by Lyn Forester
"Please hurry, Mr. Williams and Mr. Williams. I do not have time to wait for your shenanigans at every stop."
At the top of the stairs, Vice waves from behind his brother's back. Rush, glasses skewed and hair mussed, wraps his arms around his twin's knees as he plods down the steps. "This isn't how princesses are carried."
"It is when princesses ride disc-bikes." Blaze smacks his friend on the shoulder as he takes the stairs two at a time.
The dean frowns at the twins antics. "I can see you will need to pay extra attention in etiquette class."
"Please tell me that's not actually a class." As Rush takes the last step, Vice hops to the ground, straightening his slacks.
"It is one of many classes that will help to refine you into proper leaders." Dean Kauffman snaps her fingers and spins on a sharp heel. Her shoes make sharp taps against the hard stones, bullet points to her words. "Now keep up. We have a timeline to maintain."
With a glance at the guys, I hurry to keep up. I have to take short, fast steps, not familiar enough with the heeled boots to try the same long strides as the Dean. Behind me, I hear their heavier steps as they follow.
Swaths of grass surround the path on either side. It fills the air with the clean scent of new growth as it stretches all the way to the dome on either side, an empty expanse of lush green. Kept at a strict one-inch height, it must take all day to care for. But I don't see any gardeners as we head toward a large group of buildings.
The path cuts through the center two buildings. As we pass between them, their shadows cover our group to lend brief respite from the glare of the dual suns. Dean Kauffman points to the one on her right. "This building is where you will attend classes. You will be expected to report there at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning."
One of the guys lets out a loud groan. "Eight in the morning is too early. I need my beauty sleep."
Dean Kauffman ignores him to gesture to the red-bricked wall on our left. "The building on your left is the library and study hall. It is open at all hours. However, access to the archives is restricted to between noon and fifteen-hundred."
"What's in the archives, ma'am?" Blaze calls from the back.
"Relics from both Earth and Halios. Original text printed on paper, handwritten scrolls. Access to them is a privilege of your station. But, don't think you'll be allowed to handle them without the proper precautions. After more than eight hundred years, some of them are too delicate to touch. Most have been made available digitally."
"Boring." A twin pouts. "Our dad has a couple of those in his library, too."
So does Father, a two-inch thick black tome that he keeps locked inside an environmentally stable glass case. When I was little, he told me there were over a thousand pages inside. I still couldn't understand why that was a big deal. My palm port can hold millions and millions of pages.
"Your sense for history is appalling, Mr. Williams." We pass out of the buildings' shadow, into a rounded courtyard. At the center, a stunted tree grows. Its thick branches bow toward the ground, heavy with the weight of green leaves.
The dean circles to the left, and we walk past the front of the library. Its red-bricked walls rise two stories into the air, uninterrupted by windows. Large black doors form the only visible entrance or exit.
The next building has a smooth surface of grey stone, a few shades lighter than the pathway. Large windows dot the walls on either side of the doorway. A pointed gesture directs our attention to the single story building. "Here is the cafeteria where meals will be served from oh-six-hundred to oh-seven-thirty, and again from eighteen-hundred to nineteen-thirty."
Vice jogs to my side. "What about lunch?"
Dean Kauffman gives him a severe look. "Your mid-day meal will be delivered to the etiquette room, where you will learn proper table manners."
"We don't get a break from classes?" Vice scratches the back of his head, further tousling his black hair.
"Once you learn table etiquette, it will no longer feel like a class." When his mouth opens, she snaps her fingers for silence. "We will continue now."
A slow ache builds in my shoulder from the weight of my bag. I hadn't realized when I packed it that I wouldn't have a servant here to deliver it to my room. Apparently, Father thought it best I be sent alone to make the transition faster. The empty hands of the guys' drive spikes of envy through me. I miss my automaton. But the school forbade robot servants. Even the twins' human servants will be sent away after today.
