Behind the Gates (4 page)

I
’m impressed by the dinner buffet — I have to stand there for a minute, staring at all the options. Pasta or salad or tofu burger or fried soycken or frozen soymilk … There isn’t steak or anything crazy, but when we sit down, Maddie says her tofu burger is the best she’s ever tasted. There’s not a lot of it, though, just enough for one serving. Like always. (Mom says people used to count their calories because they were afraid of eating too
much.
I can’t even imagine.)

The dining hall is huge, fitting in all three hundred of us at once. Apparently girls have been arriving by the busload all day, coming from Chicago and some other bigger cities in the area.

Girls are already sorting themselves into small cliques that sit together at the long tables. Evelyn, Maddie, and I eat together. Rosie joins the athletic crowd she befriended on the bus.

As I sit and eat a salad topped with grilled soycken, I continue to look around for electronics. I learn from some other girls also sitting at our table that the lack of outlets is just the beginning of the no-electronics story. CMS has no television, phone, or Internet service. Batteries are stockpiled but no one knows exactly where. At any rate, they’re not telling us students where. Hydro-and solar-power sources fuel the lamps and water systems but everyone will need to get used to pens and pencils.

After we eat, we’re told to assemble in another very big room right next door. Mrs. Brewster is there, sitting in a large, overstuffed chair. The rest of the staff surrounds her. Emmanuelle sits to the right of Mrs. Brewster, next to Devi. She smiles and waves to Maddie, Evelyn, and me as we enter.

When we’re all settled on the carpet around the staff, Mrs. Brewster stands.

“I trust you all enjoyed your meal,” she begins. She smiles and nods as a murmur of positive responses rises from the crowd. “We have some more school guidelines to go over now,” she says. “Since this is the first day, we have gone later than usual. Starting tomorrow, evening curfew will be seven o’clock.”

“Seven?!” Jordan Baker yelps.

“Let me remind you girls to
raise your hands
before speaking,” Mrs. Brewster insists. “Sorry,” Jordan mutters.

“At seven you will be expected to be in your rooms. By eight, lights must be out,” Mrs. Brewster continues. “Classes start at seven a.m., sharp, after breakfast, which is from five thirty to six thirty.”

A girl raises her hand and Mrs. Brewster points to her. “Won’t we have to get up in the dark?” she asks.

“Sometimes. Depending on the season,” Mrs. Brewster confirms without a note of apology. “Every day we will have a lot to cover. That’s why we rise early and go to sleep early. You girls represent the privileged children of the country, the inheritors of the earth.”

“Who wants it?” a girl sitting in back scoffs. “They can keep it!”

I expect Mrs. Brewster to scold her, but she doesn’t.

In bed by eig ht? Up by six? I haven’t kept those hours since I was in the first grade. I don’t know if I can even sleep at eight o’clock. Is it even dark at that hour? In the winter it will be, but not yet.

I’d been hoping for more freedom at Country Manor, but it’s really strict. I’m not sure how I feel about all this.

“Whether you accept the challenges that lie ahead or not, they will assuredly fall to you,” Mrs. Brewster says seriously. It’s almost like she’s been reading my mind. It actually scares me a little.

“Country Manor is not some luxury resort,” Mrs. Brewster continues, freaking me out even further. It’s as though she’s responding to everything I’ve been thinking. “If that’s what you are expecting, get rid of that notion right now. Every one of you will do her share. Kitchen duty, grounds patrol, and sanitation aide positions are assigned at the end of the week. Kitchen and sanitation jobs will rotate throughout the year, but patrol duties are
an honor assigned only to girls who prove themselves deserving of a position in the Student League. Those posts will be held as long as the chosen girls prove themselves worthy and dependable.”

“Big deal,” Evelyn says under her breath. “You get to patrol the grounds. What an honor.”

“All meals and classes will be taken here in the main building,” Mrs. Brewster goes on. “Behind the main building is the gym, where the pool is located. Behind that is the athletic field. That field is where you girls will learn sharpshooting, archery, and survival skills. Pay close attention to these classes. What you learn will be applied soon, when you are sent on overnights in the woods.”

