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I stared back at her, panicked, knowing that there was no way I was getting out of that room on my own. I was trapped. Helpless.

She tried to smile again. “It’s okay,” she said. “This isn’t the first time. And it . . .”

Becky’s voice trailed away, but I knew what she meant. I wasn’t anything special. I was just another kid—a prisoner or a test subject or who knows what—and I wasn’t going to be the last.

I let go of her, and a look of relief washed over Becky’s face. She ducked under my still-outstretched arms and moved back to the desk and the boxes I’d dropped on the floor. I turned, stunned and defeated, and watched as she fiddled needlessly with them. She wasn’t doing anything—just regaining her composure.

I spoke. “Okay.”

“You’ll wear it then?” Becky said, her voice lightened but her back still to me.

“I guess I have no choice.”

She turned. Her face beamed, and she held up the boxes. “Which do you want?”

“The watch, I guess.”

“That’s what most boys choose,” she said, quickly returning to her perky old self, though still rattled. Guilt was weighing down on me, but I tried to push those thoughts away. Maybe what I’d done was wrong, but Becky shouldn’t be helping the kidnappers, either.

She opened the box and pulled out the plain gray wristwatch, and then took it to her desk. She popped a panel off the back. “You’ll be pleased to know that it’s waterproof, so you can wear it in the shower.”

Yeah. That really makes up for everything.
I reluctantly sat back down.

She inserted a small chip that had been lying on the edge of her desk. “So, this will let you in to all the places you need to go—your dorm, your classroom, any place you have the contract for.”

“Contract—what’s that?”

“Oh yeah. That’s not exactly a rule, but here’s the ten-second version of how the contracts work: There are a lot of jobs that need to be done around here. There are no adults, which means there are no janitors or gardeners or even teachers. So, every couple of weeks, jobs are posted and we bid to see who does what.”

Becky brought the watch to me and put it on my wrist. It snapped snuggly—impossible to slide off.

“We bid with what? Money?”

“Points,” she said, sitting down beside me, one leg folded beneath her so she could face me. “We bid how many points we’re willing to do the job for, and then they give the contract to the lowest bidder. When you get paid, you can use the points to get clothes or food or whatever. I think that some of the guys in the dorms even bought some video games.”

“Does everyone have to have a job?” I had no intention of helping this school.

“Kind of.” She smiled, a little more obviously fake than before. She touched my hand again, too, which seemed almost rehearsed. “Things are different than they used to be. Better—way better. For a while, it was every man for himself. But everyone got angry, and no one was satisfied because the good jobs would get down to one point, and you can’t come close to buying anything with one point. So, people started getting together and bidding as a group. For example, all of my friends and I bid on the administration jobs. That worked a little better, because I wasn’t competing with my friends, but we were still competing with everyone else.”

“People want the jobs that bad?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said with a laugh. “You can get some fun things. And, as you keep pointing out, we’re kinda stuck here, so every little bit of fun helps. Anyway, my group got bigger and then we started making deals with other groups—we won’t bid on janitorial jobs if you don’t bid on administration jobs. That kind of thing.”

“So, like a union.” My foster dad two families ago—Mr. Bedke—had been a union organizer, and he was always on the phone trying to get the members to agree on something or other.

“I guess,” Becky said. “I don’t know much about unions. But in the last year or so we’ve been pretty formalized. All the jobs are split up between three groups now. We don’t bid on each other’s stuff, and that means that we all earn a lot of points.”

“I’ll probably have to join one of those three groups, right?”

“Yep,” she said. “Unfortunately, there’s a new rule”—she pointed at the security camera—“and I’m not allowed to tell you which group I’m in. But, like I said, my group has the administration contracts. You can ask around. It’d be great if you joined up.” She was smiling warmly, and I almost thought she was flirting with me—flirting with me to get me to join her weird union. And after what I’d just done to her.
How did I end up here?

I leaned back in the sofa, my legs sore from traveling all day. I tried to think of something I could say or do that would get me out of this school, or at least make things a little more normal, but nothing came to mind.

“Any more rules?” I finally asked.

She shrugged. “Don’t be tardy. Wear your uniform during class and meals. No drugs or alcohol, not that you could get them in here. Don’t destroy property. You know—common sense stuff. There’s a full list in your manual.”

Becky stood up. She seemed a little disappointed, but I didn’t know why. Was I supposed to try to talk her into spilling the name of her stupid job club?

“Do you want to see your dorm?” she asked.

I sighed. “No, but I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Becky didn’t answer, but her eyes said it all. I was stuck here.

We left her small office, and she made sure the door closed behind her.

