Elite

“I have to go,” Sylvie said, but what Jack didn’t hear in her voice were all the reasons why. She pushed past him and rushed the rest of the way down the hall on her own, ignoring the sound of her name as Jack called after her. She had to get away from him and she had to do it now.

Jules had told her that the unmarried were not allowed in one another’s rooms so she sought the refuge of the shared space, knowing it was the one place Jack couldn’t follow. Sylvie rounded the final corner so quickly that she did not see Jules before the two of them crashed head on in the poorly lit aisle.

“Oh my God!” Sylvie said, reaching out to steady the stunned girl. “Are you ok?” The bundle of clothes Jules had been carrying were now scattered like wind blown leaves across the cold, tile floor. Sylvie dropped immediately to her knees to collect them and almost collided with Jules a second time as she started to do the same.

“I’m ok!” Jules said with a halfhearted laugh. “It happens to the best of us. These dark halls are just begging for accidents.” Having gathered all the dropped items, Jules and Sylvie both returned to their feet where Jules fixed her companion with a questioning look. “Where were you going in such a hurry?”

Before Sylvie could answer, her reason was announced first by the sound of Jack’s heavy footfall and soon followed by his appearance around the corner. “There you are!” he said, a bit breathless from both the chase and shock at Sylvie’s sudden departure.

“Jules,” Sylvie said, ignoring Jack completely. “I am sorry for running into you like that. I promise to be more careful.” After her hurried apology, Sylvie spun on her heels and disappeared into the nearby room. Leaving both Jack and Jules staring after her in confusion.

True to Jules’s word, though, Jack did not follow Sylvie inside the girl’s dorm. Instead, he lingered for a moment at the door, his face a puzzle of knowing salted with doubt. Sylvie, refusing to acknowledge him, found her cot and stretched herself across it with her back directly facing the door.

She did not have to see him, though, to feel the full weight of his impenetrable gaze. There were things he wanted to ask. His intent was so clear, Sylvie was surprised she could not reach out and snatch his questions out of the suspense filled air. But Sylvie had intentions too—and none of them involved being further exposed to a boy who saw her as little more than a naive child.

Just remembering the way he had looked at her made Sylvie’s face redden. In practically no time at all, he had made her feel so much. Anger. Fear. Doubt. And maybe something else. But she shrugged it all away just as Jules planted herself at the end of her bed. “What was that all about?” she said, her eyes still lingering after Jack’s ghost at the door.

Sylvie studied her half perfect face and considered for just a moment telling her all of the thoughts that begged to be made into words. She was sure that if she just said them out loud then all the chaos would be easier to handle somehow. But she noted the way the light sort of dulled in Jules’s eyes when she pulled them away from the door and she was reminded of what she already knew.

Jules was the last person she could talk to.

Everything she said about Jack would be seen through love-jaded glass—distorted and dissected beyond recognition.

“It’s nothing,” Sylvie said quickly, shrugging her shoulders. She fixed her eyes on some obscure marking on the wall across the room, careful to keep them from meeting Jules’s imploring stare and inevitably confessing her lie. But Sylvie did not have to look at Jules to see how much she wanted to push the issue. She sat there for a moment, seeming to weigh leaving it alone against her desire to know more.

Restlessly, she shuffled her feet, her uncertainty as clear as the mark on her face. But she paused only an instant longer before reluctantly returning to her feet. Sylvie released the tense breath she did not even realize she was holding and sent up a silent prayer of thanks at her temporary reprieve.

As Jules busied herself with whatever task the run in with Jack had interrupted, Sylvie rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. In the self-made darkness, she tried to forget the events of the day, but her efforts were in vain. She was haunted by the sickness and senseless death, but nothing plagued her as much as the way she felt herself soften to Jack.

He was her enemy—the very reason she found herself entangled in this nightmare of a place. But she could not forget the kindness he had shown her with Rex or the patient glint in his eyes even when she attacked him. She especially could not forget how his imperfect features somehow made a face she knew she would not change.

At that thought, Sylvie felt her stomach dip and churn—the unsolicited action only adding to her discomfort. She had made up her mind then that for however much longer she had to be in Sector C, she would stay far away from the boy with sapphire lakes for eyes.

Otherwise she feared she might just drown in them.

***

Sylvie spent the next three days true to her word. Although, she had not been given much choice in the matter. The morning following her private vow, Sylvie learned that Jack had left the camp on what they were calling a hunting party. With him, he had thankfully taken Rex. But much to her dismay, Sylvie learned the Doc had accompanied them as well.

She was still burning to ask him about his daughter, Ellena. She had not thought about it at the time, but Doc had once lived in New Eden. He had told her as much when he gave reason for his missing eye. After meeting Ellena, Sylvie couldn’t help but wonder if her name was merely a coincidence or had Doc known Sylvie’s mother? She had yet to decide, though, which answer she preferred to get.