I’m surprised to hear this — and from the looks on their faces, so is everyone else. Camping is not something anyone does anymore; it’s not safe for a lot of reasons.

“Aren’t there wild animals in the forest?” a girl asks after Mrs. Brewster points to her raised hand.

“And what about that rattlesnake you mentioned?” another girl blurts.

“If you pay strict attention during your classes, you will all be fully prepared before being sent out,” Mrs. Brewster assures them.

A dark-haired girl raises her hand and is called on. “Why do we have to practice all this nature stuff?” she asks. “Isn’t nature kind of ruined, anyway? I mean, who even goes outside?”

“Country Manor is located in one of the last of nature’s unspoiled strongholds. We feel it’s important for you girls to know nature so that you can protect it and restore the planet. When the natural world recovers from the current crisis, you will possess skills that might otherwise have been lost.”

“Do you really think nature can recover?” asks a girl with long, straight black hair. “I mean … in school they told us that the planet has been polluted beyond any chance of recovery.”

“They’re wrong,” Mrs. Brewster says. There is a passion in her voice I wouldn’t have suspected she was capable of. “CMS feels strongly that you girls need these skills
we will teach you to be productive members of the New Society.”

Mrs. Brewster says
New Society
just like that, like it’s capitalized — like it’s something we all know about already. But I’ve never heard that term before. It sounds kind of exciting, I have to admit. Maybe being a swimmer will have a place in this New Society, if they’re teaching us to clean up the lakes or whatever. And the sharpshooting, archery, and survival skills stuff sounds cool to me, too.

And they have a pool!

During my swim team days, I didn’t care that much about winning. Sometimes I won. Most of the time I placed.

Now I feel the stirrings of something new inside me. I glance at the clique of top athletes sitting in the corner and imagine myself sitting among them. It could happen if I give it my best shot.

Like a flash of light, all at once, I realize that being a champion swimmer is something I’ve wanted all my life. It just never seemed even remotely possible.

But I’m wondering if it’s possible here. As much as I love my parents and I know they love me, being a doctor was the only thing that was considered important. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t what I wanted. It might be superstrict here, but I think I’m going to really like it at Country Manor.

After Mrs. Brewster finishes answering questions, we’re allowed to wander around the grounds. “I want to read while we still have some light,” Maddie says as we leave the building. “Do you mind if I head back?”

“Sure, go on,” I agree. “See you back at the room.”

We’ve put our keys around our necks on chains and we wave them to each other with ironic smiles. It’s nice to have something like this to hang on to, now that we don’t have our IDs anymore.

I watch her go, then take off on my own. Of course, the first place I head for is the lake. As I watch the reflection of the sky darken in the water, I notice that the boys’ school is pretty well lit, even before nightfall.

The flutter of excitement I’d felt before grows a little stronger. I can figure out a stupid pencil — I’d been
taught how, after all. It has been a while, but whatever; everyone else is on the same page. Literally!

Before she finished her speech, Mrs. Brewster had said something about progress reports being sent to our parents, but this isn’t home. Mom and Dad will no longer be able to see me stumble over my math homework every single day like when I was in Chicago.

Of course, it isn’t complete freedom. Far from it. I still have a curfew, and I am still a kid. But look at this — I am all alone, practically in the woods.

Maybe I’ve found a New Society, after all.

O
n the first day of school we scramble to find the classes on the schedules we’ve been given. My first class is English. The teacher, Sasha, doesn’t even greet us. “Copy this into your notebooks, ladies” is all she says. Then she turns to the old-style blackboard and picks up a white stick of something I don’t recognize. With rapid movements she covers the blackboard in notes, all written in an artful, curved script. My grandmother wrote like this, I recall. Otherwise almost everyone prints these days.

Glancing around the room, I notice that everyone is having a hard time taking notes without their laptops or notepads. I actually get hand cramps from writing with
the pencil provided on my desk. And forget using an eraser! They don’t even work!

My notebook winds up full of scratch-outs and scribbles. It’s a complete mess and I hope no one will check it.

The rest of our morning is spent on other familiar subjects — social studies, algebra, and science.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that all the English and social studies books are from before 1980?” Evelyn points out as we walk to our next class.