“If you need anything,” she said, “you can always talk to me.” She pointed at a small call button next to her door. “If I’m not here, this will page me. It’s part of my contract.”

I nodded, but I didn’t have any intention of coming back down here. I was going to find normal people. Something told me that any help Becky had to offer was help I didn’t want.

We headed upstairs, passing carved wood, huge old paintings, and delicate moldings.

I suddenly realized there were no students in the halls.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“They’re in the dorms,” she said. “It’s against the rules to go down and wait for new students to arrive. Curtis and Carrie will get punished for that.”

“So they’re all locked in their dorms, locked in the building, locked in the wall, locked in the fence.”

Becky laughed. “Benson, I get the feeling you’re not happy. But, yes, they’re all in the dorms. Well, most of them. The group that has the cafeteria jobs will be down there making dinner. You can thank your lucky stars for that.”

“Why?”

“When you get into the dorms, everyone is going to ask you to join their group. You don’t want to join that one.”

I smiled. “I assume that’s not yours, then?”

“Ugh, no.”

We turned a corner and went up another set of stairs to the fourth floor.

“Here we are,” Becky said, stopping at a large wooden door. I heard a buzz. She pointed up at the ceiling, and I saw a round black device. “It sensed your chip. This door will open for all the boys, but not the girls. The buzz means it’s unlocked. You’ll be in room four twenty-one.”

I reached to try the knob, but her hand stopped mine.

“Benson,” she said, her voice low. She looked up into my eyes. “I’m serious. Follow the rules.”

Becky paused like she wanted to say more, but then turned on her heel and hurried back the way we’d come.

I opened the door and went inside.

Chapter Four

T
he hallway was packed with guys—maybe about twenty or so. Most were sitting on the floor, presumably waiting for me, and they popped to their feet as I entered the dorm.

They were all smiles and handshakes, greeting me warmly and reminding me more than a little bit of Becky. In the front of the group was a tall guy, with short, curly hair that had been on the receiving end of a huge amount of gel. He wore glasses with thin black frames and looked to be the tallest of the group. Becky had said no one was old enough to graduate, but he had to be.

“Benson,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

There was shouting somewhere down the hall, from behind the crowd. The tall guy directed me into a room.

“It’s quieter in here,” he said. “We can talk.”

I followed, more out of curiosity than anything else. Where else was I going to go?

Inside the room was a set of bunk beds, two desks, and a small sink and mirror. There were no sheets or blankets on the beds—it looked like no one actually lived here. He offered one of the desk chairs to me, and he took the other.

“My name’s Isaiah,” he said.

The guy who’d run after Ms. Vaughn—Curtis, I think—had said not to listen to Isaiah. I had no reason to trust Curtis, other than the fact that he’d tried to run, and that meant he had his head screwed on at least a little bit straighter than anyone else I’d met. Still, Isaiah seemed harmless.

“Becky told you about the gangs?”

Gangs?
I’d never been in a gang—never stayed in one place long enough—but I’d spent my life around them. I thought I’d left them when I flew out of Pittsburgh. Even so, looking at Isaiah, he obviously had a different idea of what gangs were. No one here looked violent or the least bit deviant. They were all clean-shaven, with pin-striped pants and starched shirts. And, from what I could tell, these were their casual clothes—none of them were wearing the uniform.

“She told me a little bit about different groups,” I said. “She didn’t say they were gangs, though.”

“They are gangs,” he said. “They’re dangerous and irresponsible. You’ll find, Benson, that there are a lot of kids who view this school as a free pass to do whatever they want. They love that there are no parents or teachers, and they can behave however they want to.”

“Sounds terrible,” I said sarcastically.

“It is terrible. Have you ever read
Lord of the Flies
?”

I nodded. Reading was one of the few things I was ever good at in school, probably because I spent so much time by myself.

“Good,” Isaiah said, seeming impressed. “Well, here at Maxfield we have a choice of how we want to live. We can either be like the characters in that book—violent and tribal and savage—or we can try to be civilized. I’ve been here for a long time, Benson, and I can assure you that civilization is the only way to go.”

There was sudden yelling from somewhere in the hallway, and Isaiah motioned for one of his friends to close the door.

I looked around at the six guys in the room. They seemed tense, like they were waiting for something—maybe for me to agree to join them. All I really wanted to do was to get back outside and figure out how I could escape this school. Being in foster care was better than being a prisoner. Besides, I only had nine more months until my eighteenth birthday, and then I could be out on my own. No schools, no foster families.

“So,” I said, “let me get this straight. You’re the nice gang? You follow the rules, just like Becky was talking about. Is she one of you?”

