The Sky is Everywhere

Chapter Three

I think of Roan on the other side of that fence, his hair so richly red under the sun, and then I think of the fox I saw, running free in this prison.

Whoever Roan is, whatever he wants, I can't betray him to the Handlers.

I do want to see him again, and the feeling is so alien to me. I don't quite know how to process it.

The door opens and Taffy comes in, tucking her bushy hair behind her ears.

"There you are," she says. "Afternoon training's about to start."

I'm taken aback. I didn't spend long talking to Roan, which means I've spent most of my two hours of rec time up here in my room, completely lost in the chaos of my own head.

I lift Boots off my lap and set him down on the bed. He protests a bit, but then curls up in a ball on my pillow.

"Are you ready?" Taffy says.

I nod, and we leave the room together.

Every kid in the CC has to train.

When my floor was younger and living on the lower floors, we were schooled as well as physically trained, but now that we're approaching the end of our time here, schooling has finished and there is only training.

The first afternoon drill lasts a couple of hours, followed by a break to refuel with snacks, and then a second drill. During the winter months, we do the second drill in the dark.

The drills differ from day to day, but they always involve cardio/aerobic, strength and endurance training, and stretching exercises to increase flexibility. We're told that this will help our performance during the Trials.

I don't mind the exercise; it helps me blot out everything in my head. But Priya, who is less than five feet tall and slender as a sapling, struggles. Before coming to the CC, she never did any exercise, and even though she's greatly improved over the years she's been here, it's still much more of a challenge for her than it is for the rest of us.

We do push-ups side by side, and her matchstick arms tremble with the effort. Her teeth are clenched, flashes of white against her dark skin.

"You can do this," I murmur, trying to encourage her, but when Ripley insists we do another round, Priya's arms buckle and she collapses, face-first, on the ground. Her long black braid trails in the dirt.

"Get up," Ripley barks.

None of the Handlers care that Priya hasn't been trained for this the way we have. They don't care that they're expecting her to keep up with people who have been doing this for so much longer.

Priya hauls herself back into position. Tears glitter in her eyes.

I hear whispered voices, and then a loud laugh that I know is Cole's.

Sometimes I think that people like her choose to be cruel because it's the only kind of power they have in this place. But Cole hasn't always been this bad. These last few months, it's as if something has blackened and twisted inside her, but sometimes I think I see the faintest shadow of what might almost be regret in her eyes.

I don't know why and I'm not sure I care. All that matters to me is that she targets the people I care about.

Balancing my weight on one arm, I lift my other hand and flash my middle finger in Cole's general direction. Taffy taught me that.