Nightingale (The Sensitives) Part 5

"As I'm sure you know, Lark was unable to sit for her a.s.sessment because she was kidnapped," Annalise chides.

With wide eyes, the teacher wrings her hands together. "Yes, of course," she stutters. "I'm thrilled you're home, safe and sound."

"I need your wristlet," Dawson says. The teacher holds out her hand, as if this level of security is a normal part of her day. Dawson scans it. "She's clear."

The teacher flutters about, shifting items around the desk. "Take your seat," she says. No Miss Lark or Miss Greene. Which means she's not one of us.

I slip off my coat and hand it to Dawson. To my surprise, he turns not toward the door, but to the back of the room where the rest of my guards stand.

Kyra grins and slides behind a desk. I shoot her a puzzled look, thinking maybe she's testing with me since she hasn't completed her a.s.sessments. But there's only one tablet.

"Your mother secured permission for us to remain in the room with you during the testing," Annalise says, pulling her tablet from her satchel. "Best of luck."

"Best of luck," the other guards mumble. Oliver is already lost in his wristlet, tapping away. Probably playing a game. And Kyra is no doubt listening to music from the way she bobs her head to an unheard beat. She sees me staring and flashes an encouraging smile before turning her attention to her shiny, new, green wristlet.

How did I not see that earlier? When did Kyra get a States woman wristlet? Or better yet, why did she get one without testing?

I drop heavily into my seat and tap the tablet on. The screen flickers to life and a familiar sense of compet.i.tion kicks in.

The test isn't difficult and for three hours, I lose myself in academics, typing out answers, sorting complex groupings, and doing my best. Until I get to the diplomacy section.

The questions here are easy, too. Almost too easy. I frown at the test. There are only twelve questions left.

My hand trembles as I punch in the answer for the next question.

And the next.

I stare at the third question. It's a general knowledge one about treaties with the Center and Eastern societies. Even if I slept through twelve years of Societies cla.s.s, I should still get this one right.

But if I score too high in Leadership, then what? Will Mother force me into that career? Or one of the other areas I'm testing in? I have no doubt that given the opportunity, Mother will keep me in San Francisco. Far, far away from the greenhouses and my dream job.

She's given me back my magic, but it's up to me to claim my career choice. My finger hovers over the tablet before typing out the answer-one I know is wrong, but only slightly so.

I read the next question and again, give a slightly wrong answer.

When I finish, I go back and change a few answers in every section except Agriculture. In that part, I scan my answers, doubling checking their accuracy. Henry would be proud.

I pause. Henry.

Why won't Mother let me talk about him to the healers? What is she hiding?

I must hesitate too long, because Annalise rushes to my side. "Is something wrong?"

"Henry...he..." My mind churns, trying to work out...something.

Annalise rests her hand on my arm and my mind stills. "He was your Agriculture teacher. You worked with him frequently."

I draw my brows together. "I know."

"You're going to run out of time if you don't finish soon." Annalise pushes my tablet toward me.

"Right." I stare at the screen. Every answer appears filled in, so I rise from my seat and walk slowly toward the front of the room.

"I'm finished."

The teacher takes the tablet. "Would you like to wait while I calculate the results? It could take twenty minutes depending on how loaded the system is."

Anxiety crawls up my arms, down my torso and explodes in my gut. "Yes, I'd like to wait."

She smiles at me. "I'll be back shortly."

I slink back to my desk and Kyra moves up to sit next to me. "You did fabo, didn't you?"

I shrug. With the questions I threw, I'm actually not sure how I'll score.

"You did. I could tell. You went into the Lark-school-zone. Completely focused." She holds up her shiny green wristlet. "I made a new mix. Do you want to listen?"

I shake my head. "When did you get the new arm decoration?"

Kyra's fingers trace the intricate carving of her wristlet. "This morning when Annalise sent me ahead to the State. It's pretty, isn't it?"

"Did you test for it?" I don't hide the bitterness in my words.

She purses her lips before answering. "No."

Flashes of red dance before my eyes. Am I the only one who has to follow official channels? Mother just gave Kyra a wristlet and I had to sit through three hours of grueling tests. Where's the fairness in that?

"Don't be mad. Malin felt your rescue was test enough to prove my placement."

I snort and don't bother to hide my annoyance. It's not that I want to break the rules, I just want everyone else to follow them also. Is that too much to ask?

"You know I despise tests," Kyra says. This is true. Once, to get out of an exam in Societies, Kyra hid in a bathroom and then claimed she had her schedule confused.

"Everyone hates tests," I snap.

"Except you. Have pity on us mere mortals." She pushes out her bottom lip and bats her round eyes at me in the most ridiculous way, and I can't help but smile.

Nervous energy builds inside me and to keep my legs from bouncing away, I stand and walk to the window. As I stare across the white hills, my breath forms a film of condensation. When we were little, Kyra and I would draw pictures on the steamy kitchen windows while we waited for Bethina to make us cookies.

I close my eyes and remember how cozy it felt. Sometimes Bethina would sing songs about old pirates and blind mice. And when the cookies were done, she'd give us both one extra for keeping her company.

"We should go out tomorrow," Kyra says, joining me at the window. "To celebrate. Maybe see a concert? Maz said there's a fabo band playing." She holds her hand over her mouth in an attempt to hide her words from my other guards. "In the Haight."

I raise my eyebrows. The Haight is a notorious pit of debauchery and the seedy underbelly of San Francisco. No respectful States person would be seen there.

It's also where Sensitive sentencings take place.