Dean Kauffman stops in front of the next building, another two-story, this one built of pale, golden-brown brick. Small windows twinkle from the second story at even intervals. Above the dark wooden doors of the entrance, a plaque reads: Lonette Hall. Heat floods my cheeks as one of the guys snickers.
She turns to us. "The next building over is the entertainment hall. You may utilize it during your leisure time. Be careful, though, that your studies do not suffer. Anyone who falls below academic standards will be locked from entry until their grades improve."
Rush pushes his glasses up his nose, gaze fixed on the three-story building next to us. "What are the standards?"
"We at APA expect excellence from our students. Anything less will not be tolerated."
Shoulders drooped, Vice waves forlornly at the building. "Goodbye, fun time."
"Mr. Williams, I have personally reviewed your records and know what you are capable of. If you fall below excellence, I will insist you speak with the counselor about what holds you back." Her sharp gaze shifts to Blaze for a moment, and I frown with confusion.
"Don't worry, ma'am." He loops an arm around Vice. "We'll keep him in line."
"I expect you to. Working together is key." She folds her hands behind her back, spine straight. "Now, this is where I leave you for the day. Going forward, I will keep a close eye on each of you. Remember, as first-years you are all on probation. Keep your noses clean and work hard to rise above your family's expectations. Strive for excellence."
She waits a moment, expectant. We stare at her in silence; the four bad kids against our jailor. When it becomes obvious we won't be giving her the reaction she wants, her narrow gaze skims over our small group.
At last, she turns toward the dorm. "Wait where you are. I will have your Residential Advisor show you inside. He will give you your room assignments and inform you of who your roommate will be for the year."
WHERE'S THE CAKE?
"You mean we have to share a room with someone?" Blaze glances at his friends.
"I want to room with Rush." Vice springs toward his brother who dodges out of the way.
"I want to share with Blaze." Rush adjusts his glasses to avoid his twin's gaze.
Vice clutches at his heart, eyes wide. "Bro, why you gotta hurt me like that?"
"You snore."
"How dare you!" He turns to Blaze. "Dec, tell him it's not true."
"It's okay, I can sleep through the noise." He throws an arm around Vice's shoulders. "I hope I get to share with you."
"Ha, you're on your own." Vice sticks his tongue out at his brother.
"You forget there's someone else here who needs a roommate." Rush leans over, breath warm against my ear. "Do you snore, Sparks?"
"I changed my mind." Vice pushes his friend away, grabs my waist, and pulls me into his embrace. His arms wrap around my arms. Smashed against the hard muscles of his chest, my nose fills with the spice of his cologne. A chin drops on top of my head. "You can have Blaze, I'll take Sparks. We snorers need to stick together."
"I don't snore." I flail, unsure where to put my hands that won't cause me to grope him. My carry-on bag slips off my shoulder to catch against his bicep.
"It's okay. There's no shame in it. We'll work through this together," he coos into my hair. His arms pull me closer until wiggling becomes indecent.
I freeze, hot with embarrassment. The last person to embrace me left my family's employment the next day. Her replacement, a knobby-hipped woman with a sharp temper, did not be
lieve in coddling children.
Now, cradled against Vice, his voice buzzes through me like the energy from my disc-bike. I breathe out, melting into the sensation as the hole left by my bike's destruction shrinks.
"Stop it." A firm hand on my arm tugs me free. "You can't grope her like that."
I blink and shiver as cool air seeps through my clothes; it shocks me back to reality.
"Bro, we were having a moment."
"A moment of unwanted touching."
"Pretty sure I wanted to touch."
"I'm not talking about what you want." A body presses into my back. I peek over my shoulder at Rush's black-stubbed jawline. He glares at his brother before his gaze shifts down to me. "You can kick him in the nuts if you want."
"I'm fine. Just stop manhandling me." I jerk away from him, hike my bag back onto my aching shoulder, and turn to face them all. "All of you."
"Oh, there's our prickly Sparks."
"And, what are your names anyway?" I wave a finger between the three of them.
Blaze smirks while the twins straighten to stare at each other in wide-eyed shock.
"She doesn't know our names, bro." Vice's lip juts out.
