Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 9

A flood of students from the dorms heads outside, presumably to the "Little Theater," so I knock the dirt off my boots and join the herd.

We walk a couple of blocks and approach another old building with an empty marquis sign. The large wooden doors have elaborate brass handles, but they're old and turning green with age. This theater might have been fancy once upon a time, but now it's dilapidated enough that the Evolved have turned it over to the Throwbacks.

Thinking that the inside will be equally dilapidated, I'm awestruck at my first glimpse of the theater's lobby. Everything is covered in paneled wood with a golden finish, hand-polished to perfection. The classic beauty of the theater outshines even the flashy Evolved playhouses I visited as a kid with my parents.

There's the faintest smell of popcorn in the air, and all of the students are openmouthed as they check out the old box office, where physical tickets were sold back in the day. We go through another set of doors into the "Little Theater" itself. Why is it called "little" when it easily seats two thousand people? It's dark and several degrees cooler than the lobby.

There is a hushed expectation in the air that calls out to the same part of me that loved the debate team, especially championship matches with a full room of people watching. The wide stage at the other end of the room is equipped with the latest technology, integrating floors, walls, and ceilings with the latest end to end holographic 3-D panels that project any setting a director can dream up.

Right now, the stage is set to be medieval France, judging by the flags flying from the rough stone buildings lining a cobbled street. The shadow of a guillotine looms in the distance. The sight makes me shiver, thinking of how those stones had run red with blood during the Reign of Terror.

Students fill the front rows of plush chairs that allow you to adjust your comfort settings for softness, angle, and height. There are about fifty students in my class, and about two-thirds of them are cloned from easily recognizable actors or historical figures.

Music lilts from the surround-sound speakers, and my eyes shift to the stage. I sit up straighter in my seat when I recognize Crew's bulky physique as he struts down the street of the set. Behind him is a tall, imposing man who is so thin he could be mistaken for a skeleton. Every hair on his graying head is perfectly placed, and then slathered with gel so that it won't move.

The skeletal man approaches the podium and steeples his long, pale fingers. "Welcome, class. I am your headmaster, Dr. Hunter. I will have silence."

The students stop whispering. My breath catches at the sight of the headmaster's bare left wrist. He's Evolved.

"Tomorrow your training in the theater arts will begin. Doubtless, you all harbor dreams of fame and fortune though you know that such a path is unlikely. However, the world also needs acting teachers, stagehands, hostesses at restaurants, and entertainment for parties. If you all remain focused and obedient to the rules of this institution, you will find yourself employed according to your skills in two years' time.

"This school will not tolerate disorderly conduct of any kind, including meetings of more than three students without an Evolved monitor present, run-ins with police, or staying out past curfew."

Curfew? Memories of Addie hustling out of our house to make it home before ten o'clock come back to me. That rule applies to me, too, now. Before today, I'd never considered it as anything more than a nuisance. Now, it's yet another reminder that I'm only a step above a house pet in the eyes of the Evolved.

"If you follow the rules and heed my direction, you will discover that you are indeed lucky to be singled out from your more common brethren and given the opportunity to breathe the same air as those whose Status exceeds your own."