"I already told you I don't feel up to it. Besides, I doubt Mother would let me go to the Haight. Especially after dark. I'm barely allowed out of my room." I side-eye the rest of my guards. "And when I am, I have an escort."

The cla.s.sroom door swings open and draws my attention to the front of the room. My stomach drops when the teacher stops near her desk. This moment could change my entire life. If I didn't score well, because of my intentional wrong answers, I'll be sent to some meaningless, low-level job.

The teacher fidgets with her tablet while I hold my breath.

Please, please let me get Agriculture.

"Congratulations, Lark. You placed in the top two percent in Agriculture." My breath whooshes out of me and I grin like a fool at Kyra. It takes me a moment to realize the teacher is still speaking.

"What?" I ask.

"You also scored in top two percent in Leadership." She beams at me like this is a good thing. "Would you like your scores in the other areas?"

"No." My voice is barely audible over the howling wind and snow lashing the window. I place my hand over my heart, hoping to calm its thrumming against my ribcage.

I scored too high in Leadership.

"See? I told you." Kyra claps my shoulder in congratulations. Oliver and Dawson do the same. Only Annalise remains silent. Watching me.

I twist my dark ponytail into a knot at the base of my neck. The snow falls harder now, completely obscuring the world beyond the window.

There will be no more time in the greenhouses for me. No more pretending I can have that sort of life.

I'm going to State. To work with Mother.

7.

Dozens of gowns hang before me and I run my hands over them. Taffeta, silk, slim-cut, voluminous. Mother thought of every occasion when she stocked my wardrobe.

"Did you see this?" Kyra beams an image onto my wallscreen. "Look at that woman's dress? She's supposed to be an amba.s.sador, but she's dressed like a common worker."

I collapse into the mess of pillows on the bed. "I'm going to end up dressed like that at this rate." Mother has ordered me to a dinner tonight for visiting diplomats. Even though I'd rather sit in my room and sulk over my a.s.sessment scores, I can't not show up. Everyone is expecting me. Annalise has made that clear.

"You have a closet full of fabo dresses." Kyra slides off my bed and crosses the room to the closet. "Seriously, you will never have to wear the same thing twice," she says wistfully.

"What do you suggest?" I ask, hanging my head over the side of the bed. My long, dark hair brushes the ground.

"I think you should loan me about twenty or fifty of these." She tosses a dress at me and the silk of an exquisitely beaded dress slips between my fingers. It puddles to the ground amongst the dozens of shoes scattered about. Before the gossip feeds distracted her, Kyra was admiring my new show collection. Which means she was slipping her feet into the shoes before discarding them by kicking them off. It's a mess.

Kyra stoops, and for a second, I think she's going to clean up, but instead, she plucks the beaded gown off the ground and examines it. "So fabo. I'm dying."

"You can have it. I have more than I need."

Her face falls and she hands the dress to me. "I can't. It's against protocol."

I flip over onto my stomach and push up onto my elbows. "Screw protocol. What's the fun of being a witch if you can't break the rules?"

Kyra's mouth drops open.

"What?" I ask.

"Where's Lark and what have you done with her?"

For the first time in hours, the cloud of misery hanging over me lifts and I grin at my best friend. "Kyra, love," I say imitating Mother's way of speaking. "Don't you want to have fun? Besides, when have you been interested in doing what you're supposed to?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "You sound like me. And I'm not sure that's a good thing. "

I hand the dress back to Kyra. "Try it on," I order even though we both know it will fit her perfectly. That's the benefit of smart material: everything fits everyone.

Without any extra encouragement, Kyra slips the dress over her head and as expected, it falls softly over her hips.

"How do I look?" She lifts her curls off her neck with one hand and turns left, then right. The flared bottom swishes around her bare feet.

"Gorgeous," I say. It's true. Kyra looks like a painting with her dark hair, peaches-and-cream skin, warm brown eyes. "Maz won't be able to take his eyes off you."

She stops posing. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

With a little jump, Kyra claps her hands excitedly. "Wait here. I think I have the perfect shoes."

"None of these work?" I point to the mess on the floor.

She leaps over the piles of shoes and says, "No," before disappearing.

Outside my bedroom door, the house bustles with activity. But in here, the only sound is the beating of my heart and the shallow draw of my breath.

I train my eyes on the ceiling. Beck and I used to lie like this, his arm cradling my head. Back when my life was on a perfect trajectory. I'd finish school, get the placement of my dreams, and be bound to Beck. I'd have a quiet life somewhere away from the pomp of State and the ever-present cameras.

Now, I'm facing a lifetime of service here in San Francisco. Far away from the Ag Center.

My eyelids droop and I don't fight it. Kyra will wake me when she returns.

Before I drift off, I try again to reach Beck mentally. Since Mother removed my restraint, I've been dying to see if it not only blocked my magic, but also interfered with whatever it is that allows Beck and me to communicate.

Beck, I call out. Can you hear me?

I keep my eyes shut and concentrate. Static fills my ears like hundreds of angry bees. It grows louder and I cup my hands over them. Why can't I hear him? If he's okay-as I suspect-and my magic is no longer locked up, shouldn't everything be like it was before?

A cool hand touches me and my eyes flutter open. Annalise stands over the bed, her face clouded with concern. "Is everything all right? You look pale." She lifts my arm. "And you're trembling. Should I send for a healer?"

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. The last thing I want is another healer visit. With my luck, they'll deem me unstable again and I'll be restrained all over. "I'm nervous. About tonight," I lie.

My sister-in-law swishes her hand over my nightstand and a gla.s.s appears. "Drink this, it will calm your nerves."