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  “Come with us.” He’s wearing a badge with a name tag. Lieutenant McAvoy.

  Ms. Sanders folds her arms, holding position between me and the security detail. “Can this wait? She has a big day today, and we’ll be late if we don’t get going.”

  “I have orders.” McAvoy’s tone is all-business. “Doesn’t look like Miss Aldridge will be competing today.”

  I’m not sure if I heard him right and part of me wants to ask if he’s being serious. This. Can’t. Be. Happening. I want to shout that we have done nothing wrong except maybe step off school property once in a while. I have to think that’s what he’s talking about. Right? Is that a crime worth this kind of attention?

  Ms. Sanders doesn’t budge, and I assume that she’s as stunned as I am.

  “Step aside, ma’am,” McAvoy warns and then fixes his attention on me. “Hands against the wall, miss. Legs apart. Move it. Now.”

  I do as McAvoy says. There’s a small crowd that has gathered in the hallway now. Pairs of stunned eyes gawk at me. I hear whispers, too, although I can’t make out what they’re saying. All I can hear is a loud ringing in my ears along with a whoosh sound.

  This can’t be real.

  Suddenly, I’m being patted down. Do they seriously think I tucked weapons inside my warm-up? They dump the contents of my dance bag onto the floor, scattering them all over the hallway. All I can think is that this is extreme for someone caught sneaking off property.

  Two additional enforcers arrive, bringing the number to five. Easton is strict, but this is overkill, and I realize that this isn’t about me and Caius.

  “Turn over her room,” McAvoy orders the pair.

  They salute and march past us. My heart pounds my rib cage. Now I’m worried about my boyfriend. If they find him in there, he’ll be expelled. I suck in a breath, wishing I could scream. Actually, that’s a good idea. It might alert Caius, so I do. “What do you guys think you’re going to find in my room?”

  And then I shout until there’s no air left in my lungs.

  The next thing I realize, my hands are being jerked behind my back, some kind of plastic is being zipped around my wrists, and I’m being forced to walk toward the Administration building. I glance back in time to catch Ms. Sanders on her cell, standing there helplessly.

  “Can I ask what this is about, at least?” Her voice reeks of desperation.

  McAvoy doesn’t respond. Neither do the enforcers who are on either side of me like I’m a deranged criminal about to make a run for it.

  “Will you at least tell me where I’m going?” I ask, and then the answer dawns on me. Headmaster Davidson’s office. I shiver, thinking about the dream.

  The dream isn’t real, I say to myself. Except the feeling overwhelms me that it is, and I have no control over what happens next.

  Chapter Seven

  The Administration building is one of the relics left over from when the school was originally built. Its architecture contrasts against the newer space-age-type buildings surrounding it. The school is supposed to be a physical representation of history blending in with modern. I remember those words exactly from the freshman tour guide.

  All I can think now is how much this place is a prison, and I’m marching toward my sentencing. I’m worried about myself, but I’m even more stressed about Caius.

  “What do you know about Plankton?” Headmaster Davidson asks as I’m forced to sit across his massive oak desk.

  “Plankton? Like the organisms that live in the sea? You mean whale food?” I’m scared and confused. My heart’s pounding a thousand beats a minute, and my palms are soaked with sweat. My chest squeezes as the nightmare resurfaces. My lungs claw for air, and I’m certain that I’m having a panic attack.

  Headmaster Davidson gives me a severe look. “Don’t toy with me.”

  “I’m not playing games. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” My words come out all at once before I can stop myself and remind myself to breathe. He thinks I have some information, but he isn’t sure. I have no clue what’s going on. I’m not kidding.

  “There are consequences for liars, Victoria.” He speaks in a tone of voice meant to intimidate me. He must’ve practiced in front of the mirror because he nails it. This is what I imagine it would like to face down the firing squad. I hate that I can’t keep my body from shaking.

