Unplugged: The New World (#1, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Two

"What is so funny?"

"You can't possibly believe that mom wrote this!" He gasps, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?"

"You're starting to sound like grandma," he replies, smirking.

"Well, have you ever considered that--?" Before I can finish my retort, a familiar monotone, male voice rings throughout the lobby: "The ceremony will begin in just a moment--please, if you will, line up alphabetically according to your last names." Without another glance at me, Mark walks off towards the line spiraling around the room. I take deep breaths until my anger subsides, and then I hesitantly find my place in line behind him. We have the same last name--I believe it starts with a "P"?--but because Mark is younger he has the privilege of being first. Now, I'm starting to wonder whether it's a privilege at all. As order slowly comes to the room, Mark turns and hisses in my ear.

"You've got to get your head out of the clouds and start thinking about your future, Enna." I open my mouth to retort, but I can't come up with anything to say. He must be right: if anything I've started to question really is meant for evil, then why aren't there mobs in the street--millions of angry people calling for revolution? Possibly, deep down, I was so disconcerted with the way things are that I formulated a refuge in my head. I created false hope for myself and, in doing so, placed myself in danger of being caught an unorthodox.

And yet... What if there is some truth behind my grandmother's mumbled complaints, behind the letter in my pocket?

"Good afternoon, everyone!" I snap my head towards the center of the room, startled, to see a short, plump man with dark hair and a face that seems to perpetually mock anyone it looks at.

"After your journeys here at the AGD, I can see that you've all grown spectacularly! I am principal Dan Sykes or, as you know me, Mr. Sykes." He smiles around at us and the wrinkles in his round face become more evident. I think to myself that he's lying: none of us truly know him. The only people students actually come in contact with are teachers, students of their own gender, and, occasionally, their own parents. The one thing I do recognize about this man, though, is his droning voice, which can be heard over the intercom on rare occasions.

"Today is an important day for all of you. Today, you will each pass from the simple status of student to the important position of adulthood, or, Memberhood. Twelve years of schooling haven't gone to waste, though. We're hopeful that you've been equipped with the ideals and doctrines that will mold you into successful members of our society. These ideals include the knowledge that everything you do should be to improve the sustainability and standard of living of everyone, and the belief in the power of our government. The United States was built on collective equality and..."

I begin to tune out Mr. Sykes' speech. Even though I've never heard it, I recognize it. The teachers in all of my classes preach basically the exact same things: obey the government, don't offend anyone with your opinion, and ensure that everyone receives equal treatment... Though I can't put my finger on it or mold it into words, I see something wrong with these teachings. I feel something wrong. The letter my mother wrote for me only strengthens my suspicions. I force the mumbling voice out of my consciousness and observe the silent students. Even though they don't speak, the boys cast mischievous looks at each other over their shoulders and the girls giggle behind their hands. I wonder what happens between schooling and adulthood that turns a person into an emotionless machine...

My mother's note, carefully whispered warnings, my own observations--the meager collection of my evidence all points to one inevitable conclusion: being plugged in is dangerous, and should be avoided at all costs. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy.

"Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for!"

I am suddenly snapped out of my epitome as the lobby erupts into cheers and laughter and high-fives. The line lurches forward as students eagerly shuffle ahead.

"Where are we going?" I ask, in a panic. The same desperate thought pulses through me to the rhythm of my racing heart: I can't, I can't, I can't... Mark turns around and looks at me over his shoulder with a mania in his eyes I've never seen before. They've convinced him. "We're going to be plugged in! Didn't you listen?"

I swallow nervously and nod. Instead of focusing on what's happening I focus on how it's happening. According to the clock above the carved, marble slate, the line progresses forward about every two minutes. That means that every two minutes, one person is being plugged in. A new RScreen, a newly dulled mind. I close my eyes and wait, moving forward when necessary.

I don't know how much time passes before I open my eyes again. I am now so close to the front of the line that I can see a door. In a moment, the door opens and a freckly, red-haired girl steps out--wearing a screen--while a small boy walks in. Anne, I realize in horror. I can barely recognize her without a large smile on her face; in fact, there isn't an expression on her face at all. She walks rhythmically towards the room where the graduates gather. I also notice a door labeled "Emergency Exit" right next to it. As she walks past me, I reach out and grab her arm.

"Anne?" She turns her head towards me but doesn't respond. "Anne? It's me, Enna! Your roommate! Your friend..."

"I have to go now." She pulls her arm away with irresistible force and I gape as she walks into the holding room.

"Enna, what are you doing?" Mark turns around and glares at me, reaching out to grip my wrist. "What was that?"

"Listen, Mark, we can't do this! It's dangerous, and--Don't you dare look at me like I'm crazy!" I hiss, yanking my arm from his grasp.

"This is about that letter, isn't it?" He sneers. "Enna, just drop it, alright? You're going to get us both into trouble!" The line moves forward again and again, until Mark is behind only two more people. I seriously debate punching him, but I quickly decide against it.

"You're right. We are going to be in trouble if we go through with this!" He turns around to face forward and ignores me. I silently curse him and tap my foot speedily, a nervous habit. Now there's no one in front of Mark. I stare at his back then lift my gaze to his face, where his bright eyes scan the line of students behind us. I can't bear to see him lifeless, cold, hard. I can't.

Another minute: my breaths even quicker, my hands even shakier. Then the door opens. Mark straightens his back and begins to walk towards the room, head held high. In a flash of animal instinct--like a rabbit naturally fleeing from its predator--I grab his arm and sprint towards the escape door.

"Stop them!"