Hank, at least, I was happy about it for once. Last time, they assigned me this kid who could only talk about Doctor Who and the paradoxes of time travel. If I’d had a time machine, I would have sent him to a parallel universe.”
“I like Doctor Who,” John said, shrugging off J.D.’s groan.
Just then, Hannah’s jaw contorted with another wide yawn. “Sorry.”
The third yawn in such a short time span drew my attention to her face.
Initiating scan . . .
Hue in orbital socket, 2x darker than average.
My vision zoomed until I had a close-up view of the skin beneath her eyes. I could make out the thick, uneven application of pale beige makeup. Hannah’s failed attempt to hide the blue shadows.
Chemical compound consistent with cosmetic concealer, approximately 1 mm. thick.
Assessment: Combined with 3 yawns in 78.2 seconds, irritability, and signs of mental confusion, symptoms indicate probable sleep deprivation.
Interesting. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at J.D. Despite his freshly washed and groomed appearance, there were faint smudges under his eyes, too.
I filed that information away, just in case. Hannah had mentioned studying, and these kids were grant recipients. Not unusual for them to work hard, especially if they had to maintain some kind of baseline GPA.
Fingerprint scan match.
Targets approaching.
Claude Parsons.
Ben LaCosta.
They appeared in the doorway, heads down, shuffle-stepping past the first few tables. Claude had a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, and his black hair was just as shocking against his pale skin in person as online. Beside him, Ben looked unnaturally tan for a redhead. And tall. He was even lankier than his photos suggested, all gawky limbs that moved in jerky, still-growing-into-themselves ways.
But it was Claude who tripped, righting himself by catching the back of a girl’s chair.
He shook his head, as if in a daze. He rubbed his eyes and widened them. Forced alertness: that thing people did when they were trying to wake up. Both of their shirts were wrinkled, and I noticed that Ben had on two slightly different brown shoes.
“Hey, guys,” Hannah called after them. Ben glanced at our table and lifted his hand in acknowledgment, but Claude kept his eyes on the kitchen.
“Coffee,” he mumbled, and merged into the crowd.
Samuel studied their backs for a moment before turning back to the group. “Test week? Or too many unsanctioned, you-didn’t-hear-it-from-me parties?” he wondered aloud.
J.D. dropped his fork. He shot a sour look in Claude and Ben’s direction. “Yeah. Tests.”
Celia and John were talking to Hunter and Abby, and it didn’t seem like they heard him. But Hannah did.
She froze with her coffee cup halfway to her lips, her eyes narrowing at J.D.
Initiating scan:
Heart rate: Increase from 75 to 120 bpm.
Five beats later, and:
Heart rate: Decrease back to 78 bmp.
Sudden, transient spike, indicative of brief cardiovascular activity or sudden emotional lability, typically anger, stress, or fear.
Either J.D. was lying about the tests . . . or Hannah thought he should be.
We didn’t get a chance to talk to Claude or Ben, or wait for Sharon to show. Hannah glanced at her phone and grabbed her tray.
“We should head up to the dorm, if we want to have time to stash your stuff before class.” She hoisted her backpack and stood.
The rest of us followed suit, while I evaluated what we’d learned.
So far, we’d met four out of five Watson Grant recipients. All four of them showed signs of fatigue, which, while not uncommon at a prestigious prep school, seemed like a high ratio for our sample size. Probably most intriguing was that one of them may have lied about the reason for the fatigue. And if so, why?
Maybe the sleep deprivation related to something more sinister than studying. What if, say, Holland was deliberately limiting their sleep to make them more malleable? Prisoners of war were often kept awake for days on end in order to make them more open to the demands of their captors. I wouldn’t put it past Holland to implement this technique on his test subjects. The man had an unsavory history when it came to teens and experiments.
As we made our way out of the cafeteria and toward the dorms, I realized it was a good thing I didn’t need sleep myself. I probably wouldn’t be getting much these next few days.
J.D. paused. “This is where we part ways. No coed dorms at this stodgy place. Though there are ways to get around that rule. . . .”
An oversized set of doors guarded