Independent Study

Page 23

News of Rawson’s death has spread. In the minutes before and after class, we band together and talk about the loss of our classmate. I had almost forgotten Naomy and Rawson were from the same colony, but Naomy’s puffy red eyes speak loudly of her sorrow and the love she has felt for him since she was ten years old. While I have never been close friends with Naomy, I find myself feeling sorry for her. During class, I notice some of the Tosu City students passing scraps of paper. Notes. With paper so precious, our Five Lakes instructors punished this practice with extra work. Here, where paper seems to be less of a concern, the instructors don’t seem to mind. Biting my lip, I tear a small corner off the page in front of me, write a couple of words asking to meet after dinner and work on homework, and pass the note to Naomy. The smile she gives me when she reads it makes me feel happier than I have in days. When Stacia shoots me a questioning look, I tear off another corner and pass her a note too. When she grins, I feel better, more in control, knowing I will spend part of tonight with friends.
All through the day, I find myself looking for signs of Tomas. When I finally see his familiar gray eyes watching me from the back of the Bioengineering classroom, I realize I am unprepared to deal with the emotions storming inside me. Love. Guilt. Need. Uncertainty.
My heart pounds loudly in my chest as I slide into the seat next to him. I can’t help but notice the pallor of his skin and the smudges of fatigue under the eyes that meet mine. Class begins. The teacher drones on about viscoelasticity, and though my pencil is clutched tight in my hand, my writing is barely legible as I try to ignore the ache in my heart. The same ache I know is in his at the possibility that we will never be able to look at each other without death and guilt between us.
The two of us stay seated when class ends. We say nothing as we watch everyone shove papers into their bags and head for the door. A few glance in our direction as they file out, but none linger. I wait for Tomas to speak. The quiet grows more uncomfortable with each passing second. In his eyes, I see self-condemnation and a weariness that scares me. Now that Tomas has admitted his actions to me, he is drowning in guilt. And though I still feel the sting of his betrayal, the anger I have held since hearing his confession fades, and fear takes hold. Unless Tomas finds a way to forgive himself for Zandri’s death, the weight of guilt could drown him. I see a flash of my roommate Ryme swinging from a yellow rope. I want to convince Tomas that Zandri’s death was an accident. He, unlike so many, did not make the choice to kill. But I have known Tomas too long to think words will help. Until his confession, Tomas pushed aside the guilt in order to protect me. He had a purpose. Now he needs another.
Leaning forward, I ask, “Did you work with my brothers on the livestock accountability project?”
Curiosity crosses Tomas’s face. “My brother did most of the work, but I had some input. Why?”
I look around the room. Not sure if someone could be listening, I grab my bag and stand. “I should get going if I want to make it back for dinner. Do you want to walk with me?”
We exit the building side by side. When we are far away from anyone who could hear us, I explain about the transmitter locked inside my bracelet and my desire to outwit it. Tomas asks questions as we walk toward his residence. By the time we reach his destination, his eyes have lost some of the shadows.
“A few of us are meeting together at the library to study tonight.” I brush my fingers against his hand. “You could join us.”
Tomas looks down at our hands. His fingers tighten against mine for a brief moment before they drop away. “There are some things I have to do.” As he holds up the wrist circled by his Biological Engineering symbol, I once again see the mix of determination and hopelessness.
His lips brush my cheek. Then Tomas turns and walks away before I can think of anything else to say.
Dinner at the residence is filled with undercurrents of tension. At least a half dozen first years are bent over books while they eat. The upper-year students look less tense, which leads me to believe the first-year course work is designed to test not only our knowledge, but our ability to cope with stress and adversity. To keep from failing that test, I once again fill a plate with food and take it to my room. Naomy and I agreed to meet at seven. I will work on other homework until then.
