“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.
I spoke. “Okay.”
“You’ll wear it then?” Becky said, her voice lightened but her back still to me.
“I guess I have no choice.”
She turned. Her face beamed, and she held up the boxes. “Which do you want?”
“The watch, I guess.”
“That’s what most boys choose,” she said, quickly returning to her perky old self, though still rattled. Guilt was weighing down on me, but I tried to push those thoughts away. Maybe what I’d done was wrong, but Becky shouldn’t be helping the kidnappers, either.
She opened the box and pulled out the plain gray wristwatch, and then took it to her desk. She popped a panel off the back. “You’ll be pleased to know that it’s waterproof, so you can wear it in the shower.”
Yeah. That really makes up for everything. I reluctantly sat back down.
She inserted a small chip that had been lying on the edge of her desk. “So, this will let you in to all the places you need to go—your dorm, your classroom, any place you have the contract for.”
“Contract—what’s that?”
“Oh yeah. That’s not exactly a rule, but here’s the ten-second version of how the contracts work: There are a lot of jobs that need to be done around here. There are no adults, which means there are no janitors or gardeners or even teachers. So, every couple of weeks, jobs are posted and we bid to see who does what.”
Becky brought the watch to me and put it on my wrist. It snapped snuggly—impossible to slide off.
“We bid with what? Money?”
“Points,” she said, sitting down beside me, one leg folded beneath her so she could face me. “We bid how many points we’re willing to do the job for, and then they give the contract to the lowest bidder. When you get paid, you can use the points to get clothes or food or whatever. I think that some of the guys in the dorms even bought some video games.”
“Does everyone have to have a job?” I had no intention of helping this school.
“Kind of.” She smiled, a little more obviously fake than before. She touched my hand again, too, which seemed almost rehearsed. “Things are different than they used to be. Better—way better. For a while, it was every man for himself. But everyone got angry, and no one was satisfied because the good jobs would get down to one point, and you can’t come close to buying anything with one point. So, people started getting together and bidding as a group. For example, all of my friends and I bid on the administration jobs. That worked a little better, because I wasn’t competing with my friends, but we were still competing with everyone else.”
“People want the jobs that bad?” I asked.
“Sure,” she said with a laugh. “You can get some fun things. And, as you keep pointing out, we’re kinda stuck here, so every little bit of fun helps. Anyway, my group got bigger and then we started making deals with other groups—we won’t bid on janitorial jobs if you don’t bid on administration jobs. That kind of thing.”
“So, like a union.” My foster dad two families ago—Mr. Bedke—had been a union organizer, and he was always on the phone trying to get the members to agree on something or other.
“I guess,” Becky said. “I don’t know much about unions. But in the last year or so we’ve been pretty formalized. All the jobs are split up between three groups now. We don’t bid on each other’s stuff, and that means that we all earn a lot of points.”
“I’ll probably have to join one of those three groups, right?”
“Yep,” she said. “Unfortunately, there’s a new rule”—she pointed at the security camera—“and I’m not allowed to tell you which group I’m in. But, like I said, my group has the administration contracts. You can ask around. It’d be great if you joined up.” She was smiling warmly, and I almost thought she was flirting with me—flirting with me to get me to join her weird union. And after what I’d just done to her. How did I end up here?
I leaned back in the sofa, my legs sore from traveling all day. I tried to think of something I could say or do that would get me out of this school, or at least make things a little more normal, but nothing came to mind.
“Any more rules?” I finally asked.
She shrugged. “Don’t be tardy. Wear your uniform during class and meals. No drugs or alcohol, not that you could get them in here. Don’t destroy property. You know—common sense stuff. There’s a full list in your manual.”
Becky stood up. She seemed a little disappointed, but I didn’t know why. Was I supposed to try to talk her into spilling the name of her stupid job club?