  And then it hits me. Plankton was Trevor’s word. It was from forever ago when he went to camp. He wrote our code word on a notecard and stuck it in the envelope with his note home to Mom. If he was fine, Plankton. My mind starts spinning. Does this have anything to do with Vermont? Skiing? I don’t dare ask or let on that I remember.

  Breathe.

  I focus on the fact that Caius must’ve gotten out of my room without getting caught. Otherwise, he’d be in here with me. The thought calms me enough to face the inquisition or whatever it is we’re doing here. Plus, I know whatever else is going on, my brother is telling me he’s okay. He’s always been a rebel, and he always looks out for Mom and me.

  Headmaster Davidson glances at the door. A woman is standing there. She’s younger than him, maybe in her late forties, wearing a serious gray pantsuit with matching pumps. Her arms are folded, and her expression changes soon after making eye contact with me. Her eyebrows are at severe angles until she smiles, then her face softens. She’s fake. Looking into her eyes makes my skin crawl.

  “Victoria, it’s important that you tell Mr. Davidson everything you know about Plankton.” She doesn’t introduce herself. There’s no point.

  “I have, Councilwoman Snyder.” I’m aware of exactly who she is. Why is one of the most powerful women in Maine waiting to hear my response?

  Her gaze widens for a beat and then narrows as she takes a threatening step in my direction. The smile on her face doesn’t fool me. Not with the way the corner of her mouth twitches. She’s not nervous, she’s angry. I have no bargaining chips right now. I’m too scared to bring up my sponsors as a threat because I’m sure they run in the same social circles, and I doubt they’d be any use anyway. Eleanor Chaffee would not risk social position to come to my defense. Does any of this have to do with the awkward conversation we had the other night?

  Were they digging for information about my brother? What could possibly be going on with Trevor?

  “Are you saying that you’ve never heard of the term?” Snyder stands so close I can see the tiny dots of white in her otherwise blue eyes.

  “Yes, I have. And I already told you. It’s these tiny, little—”

  The councilwoman claps her hands in front of my face. My heart leaps into my throat where it beats a thousand times per second.

  “Then you won’t mind an honesty test?” She folds her arms across her chest.

  All of a sudden, two men in lab coats roll a machine the size of a table in the cafeteria into the room. There’s a tray on top of the metal cart.

  I don’t even have a chance to respond before a pair of electrodes are being attached to my chest, and then another on my temples by one of the men while the other’s fingers are dancing all over what looks like a keyboard attached to a monitor.

  Snyder stalks over to the cart, picks up a wax tablet and stylus, and then slams them both down in front of me. I jump and let out a gasp, barely hanging on to my cool.

  “Sign there.” She points to a line at the bottom of the page.

  I start to read the document.

  She leans over me and places her hand over the part I’m reading.

  “Do you trust me, Victoria?” I can see her eyes clearly. They’re a cloudy blue, nothing like Caius’s.

  I want to tell her, “No.” I say the opposite. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I, councilwoman?”

  “Then sign the document already.” She doesn’t move her hand, and I feel hot and clammy with her standing over me. It doesn’t help that anger is
practically radiating off her.

  This isn’t the time to tell her that signing a legal document under duress doesn’t count. She knows it doesn’t—we studied all the council members in Government last semester, and I know she went to Halsey, the most prestigious law school in the country. She was top one-percent in her class and is the senior council member next to Ainsley Harcourt. He’s head of the council that advises our governor during the transition to being an independent country. For now, he is. It’s no secret she’s been plotting a takeover.

  I scribble my name on the pad, willing my hand to stop shaking. It doesn’t. I can’t explain why, but I don’t want her to see how scared I am of her.

  “Is your name Victoria Faith?” she finally asks after getting the thumbs-up from the lab coat men.

  I roll my eyes in response.

  The look she shoots me sends a cold chill down my spine.

  “Yes.” It dawns on me that she’s setting a baseline on the machine with the question, so they’ll know if I answer the next one honestly.