When I was too young to attend school, I used to watch my brothers do their homework at the scarred kitchen table. I longed for the day when I too would sit beside them with my mother close at hand to lend guidance. However, when my turn finally came, I found it almost impossible to concentrate surrounded by my brothers’ antics. So, each day, I would abandon the table and spread out on the floor in front of the living room fireplace. Which is why, when I enter my rooms, I ignore the desk in my bedroom and dump my bag on the floor. Sitting cross-legged, I eat bites of chicken and carrots while working on potential difference equations.
I jump as someone pounds on my door. Ian barely waits for me to get out of the way before coming into the room and shutting the door behind him.
“Did you think I was joking when I said Dr. Barnes is watching you? What do you think you’re doing up here?”
“I’m studying. You told me not to fall behind in my classes.”
“And I meant it.” Ian looks at the papers and books strewn across the floor and rubs the back of his neck. “But you can’t segregate yourself from the rest of us. Especially after Rawson’s death. Everyone in the residence is going to think your behavior shows you can’t handle loss or you don’t want to be a part of the University.”
His words make my nerves jump. “Tell them I have nine classes to study for.”
“No, because then they’ll report to Dr. Barnes that your class assignments are too much for you. Luckily, Raffe said you weren’t feeling well during class today. Enzo backed him up, which defused most of the grumbles.” He frowns. “Cia, it’s not enough to get passing grades. You also have to look like everyone else while doing it. That means eating meals in the dining hall, spending some time in the common areas, and making it look like you’re having fun.”
“I’m supposed to make handling nine classes look easy?”
Ian nods. “That’s what leaders do.”
I look down at the pages scattered across the floor. Pressure builds behind my eyes and in my chest. It’s only day two of class, and already I’m feeling the effects of the stress. But I only have to think of the leaders from Five Lakes Colony to know that Ian is right. Though she has the weight of our colony on her shoulders, Magistrate Owens never looks flustered. Even when voicing a serious problem, she has a way of making it feel like a puzzle rather than a life-and-death concern. My father is the same. No matter how worried he might be about a contagion corrupting crops or the way an unrevitalized piece of land is responding to his team’s ministrations, he never shows it. Not to the public. He keeps his frustrations and concerns at home. The minute he walks outside our door, he knows people will be watching his actions. The success of his team means the difference between starvation and survival.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll be at breakfast and dinner tomorrow.”
“Good.” Ian smiles, moves some papers off a chair, and takes a seat. “Once internships start, you won’t be expected at every meal. Unexpected tasks come up all the time. You’ll be able to blame them for the time you take alone to study. Now, since I’m here, do you want me to look at the assignments you have to turn in tomorrow?”
“Why?” I ask. Suspicion wars with gratitude. Is Ian’s offer of assistance due to his own experiences or something more? “Did someone suggest I need help?”
I search Ian’s face for the truth behind his actions. Is he rendering me aid because I am a fellow colonist? Is he the friend Michal spoke of when he said he was being reassigned? Ian sharing information about my Government Studies bracelet tells me he is on my side. But I still don’t know why.
“A friend did tell me that helping a pretty girl with her homework would be a great way to gain her trust. It can be hard to know whom to trust.” Ian pauses. My heart pounds in my chest as I try to hear the message communicated between the words. “That friend trusts me, Cia. You can too.”
Wordlessly, I hand over the pages. Then I try to work while Ian pores over them. He points out a mistake on my calculus assignment and is making suggestions about how to strengthen the ending of a paper when I notice the time. Stacia and Naomy are waiting.
“I have to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the library before it closes.”
Ian’s eyes narrow. “As long as you’re not meeting with your friend Tomas.”
Tomas’s name on Ian’s lips renders me speechless. As far as I know, the two of them have never met.
Ian sighs. “If you’re planning to meet him, don’t. You won’t be doing him any favors. Until we know why Dr. Barnes has singled you out, the only way to keep your boyfriend safe from Dr. Barnes is by staying away.”
Since Tomas turned down my invitation tonight, that won’t be a problem. But if we are going to work together to outwit the tracking device, we will have to meet in the future. We could meet in secret, but until we find a way to work around the transmitters in our bracelets, people in charge will know we are together—which, according to Ian, will put Tomas in more danger.
