Once (25 page)

Reginald and his team loaded themselves into the second car while the soldiers stood in the street, waiting for us. “I don't know if that's practical. You have the wedding to prepare for, and it might bring up—”

“Please,” I tried. “I want to see it just one last time. I spent twelve years of my life there. It's important to me. Besides, I could speak to the students as the Princess of The New America.” I tried to keep my voice even. The soldiers were all looking up, waiting for us to descend the stairs. A few people on the street had stopped to see the spectacle: the King and his daughter out and about in the City.

He started toward me, his arm around my shoulder. “I suppose it's not a bad idea,” he said. “I've heard reports that the girls were very confused by your sudden disappearance.” We slid into the cool car, his hand heavy on mine. “I suppose so, yes,” he said. “But we'll have to send soldiers with you. And you'll take Beatrice.”

I smiled, the first genuine smile of the day. “Thank you,” I said, as the car started back toward the Palace. “Thank you, Father. Thank you.”

RAIN STREAMED DOWN THE JEEP'S WINDOWS IN NARROW
, twisting rivers. Beatrice sat beside me, her hand on mine, as the dark wilderness spread out before us. I took it all in: the houses overgrown with ivy, the broken road that wound for miles, dotted with orange traffic cones. Old cars sat abandoned on the side of the highway, their gas tanks left open by travelers who'd tried to siphon fuel. Every part of it felt familiar, more like home than anything else—even the Palace, my suite, School.

“I haven't seen this in nearly a decade,” Beatrice said. “It's worse than I remembered.”

Two female soldiers sat in the front seat. The driver, a young blond girl with an oval birthmark on her cheek, scanned the horizon, looking for any signs of gangs. “I love it,” I said breathlessly, staring at the purple wildflowers that sprouted up in the cracks of an old parking lot. A giant factory stood in the distance,
HOME DEPOT
written on its side in faded print.

We'd been traveling for hours, but the time slipped away easily. Trees snaked around one another, winding up toward the sky. Bicycle wheels were tangled with flowers and the rain accumulated in potholes, forming shallow, murky puddles. The other Jeep was right behind us, pitching over the same mounds of pavement that we had, slowing as we slowed, watching us from the back.

We would be in the woods again. The abandoned shacks and stores would provide cover as Caleb and I moved east, away from the City, the Schools, and the camps. The plan had been set in motion. The morning of my wedding, as I weaved through the congested City streets, blending in with the crowds, the dissidents would work with their contact inside the prison to secure Caleb's release.

Then we'd move through the tunnel, leave the City, and wait. We'd live in the eastern edge of the country, where the land was not visited as much by soldiers. We'd keep in contact with the Trail until the dissidents had mobilized, until the next steps were planned. For the first time in weeks I felt a sense of purpose, of control. The future was not just a string of dinners and cocktails and public addresses, of lies uttered with a tight, false smile.

“That's it up there,” the soldier in the passenger seat said, pointing to the high stone wall. She was shorter than the other soldier, her machine gun resting across her muscular legs. The King had sent the few female troops he had along with us, knowing that Headmistress Burns would never permit men inside the compound.

Beatrice squeezed my hand. “They were juvenile detention centers before the plague.” She pointed at the sharp, coiled wire that sat on the top of the building. “Holding cells for children who had committed crimes.”

Rain battered the car. When we reached the wall, the soldiers exchanged paperwork with the female guards out front, their uniforms soaked through. After a few minutes we were let in. The Jeep pulled alongside the stone building where I'd eaten my meals for twelve years.

Now that we were inside, the excitement of the journey was gone. I stared across the lake at the windowless building, the place where Pip, Ruby, and Arden were all being held. The dinner churned in my stomach. I looked at the bushes beside the dining hall, the ones with the slight ditch underneath them. It was the exact spot I'd found Arden the night she escaped. When she revealed the truth about the Graduates.

My past rose up around me—the School, the lawn, the lake, all of it reminding me of my life before. Through the rain I could make out the library window on the fourth floor where Pip and I had sat reading, stopping sometimes to watch the sparrows outside. The apple tree was still there, across the compound. We would lie under it in the summer months enjoying the shade. The metal spoke jutted out of the ground where we used to play horseshoes. I'd tripped over it once, the top of it splitting my shin.

“I have a feeling …,” Beatrice began, peering out the rain-beaded window. The soldiers stepped out of the Jeeps to speak with the School guards. “… that just maybe … Who knows, right?” She didn't have to go on. She had asked me that morning, the question posed in half sentences, about whether her daughter could be at the School. It was possible, but improbable. I doubted that the King would've allowed her to come if her daughter was here, and I didn't remember any girl named Sarah. I had told her as much, but I could see now that she'd thought only of this as she stared out the window for all those miles, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of hair.

“There's always the chance,” I said, squeezing her hand. “We can hope.”

I looked out the side window, through the wall of rain, at the figure coming toward us. She stood under a giant black umbrella, her gray rain slicker falling past her knees. Even from twenty feet away I recognized her, her slow uneven steps, her square jaw, the hair that was always roped back into a tight bun.

Headmistress Burns.

She approached the side of the Jeep, staring at me through the rain. A soldier opened the door and helped me down the high step. “Princess Genevieve,” Headmistress said, her voice slow and deliberate, lingering over my new title. “How delightful of you to grace us with your presence.” She took another umbrella from her side and wrapped her hand around its neck, slowly expanding its cloth dome.

“Hello, Headmistress,” I said, as the guard helped Beatrice out behind me. “It's delightful to be here.” I kept my chin up, my shoulders back, careful not to reveal the terror I felt. I hated that she had this effect on me, even now, when I was no longer under her supervision.

Beatrice took the umbrella and held it above us. Her presence by my side comforted me. “This is Beatrice,” I said as we started toward the dining building. “She'll be staying the night with me.”