  She doesn’t look at me this time. She studies one of the guys in a lab coat.

  He gives a quick nod.

  “Have you ever heard of Plankton?”

  I stare at her in response. We’ve already covered this.

  “Answer the question,” she urges.

  “Other than in the ocean?” I ask, and she shoots me another warning look. Yeah? I’m annoyed, too, lady. I answer as calmly as I can anyway. “No.”

  I focus on my breathing as she stares at lab-coat guy, waiting for an indication from him that I’m telling the truth.

  The one at the keyboard finally looks up at her and nods.

  “Have you spoken to your family?” she continues.

  “I can’t answer that question.”

  “Why not, Victoria? I don’t have to remind you that contact with your family can be grounds for expulsion.” Is she looking to get me kicked out? She doesn’t have to go through all this. All she has to do is call my sponsor.

  I glance at Headmaster Davidson. He’s quiet, and his face gives away nothing. Does he want me out? I can’t tell one way or the other.

  “Of course I’ve spoken to my family.” Her chest immediately puffs out like she’s caught me at something. “But not since coming to Easton.”

  She deflates but quickly recovers. Now, she’s glaring at me. I probably shouldn’t insult the intelligence of such an important person.

  “I needed to clarify the timeline,” I say in as calm a tone as I can pull off. My insides are a wreck.

  She blows out a sharp breath and glances at Headmaster Davidson.

  He steps forward. “You can go now. Stop off at Dr. Mangrove’s clinic on your way out. Your Vitamin B level is too low. The bus will be held for you.”

  “I’m, um, free to go?” I’m not sure if I’ve heard correctly. The bus. Competition? How am I supposed to pull it together enough to compete? I guess I should be thankful that he isn’t telling me to pack my bags and go home, despite the fact that home sounds pretty amazing about now. Although, I’m not even sure where that is anymore. My family lives in a barracks. I leave here, and they’ll be tossed out. Riding the bus to a competition is another first. They’re racking up lately.

  I should be happy that I can compete. Somehow, I’m not relieved. I can’t shake the bad feeling I have about this whole situation. Everyone’s been acting weird lately, starting with the Chaffee’s last weekend.

  “Yes, you are.” Headmaster Davidson almost shoos me out of the room.

  Dr. Mangrove is waiting. He tells me I need to come back in two days for more tests and another shot. At some point, I’m handed my dance bag before loading onto the bus.

  I sit in the front, near the driver. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, and everyone is staring at me, annoyed, for holding up their ride. It’s obvious I’m the reason we’re going to be late, because as soon as I take my seat, the bus driver closes the door and we leave. Plus, everyone is convinced that I get special treatment for being Selected. I don’t. The opposite couldn’t be truer. They don’t see it. They don’t know me or anything about my life here. Adalynn and Jax aren’t just my best friends, they’re my only friends.

  My earbuds are in, and I play the music for my contemporary solo over and over again, but I can’t find my zone during the hour-long bus ride. The more I try, the more frustrated I am. By the time we pull up in front of Hartford Academy, I think I’m going to be sick.

  Hartford is as old as my school, and the two are surprisingly similar. The main difference is no fence around the property, no gates. The lawn is perfectly manicured, and students in red checkered uniforms walk in clumps. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Perfect school. So, basically, the red checkered version of Easton.

  We file into the Arts building and choose a number. Five schools are here including us. There are usually around seventy-five dancers. Looking around, I’d say that’s about right. I pull the number forty. I’m smack in the middle. That sucks. No one remembers the middle; it’s the reason firsts and lasts are so important. I’d rather go last, but I have to deal with the number I draw.

  I stuff the number in my bag and step away from the check-in desk. Temporary dressing rooms have been set up in the bathrooms. There’s also a practice room. My teacher will be there. I have plenty of time to get ready. I head to the dressing room, anyway. These competitions and formal dinners with my sponsors are the only times I leave campus.

