I nodded, wondering how someone like Becky would define basic. She certainly had a screwed-up version of normal.
“There are lots of rules, and you can look them up in your book. But there are four big ones that will get you in a lot of trouble. First of all, no sex.” She made a fake grimace. “That’s the first thing that all the students think when they hear that there are no adults in the school. But, even though there are no adults, there are these.” She crossed the room and pointed to a security camera in the corner. She avoided my eyes, which meant she probably felt as uncomfortable discussing this with me as I felt hearing about it from her.
“Every room, every hallway,” Becky continued, still staring up in the corner. “So, they know whether you’ve been naughty or nice, and if you break big rules—like that one—you will get detention.”
“What is detention?”
Becky glanced my way and then returned to her desk. “Detention is bad enough that you don’t want to end up there.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I said, putting the binder to the side and leaning forward in my seat. “How about you start giving me some real answers?”
Becky stammered for a moment, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.
“What is detention?” I asked again, speaking slowly.
She exhaled and then looked down. “When people go to detention they don’t come back.”
“They get sent home?”
“I’m sure they don’t.”
“What? They get sent to someplace worse?”
Becky broke, her face suddenly contorted in—was it sadness? Fear?
“I don’t know,” she said firmly, turning away from me. “Nobody knows.”
I didn’t let up. “Have people been sent to detention before?”
“Can we just say ‘it’s bad enough that you don’t want to end up there’ and leave it at that?”
I asked again. “Have people been sent there?”
“Yes.”
“And they don’t come back?”
“No.”
“Perfect.” That fits right in with all the other crap. For a moment I wondered whether that meant I ought to break the rules immediately—get sent to detention and get out of here. But that couldn’t be right, either. Detention couldn’t just mean that I’d get sent home. I’d go to the police, and I was sure the school wasn’t about to let anyone do that.
I glanced back at Becky. “That’s the first rule. What are the other three?”
“No trying to escape,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the cupboards on the far wall. “No refusing punishments. And no violent fights.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Violent fights? Is there any other kind?”
She grinned. “Yeah, that rule is weird. Most fighting will just get you some minor punishment, but if there’s something really bad—like if someone gets seriously injured—then you’d get detention. That’s what happens if you break any of the four big rules.”
“So how do I know whether my fighting is violent or not?” I didn’t plan on getting into a fight—part of the reason I came here was because I didn’t want to fight anymore—but I felt like arguing about it.
“You don’t,” she said. She turned and opened a cupboard full of small boxes. “That’s why it’s probably best to avoid fighting altogether.” She picked three boxes and held them out to me. “Do you want a bracelet, watch, or necklace?”
“What do you mean?”
She handed me the small stack. Each box was about the size of my fist, with a simple photo on the front and a blue background.
“You can either have a necklace, a watch, or a bracelet. But, let me warn you that these things do not come off. The school doesn’t want you to switch yours with someone else’s, so once you put it on it’s on for good.” Becky pointed at her neck. Part of the school uniform was a tie. “I chose the necklace, and I’ve regretted it for a year and a half. It really chafes under this tight collar.”
“What are these for? Why don’t they come off?”
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” Becky crossed the room to the door, and as she reached it there was a buzz and a click, just as I’d heard outside on the steps.
“It’s the chip,” she said, pointing again at her necklace and walking back to the desk. “This will give you access to your dorm and to any places that you’ve contracted to work. The door can sense your chip, and it unlocks.”
I was trapped in a prison, and I had to wear a chip? Were they going to track me?
“What if I refuse?”
She smiled again, turning her head and looking at me out of the side of her eyes. “What if I said please?”
“What?” I blew up at her. “Don’t you get how wrong this place is? ‘Welcome to Maxfield, here’s your tracking device. We watch everything that you do. You can never leave.’”
Becky let me talk, silently listening as I paced the three steps across the room and back. I tried the knob. It had locked again after she’d moved away. I was even a prisoner in this room.
I smacked the heavy wooden door with my palm, and then turned back to glare at her. She stood still.
“Can we sit down?” she said, some of the fakeness disappearing from her voice.
“Will it help me get out of here?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Please?”
I moved to the couch and slumped down against the cushions.
“Let me tell you something, really quick,” she said, not quite looking at me and keeping her voice low. She moved from the desk back over to the couch, sitting closer to me now and locking her eyes on mine. “This school has some problems. Your best bet is to follow the rules.”
I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling. “My best bet is to follow the rules.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You’re right. Things shouldn’t happen this way at a school. They shouldn’t be happening to us. But they are. And the only options are detention or . . .”
“Or what?”
She sighed. “Will you please just wear the chip?”
I grabbed Becky by the arm and jumped to my feet, yanking her up off the couch. Too startled to resist, she stumbled after me and I shoved her up against the door, my hands angrily pinning her arms back against the wood. Her eyes were wide with shock.
There was no sound, and as I stared at the still-locked door, my heart felt as though it were being squeezed.
Becky’s words were barely audible. “They watch on those cameras,” she whispered, her face only inches from mine. “You can only get out with your chip.”
I stared back at her, panicked, knowing that there was no way I was getting out of that room on my own. I was trapped. Helpless.
She tried to smile again. “It’s okay,” she said. “This isn’t the first time. And it . . .”
Becky’s voice trailed away, but I knew what she meant. I wasn’t anything special. I was just another kid—a prisoner or a test subject or who knows what—and I wasn’t going to be the last.
I let go of her, and a look of relief washed over Becky’s face. She ducked under my still-outstretched arms and moved back to the desk and the boxes I’d dropped on the floor. I turned, stunned and defeated, and watched as she fiddled needlessly with them. She wasn’t doing anything—just regaining her composure.