“The school is old, and it’s probably hard to get supplies,” Maddie suggests. “You know how hard it is to get anything since the War started.”

“She’s right,” I say. Mom and Dad told me that back in the day, there were huge stores that sold tons and tons of cheap stuff. Everything was affordable because it was all made in countries where people didn’t have any rights and no one made enough money.

But honestly, I might not have even noticed the old textbooks if Evelyn hadn’t pointed them out. I like my classes — a lot. The teachers seem pretty nice, so far.
They’re all young women with various accents and nationalities — except for Mrs. Brewster, who doesn’t have any kind of accent and doesn’t teach any courses. She’s just in charge.

We’re supposed to call all the teachers by their first names, like Devi and Emmanuelle and Sasha. It’s hard to get used to, especially since things are pretty formal here otherwise. But the only last name we use is Mrs. Brewster’s — and no one knows her first name. Evelyn calls her “Bunny” as a joke sometimes.

In the afternoon we have speech and debate. After that we have Emmanuelle for outdoor survival skills. I know afternoons will be my favorite. I’m not sure which of these two classes I love the most.

In every class we’re told that we are part of the New Society. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that in the New Society we will be the privileged elite who will be expected to lead the masses when the War is over. Our teachers keep referring to us as the
future of the country.

“That’s kind of obnoxious, don’t you think?” Maddie
says to me at dinner. “Why should we be the future of the country just because we can afford to go to this school? If you think about it, it’s offensive.”

I shrug — I kind of like the idea. It gives me a feeling of having a serious purpose. I’d never felt like that in school before. Mostly all of it had seemed unimportant. All I could think was,
Why do we even have to know this stuff?
At CMS, I don’t feel that way.

“Of course it’s offensive,” Maddie insists, replying to my shrug. “If your parents hadn’t paid for me to be here, my parents couldn’t have afforded it.”

My eyes dart around quickly, making sure no one is listening. “Shh,” I warn.

Maddie lowers her voice. “Now I’m a ‘future leader’ because I’m here. If I couldn’t afford to be here, who would I be? A big nobody?”

“But you
are
here,” I remind her.

“That’s not the point.”

I know it’s not the point, but this is a touchy subject and I want to get off it. “Well, I’m just happy we’re here,” I say. “And you should be, too.”

Evelyn sits down at our table. “I have to ask you guys something about science,” she says. “Don’t you think it’s odd that we’ll be learning an awful lot about starting fires, building explosives, and making poisonous gases?”

“I had fun building that fire today,” I say.

“Sure, it was fun,” Evelyn admits, “but don’t you think it’s a little weird that tomorrow we’re going to learn how to blow stuff up?”

I only shrug, again, because I think that’s going to be really interesting, too. For the first time in my life I enjoy science class. Maybe it is a little strange, but then, what’s normal anymore?

On the second day of outdoor skills Rosie and I are paired up. I’m not exactly thrilled about this. The first thing we do is review fire-building from the day before. While I’m off in the woods collecting branches for kindling, Rosie stays behind arranging the stones in a circle.
She leaves me to do all the work while she sits and plays with rocks,
I complain silently to myself.
Does she think I’m her servant?
But when I return, a bundle of
branches in both arms, Rosie already has the beginnings of a fire.

“How did you do that so fast?” I ask.

“I just grabbed some small twigs for tinder to get started,” Rosie says, sitting back on her heels. “Nice timing. We need the larger kindling branches to keep this thing burning.”

Did she just give me a compliment?

I set my bundle down and we both get to work building a tepee-shaped structure that quickly lights. “You got nice dry branches. Good job,” Rosie says as we back away from the rising flames.

Was that
two
compliments?

After teaching us to douse the fires and scatter the ashes, Emmanuelle hands us each a .22-caliber lightweight rifle for target shooting. Once more, Rosie and I are paired up. We lie side by side on a dirt mound facing two stands with paper targets stapled into them.

