you find one of the boys?” Madeline grabbed Paige by the arm and dragged her toward the pool. She leaned into Paige’s ear but looked straight at me and spoke plenty loud. “Maybe if she brought us someone cute every once in a while. What is it with nerdy guys and the top floor?”

  With that the two girls jumped into the pool. A second later, when their heads surfaced, Madeline called out, “Come on, Neela!”

  Neela shook her head, rubbing her temple. “I’m going to sit in the hot tub for a while.”

  She kept rubbing the side of her head as she walked away. Honey Lady and I moved toward the door. Looked like Neela had a headache. I hoped it wasn’t too bad. She was right, though. I bet a soak in the hot tub would help her feel better.

  Headaches. Cra
b Woman’s voice from the night before grated like gravel in my mind: It was easier when they just got headaches. You going to have to dump this one too?

  Could something about this building be making kids sick?

  “DO YOU KNOW WHY MY CELL PHONE isn’t working?” I asked Honey Lady as we pushed through the door and out of the pool room.

  “We’ve always had trouble getting reception here,” she said. “Never could figure out why. Feel free to use your computer if you need to communicate with someone outside the workhouse.” The cool air of the cubicle room on my moist clothing sent a shiver through my body. “Let’s see, where would they. . .” Her heels would have been clicking rapidly if we weren’t walking on carpet. Another door stood within a couple of yards of the pool-room door. Honey Lady yanked this one open too. “Aha! I knew it.”

  Two boys were running around in the large gym. They held rackets and were taking turns hitting a ball attached to a long bungee cord that snapped the ball off in wild directions. I should say only one boy—the taller boy, with blond, shaggy hair—hit the ball. He hit it a lot. The other boy—much shorter, with straight dark hair and almond eyes behind thin glasses—ducked every time the ball came near him. He swung a couple of times but didn’t connect.

  “Boys! Stop and come over here,” said Honey Lady. The short boy did, but the tall blond boy got in a few more whacks before he finally lowered his racket. Honey Lady pointed to him as he ran over. “This is Henry.” The shorter boy shuffled up alongside him. “And this is Jeffery.”

  “Hey,” said the tall boy, nodding his chin at me. He turned a wicked grin toward Honey Lady and rubbed his hands together. “You’ve finally brought us a new Top Floor to torture.”

  “Very amusing,” said Honey Lady without cracking a smile. “This is Matt.” She pushed me forward a few inches with her hand on my shoulder. “I need to get back downstairs. Please show him around and fill him in on how things work around here.”