I know what Zeen would do. My brother wouldn’t put a stop to his plans. He would simply find a way to achieve his objective without alerting those watching to his actions. The Transit Communicator in my bag is a perfect example of his ability to follow his own agenda in plain view, and in such a way that no one notices he is doing anything at all. Perhaps I can use that same trick to cover any discussions I have with Tomas.
I shove the papers I need into my bag, shrug on my coat, and go down the stairs. I hear voices coming from the hangout room. Standing in the doorway, I look for familiar faces. Most of the students are upper years. But I spot Raffe and Damone with a couple of other first years in the back corner.
“I’m going to the library to work on my history of technology assignment,” I say as startled eyes swing toward me. “Do any of you want to come with?”
Most say no, which I expect. But Raffe surprises me when he gets up, hoists his University bag onto his shoulder, and says, “I was just about to head over there. Let’s go.”
We walk down to the bridge in silence. Raffe’s steps slow as we cross the bridge. So do mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Raffe glance over the rail.
Once the bridge is behind us, he asks, “Are we really going to the library?”
“Where else would we be going?”
He shrugs. “I’m just glad to get out of there for a while. Griffin and Damone are starting to get on my nerves.”
“I thought they were your friends.”
Raffe stops walking. “Just because we’re all from Tosu City doesn’t make us friends. I don’t know about you, but friendship is a luxury I’ve never had time for. I was too busy beating out my competition to get here.”
I can’t help but wonder about Raffe’s words as we walk across campus. Friendship is something I’ve always taken for granted. In Five Lakes, we competed to be the best in the class, but we all worked hard to get along. It’s impossible for me to imagine growing up without Daileen’s whispered confidences or Tomas’s kind understanding. Are the people here in Tosu City so different that they don’t place value on that kind of connection? Or maybe Raffe is just using this opportunity to gain my sympathy in hopes of using it later.
Naomy and Stacia are waiting outside the library when we arrive. I introduce them to Raffe. If either of them is surprised that I brought a noncolony student with me, they don’t show it. The four of us go into the well-lit library, pick a table in the back corner of the main study room, and get to work.
Several upper-year students and professors take notice of us, but none seem to be surprised or unhappy with the group study session. Nothing could be more natural than students working together to succeed. When I convince Tomas to join us, no one will think twice about his addition. At least, that’s what I hope.
In between discussing how much history was lost when computer networks were destroyed, we talk about ourselves. Raffe mentions he is the youngest son of the director of education for the United Commonwealth. Of the seven children in his family, six were accepted to the University. Naomy says she’s envious of large families. While her parents were proud of her being selected for The Testing, they couldn’t quite hide their sadness at the prospect of saying goodbye to their only child.
“At least you got to sleep in a bed growing up,” I say. “I shared a room with my four brothers. All of them snore.”
As we fetch books and look up information, we do something more important. We laugh. It feels good. Normal. Happy. How long has it been since I felt either of those things? Even Stacia, who is usually so reserved, unbends enough to talk about her little brother, Nate, who was born too early and as a result learns slower than his classmates. She wonders how he is doing now that she isn’t there to help him with his schoolwork and keep the other kids from teasing him. “Dad and Mom don’t always have enough time to spend with him.”
Stacia shrugs off the hand Raffe places on her shoulder and changes the subject, asking me to help her find a book. The two of us climb the stairs to the second floor. Several heads turn our way. Stacia studies them before leading me down a row of medical texts. Under her breath, she quickly tells me about the Medical Induction, where first years were asked to select the correct treatments for a dozen common diseases with the help of a medical textbook. Once answers were given, each student was taken to a treatment room. On the table inside, twelve sets of medications sat waiting to be dispensed to patients who, one by one, walked through the door. The medication inside the cup representing the correct answer was a placebo. Wrong answers contained poison.