"It hurts." Rush nods, an arm wrapped around his brother. "And after a whole year together even."
Identical green eyes turn toward me, brows pinched, lips quivering.
I tamp down the guilt as I shake my finger at them for emphasis. "All I could see were light streams and goggles at Lights-Out. Of course, I don't recognize you." I study each in turn but can't match their faces to any of the high families. Not that I expected to. Memorizing the history of other political families never topped my list of fun activities to do. "Even if I did, we can't keep using our racer names."
Vice tilts his head against his brother's with a pout. "I recognized you."
"I would know our Sparks anywhere," Rush agrees.
"Cut it out, guys. You only know who she is because of our last race." Blaze separates the twins, a hand on each of their shoulders. He gives Vice a shake. "This is Felix Williams, otherwise known as Vice. And this one here is Connor Williams, who you know as Rush. I'm Declan Arrington, but you can still call me Blaze."
"A pleasure to meet you." The politeness trips off my tongue, and fire pools in my cheeks again when they all smile. Not what I planned to say. I keep making a fool of myself. I can't wait to get out of here. Two birthdays, six hundred and twenty-seven days until I never see them again. I won't have to worry about embarrassing myself.
I ignore the lurch of my heart.
The doors to the dormitory open, catching our attention. A young man jogs down the stairs. He doesn't look much older than us, maybe a senior. Instead of the white uniform shirt, he wears a soft blue sweater over brown corduroy pants. I hope that means once we pass the first year, we'll be allowed to choose our own outfits.
He stops at the bottom of the stairs, arm extended. "Hey, I'm Archie Vanderby, I'll be your Resident Advisor this year."
None of the others step forward, so I go first. "Caitlyn Lonette."
His hand curls around mine, dry against my sweaty palm, and gives a gentle squeeze. Rust brown eyes twinkle at me when he smiles. "Nice to meet you, Caitlyn."
A firm hand lands on my shoulder as Declan yanks me back. I stumble, arms flailing as I almost fall. "Hey, watch it!"
"I got you." Large hands encircle my waist, and I glance up at Felix. Motion in my periphery draws my attention as Blaze, no Declan, moves past us. When he grabs Archie's hand, they're the same height. The two men stay frozen in silence, eyes locked.
I glance back at the smooth line of Felix's profile. "What are they doing?"
In a low, conspiratorial tone, "Hush, Sparks, the men are posturing." Fingers knead my waist. "What's your cardigan made of? It's super soft."
When the hands slide higher, I slap them away. I step forward to stand on my own. "Stop that."
"In all our races, I never pictured you as a girly girl." He tugs one of my red curls. "You look nice in a skirt."
He'd imagined what I looked like before? My heart trips, and I ignore the complement.
Right before things become super awkward, Declan and Archie separate. The RA shakes out his hand with a chuckle. "Good grip."
"You, too." Declan's fist clenches and unclenches. "I'm Declan Arrington."
"What about you guys?" Archie nods his head at the twins but doesn't offer a handshake. Guess Declan squeezed too hard.
The twins' voices blend together as they speak in unison, "Felix Williams. Connor Williams."
Archie's gaze shifts between them, and he rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, got it. Come on in."
"Did he really get it?" Felix whispers.
"No one ever gets it." Connor's shoulders slump. "I even wear glasses."
"I appreciate your sacrifice, bro." Felix pats his brother's shoulder in sympathy.
"We'll leave you behind if you don't hurry." Declan swoops in to link an arm through mine. He hustles us toward the dormitory, calling back to the twins, "First in gets dibs on roommates."
"Hey, wait for us!" one of them calls. I can't tell their voices apart without looking.
"Get off me, I'm not carrying you up the stairs!"
For stability, I hug Declan's arm closer to my body as curiosity pulls my gaze back. Connor pushes at Felix as his twin tries to climb onto his back.
"They're good people." Declan chuckles at their antics, and I shift my attention to him. When he smiles at me, crinkles form at the corners of his golden-colored eyes. "I am, too. We should stick together. Keep each other from being assimilated while we're here."
