Behind the Gates (2 page)

Then she and I take a deep breath and climb onto the bus.

I
sit watching the scenery go by on the interstate. The abandoned strip malls we’ve been passing become farther and farther apart until I stop seeing any at all. After a while all that passes by are fields and forests, fields and forests, getting slightly greener as we drive.

There’s no way we’re heading to Blumberg Woods — if we were, we’d have already been there an hour ago.

So where are we headed?

North. That’s all I know from reading the signs.

Maddie is sleeping in the aisle seat beside me. At home we sleep in side-by-side twin beds. Her gentle snoring sometimes bugs me at night. Now it’s different, though. Her snoring is a comforting reminder of home.

I wonder if Maddie misses
her
home — her real home, that is. Until her parents were both called away, the Fryes lived in a tiny apartment in the city.

Maddie and I met in kindergarten and we’ve been friends ever since. It’s exactly as if we really are sisters, so this lie we are telling isn’t much of a stretch. Saying we’re twins, even fraternal twins, is funny, though — our looks are so opposite. Maddie resembles both of her dark-haired, brown-eyed parents, while I’m really fair, like my mom.

A low hum of conversation fills the bus. I put down my e-reader and look at the other girls. Mrs. Brewster sits up front and hasn’t turned around the whole trip, as far as I’ve seen. But everyone’s been pretty quiet, reading or listening to music or talking to their seatmates. I think we’re all starting to get hungry and restless, though.

There’s a group near the front that all look like athletes and have clearly already bonded. They’re a good-looking bunch, all clear skin and toned arms and legs. They chat and laugh together as though they’ve been friends for years. “No one can return my serve,” says a
tall girl. She holds up an arm with a giant, fancy watch on it. “But my wrist is totally ruined. I have to wrap it up every time.”

“Whatever,” scoffs an Asian girl with her black hair in a sleek ponytail. “I fell so hard on my arm playing field hockey this year that I broke it. I was in a cast for the rest of the season.”

One of the girls sitting near the sporty set isn’t so chatty, but from the look of her well-muscled arms, she seems to be an athletic type. Her gleaming straight black hair is tied back with a gold cord into a high ponytail. Something about her face — the straight nose, the set line of her mouth — makes her seem regal, yet aloof and unfriendly. I don’t think she’s someone I’ll get along with.

When the girl turns to the other athletes, though, she has a natural authority that makes them quiet down to hear her. “That’s nothing,” she says calmly. I’m pretty sure I detect — though just barely — the clipped beat of a Latin accent. “I was tripped on the basketball court and slammed my head so hard I was in a coma for three days.”

For a moment the little group is silent.

“Wow!” the tall one says, filled with awe. “What’s it like to be in a coma?”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to know that,” says another girl.

I can’t hear what she tells them because everyone has huddled around her. I can’t even see her anymore without standing up.

Turning back toward our part of the bus — the back half — I notice a pretty girl with dark skin. Her black eyes are intense and her delicate eyebrows V with concentration as she types furiously on a notebook.

What’s so urgent? It’s not like we have homework yet.

I’d love to go talk to her but a slim, pale girl with white-blond hair is sleeping heavily in the aisle seat. Her presence makes it impossible to plop myself down beside the writing girl. Instead, I nudge Maddie. “Are you awake?”

Maddie’s eyelids flutter. “Wha …?”

“Are you awake?” I repeat.

“Now I am,” she gripes, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I need somebody to talk to,” I admit, grinning apologetically.

Maddie straightens and leans across me to see out the window. “Where are we?”

I shrug. “Two hours north, as far as I can tell.”

“Not in Blumberg Woods?” she checks.

I shake my head.

“Too bad,” Maddie says sleepily, slumping against the back of her seat, closing her eyes.

I jab her again and lower my voice to a whisper. “Look at that girl over there. What do you think she’s writing?”

Maddie stretches around to see behind her seat. “I don’t see anyone writing,” she reports, turning back to me.

I hoist myself high enough to see across the aisle. The girl is now chatting animatedly with the girl who had been sleeping beside her.
Chatting
isn’t really the word; she’s doing all the talking and her seatmate is simply listening in wide-eyed astonishment.

What could she be saying to make the other girl look so shocked?

Now I’m really dying to know what’s going on with her.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell Maddie. “Maybe on the way back I’ll be able to hear what that girl is saying.”

