Scripted (18 page)

“Here.” Lia slaps
a paper onto my lunch tray. “Double A application.”

“Thanks,” I say, but I'm barely paying attention. I've had trouble falling asleep every night since my Character Report. I hid out in my room all weekend. A Missive came—something about promoting a new brand of bread. I barely read it, just turned it off and sat on my bed, contemplating how good it would feel to smash the Missivor to pieces.

I've spent every second since I left Hidehall thinking about how I can get out of the suggestion without getting cut.

“Nettie, you're not even looking at it,” Lia chides.

I examine the paper. “The Apprenticeship Announcement Application” in bold at the top. Stars on the borders. Two lines dead center: “Name” and “Apprenticeship Selection.” I flip the paper over. A listing of all the apprenticeships, each with the number of slots available in parentheses. There's mine:
High School Math Teacher (1).

“Hot off the press,” Lia trumpets. “We're handing them out tomorrow. But, for my friends, a head start.”

“A head start on a lifetime of drudgery,” Lincoln drawls across from me. “Thanks.” He's wearing sunglasses inside; it's an affectation he likes to take up after parties—even if the party was more than seventy-two hours ago. He should give the sunglasses to Martin, who could use them. His face looks dim and dull, and he has a hacking cough that he keeps trying to stifle with the plaid handkerchief Lincoln lent him. Too much partying.

Lia rolls her eyes. “I'm excited about being a Blisslet, Lincoln. Too bad whatever you're doing sucks so much.” Lincoln's refused to share his pick. She turns to Henna. “The stars look so plus ten. Great job.”

Henna's wearing a turban again; this time it's pink. “It was your idea,” she replies, the faintest trace of a smug smile on her face.

Lincoln fills his application out and pushes Lia's lucky red pen across the table to Selwyn, who picks up the pen, scribbles her name and then quickly,
Cellist.
“There, done,” she says briskly, putting the pen on my tray. “Your turn.”

I look at her composed face, her serene black eyes. She must have been promised the apprenticeship as her last reward. There's no other way her attitude would change so fast. What did she have to do for it?

I eye the pen on my tray warily. “I'll do it later,” I mutter, passing it back to Lia.

“What's wrong, StressNett?” she sighs, putting the cap back on.

“Nothing.” I fiddle with the hemp bracelet I put on this morning. I'd been so out of it, I forgot about the motif change, and now I'm back in the stupid tunic too.

“I heard things are going very right for Nettie,” Lincoln says, his almond-shaped eyes slitting slyly. I brace myself, knowing what's coming. “Don't you have a new boyfriend?”

“Stop it.” I glare at him.

“Who's the lucky guy?” Martin asks.

No one speaks. I can't look up.

Lia breaks the silence. “Oh, it's Callen.” She laughs, short and sharp. But at least she's trying. “Nettie and Callen are dating. Kind of strange, but life moves on.”

“Oh.” Martin fiddles with a fork, speechless. “Oh.”

“Impressive, Nettie,” Lincoln says, punching me lightly in the arm, like tracs after a good play. “Watch out, though. You might end in Mollie's gossip column with a scandal like this.”

“Hanging out with Mollie a lot these days, Linc?” Lia asks innocently, at last revealing she knows the girl he had us guessing about so fervently three weeks ago.

“Who told you that?” he demands, eyes blazing. Selwyn's eyes are glued to her plate, but he doesn't notice. He and Lia argue, and I'm glad to have escaped further scrutiny about Callen.

“He's looking at you,” Selwyn whispers to me.

“Yeah?” I glance across the room, and our eyes meet. He gives me a half wave, and I smile back weakly. I hadn't wanted to see him this weekend, debating what I should do about the suggestion.

“You two are so cute,” Selwyn pronounces. Her gaze falls on the application again. “You're really not going to fill it out?”

I fold the application and put it in my pocket. “Later, I guess.” My plate is clear, and there are still fifteen minutes before class starts. Over the weekend, I'd had a flood of ideas about how to get out of the suggestion, but most were desperate and crazy, like stow away on a freighter. Only one seemed feasible, though still a long shot. I decide it's now or never.

