Sanctuary Page 4

  “I see,” is all Darla says. Then she pulls out the tablet, taps a few times, and the room shifts again.

  For the next several hours, we are virtually transported to so many lifelike places that I can hardly tell what’s real and what’s fake by the time we finish. We go to places I know in Sanctuary—the hospital, the school, and the Justice Building. And to places I’ve only ever read or dreamed about—the ocean, the top of a mountain, the ruins of an old city. In each place, I have to answer questions, share my feelings, and decipher moral dilemmas. Since I can only scarcely guess at what Darla’s looking for in each instance, it’s hard work trying to cater my answers to be the model explorer.

  It helps when I think like other people instead of myself. What would Aiken be feeling in the ruins of a Pre-Withers city? Probably sorrow for the lost people, and a desire to preserve their resting place. Definitely not the insatiable curiosity I feel to understand all the unfamiliar technology. What would Mom do when faced with two injured people and the means to save only one life? Well, of course, she would preserve the life of the youngest person since they have the longest time left to live, and the mission of Sanctuary is the preservation of its inhabitants for the longest time possible. She would definitely not take time to account for personal abilities or character defects, as I might be tempted to do.

  * * *

  The next morning, Darla and I walk around the gardens again. I can’t help thinking how much I’d prefer to be here with Aiken, but he’s off somewhere with his own evaluator—I think Alan is his name. It’s hardly fair that I finally know how Aiken feels about me—and how I truly feel about him—only to be separated almost all day, except for communal meals in the dining hall. I’ll be glad when this is all over, for many reasons.

  Darla continues peppering me with queries, and I notice they’re all questions we’ve already discussed. I concentrate hard, trying to recall my exact answers from before. This must be a test of my consistency and to ensure I’m telling the truth.

  She repeats many of the questions I thought were merely small talk before—things about my childhood, about my likes and dislikes, and my parents. I still can’t imagine why she cares about what gifts I was given on my sixth birthday, or exactly which shade of green is my favorite. Regardless of the reason for the questions, I’m positive my answers are impeccable—an exact repetition of everything I’ve told her before. And I’m the perfect model of a good, protocol-following Sanctuary citizen. Honestly, I’m pretty pleased with my performance.

  After we’ve made several full laps around the lawn, passing other pairs of participants and evaluators along the way, Darla leads me to a swing hanging from a tree, and we sit together. I hope this signals that her questions are over, but she immediately switches topics and plunges forward.

  “And what about the boy, Aiken? What exactly is your relationship with him?” Darla asks.

  A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, and I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as I consider what to say. I’m afraid if I admit how much I care about Aiken, it will be seen negatively—a relationship that could complicate or compromise the mission. Would they really want to send couples out who may later break up? Think how much tension that could bring to the explorer group. I know we won’t break up, but I’m not sure what answer is best. Still, people have seen us together, and pretending that he’s nothing more than an acquaintance would be a clear lie.

  I settle on a half-truth. “Aiken and I grew up together. We’re really good friends. And we work really well together at solving problems.”

  Darla stops walking and looks at me. I halt next to her and return her gaze. Her brow is furrowed, and her lips purse as though she is deep in unpleasant thought.

  “What?” I ask after a long moment.

  “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Of course,” I encourage her.

  “Mara, you are clearly a very intelligent girl. I requested to be assigned to you specifically because you seemed so unique and intriguing.”

  I smile. “Thank you,” I say, a glowing sense of pride welling up.

  “But,” she says, “you have been very hard to get a solid read on. I can’t help feeling like you aren’t being honest with me. In order for this evaluation to work, you must be completely yourself. It’s essential to the process.”

  “So what are you saying, exactly?” I ask, and it’s hard to get the words out because my tongue is suddenly so dry that it sticks to my teeth and the roof of my mouth. Against my will, it’s tears that well up now—tamping down my momentary pride—and I squint against the lights that now seem entirely too bright.

  “As it stands, I cannot get an accurate understanding of who you are. That is critical to the success of the program—more critical than you can imagine. Without that, you will fail, and you are running out of time.”

  Chapter 7

  Tightness seizes my chest. I ask Darla if I can be excused. I barely make it back to my room before every muscle in my body begins to tremble so badly I can hardly stand. I kick off my shoes and they thud against the wall. Even though gentle blue light still streams through my window, I nestle into my bed, pull the covers up over my head, and let my hair fall over my face—so ashamed. Though no sound escapes my lips, hot tears spill mercilessly down my cheeks, soaking my hair and pillow. I can’t even pretend to be what they want. Nothing I do is good enough anywhere, ever.

  And now I’m going to be trapped in Sanctuary until I die. I can see myself, old and decrepit, picking up discarded copies of Toren’s rants from the gutters. But then I realize the flaw in that picture, because Toren will probably be chosen to leave Sanctuary, and the trash I’ll be picking up will be far less interesting.

  What’s worse…oh, a million times worse…

  What if Aiken is chosen to go without me?

  Of course he’ll be chosen. He’s perfect at anything he tries. His evaluator, Alan, has nothing but praise for his performance. They said if you are chosen, then you have to go, so he won’t have a choice. He never really wanted to go. He did this for me. And in the end, we won’t even be together, and it’ll all be my fault.

