The Genetic Code

Chapter 3

I hate the attention. I hate the special treatment. I hate being a Perfect. I just want to go back to being invisible. That was so much easier.

Lunch ends and I've returned to the halls of the East Wing. I approach my locker, number 204. Back in the West Wing we didn't even get proper lockers — we carried everything in our spine-breaking backpacks or crammed the books under the table, so the concept is foreign to me.

It's locked by a passcode and fingerprint scan. I grip onto the handle and place my thumb onto the acrylic impression: it flashes blue and the locker pops open. My eyes widen in surprise. Everything here is built with the most avant-garde and up-to-date technology; it's cool but I'm not used to it yet.

As I check out my locker, I notice someone else beside me, a few lockers down. Flipping my head to the right, I'm faced with a familiar face... One I'd seen in these halls before, and then again in my own neighborhood. Finally I have a name to this mysterious face.

Sterling looks at me with a blank expression for a few seconds, seeming to calculate something in his head.

Before I can process what's happening, he takes two strides forward, uses one hand to slam my locker shut and rests the other on the locker next to my head, so that I'm pinned to the lockers behind me.

I've shrunk back against the lockers, giving a wide-eyed blink, my breathing stopped and heartbeat buzzing like a hummingbird's.

He's even taller than I thought, towering one head over me, and smells of sweat and softener intermingled.

Seeing him close up like this, I notice his prominent eyes — light grey with a slight greenish tinge, which seem to mesmerize a person with its glittering luster. His face is structured with sharp angles and cast in shadows. This is the face of an antagonizer, I quickly remind myself, someone who put a Regular in the hospital then had him kicked out of school.

He cocks his head to the side, appearing to study my features, his own remaining impassive. He's way too close for comfort, the tension between us palpable, throbbing in the air.

Then he grips my wrist, and pulls me away from the lockers, taking big steps forward down the hall, dragging me along.

My mind has gone blank, my mouth agape, attempting to fathom words, but to no avail. Who is this strange guy who hasn't even spoken one word to me, but takes my wrist and pulls me with him? Where is he taking me? The questions pop in my head, but there's no reply.

I try to shake out of his grip, but his hand is firm on my wrist. Students whir by and stare at us, and I just look helplessly at them. I know none of them will help me even if I ask — they're too caught up with themselves and their own lives to spare a thought for others — so I don't even bother.

Sterling seems to know exactly where he's going, heading straight towards an empty classroom at the end of the hall. A sudden fear seizes my heart. What does he plan to do in an empty classroom... Am I his next victim?

He pulls the door open and leads me inside, releasing my wrist. But what stands before me is even scarier than the scenarios I had drawn up in my mind.

Kera Rosamund stands in the middle of the classroom, with a minion on either side. She gives a sly smile, green eyes glinting.

"The girl's here," Sterling speaks to her detachedly.

"Yes. Thank you for your services, Sterling," Kera responds.

"So you'll get me out of the family dinner like our deal?"

"Of course, it's been nice doing business with you, Crawford."

"Can't say the same, Sis. Nothing's nice when it comes to you," he says dryly, dropping a sarcastic smile, before stalking out of the room. Kera holds her smile until the door slams shut, then exhales irritatedly, crossing her arms tightly.