“Good morning,” Anne said, greeting Sylvie in their now customary spot outside the unmarried dorm. Sylvie had learned that Anne—only 13—still lived with her family and would stay with them until she turned 18. At that time, she would join the single women until she married. This was the procedure for all children of the Rebel group. The only deviation being those who had lost their families in one-way or another.

Jules, who had lost both of her parents the year before, joined the unmarried women at only 14. Sylvie had wanted to ask her what happened to them, but something always came up, keeping her question at bay. And today was no exception. In fact, as Sylvie followed Anne to the clinic, she noticed even more going on than usual.

The halls whose emptiness typically echoed back her solitary footsteps bustled with activity. The frenetic commotion bled into the yard where Sylvie’s eyes automatically sought Jack’s face in the crowd. She told herself it was only out of necessity since she had decided to avoid him and chose to ignore the sink of disappointment at finding him still missing.

“What’s going on?” Sylvie asked Anne when she saw that event the clinic was filled with an air of excitement.

“It is the Feast of Tribute,” answered a small, breathy voice at Sylvie’s feet. She looked down to find Ellena, red faced and grinning. Without any further explanation, the little girl thrust a haggard bouquet of flowers into Sylvie’s hands before rushing back to join the group of tiny patients congregating in the center of the room. Even the older patients had drug out chairs and sat watching the little ones in their play.

“Shouldn’t they be in bed?” Sylvie asked, her concerned gaze trailing after the frail little girl. It had only been three days, but already Ellena had become a permanent fixture in Sylvie’s affection. She had spent hours telling Sylvie stories all about the other children and the games they would play. But her favorite topic had remained the praises of her father, Doc. According to Ellena, there was no one more kind or gentle in all of the world.

Sylvie had listened to her unabated as she worked to soothe the girl’s fits of fever. And in the moments they were able to forget her sickness, Sylvie had started braiding little flowers into Ellena’s jet-black hair. The remnants of which now dangled wildly around her head like an ebony halo.

“The children always seem to find a second wind for the Feast,” Anne said, with an affectionate shake of her head. It was then, as Anne started to go about her regular duties, that Sylvie spied a rare sparkle in her eyes as well.

“What is this Feast?” Sylvie asked. She was eager to know about what was significant enough to pull the sick out of bed and enchant even the most serious of her companions.

“It is a Ceremony of Thanks,” Anne said, turning back to face her. “Everyone gives Tokens to the people special to them as a way of reminding them they are important.” Anne’s eyes darted quickly to the bouquet in Sylvie’s hands and back to her face, making sure Sylvie had made the connection.

Sylvie stared down at the flowers then with new eyes. The tangled stems and bruised petals seemed more beautiful now in their imperfection. Touched, Sylvie could not help the smile that spread across her face. It was quickly becoming a customary expression, sneaking up on her when she wasn’t paying attention. Nothing about the old run down school or the situation she found herself in was anything to smile about, but there it was. And it was coming more and more easily with each passing day.

“Anne?” Sylvie said, tucking the bunch of flowers into her waistband. “Why am I not treated like a prisoner?” The question had been lurking in the back of her mind almost since she first arrived. By now, Addy, the girl that had been left behind the night she had been taken, was probably well on her way to becoming a Scab. And here she was receiving tokens as part of a Rebel celebration. A blind man could have seen that it didn’t add up.

Anne’s hands stilled in their work, the bandages she had been folding forgotten like the wrappings on packages after they had been opened. She looked at Sylvie thoughtfully, her face a storybook written in another language. Sylvie was sure would stay a mystery, but after just another moment’s pause, Anne said the last thing Sylvie expected to hear.

“You are not our prisoner.”

“What do you mean?” Sylvie asked, sure that she had misheard. “What would you call it?”

“You are a guest,” Anne said. She made the statement plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and just like that, returned to her bandages. Sylvie was convinced that Anne could not have been more clear in her intentions even if she had said them out loud.

The conversation was over.

And while Sylvie wanted to protest, she realized that Anne would probably be one of the last people capable of giving her any real answers. She would have to wait for the capable ones to return.

“So when will the Doc be back?” Sylvie asked, joining Anne in her chore organizing supplies. “Ellena has talked about him constantly and asks for him everyday.” Sylvie placed the last of the gauze on Anne’s neat stack and clapped her hands together signaling the end of the job. She hoped Anne failed to see it was also in nervous anticipation of her answer. Doc’s return also meant Jack would be back and at just the thought of him, Sylvie’s insides gave a little, unsolicited jump.

“The men will be back tonight,” Anne said, seemingly oblivious to Sylvie’s jumpy behavior. She had moved on to measuring out the morning medication, her face passive and unaware.

“Oh that’s nice,” Sylvie said with forced brightness. All the while her stomach took it upon itself to do a somersault against her ribs. She tried to blame the reaction on the fact that Rex would be home too, along with his lingering threat, but she knew better.

And she clearly was not the only one.

“I’m sure Jack will be happy to see you too,” Anne said. She smiled then, a smile that said she had missed nothing, and scooped up the tray of pills before leaving Sylvie to wonder just how transparent she had been. Who else had seen through her? Had Jules?

Had Jack?