"You think it will be that bad?" We reach the top, and he releases me.
"I don't know." He stops to wait for the twins to finish their scuffle. "My brother came back a total automaton."
"You have a brother?" Shocked, I stare at him. Leton's population control laws went into effect thirty years ago. At some point, a new city will be built. But until that happens, childbirth restrictions allot one child per family. Twins are the only exception.
"Yeah, he was a sick baby, under constant doctor supervision. My parents received special approval to have another, just in case." His smile turns bitter. "But he pulled through okay. I'm the spare they didn't need."
"But they sent you here anyway?" Below us, Felix gives up and bounds toward the stairs, his brother in pursuit.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to become my brother's secretary. My family felt it would be more effective if I had the same education." As the twins near, he leans in, eyes fierce. "In two years, I'm gone. I'm no one's lackey."
Stunned to hear my own thoughts echoed back, I stand with my mouth open as Felix reaches us. He flings himself onto Declan, crowing, "I win!"
Victorious, he waves a loafer in the air as Connor arrives a second later. The other man limps over, snatches his shoe, and sits on the landing to pull it back on. Ankle on knee, he pokes at the bottom of his argyle-clad foot. "Dammit, Felix, now I have a hole in my sock."
"It's just a sock, bro."
"It's my favorite sock."
"You can't have a favorite sock."
"Say that to your favorite belt."
"Belts have personality. Socks are for function." Felix jumps off of Declan and lifts his shirt. "What do you think, Sparks?"
The hard plane of his stomach ripples with muscle. Mesmerized, I forget to remind him to call me Caitlyn. A thin trail of black hair circles his navel and travels down. My mind fuzzes out for a moment.
"Hey, my belt's down here, Sparks." Vice points at his waistband where the line of hair disappears.
I force myself not to skip past the buckle to the line of zipper. Square brushed chrome, hollow in the center. Thick brown strap of leather with matched stitching on the top and bottom. After a moment, I lift my gaze to his. "It's a normal belt."
Mouth dropping open in disbelief, he gazes down the long line of his body at his buckle. "No, that's a special belt. You need a closer look
?"
I cross my arms over my chest to contain my pounding heart. "No, I don't."
"You sure?" Eyebrows rise over wide-eyed innocence.
Archie pops through the door. "Hey, come inside. The stairs aren't that interesting." He takes in the scene: Felix with his shirt raised, Connor tying his shoes, Declan and me shoulder-to-shoulder with equal expressions of censure.
"Yeah, we're coming." Declan shakes his head at the twins, links his arm back through mine, and tugs me inside.
The stone of the landing travels into the foyer for a few feet, then transitions to dark wooden floors. It cushions my steps and mutes the annoying tap of the heeled boots. The same dark wood panels the lower half of the walls with hunter green paint above. It makes the large room cozy, familiar, like the office at my family's house where Father never worked.
"This is the main floor." Archie walks backward, arms spread wide to encompass the space. "Over here, we have a holo-screen. But, don't get too excited. It only plays the news channels."
He points to our right where two large couches form an L-shape on one side. They face a huge holo-screen mounted on the wall. In its resting phase, it displays an aerial view of the poison forest that surrounds the city. The toxic clouds of orange gas waft over the verdant expanse of trees. Beautiful and deadly.
Archie walks further inside and stops next to an iron table that anchors the floor space in the center. He grips one of the upholstered chairs surrounding it. "Sometimes, the school caters a meal for classes that excel. They block out the whole downstairs so everyone can eat here. Otherwise, it's a study table with more room at the back."
Surrounded by enough seats for fifteen people, small globes of light dot the surface to brighten the dim room. Past the table, stuffed chairs sit beneath reading lamps.
"So the whole downstairs is for class work?" Connor fiddles with his glasses, lenses glinting in the low lighting.
"Yeah, pretty much." Archie raises his shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Although, there is a snack area."
"Snacks are good." Felix spins around in excitement. "I'm always hungry."