“What girl?” Maddie asks.

“The one who was writing,” I say. “If I stop to talk to her, you come join me.”

“Why? I want to go back to sleep. I was up all night worrying about today. I’m tired.”

“You weren’t up all night. You were snoring,” I tell her.

“Just go say hello to her. You don’t need me for that,” Maddie insists.

“I’d feel more comfortable with you there,” I argue.

“Just say hi,” Maddie repeats, yawning.

I always feel a little shy before I get to know someone. After that, I’m not shy at all. But if Maddie wouldn’t
join me, I’d feel more comfortable having a
reason
to talk to this girl.

Maddie curls up in the seat, resting her head on her arm, closing her eyes again.

She’s clearly determined to go back to sleep, so I squeeze around her and head for the bathroom at the back of the bus. As I pass by the two girls I can hear only the briefest snap of conversation.

“Are you sure about all this?” the pale-blond girl asks doubtfully.

“Not the details, of course,” the writing girl replies knowingly, “but in general, yes. Absolutely sure.”

When I get to the back of the bus, the bathroom door is locked. I didn’t need it, anyway — I just wanted to get up. But now what?

Suddenly an idea occurs to me and I slip one of my daisy-shaped plastic earrings out of my ear. I wait for a minute and then head back up the aisle.

When I’m near the two girls again, I drop the plastic daisy. Pretending to be surprised, I raise my hand to my
ear. “I think I just dropped my earring,” I say with a mild gasp.

The two girls peer into the aisle. “There,” the girl who had been writing says, pointing at my earring on the floor.

“Oh, thanks!” I cry, stooping to retrieve it. “I’m Louisa Ballinger,” I say, standing back up.

“Evelyn Posner,” the writing girl replies with a friendly smile.

“I’m Jordan,” says the pale-blond girl. Jordan waves for me to come closer. I lean in to hear. She’s not satisfied with my position until I am practically squeezed into the seat with the two of them.

Jordan whispers, “Evelyn thinks this is a trap.”

“What?” I ask, wrinkling my forehead. “What kind of trap? Who would want to trap us? The Alliance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Evelyn replies. “I’m sure this is some kind of conspiracy, though.”

I can’t help but laugh. “A conspiracy to do what?”

“That’s what I intend to find out!” Evelyn states with equal parts suspicion and excitement. “I tried to tell my parents this is all a setup,” she goes on, “and they wouldn’t listen, as usual. But that’s fine. Now I can do some deep undercover work, finally be part of the war effort, you know?”

I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but it definitely hadn’t been anything like this!

I notice Maddie peering around the side of her seat. Her expression is asking me:
What is going on?

I reply with a small shrug. I haven’t decided what I think of Evelyn yet. “You really think this is an Alliance plot or something?”

“And, like, Mrs. Brewster is an Alliance
agent?”
Jordan adds.

“She could be,” Evelyn allows, obviously warming to the subject. “Or she may be an unwitting pawn. The Alliance could be tricking her, too.”

“I vote for Alliance agent,” Jordan says. “She scares me.” I have to agree — Mrs. Brewster is kind of freaky.

“It has to be a plot. Why else would the locations be so secret?” Evelyn adds.

“Well,” I counter, surprised to hear the same old words coming out of my mouth this time, “they’re trying to keep us safe, aren’t they?”

Evelyn sighs and shakes her head, seeming to pity my naïve viewpoint. “Believe what you want, but I’m going to be ready.” As proof, she tips her open notebook my way, revealing what she’d been writing so feverishly.

Lines. Arrows. Boxes. Squiggles and letters.
lnr
64 with an arrow pointing up.

“What is it?” I ask in a whisper.

“Lansing North, Route Sixty-four,” she explains. She leans closer and lowers her voice to a whisper I only barely hear. “It’s a map. When everything goes down, I’m making sure I can find my way home. And, see, I have it locked with a password.” Suddenly the screen reverts to a picture of a kitten in a basket.

I raise my eyebrows skeptically. “Do you really think you need to do that?”

“How can you be so trusting?” Evelyn asks.

“It’s just … school! What makes you so suspicious?”

“Maybe I’ll feel better when I get my cell phone back,” Evelyn allows.

I think maybe she’s just nervous. New school, new place — we’re all just trying to get a grip on this.

But, still … I’ll feel better when I have my cell phone again, too.