Emmanuelle shows us the correct position for holding the rifle and how to sight the middle of the target. “Remember, girls, even though these are relatively small
rifles, they’re still going to kick up on you when they’re fired. You have to be able to find just the right spot below the target to compensate for that kick. It will take some practice to get it right. If you don’t figure that out, all your shots will go high and you won’t hit the center.”

Emmanuelle shouts the commands and we shoot. Then she takes down the targets. Just as she predicted, my shots from the first round are all completely outside the bull’s-eye area. Rosie’s bullet holes cluster just above it. She checks her paper target and then reaches for mine. For some reason, I let her take it.

“Aim just below the target,” she advises.

“Then I’ll miss,” I argue. I wonder if she’s just messing with me.

“No, you won’t,” she says confidently, returning the paper. “Just try it.”

Emmanuelle calls for another round of firing. Despite my misgivings, I aim low, like Rosie suggested.

When Emmanuelle shows us our results after that round, mine are much better. I haven’t hit the center, but all my shots are now much closer than before.

I notice Rosie smiling down at her paper and lean over to see her result. Bull’s-eye! One of her shots made it dead center into the middle.

“Wow! Nice work,” I say.

“Thanks,” Rosie replies.

“You should hang that on our front door,” I suggest. “No one, not even Mrs. Brewster, will want to mess with us then.”

Rosie laughs. “No, I guess not.”

“How’d you learn to shoot like that?” I ask.

Rosie gets to her feet. “Just beginner’s luck,” she says.

“Really?” I question doubtfully.

“Yeah.”

At dinner that night Maddie asks me what was going on with Rosie at the rifle range. “Did I see you guys laughing about something?”

“Yeah, we were kind of having fun. You know, Rosie isn’t so bad, at least not when she’s in her element,” I say. “And her element seems to be the outdoors. You should see how fast she can build a fire.”

No sooner have the words left my mouth than Rosie walks by. “Rosie!” I call, waving her over to the table. “Come sit!”

But Rosie doesn’t even look at us as she carries her tray to the elite sporty girls’ table.

“I guess she’s not in her element anymore,” Maddie quips.

I’m baffled and confused. I thought Rosie and I were friends now. I can’t believe she’d just blow us off like that. If nothing else, we are suite mates. She could have at least waved.

Evelyn slides into a seat across from Maddie and me. “I’ve decided that I’m applying to the Student League,” she tells us.

“What?” Maddie asks.

“You know, the group that does grounds patrols, including patrols after lights-out.”

“Wait a minute. Wasn’t it you who made a face and said it sounded dumb when Mrs. Brewster mentioned that?” I recalled.

Evelyn smiles sheepishly. “I know, but …”

“What changed your mind?” Maddie asks.

Evelyn eagerly leans in closer to us, clearly excited about what she’s going to say. “The League members get special night-vision masks and keys to the main hall.”

“Cool,” Maddie says, nodding. “Totally cool.”

“Seriously,” I agree.

“Don’t you think this could be the best way to dig up dirt on CMS?” Evelyn adds.

I have to laugh a little as I shake my head. “I should have known that was your real reason!” All these conspiracy theories are starting to seem more than a little ridiculous, but Evelyn won’t give up.

“Isn’t it a good idea?” Evelyn presses.

“It sounds like the best way to get in deep trouble,” I comment.

“No, it’s not,” Evelyn disagrees, brushing away the idea with a wave of her hand. “Why don’t you guys apply with me?”

“Not me,” I state. “I’m fine with kitchen duty. Cleanup crew doesn’t sound like much fun, but maybe in the kitchen I can grab some extra food.”

“Getting fat off stolen food also sounds like a good way to get in trouble,” Evelyn argues.

I laugh. “The way they work us in this place, I could eat twice the food and still not get fat.”

“How about you, Maddie?” Evelyn asks. “Why don’t you apply?”

“I don’t know,” Maddie answers. “I’m not sure I’d like it.”

“Don’t do it,” I say a little too forcefully. I look at her pointedly. The last thing we need is for Maddie to call attention to herself. We want her to stay as below the radar as possible.

“Let her make up her own mind,” Evelyn scolds mildly. “What are you, the bossy twin?”

“Yeah,” Maddie agrees. “I’ll make up my own mind, Ms. Bossy Twin.”