  Some jerk-face kicks my foot, causing me to stumble and almost face-plant on the hard tile floor. I turn around in time to catch three of my teammates laughing. They cover their mouths and straighten their backs. I could tell on them, but I doubt my teachers would believe me. Crazy thing is, I’d look like the bad guy. Besides, they’re Legacy, and I can’t prove I didn’t actually trip. Their word against mine. I’m grateful I didn’t bite it.

  I take another elbow before I manage to break free from those psychos. I stick to the corner of the dressing room so I’m out of the way. I keep my earbuds in. My device is only programmed with a few songs. Jax added a few more, so I choose something from his playlist. I listen to the hard metal band he managed to find from decades ago. I don’t normally like it, but the harsh-sounding electric guitar fits my mood today.

  I’m late to the practice room, and Ms. Sanders makes her disapproval known. Her eyebrows look like slash marks as she frowns at me. I apologize—I owe her that much. Based on her expression, I’m not the only one who is on the line here.

  Trying to find my zone in the practice room proves just as frustrating. Then, on stage, my solo is a disaster. I can’t concentrate and forget part of my choreography. I keep moving, though, filling the time with a few lame turns that anyone can do. My turnout is weak, at best, and there are times when I put on my best acting face, move my feet, and pretend that’s what I’m supposed to be doing.

  As I walk off the stage, Ms. Sanders doesn’t even make eye contact. Neither one of us has ever seen me blank out during a performance. In the dressing room, I pack up my gear as quickly as I can as I hear the sounds of whispers behind my back. One of the girls from earlier laughs.

  “Serves her right,” she says loud enough for me to hear.

  I sit in the back of the auditorium, wishing I’d disappear altogether. At least it’s dark in here. Some of my teammates are already seated. Others slip in one by one after their solos.

  I sit there, numb, searching for that part of me that loves movement. My body hasn’t failed me this much since I got that two-inch growth spurt during freshman year, which threw me off balance and challenged my flexibility. At least then it wasn’t during competition. I had time to adjust to the growth, to work out and stretch until I got it back. It was hard. This is so much harder.

  An announcer takes the stage, and I lean forward. I rest my elbows on my knees and put my head in
hands. I don’t want to look up, and I’d rather not hear my results. But I can’t not listen. It’s like an accident. I don’t want to look, and yet I can’t stop myself. Part of me thinks, Get it over with and get kicked out already. All the anxiety that’s been building this year isn’t worth it. But my mom’s face comes into view, and I remember the reason I’m here. I think about my brother and the better life we’ll all live someday if I can make it through high school.

  I’m shocked when I come in seventh. I’m not sure how I did that well, if I can call it that. The only other Easton dancer in the top ten is the one who tripped me in the hallway. She placed tenth.

  On the way home, no one bothers to make conversation with me. I should be used to it. Usually, they’re congratulating me. It’s so obvious the only reason they do is to put on a show for the teachers who are looking at us. But now, I’m the one who lost.

  What would they even say to me now? I’m not sure anyone knows how to console someone used to taking the number one spot at every competition. Eyes down, they look as shocked as I feel. When I finally make it back to my room, I drop my bag onto the floor, walk straight into the shower, and try to scrub the day off my skin.

  When that doesn’t work, I crumble onto my bed. It only takes a few minutes for my pillow to become completely soaked. Crying sucks.

  The next morning, I manage to force myself out of bed. I won’t even allow myself to think about what this means to my future, to college admissions, to my sponsors. I’d thought about majoring in Political Science starting with a run for council…

  I remember the look on Snyder’s face as she was towering over me yesterday. And then a question pops into my mind. Why would an important person like her visit me?

  Maybe I can ask Jax to look up Plankton. I’ll have to be careful. He’ll have to be careful. But he’s smart enough to pull off a little side research project.

  I manage to dress, determined not to let anyone in on how bothered I am by what happened at competition. My chest squeezes at the reminder. Get over it, Tori. There’s no going back now.