  I curse myself, wondering why my incompetence has to spill over and ruin the lives of the people I love. Why can’t I contain it to at least remain within my own sphere? But I guess life doesn’t work that way. To love someone is to intertwine your life, whether you intended to or not.

  The sky outside fades to black, and the house and street fall silent, but the tears just won’t stop. I know Aiken must wonder why I didn’t come to dinner, but I just can’t face him right now. He believes in me—it might be the one thing he’s ever gotten wrong.

  Finally, I pull myself from the bed, splash cold water on my face, and brush my hair back into place. I need to see Aiken. He’ll know what to do. But when I hold my hand to the scanner to open the door, I find it locked. I check the control panel and discover the door has been sealed and won’t open until sunrise tomorrow. Quivers of trepidation shake my already frail form. Why would they want to lock us in our rooms? Is this new, or have they done it every night I’ve been here?

  I debate for a minute what to do, but I really need to see Aiken. I’m already failing, so there’s not a lot for me to lose at this point. It takes me less than a minute to override the panel and release the lock. Slowly, I open the door a crack and peer out into the hallway. The light streaming from my room is the only illumination, but it’s enough to see that there’s nobody around. I exit my room, quietly shutting the door behind me. Then I creep along in the dark. Aiken’s room is all the way at the end of the hallway, but I don’t need light to find it.

  A second hallway intersects this one and branches off. I pause and venture a glance to make sure the coast is clear before crossing. There’s no one in sight. Near the end of this perpendicular corridor is an open door, and a soft, glowing light streams out. I’m about to keep moving when something pulls me up short.

  Voic
es I recognize are coming from that room.

  I pause and close my eyes, diverting all my powers of concentration to hear more acutely.

  “I think we’re almost ready.” It’s Toren’s voice.

  “Still, there are a few things to consider,” a girl replies, and I’m almost certain it’s another one of the participants, a woman named Lena who’s in her mid-twenties, probably about Toren’s age. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve just stumbled into a weird midnight tryst, and want to get out of here before this gets embarrassing. But then—

  “I’m surprised at some of the holdouts, honestly. What do you think the problem is? I would hate to lose any of them,” I hear Aiken say.

  My heart starts to pound like a fist beating its way out of my chest, and I start to shiver and sweat all at once. There’s some sort of a secret meeting that I’m not invited to. Have they already selected who will be leaving Sanctuary? Wouldn’t Aiken have told me if he knew something?

  I feel certain he would have, and I start to rein in my racing pulse.

  I listen a little longer, trying to figure out what’s going on. I count at least eight voices talking. The content of the conversation is confusing. I feel like I’ve just started reading a novel halfway through, and I’m missing way too much context to grasp any meaning.

  The next time I hear Aiken speak, I begin to doubt if it’s actually him at all. It sounds so much like him, but the more I listen, the more I notice the small inconsistencies—the rhythm that’s just a little too even, the tone that’s just a little too flat. And the lack of a smile—not that I can see the speaker’s face, but Aiken has always had a way of infusing a certain quality into his voice that makes you certain he’s smiling, and he usually is. But this speaker is missing that good-natured quality all together.

  Curiosity burns and begs me to creep down the hallway. I desperately want to peek into the room and see who’s really there, but I don’t dare. If I get caught, it will ruin any remnants of a chance I have left. Instead, I decide to proceed with my initial plan and forget about the room altogether. If Aiken’s in his room, I’ll know for certain he’s not part of this meeting that has excluded me. I’ll know he’s not keeping secrets. I tiptoe the rest of the way to Aiken’s door and tap quietly.

  “Who is it?” he asks, groggily.

  I heave a sigh of relief. He’s there, inside his own room, and my tapping has disturbed his sleep. Whoever I heard talking just now wasn’t him.

  “Aiken, it’s me, Mara,” I whisper.

  “Mara?” he asks, and I smile at the sudden alertness and enthusiasm. “Where were you at dinner? Did your evaluator keep you?” I hear the patter of his footsteps as he approaches the door, and then the beep of the control panel as his attempts to open the door are denied. “It’s locked,” he complains.

  I groan. Of course, if my door was locked, wouldn’t all the participants’ doors be locked?

  “So was mine,” I whisper back. “I overrode the lock, but I didn’t think to do the same for your door.” Why hadn’t I thought of that before I left my room? It will be ridiculously difficult to talk him through the steps to do it himself now.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, concerned.

  “I’m fine, I just…wanted to see you.”

  “Well, I’m at least happy to hear you,” he replies, and I can hear that smile, even if I can’t see it. “I came here to be with you, and now I hardly get to see you.”

  “I know,” I say. And you don’t even know the half of it, I think but keep to myself. I just can’t explain my situation in surreptitious whispers through a cold door in a darkened hallway.

  “Mara, when this is over, we can be together again. In Sanctuary, or out there, I don’t care. I just need to be with you,” he says. “I can’t wait until this thing is all over.”