“Yes, Becky is one of us. But we’re not a gang. That’s my point. We’re not like the others. They do nothing but fight and wallow. We recognize that there are problems here—don’t think that we love this situation—but we’ve made a decision. We can be miserable and get ourselves killed, or we can thrive. We have chosen to thrive. We are not a gang. We’re the Society.”

I laughed, which made Isaiah scowl. “Society? Isn’t that just a fancy name for a gang?”

“We don’t behave like a gang,” he said. “We treat one another with respect. We help one another. We—”

He was interrupted by a crash against the door. Two of his friends jumped to their feet and braced it. I could hear muffled voices coming from the other side.

“Listen,” he said to me more urgently. “If you want to be safe, you want to be in the Society. We’re the largest group, and no one dares to cause problems with us.”

Judging by the pounding on the door, I doubted that was true.

“If you want to be happy, you also want to be with us. We don’t get punished like the others, because we hold ourselves to a strict code of conduct. We live right, and we do right.”

The door popped open, but the two guys pushed it closed. A third jumped up and held the knob so it couldn’t turn.

“Don’t you want to escape?” I asked, knowing that our conversation was going to end soon. “Do you always just follow the rules?”

“No good has ever come from breaking them,” he said. “No one escapes, and those who try get punished.”

All five of Isaiah’s Society friends were at the door now, holding it against whoever was on the outside.

“But look at you,” I said. “You’re obviously older than eighteen. You should be out of high school. How long are you going to stay here and wait?”

“I will stay here as long as it takes. I won’t throw myself into danger, knowing it won’t help anything. Things here can be good if you stay out of trouble. You just have to follow the rules.”

As if on cue, the door burst open about ten inches and the room filled with noise. One of Isaiah’s guards kicked at someone in the hall, and another managed to shove the door closed again.

I turned back to Isaiah. “So what is that, if you’re following the rules?”

“Havoc is out there,” Isaiah said, nodding at the door. “We’re protecting you from them.”

There was a thunderous crash in the hall, and the door shook. I couldn’t believe that all of this was happening just because I had to choose a gang.

“Havoc?”

“That’s one of the gangs,” he said. He was speaking quickly now. “Just a bunch of punks. When you meet them you’ll understand why we had to form the Society.”

The door was open a crack now, and the five Society guys couldn’t close it.

Isaiah grabbed my shoulder. “We want you, Benson. We’re the largest group and we have the most contracts—the good jobs. We do security, medical, administration, teaching—”

“Students do security?”

“We do,” he said, his eyes glued on the door. “As directed by the school.”

I shook his hand off my shoulder. “So you’re helping them keep us in here?”

The door flew open, and the five exhausted Society guards fell back.

A kid stormed through, followed by three of his friends. He was tall and skinny, with brown hair that was too long and hung down almost to his eyes. He still wore the uniform pants, but instead of a shirt he had on an oversize black hoodie draped in gold chains. A tattoo of a hawk’s talons encircled his left eye.

“I bet Isaiah told you that you need to play nice, follow the rules. Didn’t he?”

I tried to keep calm, but could feel my muscles tense. Even though this new kid was obviously trying to get me to join his gang, he looked ready for a fight. And I didn’t have a lot of confidence in Isaiah’s guys, either. If five of them couldn’t hold the door against these four, I doubted they’d be useful when fists started flying.

“We’re Havoc,” he said, staring me down. “We take care of our own.” He took a step back.

I spoke, keeping my voice as even as I could. I’d dealt with gangs before, and while I didn’t want to make him mad, I didn’t want to look weak, either. “All the gangs take care of their own.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do they?” He turned quickly to Isaiah and slapped his head, and then shoved him backward onto the floor. Isaiah didn’t fight back, but scooted against the wall, out of the way.

It was strange watching it. I’d seen one of the Society guys fighting at the doorway, but none of them moved to defend their leader.

The Havoc kid must have recognized my surprise. “They’re putting on a show,” he said with a laugh. “They want you to think that they’re the peaceful ones, that Isaiah is freaking Gandhi or something. But they fight. You’ll see.”

He stepped over to Isaiah again and moved like he was going to kick him, but stopped, smiling as Isaiah flinched.

“I’m Oakland,” he said, returning to me and puffing out his chest. “I don’t know what this little girl told you, but rules around here don’t mean a damn thing. There’s a camera right there—Isaiah, why don’t you go kiss it? Tell it I hit you.” He looked back at me. “I can beat the crap out of this moron right here and never get detention.”

