Spingate’s and Gaston’s. Beckett doesn’t say much. He seems younger than me—not in size, but rather in the way he carries himself.
There are six empty circles besides Bello and me: E. Okereke, a boy with the blackest skin of any of us; Y. Johnson, a girl with dirty-blond hair who won’t look anyone in the eye and mumbles to herself; R. Cabral, a girl who looks anyone and everyone in the eye but says nothing; and O. Ingolfsson, a squat blond boy who looks as strong as Bishop, although he isn’t as tall and clearly isn’t as coordinated. The last two circles are J. Harris and M. D’souza, a boy/girl pair who go out of their way to avoid talking with me.
The circle-stars hate that I won the vote. Most ignore me. The bald, brown-skinned girl, Y. Bawden, will answer my questions, but she doesn’t trust me. At least she isn’t openly hostile: U. Coyotl—whose tan skin has a reddish hue that looks like his mother gave him a bath and scrubbed him way too hard—and W. Visca—a big boy with light pink skin and blazing white hair—all but snarl at me every time I look at them.
The person who surprises me the most, though, is Bishop. I expected him to carry a grudge, maybe plot a way to take back the spear or fight me for leadership the way Yong did. Bishop does none of that. He’s happy. He’s talkative. In fact, he won’t
stop
talking. His constant chatter is the only thing that raises everyone’s spirits.
Time drags, as do our feet. I honestly don’t know how much longer we can go on.
It is maybe five or six hours after I got the spear that the first of us falls: a half-circle girl named Q. Opkick.
Before I can reach her, Bishop already has her over his shoulder. He’s smiling, nodding, like someone passing out from lack of food or water—or both—is the most normal thing that could happen.
More will fall, and soon. All we can do for Opkick is press on, so we press on.
My feet…they hurt so bad.
Perhaps an hour later, I almost fall myself. I stumble, but O’Malley catches me, rights me. He does that strange thing again, where he can kind of speak to me with his eyes. Those eyes say:
Don’t fall—if you do, we’re lost
.
I nod. I can keep going.
And then, finally, far up ahead, our hallway…it
ends
.
I move faster. So do the others, headaches and thirst and dry mouths forgotten. When Bishop had his group marching in step, it made a sound like the steady beat of a big drum. I don’t make anyone march: as we quicken our pace and break into a run, it sounds like rolling thunder.
The hallway ends in a dusty, rusted archway blocked by two stone slabs, a thin line down the middle separating them.
A door.
We stop. We stare. It could be nothing. It could be everything.
Is this it? Did we make it? Does the door lead us out of this horrible place? Does it lead to food and water and people, maybe our parents?
“Bishop,” I say, “give Opkick to someone else. I need you up front with me.”
O’Malley glances my way, a sour expression on his face. He doesn’t like that I want Bishop up front, but that’s stupid—Bishop is the biggest and strongest of us, of course he should be the first through.
Bishop joins me at the door. El-Saffani is at his sides. The twins came without being asked. Where Bishop goes, they go.
I look back to Spingate.
“Open it,” I say to her.
She nods rapidly, excited at this new puzzle she must solve. She brushes dust off the metal frame, exposing embedded jewels. She studies the archway for a moment. I see her lips moving. She starts pressing blue jewels. She shakes her head—she got it wrong.
Gaston joins her. He points at a pair of yellow jewels. Spingate nods, presses them. Then she presses a green one: a hidden panel pops open.
Inside the panel, two dark holes.
She looks at me, asking for permission, as always.
I glance at Bishop. I have a connection with him that isn’t there with O’Malley. I can’t explain it. It’s something I feel in my
There are six empty circles besides Bello and me: E. Okereke, a boy with the blackest skin of any of us; Y. Johnson, a girl with dirty-blond hair who won’t look anyone in the eye and mumbles to herself; R. Cabral, a girl who looks anyone and everyone in the eye but says nothing; and O. Ingolfsson, a squat blond boy who looks as strong as Bishop, although he isn’t as tall and clearly isn’t as coordinated. The last two circles are J. Harris and M. D’souza, a boy/girl pair who go out of their way to avoid talking with me.
The circle-stars hate that I won the vote. Most ignore me. The bald, brown-skinned girl, Y. Bawden, will answer my questions, but she doesn’t trust me. At least she isn’t openly hostile: U. Coyotl—whose tan skin has a reddish hue that looks like his mother gave him a bath and scrubbed him way too hard—and W. Visca—a big boy with light pink skin and blazing white hair—all but snarl at me every time I look at them.
The person who surprises me the most, though, is Bishop. I expected him to carry a grudge, maybe plot a way to take back the spear or fight me for leadership the way Yong did. Bishop does none of that. He’s happy. He’s talkative. In fact, he won’t
stop
talking. His constant chatter is the only thing that raises everyone’s spirits.
Time drags, as do our feet. I honestly don’t know how much longer we can go on.
It is maybe five or six hours after I got the spear that the first of us falls: a half-circle girl named Q. Opkick.
Before I can reach her, Bishop already has her over his shoulder. He’s smiling, nodding, like someone passing out from lack of food or water—or both—is the most normal thing that could happen.
More will fall, and soon. All we can do for Opkick is press on, so we press on.
My feet…they hurt so bad.
Perhaps an hour later, I almost fall myself. I stumble, but O’Malley catches me, rights me. He does that strange thing again, where he can kind of speak to me with his eyes. Those eyes say:
Don’t fall—if you do, we’re lost
.
I nod. I can keep going.
And then, finally, far up ahead, our hallway…it
ends
.
I move faster. So do the others, headaches and thirst and dry mouths forgotten. When Bishop had his group marching in step, it made a sound like the steady beat of a big drum. I don’t make anyone march: as we quicken our pace and break into a run, it sounds like rolling thunder.
The hallway ends in a dusty, rusted archway blocked by two stone slabs, a thin line down the middle separating them.
A door.
We stop. We stare. It could be nothing. It could be everything.
Is this it? Did we make it? Does the door lead us out of this horrible place? Does it lead to food and water and people, maybe our parents?
“Bishop,” I say, “give Opkick to someone else. I need you up front with me.”
O’Malley glances my way, a sour expression on his face. He doesn’t like that I want Bishop up front, but that’s stupid—Bishop is the biggest and strongest of us, of course he should be the first through.
Bishop joins me at the door. El-Saffani is at his sides. The twins came without being asked. Where Bishop goes, they go.
I look back to Spingate.
“Open it,” I say to her.
She nods rapidly, excited at this new puzzle she must solve. She brushes dust off the metal frame, exposing embedded jewels. She studies the archway for a moment. I see her lips moving. She starts pressing blue jewels. She shakes her head—she got it wrong.
Gaston joins her. He points at a pair of yellow jewels. Spingate nods, presses them. Then she presses a green one: a hidden panel pops open.
Inside the panel, two dark holes.
She looks at me, asking for permission, as always.
I glance at Bishop. I have a connection with him that isn’t there with O’Malley. I can’t explain it. It’s something I feel in my
Similar Books