“You're almost done eating, right?” I say to Selwyn. “Wanna come with me to the bathroom before class? I need to fix my makeup.”

“Okay,” Selwyn agrees, finishing the last of her fries.

“I'll come with you,” Lia cuts in.

I hesitate, but can't think of a good excuse to leave her behind. “Yeah, come on.” I lead them to the first-floor bathroom, which hasn't been outfitted with new cameras since a pipe burst there a week or so ago. In addition to flooding, the lights cut out. They cleared up the mess, but I think it has to dry out before they can install any new electric wiring.

As soon as we enter, I heave open the window that faces the road, then flatten myself against the door so no one can interrupt us. Lia turns on some faucets and leans against the wall opposite me, crossing her arms. Selwyn stands in the middle of the floor, tapping her cello case.

“They've gone crazy with the Initiative,” I mouth. “Ending the rewards. Cutting people who don't do what they want. I want to stop them.”

Selwyn gasps on-mic, and Lia shushes her, but her eyes are wide—she didn't know either.

“They didn't tell you at your Reports?” I ask.

Selwyn shakes her head and clutches her cello case more closely to her body.

“No, same old, same old with the reward for me,” Lia mouths.

“But you started earlier than me.” I'm swerved off. “Why would they tell only me?”

“Well, maybe it comes with being the special favorite of the Initiative. What's the suggestion?” Lia leaves the wall and strolls over to me. “I bet it's something they think you won't do without such a harsh threat.”

“The suggestion itself isn't important,” I mouth, Luz's threats about cutting anyone I tell ringing in my ears. “What's important is that I don't want to do it. I think if we all refuse to take the suggestions, they might listen and let us out of the Initiative.”

“What would we say?” Selwyn lets go of her cello case and joins us by the door. “They haven't threatened me with being cut yet, but I—I didn't like my last suggestion very much. I don't want to be in the Initiative either.”

“Well, I haven't liked
any
of mine,” Lia mouths emphatically. She put her hands on her hips. “But I did them. What is it, Nettie?” she presses.

“Forget what it was,” I mouth, avoiding her eyes.

“Nettie,” Lia mouths, eyes narrowed, “how bad could it be? Don't you always pretend like you don't want to do them? Remember the flirting one? You told me, ‘I don't even want to have to
see
him after what he did to you.' Just stop.” She says this last word on-mic, her voice dripping with disgust.

Selwyn touches her arm. “Lia, I think Nettie's right. Threatening to cut her is
horrible.
I'm sick of the Initiative too. It's not worth the ratings. Look what they made me do.” She pushes her blouse down over her shoulder, and there on her skin is a huge collage of musical notation: bars, notes, and clefs, starting at her collarbone. She turns, and I see the rounded curves of an instrument, what must be a cello, on her shoulder, continuing down her back under her blouse.

Lia stays quiet but backs away, stunned. The tattoo looks awful. I remember our shopping trip and how Selwyn had ducked into Inked Up and sent me home. I thought she just wanted to flirt with Garrick. She'd been getting a tattoo.

“They promised me the cello apprenticeship,” Selwyn mouths. “But now I have to see this every day of my life.”

“I don't know, Selwyn—a lot of Characters would kill for their first choice apprenticeship,” Lia mouths. She's recovered from her shock at the tattoo. Her hands are back on her hips. “You two are so sensitive. Bek has given me suggestions my whole life. She didn't call them that, and there weren't any rewards, but she's always given me tips on how to raise my ratings.” She shrugs. “And it worked. Just listen to Media1.”

“But—” I break off as the bathroom door jolts against me. Someone wants to get in, and I push back with all my strength, praying it's not a cricket. The pressure subsides—must have been a student.

“But I
have
listened,” I finish. “I listened, and it got Revere cut, and now they think they can do whatever they want.”

Selwyn's eyes get teary. “Revere.”

Lia throws an accusatory look in my direction.
See what you've done.
She puts her arm around Selwyn, consoling her, and when she next looks at me, her eyes are flashing with rage.

