34 Students Remaining
Get out before it’s too late.
Get out of where? The dorm? Luminary?
And too late for what?
I sleep in fits and bursts, barely able to stay unconscious for more than a few hours at a time. And when I wake up the next morning, the first thing I see is my open closet door.
I crawl out of bed and push inside, quickly finding the notch marks on the back of my closet wall. Three sets of five notches, grouped together, reminding me of a tally.
Who made them? It couldn’t have been another student. It must’ve been whoever had lived in this house before it was turned into a school dormitory.
But the get out note was tucked under my mattress. That couldn’t have been left by the person who’d owned the house before.
So who left it?
One of the TAs? A teacher? Another student? And does it have anything to do with the notches? Or is it some sort of weird coincidence that there’s both a note and a tally in my room?
The lump in my throat grows bigger. It seems like a pretty big coincidence. I swallow, but it’s no use. The lump just sits there until finally I shove the note into my pocket.
Maybe this is the start of another “practical” test. One of the TAs who hauled me out of bed for the World War II escape room could’ve planted it. But I can’t figure out which class it might be for, or what I’m supposed to do with it.
According to the class lists, five more students have gone home just since last night.
I’m convinced it has to be some mistake.
Five people? In just one night? I hold my breath, scanning the list for Scarlett’s name, and when I find her, I release it all in an exhale that sounds almost like a sob.
Thank God she’s still here. And so are Zo, Seven, Mando, and Rani. Relief makes me dizzy.
But Zachary’s name isn’t there anymore. And neither is Megan Holler, a kid who was in my and Ian’s History and Politics class, or Carlos Ramirez, who Scar and I occasionally talk to during Physics, or Ava Anderson, or Hazel Collins…
The weight in my gut grows heavier. I hadn’t realized it would hurt this much to see all these names disappear.
I hug Scar tight when I find her waiting for me outside the Innovator dorm, so relieved to see her in person.
As we walk to the cafeteria, she tells me about how she had to diagnose a fake disease that broke out in Biology.
Everyone else is waiting in the cafeteria, talking about their own tests.
Zo and the rest of her French class were blindfolded, taken to a part of campus they’d never been to before, and forced to use French phrases to find their way back.
Students in Seven’s History and Politics class were put on trial for imaginary crimes and expected to use legal precedents, constitutional arguments, and courtroom strategies to defend themselves before juries of their classmates.
“Was anyone found guilty?” I want to know.
Seven nods. “Yeah, a couple of students didn’t make great arguments. Our instructor asked them to stay behind after class.”
“Are they still here?” I ask.
Seven shakes their head. “They aren’t on the class list anymore, either.”
I can feel the get out note in my pocket, the paper rustling whenever I shift my weight in my seat. It’s a test, I tell myself. Just another test. But what is it testing me on? And how long do I have to complete it before I’m asked to go home, too?
A door slams on the opposite side of the cafeteria, distracting me.
I glance up as Ian and those awful twins, Mark and Adam, walk in.
They cross the cafeteria and drop into seats at their usual table.
Ian briefly catches my eye. I don’t think he’s actually looking at me, but then he flashes some kind of sarcastic salute.
What’s that supposed to mean? Aye aye, captain?
I flip him the bird in response—the British V sign, which is so much cooler than the American middle finger and usually doesn’t get you in trouble—and he smirks and shakes his head.
“On the bright side, at least now you don’t have to work with him anymore,” Scarlett points out.
I pull my eyes away from Ian’s table. “What do you mean?”
“Your project’s over, right?” she reminds me. “Doesn’t that mean you guys are done being partners?”
“Right,” I say. I hadn’t thought about that before, and I’m surprised by the twinge of disappointment I feel. “Bright side.”
That night, I wake around midnight and spend several moments staring up at my ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about the get out note and the tests. When it becomes clear that I’m not going to fall back asleep, I crawl out of my bed and sneak out of my room.
The dorm is silent and dark as a grave. I walk outside barefoot and stand on the porch, listening to the wind in the trees, watching fireflies whisper through the brush.
Everything is soft and hazy, and I’m hit, once again, with a rush of love for this place.
It’s so beautiful here. Nighttime rendered in watercolor blues and blacks and purples.
A movement in the shadows catches my eye. Someone’s out here with me. A guy. I turn toward the figure, but I don’t feel afraid. Somewhere deep in my bones I expected this. It feels like a plan we’d made in a dream. Like fate.
He’s waiting just below the big oak tree in the front yard, and, God, the darkness loves him.
Shadows shroud him like a cloak, hiding him from eager eyes.
He leans against the trunk of the tree with one leg kicked up behind him, a single dandelion pinched between his fingers.
The dandelion is the only thing the moonlight touches.
It’s a wish dandelion, made of silver fluff instead of yellow petals.
It looks like the flower is glowing in his fingers.
I walk up to him, grass blades crunching beneath my bare feet, dew tickling my toes.
“Did you make a wish?” I ask.
The shadows shift as he lifts his head, dandelion slipping from his fingers.
And then he’s reaching for me. His hands are in my hair, his lips pressed against my lips.
There’s no space between our bodies. I pull up his shirt, slide my hands over his abdomen.
His skin is warm. He releases a groan from somewhere deep inside himself, deeper than his stomach, and then he’s moving around me, pushing me up against the tree. He pins my hands above my head.
His mouth tastes like peppermint. His lips are softer than I expected, his cheeks rougher. His fingers trail down my arms. I want him closer.
And then I wake up for real.