986 (Complex Series, #1)

Chapter Three

I sit on my bed, and a new worry arrives. The same worried anticipation everyone else feels. I fold my hands, and then unfold them. I scratch my leg and find myself tapping my fingers. I force myself to stop. I stand. Stretch. Sit. My fingers fiddle with my MCC.

When Morning Meal ended, we went back to our rooms. We now have ten minutes to do any final mental preparation before we present our first Gratitude Speech. Everyone else has their MCCs now, clutched in their fists.

Ellen Windsor, one of the two Heads, will speak to us for a couple minutes before the Opening Speeches begin. Then we’ll start. The lower numbers will go first. I’ll be towards the end, since my numbers is one of the highest.

I watch my roommates, trying to get my mind off of the speeches.

Piper’s big blue eyes are closed, her head tilted down. She’s breathing deeply. Her hands shake as she brushes away a strand of blonde hair that’s escaped her braid.

Dana focuses on the steel gray wall in front of her. Her mouth silently moves, practicing her speech in her head. Her skin is a few shades darker than mine, but it means nothing to me. Her frizzy, dark brown braid trails over her shoulder. Her fingers distractedly scratch the inside of her elbow.

Kate paces back and forth across the room, her black braid swinging from side to side. Her sharp green eyes flash to me, narrowing in a glare, before passing away.

The normal Teaching Bell rings. We all stand, if we aren’t already, and stride out the door. The hall fills with girls on their way to the Lecture Hall in orderly silence. Nobody pushes or shouts. Nobody says anything. We walk the same, even speed. Just like we are told.

We flood through the doors of the Lecture hall and find our seats. Mine’s in the 12th row, near the back. One of the first seats in that row. I stop at the seat labeled 986 and sit down.  Sitting and waiting. Again.

Everyone finds their seats. Every seat is filled except for the normal few in the back. Officials close the heavy, steel doors, standing in front of them. Back straight. Silent as always. Officials talk only when they have to. Every Official’s hair is pulled tight into a bun. Not a stray hair. Black pants, black shoes, and black long sleeved shirts. Flawlessly intimidating.

Everyone sits quietly. Either with our legs or ankles crossed. Hands on our laps. Staring straight ahead. Not a sound escapes our lips.

I watch out of the corner of my eye as five new Officials stalk in. Each grips a small hologram generator. They claim the row of empty seats in the back. They activate their holograms and rapidly type into them.

I direct my attention back to the front after I see another Official climbs up to the stage approaches the podium in the middle. She speaks into the microphone. “I would now like to present Ellen Windsor.”

We clap for five seconds like we were taught in Etiquette Teaching. We have to count. We practiced.

A woman totters up to the stage in high heels, almost tripping over her silvery green gown. Blond, almost white hair curls around her face. Red, red lipstick sticks to her lips. She does what I think is supposed to be a smile, though it looks more like a snarl.

“Hello,” she says, chirping into the microphone. “I’m Ellen Windsor.”

As if we didn’t already know. Everyone knows the names of the Heads. They’ve been drilled into our brains since we were born. Besides, the Official just presented her.

“Today is a fabulous day. The Opening Speeches of the Gratitude Ceremony. I don’t know about you, but I just love Opening Speeches.” She’s too enthusiastic.