When I return to my seat, Maddie’s eyes are still wide-open. “What did you find out?” she asks.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say. I tell her about Evelyn’s crazy ideas.

“What if she’s right?” Maddie asks quietly. “Or maybe they’re just getting us out of the way because … I don’t know, because something really bad is about to happen?”

I pat her hand and say, “Things are already pretty terrible, aren’t they? They just want to keep us safe.”

I
shift in my seat, trying to stretch out my back a little bit. We’ve been traveling for what feels like forever, and I’m starting to get bored.

Maddie writes on her notepad. I see her trying to check her ClickNet page, but she can’t get online. A box of snacks gets passed back — dried fruit and soy bars. We were told to bring our own canteens of water for the ride. Even fancy boarding schools don’t throw money away on bottled drinks.

Outside the bus window I see nothing but trees. I’ve never seen so many trees. “Where are we?” I ask Maddie.

Glancing up, she blinks at me, as though my voice
has just called her back from some faraway place. “I don’t know,” she says. “I haven’t really been looking.”

Peering over the top of my seat, I check to see if Evelyn is still keeping track. Her eyes are fixed on the passing scenery, though she’s not writing anything down.

I don’t seriously think there’s any danger. I do like the idea of knowing where I am, however.

Evelyn looks up and sees me, then gets out of her seat and comes over. She leans in to us and whispers, “From what I can tell, we’ve been going northwest this whole time, so we’re probably in Minnesota somewhere.”

“Oh, okay,” I say.

“I don’t think taking us closer to Canada makes any sense,” adds Evelyn.

I raise my eyebrows, silently asking the question,
Why?

“You know, because the Alliance has most of Canada now,” Evelyn explains, as though it should be obvious, as if everyone is keeping close track of the War.

“Oh, right,” says Maddie, and her face darkens with worry.

Evelyn returns to her seat and I follow her across the aisle. I lean over to her and whisper, “Could you please stop freaking out my” — I almost say
my friend —
“sister? She’s worried enough as it is.”

Evelyn shrugs. “I think we should keep our eyes open,” she says. “Even if we don’t like what we see.”

This is totally the opposite of the way I see things. Things are usually fine, and smarter people than me are working hard to make sure that everything turns out okay. Like my parents. Like Maddie’s parents.

Back in my seat, I watch the passing trees for a while longer until my eyes feel heavy and I let them slowly slide shut.

The squeal of the bus’s air brakes shakes me from a dreamless sleep. We’ve stopped in front of a huge, old-fashioned building. It is — just as its name says — a country manor, a massive stone building with ivy creeping down its sides.

“Wow,” I say to Maddie as I rub sleep from my eyes.

“Seriously wow,” Maddie agrees, staring at the building wide-eyed. “This place looks like the old summer house of a queen or something.”

“I know.” All my worries about CMS disappear. How cool is this, to be living in a palace?

Slowly we all rise from our seats, gathering the few things we brought on board. Maddie gets up and stretches. “Here we go.”

A shiver of excitement shoots through me.

“Yeah, here we go,” I say as we move into the aisle and let the flow of girls carry us along. We huddle together outside the bus, awaiting further instructions.

There’s a big lake about fifty yards to the right of the school. It extends behind the building, so I can’t actually tell how big it is. Off in the distance, on the other side of the water, an equally majestic building is bathed in a soft pinkish-amber glow.

Mrs. Brewster stands in front of the group and claps her hands for attention. “I am Mrs. Brewster, headmistress here at Country Manor School.” She gestures toward another woman in shorts and a white T-shirt. She
reminds me of a gym teacher we had last year. “This is Devi, assistant headmistress.”

Devi nods her head curtly without smiling.

Evelyn, a few feet away from Maddie and me, throws up her hand and starts speaking at the same time. “When do we get our phones back?”

“You don’t.” Mrs. Brewster’s voice is clipped.

A wave of outraged whispers spreads through the crowd of girls.

“You wouldn’t be able to use them here, anyway,” Mrs. Brewster insists. “There’s not a radio tower for miles. Absolutely no reception. There’s not even a TV at the school.”

“All my phone numbers and addresses are stored in my phone,” the girl who claimed to have been in a coma says. “I need to have it back so I can write letters.”

Mrs. Brewster shakes her head. “There is no mail service in or out of Country Manor.”