“So I've been told,” Headmistress Burns said, looking straight ahead. “They've cleared out an upstairs bedroom for you two, as well as one for your armed escorts. It's nothing fancy, just the same beds you slept in when you were here. I hope you're not terribly offended by them now.” Each word was tinged with malice. There was no way for me to respond.

She opened the door to the building and gestured for us to go inside. The hallway was quiet except for the low hum of the generators. I stamped the water off my feet as we hung up our coats in the closet. “The girls are waiting for you in the main dining hall,” Headmistress continued. “You can imagine how confused they were when you disappeared the night before graduation. First Arden, then you. It raised a lot of questions for them, especially these younger ones.”

“I understand.”

“Your father reached out to me regarding this visit. I've been told that you're speaking tonight on the value of your education and your royal duties in The New America. And that you will reassure these young women of the gift they have been given just by being here.”

“That's correct,” I said, the heat creeping into my cheeks. “Are these all the girls in the School?” I glanced sideways at Beatrice.

“Yes,” Headmistress said, turning on her heel. “Shall we begin then? There's only an hour until lights out.”

We went down the same tiled corridor I'd walked through hundreds of times before, Pip and Ruby arm in arm as we went to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. We'd crept in late one night, trying to sneak extra puddings from the kitchen, when Ruby had screamed, swearing a rat had darted over her feet. We ran all the way back up to the dorm room, not stopping until we were crowded in my cot, the blanket pulled over our heads.

Beatrice was wringing her fingers together. I set my hand on her back to calm her, but it didn't help. I could feel each breath, short and fast, beneath her sweater. We finally reached the main hall, a giant room with metal tables bolted to the floor. More than one hundred girls sat there, all over the age of twelve. The youngest ones had probably been given over by parents who now lived in the City—parents like Beatrice who'd believed their daughters would have a better life. The oldest were orphans like me.

They straightened up in their seats when they saw me, their whispers giving way to complete silence. “You all know Princess Genevieve,” Headmistress Burns said, her voice drained of all enthusiasm. “Please rise and show her your respect.”

The girls stood and curtsied at the same time. They were wearing the same jumpers I'd worn every day that I was here, the New American crest pasted unflatteringly over the front. “Good evening, Your Royal Highness,” they said in unison. I recognized a black-haired eleventh year in the front. She'd played in the band the night before graduation, the music swirling in the air above the lake.

I gestured for them to sit. “Good evening,” I said, my voice echoing in the room. I scanned the crowd, recognizing the faces of some of the students who had been below me in School. Seema, a dark-eyed girl with smooth, almond-colored skin, offered me a tiny wave. She'd helped Teacher Fran in the library, checking out the weathered art history books I'd loved. She was always apologizing for the missing volumes. “Thank you for inviting me back. I recognize many of you from my time here. For so many years this place was my home. I felt so safe here, and well loved.” Headmistress Burns crossed her arms over her chest, watching me from the side of the room. Beatrice stood beside her, worrying the buttons on her dress as she scanned the crowd, studying each girl, searching each face. “I know my leaving School caused some confusion for all of you. And now you've heard the news from the City—my father is the King, and I am the Princess of The New America.”

At that, the girls cheered. I stood there, trying to smile, but my face felt stiff. My stomach was twisted and tense, my dinner threatening to come up. “I've wanted to speak to you directly and tell you that there will be no greater champion for you inside the City of Sand. I will do everything I can to advocate for your needs.” It was sincere. It was vague enough to invite interpretation. I couldn't lie to them, their excited faces reminding me of my own so many years before.

“I was given so much time for my studies. I became an artist, a pianist, a reader, a writer, among many other things. Take advantage of that.” A hand shot up in the back of the crowd, then another, then a third, until a quarter of the girls had theirs raised, waiting for me to call on them. “I guess we're ready for questions,” I said.
It's just a matter of time
, I kept telling myself, looking into their faces. The tunnels would be finished, the rest of the weapons smuggled through. The dissidents would organize soon. We just had to wait.

I called on a short girl in the back with a long black braid. “What are your duties as Princess?” she asked.

I picked at the skin on my finger. I wanted to tell her how all power had been taken from me the moment I'd stepped inside the Palace, how the King would only let me speak if it was to support the regime. “I've been visiting a lot of the people in the City, in all different places, to tell them about the King's vision for The New America.”

“Who are your friends?” another girl asked.

I turned to Beatrice, who was standing beside Headmistress Burns. She bit down on her finger as she looked over the front row of girls, searching each face for Sarah. I couldn't speak, hardly noticed the girl's
Excuse me, Princess?
As Beatrice reached the end of the row her hands shook, her features twisting in a pained expression. Then she started to cry, the tears coming so fast she didn't have time to stop them. Instead she turned and ran out, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

I didn't think. I just darted out into the hall, past the two soldiers who stood on either side of the door. “Beatrice?” I called, starting down the tile corridor. “Beatrice?” But the only sound was my own voice, echoing in the hall, repeating her name in a question.

“YOU'LL BE STAYING ON THE THIRD FLOOR,” TEACHER AGNES
said as we started up the stairs. She glanced every now and then at Beatrice, whose face was still swollen and red. “It's good to see you again,” she added. Her gaze met mine.

Teacher Agnes's shoulders hunched forward as she conquered each step, moving slowly beside me, her knotted fingers clutching the railing. She had been a constant presence in my life, even after I'd left School. I heard her voice sometimes when Caleb touched the nape of my neck, when his fingers danced over my stomach. I had hated her, the fury coming to me as I remembered everything she had said in those classes, how she'd spoken of the manipulative nature of all men, how love was just a lie, the greatest tool wielded against women to make them vulnerable.