Question Three
You work at a company with one of your friends.
Your friend is a computer whiz, and one day he tells you that he has hacked into the company’s accounts and discovered that another employee is stealing money.
If you tell the manager, she’s going to want to know how you found out.
If the manager hears that your friend has hacked into the company’s accounts, your friend will be fired. What should you do?
On a late September morning, Scar and I pile into Tammy’s Lexus SUV and Tammy drives us out of the city.
Far, far, far out of the city. Past new housing developments that are still mostly made up of empty plots of land, past outlet malls and cornfields.
Past the big water tower that always seemed to mark the edge of civilization, and through wide, empty fields, tall grass rippling around us like the ocean.
(Or, how I always imagined the ocean. I’ve never actually seen it.)
The farther out we drive, the tenser I get.
Scar and I spent the whole summer wondering what Luminary would be like.
We scoured the internet for photos and details, but there was nothing.
Aside from that one bare-bones website, it was as if the school didn’t exist. I’ve been trying not to read too much into it, but even military schools and juvenile detention centers put photos online.
How bad is this place if they don’t want us to know what it looks like?
Finally, after driving through miles of nothing but spindly trees and vacant fields, a tall brick wall comes into view. I find myself holding my breath as Tammy slows the car to a stop, running through every possible scenario for how this year might go.
A small crowd of students and their parents has already gathered outside the ivy-covered front gate when Scarlett and I approach.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but my new classmates don’t look too different from the students at Adams: They’re just a bunch of teens in hoodies and jeans, trying not to look too nervous or too excited or too interested in whatever their parents are saying.
According to the welcome email we received last week, parents aren’t allowed to accompany their kids into orientation, so a few minutes before the gates are scheduled to open, the adults all say their goodbyes.
Scarlett hugs Tammy, while I give her a grudging nod.
Then we grab our luggage and join the crowd waiting to enter.
“This doesn’t feel real,” Scarlett whispers, staring at the gate with an expression of naked awe. It makes her look even more endearing, like a child waiting to get into Disney World for the first time. “Are you nervous? I’m really nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous,” I whisper back, which is hypocritical, considering the anxiety swirling around my own belly. “Maybe it’s a simulation.”
Scar considers this, then adds, “Or a dream.”
“People don’t generally dream in tandem.”
“Oh, right.” The skin between her eyebrows creases. “Sometimes I forget we have different brains.”
I peer at the top of the brick wall, noticing that it’s—somewhat ominously—lined with long iron spikes. Are they intended to keep people from sneaking onto the grounds? To keep us from sneaking out? Or are they just to deter the birds from landing and shitting all over the wall?
The sun is barely up, and the early morning breeze is cold, fall weather beginning to creep in around the edges. I can’t be sure, but I think I smell something in the air, a smokiness just below the chill that makes me think of burning wood and crackling fire. A moment later, it’s gone.
Scar leans close again, whispering, “What do you think—”
A sound at the gate cuts her off. It’s a heavy thump, like someone’s unlocking a giant padlock. My heart jumps. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should’ve chosen military school. Who knows what’s on the other side of that wall?
The thump is followed by a sound of smoothly grinding gears that makes the hair on my arms stand up. Too late to change my mind now.
Here we go…
The crowd around us goes perfectly silent. I hold my breath, everything in my body humming.
It’s just a school, I tell myself. There’s no reason to be freaked out. It can’t be any worse than anywhere else I’ve been.
Then the gates swing outward.
A path of artfully tumbled bricks winds away from the front gate.
Flickering gas lamps line the path to either side, their soft glow lighting the surrounding trees like they’re aflame.
Everything else is bathed in a veil of early-morning fog, penetrated only by dusky sunlight that makes everything seem sepia toned.
In the distance stands a grand building that looks like the White House in miniature, columns surrounding the front doors like sentries.
Students filter onto the grounds in a daze, necks craned back, murmuring in awe.
I allow myself to move forward with them, inhaling deep.
Now that the gates are open, the scent I caught earlier is stronger.
It’s rich and earthy and a little sweet, that subtle smokiness still cutting through the cold.
It’s the smell of old books and pipe smoke and a crackling fire.
