The Ivory Tower

Chapter Two

Not anymore. Not for a long time. I wondered when it would stop hurting, but I supposed rejection never did.

"Get it together," I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair, catching a glimpse of my own embroidered number: 677. I sighed and clasped my hands behind my back.

Every other group in camp stood out, easily identified by the style or condition of their clothes—elite, farmer, factory, service—but not me. I fit none of those categories. The only group I identified with—the cabin kids—did nothing to put my heart at ease. We survived on scraps. Forgotten or ignored until desperation hit.

"Christine!" I yelled, waving my hands over my head as she came into view, walking close behind her parents. I ran toward her and stopped when I saw her face.

Her downcast head explained why she had been missing. Dark shadows outlined her blank expression, and the discolored remnants of a bruise spotted her left cheek. She stood stoically in line, ignoring my outburst. The pointed glares of scorn and disappointment from Christine's parents told me exactly what they thought of me.

"Christine," I yelled again, scowling. This wasn't like her. Something was wrong. I sighed, feeling a pang of responsibility for my friend's pain.

But was it really my fault? I hadn't found the tower, after all—that was Christine. I hadn't said anything to anyone, but she obviously had. I didn't do anything wrong, and yet no matter how I tried to justify it, I couldn't escape the guilt, deserved or not.

Retracing my steps, I took my normal place at the end of the line, ignoring Mrs. Booker's narrowed eyelids and the tight line of her lips. She was trying to determine just how much trouble I had caused this time. Memories of transgressions flickered through my mind, and a smile grew on my lips. It had a price, but being an orphan gave me a certain amount of freedom, too.

The line quieted as the first set of bells rang.

In the silence of the line, the wind howled, sending a shiver down my spine. I crossed my arms to block the chill, and goosebumps grew under the scratchy fabric of my shirt. The worn burlap did little to block the force of the wind. Behind me, the younger orphans' teeth chattered.

"Eli, why didn't you grab your jacket?" I asked, pulling the young boy to my side, ruffling his mop of dark curls.

He shrugged and looked up at me with a goofy grin, sticking his tongue out between his missing two front teeth.

"You think so?" I asked, narrowing my eyes playfully at him.

He wiggled out of my grasp and ran to join the other kids from the cabin. Rosey, the only red-headed girl in camp, giggled when he rushed past her and ducked out of sight. Freckles danced on her cheeks with each laugh as she glanced between the little boy and me.

"Watch it," an annoyed voice called out from behind them. "You almost ruined it!"

Eli had scooted too far behind Rosey and tripped over Sarah. With a huff, Sarah blew her bangs out of her face and pointed a broken stick she'd been drawing with at the two six-year-olds. She flung dust off the end with each wave of her hand.

Deep down, I smiled. Sarah, for all her protests, had gotten exactly what she wanted—two new workers she could boss around. Being two years older than them gave her an unearned feeling of superiority. I had rescued those kids and a handful of the other young ones from her unreasonable demands many times before.

"You're doing it wrong—not like that—Eli, no!" her voice rose to a shrill squeak.

I cleared my throat and raised my eyebrow at her, pointing at the ground. She glanced over at me, and her eyes darted away.