UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,12
on you,” he says. He’s sitting too close, and one of the dining room monitors frowns at Brooklyn, like it’s her fault.
She hip checks him and jerks her head at the monitor still giving her the evil eye. Logan huffs and moves four inches away.
“Heard tell of ice cream deliveries later tonight. Want to meet in the kitchen stairwell after lights-out?”
Brooklyn shakes her head. “What are you, nuts? DormGuardians are on high alert after last week’s brawl. And there are no deliveries on Sunday.”
Foiled in his attempt to get her alone, Logan squirms a bit. He skates by on his looks and any athletic ability that depends on strength. He’ll make a good boeuf because he follows orders and is quick to display muscle. Anything requiring thinking or elegance isn’t in his bivouac. Through years of inactivity, his brain is about the size of the ice-cream-shaped mashed potato lump on her plate.
She likes that about him, though. Being around him is no strain. Since their squads were resorted last year and they ended up on the same one, it has become easier for her. Everyone likes Logan, and since he likes her, the rest of the boeufs accept her. She likes that about him too.
“. . . and on top of that, you know how heavily new rankings get weighted.”
Brooklyn chokes on her meat loaf and mash. “Huh? What new rankings?”
Logan sighs. “The ones I’ve been talking about. Weren’t you listening?”
Hardly ever. “Sorry. I got distracted thinking about how well you did rope climbing last Friday.”
He brightens. “Yeah, major points on that, right? Kip thinks—”
She couldn’t care less about what Kip thinks. “Tell me about the new rankings.”
He scratches his head. “Right. Sarge says the whole school’s getting tested tomorrow. A real marathon. It’ll be weighted against our old metrics, so all our rankings could shift.”
This has to be what she’d overheard in the headmaster’s office. Old rankings sent in today. Another round of testing to see what shakes out.
“Do you know why?” she asks. She swallows and tries to act unconcerned, but it’s too late. She really has to work on her poker-face skills.
“Calm down—the government is crazy about reports. We’re always getting tested, B.”
She stiffens and then forces herself to relax. She’s told Logan not to call her B. Told him about fifty times. She doesn’t know why it’s okay for Thor to call her B but not Logan. Pick your battles, she reminds herself. And she does need the lug.
“Yeah, you’re right.” She slides her tapioca pudding to him. He smiles happily and dives in.
“All the squads are being tested?” she asks casually.
“Our grade and higher.” Logan speaks around a mouth-glut of pudding. “Littler boeufs aren’t rated till thirteen and are pretty useless till fifteen.” He sounds proud of the fact that he’s reached a useful age, but too thick to remember it also means he’s ripe for unwinding.
This unexpected testing has to be for a harvest camp list. Feeling sick, she looks around the dining hall. She needs to know where she’s ranked. She zeroes in where the deaf kids eat, napkin wads flying, fingers and elbows dancing, faces transforming with the silent stories they tell.
Thor isn’t there.
• • •
After dinner she can’t shed Logan. It’s past time when teachers, administrators, and DormGuardians would have submitted their assessments. Thor knows the weighting algorithm StaHo uses for ranking the wards. All legal and absent of subjective malice. Right. Every staff member knows how to massage the data. And every staff member does.
If she has to wait one more minute to find Thor, she’ll scream. But Logan drags her to the playground. A basketball game has already started, and his best bud Kip shouts for him to join.
“Come on, Brooklyn.” Logan tries to pull her onto the court. She notes the DormGuardians watching the game. If they hadn’t already turned in their numbers, she would have been tempted to impress them with her excellent sportsmanship behavior and passing skills. But unless they witness her killing someone, anything they report now is moot. Whatever nuggets of misery were in the DormGuardian’s reports, it all gets hurled into the computer along with tomorrow’s test results.
She rotates her wrist and fakes a wince. “Sprained it yesterday. I’d best let it heal up for the testing tomorrow.” She prods him toward the court. “I’ll cheer you on from the bench.”
She waits about five minutes. She shouts steady encouragement and advice for Logan and one loud hoot for Kip making a basket. Racing