An incredible smell. Academia, if it were a scented candle.
Libraries and leather armchairs and knowledge. I can’t inhale deep enough.
“Hell’s bells,” murmurs someone from directly behind us.
It’s the kind of adorably antiquated phrase I’d expect from a little old Southern lady who just spilled her dainty cup of tea, but when I look over my shoulder, I see a tall, thin kid with glittery eye shadow.
They have the delicate bone structure of a character from a Gothic novel, and their skin is pale, almost translucent, and clear as Evian.
“Hell’s bells?” I repeat, and I think I spot the barest hint of pink color their pale cheeks. It vanishes quickly, a drop of blood spreading through water.
“Southern grandmother,” they explain, making a point of scanning my outfit, taking in my beloved oxblood Doc Marten Mary Janes, my baggy army-green cargo shorts, and my layered lace camisoles.
Clothes are the only thing I truly love in this world—other than Scarlett, of course.
They’re about expression, about making my outsides feel just a little bit more like my insides.
When I was younger, I used to be so jealous of all the nice designer clothes other kids had.
As I got older, I realized the stuff I could make or find at thrift stores was a million times more interesting.
The kid doesn’t smile, but they do arch a long, thin eyebrow.
It’s an impressive feat, this arched eyebrow.
Their expression is at once approving and chilly.
You dress well, but don’t let it go to your head, that eyebrow says.
Or else, It takes much more than clothes to impress me.
They remind me of a cat, that aggressive standoffishness.
“Hi, I’m Scarlett,” Scar says to them. If they’re a cat, then Scarlett is a bouncing puppy, or maybe a little duckling—completely immune to their iciness. “And I’m so sorry if this is really awkward of me to say, but you have the best face card I’ve ever seen in real life.”
Their lip twitches in what might be considered a smile, depending on how literal you are with definitions. “Seven,” they say, after a moment. “And…thank you.” Their eyes swing to me, and their eyebrow rises higher.
“Like the number?” I ask, instead of offering my own name.
“Lia, be nice.” Scarlett grabs my arm and drags me closer. “This is my sister, Lia.”
“Sister?” Seven asks, utter disbelief dripping from their words.
Scarlett and I couldn’t look less like sisters: Scarlett’s a quarter Japanese, half Brazilian, and blessed with the looks of a child beauty queen, whereas I resemble the ghost of a small Victorian boy who dyed his hair blue before dying of cholera.
I smirk. “Can’t you see the resemblance?”
“I was going to guess twins,” Seven adds without missing a beat.
“Do you know anything about this place?” I ask, but Seven shrugs.
“It’s giving dark academia,” they say. “No socials, no press releases online. They’re really leaning into the mystery.”
“Yeah, we didn’t find anything, either,” I add, hoping the disappointment in my voice hides my growing nerves. I was hoping one of the other students might have some information.
Seven glances at me. “By the way, I think that guy over there’s checking you out.”
They nod at a guy walking a few feet ahead of us.
He has dark hair shaved close on the sides and left long on top, smoothed carefully backward, and there are so many tattoos crawling over his brown skin that you almost can’t see the skin underneath.
My eyes linger on a wicked-looking claw of some sort stretching up his neck. Hot.
He catches my eye and gives a nod before turning back around.
Scar looks delighted. “Who is that?”
“Don’t know,” I tell her, adding a yet in my head.
“He’s gorgeous,” Scarlett adds. Loudly. I elbow her to shut up, but not before the guy turns to look at me again, smiling when he sees that I’m still looking.
He’s got good lips, I notice. I wonder what it would feel like to—
A distant, mournful horn suddenly cuts through the low murmur of conversation, distracting me from the very hot guy’s very good lips. Everyone stops walking and turns toward it.
Shadows move in the early morning dimness, a distant shape gliding toward us.
I seize up for a moment, inexplicably picturing something large and terrifying bearing down on us: a massive train, or some huge, dangerous animal.
Then a headlight flickers through the trees, and I manage to shake the fear away.
“What is that?” Seven murmurs.
Scar’s already bouncing up and down, excited. “It’s a trolley!” she announces.