Now the swelling wave of grumbling protest is even louder. Mrs. Brewster claps again, sharply, and everyone quiets. “Must I remind you girls that the United States is
at war? Your parents have paid their hard-earned money to send you to a safe place, away from the threats of the Alliance. Country Manor School has given your families our pledge to provide you with the finest education while ensuring your safety at all costs.”

“That again. Our safety,” Evelyn scoffs to the girl beside her, but loud enough that most of us hear. “Everything is for
our safety.”

“That’s right, young lady, it is,” Devi says.

“Your cell phones are of no use to you and may still be trackable by Alliance surveillance. For that reason they are being held in a different facility,” Mrs. Brewster explains.

Evelyn turns to me. “If there’s no radio tower, how could they pick up a signal?”

Mrs. Brewster’s eyes dart toward her, disapproving. I stare straight ahead. It’s clear to me that in less than ten minutes Evelyn Posner has managed to put herself on Mrs. Brewster’s troublemaker list, and I don’t want my name added just because we’re standing near each other.

“Silence, everyone,” Mrs. Brewster’s voice booms.
“We have a lot to go over today, but first, please hand all your electronic devices to Emmanuelle.”

Confused, we all turn and see a young Indian woman with black, chin-length hair coming toward us, carrying a big box. She looks a lot like Devi, and she’s also dressed the same as the others, in khaki shorts and a cotton camp shirt. The only distinctive item she wears is a red silk neck scarf with an orange paisley design swirling through it.

“That means everything,” shouts Mrs. Brewster. “Notepads, cameras, computers, music players. If we find that you’ve held back anything, your punishment will be severe.”

“What are they going to do, throw us in jail?” Evelyn scoffs, but more quietly. No one responds. We’re all taking this very seriously. Something in Mrs. Brewster’s manner tells us that she is not a woman to be messed with. I don’t understand why Evelyn doesn’t realize this.

Reluctantly, we all line up to drop what we have into the box Emmanuelle holds. “I haven’t finished the book I was reading,” Maddie complains when she reaches the front of the line. She clutches her reader.

“You can finish it some other time,” Emmanuelle says.

“Does that mean we get our things back tomorrow?” Maddie asks.

“I did not say that,” Emmanuelle replies. “In the box, please.”

Evelyn is next. She takes an MP3 player from her bag and tosses it into the box.

“Is that everything?” Emmanuelle inquires.

“Uh-huh,” Evelyn replies, looking away.

Emmanuelle’s eyes narrow and she is clearly not convinced. “I’d like to look in your bag,” she tells Evelyn.

“There’s nothing electronic in there,” Evelyn protests.

“Your bag,” Emmanuelle insists sternly.

Evelyn huffs with annoyance. “I said —”

Emmanuelle takes Evelyn’s bag and peers into it.

“That’s very important. I need it!” Evelyn complains when Emmanuelle pulls out her notepad, the one with the maps and directions in it. “My notes on …” Evelyn’s voice trails off.

“Notes on what?” Emmanuelle asks.

When she asks this question my throat goes dry. Why didn’t Evelyn just hand over the notepad in the first place?

Evelyn hesitates before answering Emmanuelle’s question.

I feel an impulse to step forward and help her — to offer a cover story, a believable explanation. But I think this will seem strange and I don’t really have the nerve to do it. So I say nothing.

“I have personal notes on my feelings about leaving home and coming here to Country Manor,” Evelyn finally says, in a cool, even tone. “As a half-Irish, half-African-American student I feel my experience here will be useful to other minority students of mixed race and maybe I’ll write a magazine article about it … or something like that.”

Emmanuelle eyes Evelyn coolly as she places the notepad in the box with the other electronics. “We’ll take good care of it,” she says.

Evelyn returns, looking dejected, and stands just behind Maddie and me. “I hope she doesn’t look at my maps,” she whispers.

“You’re half-Irish?” Maddie inquires. “I’m a quarter Irish.”

Evelyn raises her hand and offers a light fist bump that Maddie returns. “My mom is named Fiona Kelly,” Evelyn says.

Finally, everything electronic is collected. But we’re not done. Mrs. Brewster claps her hands sharply for our attention. “For your own protection we will be holding all jewelry and other valuables in these metal lockboxes. Please gather any personal effects and bring them forward.”

All around me the girls start taking out their earrings and pulling off their bracelets and necklaces. After losing our phones and notepads and music, this doesn’t feel like such a big deal. But I finger my locket nervously. I don’t know what to do. I would like to keep it safe — but I don’t want to part with it, not so soon.