  I lean against the door, my heart painfully unsure if it wants to fly or rip itself to shreds. “Yes,” I finally manage to say around the lump that has formed in my throat. “I promise, no matter what, we’ll be together.”

  I say goodnight and return to my room, refusing to be distracted by the light still streaming from the room at the end of the hall. I climb back into bed and let myself imagine Aiken’s arms around me and never having to let go again. I replay the night we fought in my head. Even that was him trying to hold onto me. He asked me not to go. He said he didn’t want me to change. He wanted me just the way I am. At the time, I thought he didn’t understand me, and didn’t understand how hard life in Sanctuary can be for me. But now I see that he just loves me, and he’s risked everything for me.

  In this moment, I vow to do anything Darla wants, no more evasion. This will be the one thing I will not—cannot—fail.

  When I finally do sleep, my dreams are lovely.

  * * *

  The next morning, I feel energized despite my lack of sleep. I wish I could have actually seen Aiken last night, but still the memory of his piercing gaze and the way it felt when he kissed me keeps playing through my mind.

  “What are you smiling about?” Darla asks as we meander through the blossoming garden.

  I hesitate for a moment to admit the truth. I’ve tried to be exactly what I thought they wanted, and that hasn’t worked. Darla said the problem is that she can’t get a clear assessment of who I actually am. I suppose no pretense can ever be seamless, and there must be a lot of gaps and inconsistencies in my behavior and answers, no matter how clever I’ve tried to be. I just need to be myself—no games, no acting, just Mara. It’s sad how scary that prospect is. But it’s nothing compared to the possibility of losing Aiken forever.

  “Honestly, it’s Aiken,” I say in the spirit of full disclosure.

  “Aiken? The boy you eat breakfast with each morning?” she asks. “Did he say something amusing?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just…well, I wasn’t exactly, completely…” I’m stumbling over what to say that doesn’t include the phrase, I lied to you yesterday when I said we were just friends.

  She cocks her head to the side and waits for me to find the words that are eluding me.

  “Well, things between Aiken and I have recently changed, and we are…more than friends now.”

  “Do you love him?” There’s no hint of sentimentality in her tone. It is a mere mechanical inquiry.

  “Yes,” I reply, and the word comes easily to my lips and feels refreshing, despite the fact that we haven’t said those words to each other yet. It’s not exactly how I wanted my first declaration of love to be, but Aiken’s not here, so it doesn’t exactly count.

  She nods and smiles, and for a moment I have the odd sensation that she’s not really smiling at me, but rather trying to mimic my own expression. But it’s a fleeting moment, and we begin walking again.

  “That’s good to know,” she says approvingly, and I feel bolstered that I’m on the right track.

  “Darla,” I say. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said yesterday, about trying to figure out who I really am.”

  She nods.

  “And I think I’ve been too nervous to just give my honest opinion about some things. Do you think we could redo the simulations, and I’ll try to be more forthcoming this time?”

  At that, she breaks into a real, genuine smile and claps her hands once. “Yes, absolutely. I’m so relieved to hear you say that. Let’s get started right away. There’s no time to waste.”

  She sets a quick pace back to the evaluation room as I struggle to keep up. Before I know it, we’re standing once again in the midst of towering bookshelves. It doesn’t take me long to retrieve the three books that truly caught my eye.

  “Interesting,” Darla muses as she reads the covers. I’ve given her the book of stories. Even though the world has turned out very different than these writers imagined, seeing how they dreamed the world could be is a good catalyst for stimulating my own imagination. And if we are going to reclaim the world, we’re going to need plenty of imagin
ation. I also have a technical manual that will help us build machinery to fit whatever needs we may encounter. And finally, I hand her a book with a blank cover.

  “What’s this one?” she asks, confused as she thumbs through the blank pages.

  “It’s a journal. That’s where we’ll write down the things we discover and make our plans,” I say, unable to keep a giddy sense of anticipation from leeching into my voice. There’s a part of me that wants to see that book filled and to be the one that wrote every last word of it.

  I can tell that Darla is filing this information away, and while I don’t know what her expression is exactly, I feel certain it’s not disappointment.

  Everywhere we go, I am impeccably me. I don’t even shrink from the opportunity in the Justice Building to brazenly point out exactly which rules I believe should be done away with. It’s exhilarating to be so completely and unabashedly me. By the time we’ve repeated all the simulations, I feel drained, as though I’ve been emptied of my entire life’s story somehow.

  Thankfully, it also seems like Darla is really beginning to understand me—my love of problem-solving and technology, my fear of disappointing others and the way I seem to chronically do it anyway. She knows that my favorite color is the deep shade of blue that paints the sky just moments before it breaks into dawn. She understands how much I want to do something that matters, and how hard I’m willing to work to make that happen.

  By the end of our session, she’s come to know me so well that she’s finishing my sentences and guessing my answers—mostly correct. I even feel like her speech is more like mine—less formal, more animated. In fact, when I show her my final project, I’m prepared for disapproval. But she smiles and says, “That’s amazing, Mara. Really brilliant!” That’s when I knew I had succeeded. Ironically, all it took was for me to stop trying so hard.