Redemption Prep - Samuel Miller Page 0,9

the best he could do was lie. Often, a half-truth could reduce the S8—Consequence.

“We can hear you stomping around,” the voice said, knocking louder. “Not very subtle.”

His throat closed. He tried to breathe through his nose like Mom had taught him, but it wasn’t working. He couldn’t think about his safe place. All he could focus on was the punishment that was coming for him. Missing mass was inexcusable. Being in her dorm would make Emma mad. The mission would be over before it could even start. The handle shook like someone outside was using a key. He reached quickly for it and slammed it open.

There were three maintenance workers in the doorway, wearing dark gray plastic suits and black vests full of supplies. The man at the center was massive; at least six foot five, because his head nearly touched the fluorescent ceiling light above him.

“Ah.” The one in the center, the owner of the accent, cocked his head. “You are not Emmalynn Donahue.”

Evan stared blankly back, giving him no S2—Subtext. “No.”

He checked a clipboard in front of him. “And . . . you are also not Neesha Shah?”

“No.”

“So then . . . who are you?”

“I’m Evan.”

“Huh. Okay.” He didn’t look upset. But he did look serious. “Where is Emmalynn?”

“It’s just Emma. She doesn’t like Emmalynn.”

“Okay then, where’s Emma?”

Through the walls of the building, the church bells began to ring. The notes they played were discordant, too close in pitch to be pleasing to the ear. Instead, they hung in the air, unresolved and tense. “She’s at mass. Like everybody else.”

The maintenance man stared for a moment, then walked around him into the room. His arms were almost as wide as Evan’s chest. Evan noticed he was breathing heavy, unfamiliar lungs reacting to thin mountain air.

“So what are you, then?” the man asked. “Her boyfriend or something?”

“No,” Evan answered quickly. “Not her boyfriend.”

“Then why are you here?”

“She asked me to grab her homework for her before mass. I’m just running a little late.”

The two men outside the room stood at attention. Their reason for being there wasn’t clear, but the S2—Subtext was obvious: intimidation.

“Did you get it?” the man asked, starting to thumb through her books.

“Get what?”

The man looked up. “Her homework?”

“Uh, yeah.” He patted his backpack. “Got it in here.”

“Good. Such good friends. Everybody here, such good friends.” He tapped the center of her desk. “Where’s her . . . the progress journal?”

“Testimonial journal,” one of the men outside said.

“Yes, that.”

Evan shook his head. His hand clutched the top of his bag. “I don’t know.”

The man stared at Evan now. He could feel his body reacting to the pressure, his testicles migrating north at accelerating speeds.

“Well,” he said. “Were you going to mass, or . . . ?”

Without a word, Evan backed out of the room, avoiding the men outside the door, and started away from them.

“Hey.” The man inside the room leaned out. “If you see Emma, let her know Yanis is looking for her.”

Evan walked quickly down the hallway and stairs, trying to get far enough away to make sense out of the interaction. He was certain his life at Redemption was over. Everything he’d done demanded a punishment hearing or at least a write-up. But none of that had happened. Yanis didn’t care.

The seizing in his chest and throat returned, ten steps out the back door. S5—Rationale. He’d broken major rules, and Yanis didn’t care. Which meant whatever Emma had done, it was much, much worse than that.

Why was a maintenance worker trying to find her during mass? She was sitting in the third row of the chapel twenty minutes ago; why were they looking for her now? What had happened to Emma?

He heard noise from the chapel as he approached, not one voice but dozens, moving toward him through the fog. It was too early for mass to be over; someone was outside the chapel. Before he knew it, the entire student population was moving against him, plugging the walkways to the chapel. He jumped to a rock in the wild grass to avoid being run over.

“What happened?” he tried to ask the mob of students.

“They let us out early!” someone responded. “Eddy had a panic attack!”

His eyes fled to the back of the chapel, where the light at the top of the wooden cross was flickering. He leapt forward from the rock, launching himself into the crowd and starting to fight his way through. In between waves of passing students, he could catch