I feel eyes burning into me. When I turn I see that Mrs. Brewster is looking directly at my locket.

Responding to the order implied in her stare, I reluctantly reach back to unclasp the locket’s chain. My hand trembles slightly. I can’t stand to part with this. It would be like giving away my parents — and my grandparents!

I hide the locket in my closed palm. Glancing at Mrs. Brewster, I’m happy to see that she’s no longer focused on me. She’s moved on to staring down other girls who are hesitant about removing items of jewelry.

With my gaze still on the headmistress, I put my hand in my shorts pocket, letting the locket fall into it. I hope they don’t have any kind of metal detection device.

I approach and deposit my earrings and a silver bracelet I took from my pack. Fortunately no sirens or alarms blare as I walk away, my locket still hidden in my pocket.

But as I head back toward Maddie and Evelyn, a different noise makes me turn toward the building across the lake. A silver bus has pulled in front of it.

“I see you all gazing curiously at that building across the lake,” Mrs. Brewster says.

“Is it the boys’ school?” someone asks.

Mrs. Brewster clears her throat, unhappy about being interrupted. “Yes. And I advise you to forget it’s there. It is off-limits to you. Completely off-limits. The way around the lake through the woods here is the natural habitat of the poisonous Mississauga rattler. Believe me,
you don’t want to get bitten with Mississauga venom. It kills instantly. And for you swimmers in the group, this lake is so polluted that should you jump in to swim across, you will be too sick to make the trip back.”

Mrs. Brewster stares at me again when she says this. I don’t know how to feel about it. I guess I’m flattered that she recognizes me as a swimmer. It must be something about my build, but it makes me feel strange just the same.

Evelyn Posner tilts her head. “For a polluted lake, it sure sparkles,” she notes.

Once more, Mrs. Brewster casts a sour, annoyed glance at Evelyn, but makes no comment.

“Wait for your name to be called,” Mrs. Brewster instructs us, “and be ready to present your ID bracelet.”

This is not a strange request. We’re all used to holding out our wrists all the time, like at school and security checkpoints and that kind of thing. They might as well be surgically attached to our bodies instead of just linked around our arms. We can’t even get into most buildings without a bracelet check.

“Anne Abadi,” Devi calls, reading from a clipboard. “Alice Abbott.”

Anne Abadi is a girl with long dark hair and Alice Abbott is her opposite, fair with mousy brown hair. The girls step forward, raising their left hands.

I expect Devi to produce a scanner. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she holds up thick black clippers.

I wonder what she plans to do with those. I’ve never seen anything like them.

Maddie and I exchange glances.

Our expressions change into horrified stares of disbelief as Devi raises Anne Abadi’s wrist and the scissors. She looks like she’s about to snip it off, but that can’t be true. All our lives we’ve been told that nothing can remove an ID bracelet.

A gasp travels across the crowd of girls as a low, electric zap sound comes from the clippers. In the next second, Anne’s bracelet is in Devi’s hand.

Anne’s eyes are wide. Her jaw drops in shock. We all understand how she feels. It’s as though Devi removed one of her fingers.

I slap my right hand over my left wrist and clutch it to my chest. This can’t be happening! Without my ID bracelet I won’t be able to do anything, to go anywhere. Without my bracelet who will I be? I’m not even sure!

Maddie and I look at each other. What’s going on? “Maybe … they’ll scan them all together and return them later,” Maddie suggests. “Or they need to keep them somewhere safe, like everything else?”

“Hmmm … maybe … I guess so,” I murmur uncertainly. I watch as girl after girl has her bracelet cut off. It’s obvious that each one is disturbed by this. The girls frown or chew their fingernails; some even well up with tears, sniffling and rubbing their pink noses as they return to the group empty-wristed.

“Jordan Baker.” The pale blonde who was sitting beside Evelyn on the bus approaches Devi. Cringing, she presents her arm to Devi, but then pulls back. Jordan can’t bring herself to do it. Devi grabs at Jordan’s wrist and they start an awful sort of tug-of-war, Jordan struggling to pull away, Devi trying to hold the clippers with one hand and pry Jordan’s wrist away from her body with the other.

“I
need
your
bracelet,
Ms. Baker,” Devi commands.

Jordan shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Ms. Baker. It’s for your own safety.”