I paused before responding, trying to choose my words carefully. “So I should join you because you can beat up somebody?” Oakland was taller than I was, but I doubted he was as strong as he was trying to make himself appear. Even with that bulk of his sweatshirt and chains he didn’t look very big.

“No,” he said, taking a step forward. “You should join Havoc because anyone can beat the crap out of anyone. You need someone watching your back.” His lips curled into a snarl that he probably thought was threatening. I wasn’t impressed.

There was a crowd at the doorway watching us. Most of them looked like Society kids, I guessed. Havoc was hugely outnumbered, and the Society could have easily stopped them. So Oakland was telling the truth. The Society was putting on a show. But I wondered how much of what Oakland was doing was real, too.

I sized up his three friends, who were now standing a few yards behind him. They were bigger than Oakland, but they looked stupider. Of course, anyone with intelligence wouldn’t wear huge gold chains around his neck when he went to a fight.

Oakland’s voice was low. “You have a choice, kid,” he said. “We point the gun. You choose if you want to be standing in front of it or behind.”

I took a breath. “I don’t know who you think you are,” I said quietly, watching Oakland’s eyes, “but I’ve been pushed around by tougher guys than you—and I’ve pushed back.”

Oakland took another step toward me.

“Back off,” I said.

“You’re going to join up with Isaiah here,” he said, a nasty smile creeping across his face. “You’ll be a perfect match—maybe you can share a bunk.”

“No. I’m not joining Isaiah. I don’t know what else there is, and I don’t care. I’m getting out of this place. You girls can stay here and play your—”

Before I could finish the sentence, Oakland shoved me, and I stumbled a few steps to the wall. But as he stepped toward me I launched my fist into his stomach. He staggered back and I leapt at him, grappling him around the waist and throwing him backward onto a desk.

A moment later his goons were on top of me, one trying to pry my arms off Oakland while another jumped on my back. I ignored them and threw another punch, this one glancing off Oakland’s cheek. I raised my hand to do it again, but someone got his arm around my neck.

I struggled to fight off the attacker but had to let go of Oakland to do it. I stood, the other guy’s arm tightening around my throat, and I tried to stumble back into the wall to crush him. As soon as I was off Oakland he jumped back at me, his first punches landing in my ribs. I tried to kick him away, but I could hardly breathe.

His fist connected with my face and a moment later I could feel my blood dribbling over my lips and chin. I swung my hand at his chains, caught one, and then yanked. He lurched forward, off balance, and I kicked him in the leg.

But I couldn’t keep it up. The arm around my neck was rigid and strong. My lungs were desperate for air but only a trickle was getting through.

I couldn’t move—I couldn’t get the arm off my neck, and I had run out of strength to stop Oakland. The other two goons were just watching and laughing. Oakland came at me again, but just before his fist connected he fell forward, collapsing into me and then falling to the floor.

Standing behind him was the guy who’d run after Ms. Vaughn’s car. Curtis.

“He said he doesn’t want to join Havoc or the Society,” Curtis said. “That means he’s in the V’s.” He looked at me. “Isn’t that right?”

I couldn’t speak. I tried to nod, but my neck was immobilized.

“Let him go, Skiver,” Curtis snapped. The room was silent for a moment, and then the arms around my neck released.

I sucked in air and stumbled forward, turning to keep my face to Oakland and Skiver.

“You’re with the V’s, right?” Curtis said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Sure,” I said, and held my hand against my face to stop the nosebleed.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

He backed out of the room, and I noticed that there were six or seven guys moving with him.

Oakland climbed to his feet. “You’re dead, Fisher.”

I didn’t like getting pushed around. “Bring it on.”

Curtis put his hand on my shoulder and led me into the hallway.

“I’m Curtis. And that probably wasn’t wise,” he said, a smile breaking across his face.

I nodded. I didn’t know anything about Curtis, other than that he had tried to run and he warned me about the other two gang leaders. That was good, I guess, but the V’s—whatever they were—could be just as bad as the others. Not that it mattered. I just needed to get back outside. I wasn’t going to stay long enough for any of this to matter.

Curtis led me through the crowd and down the long corridor. Some of the onlookers we passed looked angry, but others gave me pats on the back and shouts of welcome. We passed room 421 and kept going.

“I think I’m in there,” I called out.

He shook his head. “We’re moving you down to the V end.”

We passed two hallways that branched off the main one. I stopped at the junction. One side was neat and tidy, with nameplates on each of the doors. The other was vandalized and cluttered. The walls were scrawled with graffiti and the floor was littered with loose papers and dirty clothes. Strings of Christmas tree lights were hung haphazardly along the ceiling, and a dozen bras were draped over them. It looked like a cross between a homeless shelter and a frat house.