The envy I’m totally not feeling prompts me to say, “Or, fate has decided for you.”
She scoffs, saying, “Don’t get me started on fate! Fate is an excuse, a way to remove blame and therefore guilt for poor decision making. Free choice decides the outcome of your life, not fate.”
Girl makes a good point.
“Why aren’t you branded?” Those who make covenant with Troika are supposed to tattoo a three-point star on the top of each hand—not that everyone does. Those who make covenant with Myriad are supposed to tattoo interlocking jagged lines on their wrists. Again, not that everyone does. It’s supposed to be an outward sign of an inward commitment.
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I answered your question. It’s your turn to answer mine. What are you going to do after the asylum?”
I chew on my bottom lip as my mind whirls. I’ve never voiced my desire aloud, have held the secret close to my heart. “My grandparents left me a trust.” One my parents can’t touch. My grandparents were Troikan, which was how my mom was raised. When she met my dad, she decided Myriad was the place for her. “At eighteen, I’ll be set. I’ll be able to afford a house on the beach.” One with zero neighbors who force me to think about issues I can’t solve. “I’m going to...surf.”
I’ve never been allowed, could only watch other people from the safety of my bedroom. Anytime I asked to do something remotely “dangerous,” I was told I had to wait until I reached the Age of Accountability and signed with Myriad.
Now I crave excitement. The wind in my face, water beaded over my skin.
For some reason, as happiness buzzes in my veins, my gaze is drawn to New Guy.
He’s staring at me again.
Each of my pulse points leaps. Not knowing what else to do, I nod in acknowledgment.
“Wait. Are you eye-screwing him?” Bow demands.
What? “No!”
Somehow he hears our conversation over the chatter around us and calls, “Yes.” Then he winks at me.
I glare at him before I glare at Bow. I might have shared tidbits of my life with her, but that doesn’t mean she knows me or has the right to castigate me. “Do you want me as your enemy, Bow?”
Her jaw drops. “No. Of course not.”
I say nothing else, my point made. I stand and walk away from her...toward New Guy.
He smiles at me, but it’s the wicked one, as if he knows a secret I don’t, and it sets my nerves on edge.
As I pass him, I take a page from Bow’s book, hook my foot around the leg of his chair and yank. The chair topples over, taking him with it.
His surprised laughter follows me out of the cafeteria.
chapter three
“There is no supposed to be, only what is.”
—Myriad
There’s a line in the hallway. As I take my place at the tail, Bow rushes up behind me, apologizing. I ignore her. As usual, some kids are sent to the gym to “lose a few pounds,” and some are sent to the commons to “lose a little crazy.” In either case, the time is considered a preclass “warm-up.”
Also as usual, I’m sent to the commons.
A guard oinks at Bow and pushes her toward the gym. For the first time, she sidesteps him and tries to follow me.
I remember her warning. You have to keep me nearby from now on.
She’s that worried about New Guy?
The guard—I call him Colonel Anus—grabs her. At the moment of contact, she spins, raising the arm he’s holding and also cradling it against her chest while rotating her wrist, putting her palm just under her chin. She uses her other hand to latch on to the meaty part of his palm. Then she steps back, twisting his wrist.
He drops, hitting the floor with a thud, his arm now positioned behind his back.
Girl has even more skills than I realized. I’m impressed.
“I’m staying with my roommate today. Get used to the idea.” She drops Anus’s arm and steps on the back of his head to pass him. His nose slams into the floor, and he wails with pain. The problem? He has a friend I’ve named Ben Dover. Ben launches into action, grabbing Bow by the hair and yanking. She flails as she falls backward.
“Chubby girls don’t get to spend their mornings chatting about their problems.” He spits at her when she lands. “The treadmill is your best friend.”