“Nettie, God, all you think about is yourself lately. Your apprenticeship, your love life, your suggestions. Other people have problems too. Now you want help getting
out
of the Initiative? Haven't I done enough for you? I gave you the idea for the math apprenticeship in the first place, and I obviously helped you pick your boyfriend.”

“
I'm
the one who only thinks about herself?” I demand, anger rising so quickly in me that I don't have time to think. Words come flying out, things I've buried for a long time. “I bend over backward for you
constantly.
I swear, if I let you, you'd tell me a better way to breathe. And if I have to hear about the stupid Double A program one more time—”

“Oh, I'm sorry for caring about my future.” She throws up her hands. “It's so terrible that I care about creating a memorable day for other Characters. I guess you and Callen think I should just shun the world and find a rock to sit on all day,” she mouths, her face red with fury. “You two are perfect together. I am sick of your superior attitudes.”

“What about ‘friendship is more important than boys'?”

“I
am
being your friend,” she mouths. “I'm being honest. It's not about your being with Callen. It's about how you act about
everything.
The company had to push you into this romance because you refuse to ever take changes. You're always worried you'll end up like your mother, but it's too late. You
are
like her. Scared.”

“I'm right to be scared,” I mouth back. “You should be too, after what I saw in the courtyard.”

Selwyn breaks away from Lia and turns to me. “Wait, what'd you see?”

I hesitate; the sight of her wan face and terrified dark eyes makes me want to protect her from the truth. But if I'm going to help Scoop tell the whole island, I should be able to tell Selwyn.

“Remember I told you about the building behind Character Relations, where they keep Patriots before transferring them to the Drowned Lands? I saw them there, and . . .” I move closer to her ear, whispering everything while Lia paces the floor. Selwyn brings her hand to her mouth, biting down on her knuckles. When I'm done, I take a step back, and she looks worse than ever, her eyes now vacant.

“Selwyn?” Lia says on-mic, darting back over to her.

Selwyn begins to mouth something, but all that comes out is a huge wail. Lia looks over her shoulder at me, alarmed.

“How could they?” Selwyn says on-mic, tears running down her face. “To Revere? To your dad?”

“Shhh.” Lia brings her fingers to her lips. “My dad is fine,” she says hastily on-mic, even though that's not the father Selwyn meant.

“Media1 hates us,” Selwyn says, her voice loud.
Still on-mic.
“I'm sick of the Initiative too. I never wanted to—”

Lia quickly claps her hand over Selwyn's mouth.

“We have to get to class,” I say, my voice trembling. I step away from the door, but then none of us move. We're frozen in place until Ayana Lemon comes in, her high ponytail bouncing behind her. Lia drops her hand from Selwyn's mouth.

“Is everything okay in here?” Ayana asks, hugging herself as if she needs to be shielded from the frostiness between us.

“Yeah,” Lia says quickly. “But we should get going.”

We file out of the bathroom, Ayana watching us leave, plum lips slightly parted, on the brink of asking us what's going on again. She doesn't get the chance. I stick close to Selwyn, scanning the mostly empty hall, tense, waiting for a cricket to emerge and reprimand her. Selwyn's walk is listless, and the squeaks of the rolling cello case seem to mock her somber mood.

Lia's ahead of us, and she's just about to turn the corner to our lockers when I call out, “I'm going to walk Selwyn to her lesson.”

“Fine,” she calls back without turning around.

Selwyn and I trudge together in silence, wordlessly turning right into the hallway lined with the soundproofed music practice rooms. Selwyn clings to me. I squeeze her hand. We pause outside her practice room. Inside, her teacher is doing her own warm-up exercises.

“I don't want to go in,” Selwyn says, nails digging into my arm. I understand this feeling between us now, a bond of fear. It yanks me back to the day they took Belle. I remember Selwyn twisting her long necklace and her wobbly voice and my own split-second certainty that they were coming for me.

“You don't have to. I'll skip history, and we can go somewhere else.”

“To the zoo,” she whispers, a smile breaking out across her tearstained face.

“Or the beach.” I gently start to pry her hand from my arm.

“Or the Granary depot tunnel.” She giggles, releasing me.

“Yeah, let's tag,” I joke. We dissolve into laughter, and the cello playing stops. Mrs. Taro appears at the door.