Pawn

* * *

Nina was waiting for us in the kitchen of our group home, spatula in hand. It was still early enough that everyone was at school—everyone except me, now that I was seventeen, and Benjy, who wouldn’t have missed today for anything. Having Nina to ourselves was a rare treat, but all I wanted to do was climb into my bunk and hide.

“How’d it go?” she chirped, but her smile fell the moment she saw Benjy. She looked to me for an explanation, and I stared at the floor, feeling even worse now than I had when I’d received my results. Nina was the only mother I’d ever known, and even though her attention was split between forty of us, she always seemed to have time for me. The last thing I’d wanted was to disappoint her.

“They didn’t give me extra time,” I finally said.

Without saying a word, she handed her spatula to Benjy and embraced me. All I could do was bury my face in her hair and swallow the sob that had been threatening to escape since the needle had first touched my skin.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It wasn’t what you wanted, but you still have your whole life ahead of you, and good things will come your way.”

She brushed her fingers against the back of my neck to see what my rank was, and I flinched. Nina sighed and held me a little tighter, but I knew what she was thinking: at least it wasn’t a II. At least my life was worth a job that wouldn’t kill me and enough food not to starve.

But I’d been stupid enough to hope for happiness and something more than mucking around in the sewers for the rest of my life, and now the ache in my chest was the price I had to pay.

Before today, I had never questioned the ranking system. It was there to give us what we deserved so we could make the most of our natural abilities. The smartest members of society could help people in ways that IIs and IIIs couldn’t, so they earned more. It was fair, and without the test, someone who had grown up in a disadvantaged family might never have their talents recognized. This way, no one would fall through the cracks. No one who deserved a VI would have to live the grim existence of a II, and the people who weren’t happy with their ranks only had themselves to blame.

Benjy was right, though; I wasn’t stupid. I could do complicated math problems in my head, recite stories and poems and talk about what they meant—I just couldn’t make sense of written words. If the tester had bothered to talk to me, she would’ve seen that. Maybe I didn’t deserve a VI, but I didn’t want a VI anyway. All I wanted was to prove I wasn’t a waste.

A long moment passed before Benjy broke the silence. “She was assigned to Denver.”

Nina released me. “That’s halfway across the country,” she said, stunned.

In other words, I would never see Benjy again if I got on that train. My resolve hardened.

“Tabs is stopping by this afternoon,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m going to talk to her.”

A muscle in Benjy’s jaw twitched. “I can’t do this,” he said, glaring at a spot on the floor. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Setting the spatula down on the counter, he walked away, and the soft click of the kitchen door made me wince. I watched it, willing him to come back, but the door stayed shut.

“He’ll come around eventually,” said Nina as she went back to mixing. “Don’t you worry.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” I mumbled. “It’d be better for him.”

“None of that,” she said. “You need to focus on what you’re going to do, not how Benjy feels.”

“I’m going with Tabs,” I said, perching on the edge of the worn countertop. “It’s not a bad life, and she seems to like it.”

“Tabs is Tabs. That life might suit her, but that’s not the kind of trouble you’re built for. And don’t let her fool you—it’s a hard life. It might have its perks, but the things you give up...it isn’t worth it. Not for you.”

“What would you know about it anyway?” I said, trying to snatch an apple from the fruit bowl. She slapped my hand away.

“I know enough to be sure you’d be better off in Denver than sleeping with strange men.”

My stomach clenched uncomfortably. “Tabs said she doesn’t have to do it that often. It’s mostly going to parties and clubs and stuff.”

“Yeah? Did Tabs also mention that for recruiting you, she gets a cut of your pay?”

I blinked. “She never told me that.”

“Of course she didn’t, dear. And of course she’s going to pretend like it’s a good life. It’s hers, and she’s in too deep to walk away.” Nina touched my cheek with her flour-covered fingers. “Misery loves company, Kitty. Maybe she’s telling the truth and most of it isn’t so bad. But some of it will be, and those men will never see you as a person, not the way Benjy does. Not the way I do. You deserve better than that.”

“I don’t deserve anything,” I said. “I’m a III.”

“You’re more than the mark on your neck, and you damn well know it,” said Nina. “It might feel like a death sentence, but you’ll see soon enough that you can have a good life no matter where you’re ranked.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You’re a IV.”

“And look at me now.” She gestured widely. “Cooking dinner for forty children who never have enough. What a grand life I lead.”

“Oh, please. You love it. You love all of us.”

“I do.” Her voice softened. “But because I love you, I feel it every time you hurt and every time you’re disappointed. I understand how upset you are, Kitty. But it’s your life, not the government’s, and you can make something of yourself no matter what they tell you.”

I stared at my hands and picked at a ragged nail. I wanted to believe her. I did. But how could I when everything was a mess? “Benjy’s going to hate me for doing this, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think that boy could hate you even if you killed him,” she said. “Though if you get yourself killed, I suppose he might hate you for that.”

I frowned. She was right. Of course she was right, which only made the unease in the pit of my stomach grow. “I did something stupid today.”

“Stupider than usual?” she said, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. At least one of us thought this was funny.

“I tried to steal an orange from the market,” I said. “A Shield caught us, and we ran. I told him my name, so he knows I’m an Extra.” All Extras—second children of IVs and below, who were only allowed to have one—had the last name of Doe. Benjy did. Tabs did. Even Nina did. And because most Extras were sent Elsewhere when their parents couldn’t pay the fine, there were only a few group homes scattered throughout D.C. Nina’s was the only one within five miles of the market.

“I doubt he’ll come all this way for an orange,” she said as she tapped her spatula against the side of the bowl. That was what I loved most about Nina: she’d heard it all, and nothing any of us threw at her ever surprised her. “You know, once upon a time, everyone could walk into a market and buy anything they wanted.”

I snorted. “Fairy tales start with ‘once upon a time,’ Nina.”

“It was a fairy tale of sorts, but that didn’t make it any less real,” she said, lowering the bowl to focus on me. “It’s frightening how much things change in seventy-one years.”

“Yeah, and in another seventy-one, they won’t bother giving IIs and IIIs jobs,” I said. “They’ll take us out back and shoot us instead.”

“There will always be a need for people to perform menial labor.” She crossed my path to get to the sink and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “The Harts won’t always be in power. They’re flesh and blood just like us. Things will change.”

“Not in my lifetime,” I said, and a chill ran down my spine. Talking about the Harts like this was treason. I had nothing left to lose, but forty kids relied on Nina.

“The world doesn’t exist because you gave it permission,” she said. “Things happen all the time that you and I and every other citizen who trusts the media never hear about, things the Harts don’t want you to know.”

“Like what? If anything important happened, everyone would be talking about it.”

“Not the people who want to live to see next week. The deaths of Yvonne and Jameson Hart, for instance.”

“They died in a car accident.”

“Did they?” said Nina, eyebrow raised. “Or is that what the media told you?”

I eyed her. The prime minister’s wife and elder son’s funerals the year before had been mandatory viewing. Seeing the Harts gathered under black umbrellas and watching the coffins being lowered into the ground—it was the only time I’d ever felt sorry for them. “Are you saying it wasn’t a car accident?”