Revolution Three

Our story continues with a present day Eleanor, who watches her closest friend leave for the Pairings and comes across the misplaced identification card of one of the Counselors.

Breakfast on a Pairing Day was always a revolting affair, and if Eleanor could get her way, she would have nothing to do with them at all.

Before the lights came on, Eleanor could hear muffled noises through the wall she shared with Charlotte. Maintenance, she thought, pulling the blankets higher over her nose. That’s right " it would be her first Pairing tonight.

As usual, Evan had woken up first. Over in his corner, she could hear him making his bed. Nuzzling further into her covers, she was ready to doze off again.

“I know you’re awake, Eleanor.”

In a rush of cold air, the blankets were pulled away from her body.

“How can you tell?”

“You snore.”

“I do not.”

“Sure - it shakes the walls.”

Ripping the blankets out of his grasp, she pulled them around her. “I don’t feel well.”

“No?” The bed curved underneath his weight. “What’s the matter?”

“Stomachache.”

“Let’s go talk to Raphael then.”

“I need sleep, not the doctor.”

“I’m sure he would be interested in an illness that only seems to strike on Pairing Days.”

 She punched him through the blankets. “Why can’t I just stay in bed one day?”

“No, Eleanor.” The weight lifted from the bed, and the doors of the wardrobe creaked open. She pulled the blankets down an inch. “You are going to breakfast. You are going to your lessons. You are going to hug your sisters before they’re off to be Paired. You are getting out of that bed right now.”

Since Maintenance was spending their energy on Charlotte " whose appearance for the day was paramount to hers " Evan was permitted to dress Eleanor. Evan wasn’t fussy about clothing, so he would let her wear the soft cotton dress that Maintenance did not approve of. His only stipulation was the corset.

“You know you have to wear it,” he said, lacing her in. “They’ll write me up if they think I’m going soft on you. Speaking of being written up,” he added, “I want you on your best behavior today. I need to send in my evaluation of you and I don’t want to have to lie too deeply.”

Downstairs, Eleanor stopped short of the Dining Hall. The shrieks of laughter could be heard behind the steel doors. She turned to Evan.

“I’m really not that hungry.”

Propping open the door with his foot, he shoved her inside.

There were a hundred-odd girls standing around the long table, hardly any sitting down to eat. Most wore their ordinary clothes, but those Pairing were in gowns of reds and pinks and a smattering of whites. Eleanor pushed through a group of younger Daughters to get to her spot at the far end of the table, overhearing snippets of their conversations:

“Don’t you just love the beads on his hem? Really brings out the stitching, don’t you think?”

“This corset just won’t stay on!”

The cry came from Penelope, a twice-Paired girl with watery eyes and a flat nose. Several girls converged on her, lacing her in so tightly her stomach was in danger of becoming two dimensional.

Little Tina from four apartments down was on her first Pairing Day in a dress of floating white material. Across the table, Eleanor watched her approach Valerie, trembling.

“What if no one picks us?” she asked. One hand on her swollen stomach and the other on Tina’s cheek, Valerie’s smile was kind.

“You have nothing to worry about, Tina. Even if there are no bidders, you will then be assigned to a man. We don’t go home empty-handed.”

A tap on Eleanor’s shoulder brought her out of eavesdropping.

“Miss Eleanor? Your breakfast.” The server placed the iron box neatly in front of her.

Salivating at the thought that there might be a delicious omelet inside, or even a few links of sausage, she pried it open. Instead, there was a bruised apple, two pieces of soggy toast, and a small glass of grapefruit juice. Eleanor grabbed the toast and left the rest inside.

Halfway through chewing the flavorless bread, Lara from the apartment at the end of the hallway sat next to her, followed by Charlotte, who sat across from them. Her blonde locks were teased into a puffy halo on top of her head, a favorite style among Maintenance at the moment, and she wore a sparkling powder beneath her eyes. Eleanor chuckled, pointing at the pure white corset she wore over the dress.

“Vivienne let it go, then?”

Charlotte nodded, touching the row of gemstones that lined the bottom hem. “She was sad to let it go. I will be too,” she added, smiling, “but you’ll need soon, won’t you?”

The server came back with two more of the iron boxes, placing one each in front of Lara and Charlotte.

“I wish our apartment had some sort of heirloom like that,” Lara piped in, polishing her apple on her blouse.

“It’s nice and all,” said Charlotte, “but everyone’s always so worried about it. Remember when you hid it from Vivienne the night before her Pairing?” she asked Eleanor.

“What happened?”

“She thought she lost it,” said Eleanor, stuffing the last of the toast in her mouth. “She’d have strangled me if she thought she had time before her Pairing.”

Lara laughed. For a moment, everything seemed normal: the three of them were just having breakfast before classes began. They would look around at the other Daughters, commenting on dresses, betting buttons on who would become pregnant with a girl. But soon, too soon, the row of lights above their heads began to flash blue, and all the conversations stilled.

Chairs scraped the floor as the girls in reds, pinks, and whites swarmed to the door, squealing and hopping as they walked. Charlotte turned to Eleanor, her saucer eyes wide.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so nervous,” she gushed.

Charlotte’s guardian was trying to pull her along, but Eleanor yanked her into a hug. “You’ll be okay, Charlotte.”

Lara took her turn next. “She’s right " have a good time. You can tell us all about it when you return.”

“Thank you, sisters,” she whispered before she was pulled away by her guardian. Even though Eleanor was six months her junior, she felt an odd combination of sadness and pride watching her go.

“She’ll be okay, you know,” Lara said.

“I know she will be.” Since she was seven, Charlotte had been by her side. She had not judged her for taking a trip to Room Three Hundred as the rest of the Daughters still did. They ate together, went to classes together, and walked in the hall side by side. Eleanor liked Lara very much, but it just wasn’t the same.

She probably would not have minded Pairing Days so much if they meant that the classes for the day were canceled. Alas, Eleanor off to a higher floor with Evan by her side instead of Charlotte.

Etiquette was first of the day. The classroom was filled with lacy wall hangings and stiff white chairs pushed against intricately carved wooden tables. The class was much emptier today " a good third were gone to the Pairings. Eleanor sat with Lara at the table she ordinarily occupied with Charlotte.

Mr. Key followed them into class, looking smart in his shined shoes, top hat, and intricate suit made of satin and silks. He smiled imperiously at them from the front of the room.

“Not Pairing today, are we?” he asked, enunciating every syllable. “Since we are of so few today, let’s come together, shall we? Come along, those in the back to the front, double up.”

To Eleanor’s displeasure, Mr. Key sat Vivienne opposite her. She too was one of Eleanor’s roommates, but they simply were not as close as she and Charlotte. Vivienne was born into an awkward appearance, and seventeen years later, she still hadn’t outgrown it. Her nose shadowed the rest of her face, and her spread of acne was still visible despite Maintenance’s best efforts. She sat down with her back firmly to Eleanor.

“Today,” said Mr. Key, back at his podium, “you have watched your sisters off to their Pairings. You all know that, soon, you will wear the gowns. It will be your responsibility to please the men. The first exposure you will have to the men will be in a public environment " at the dinner at the Awarding ceremony. We will be practicing that dinner.”

With that, Mr. Key distributed leather embossed menus.

“These menus are identical to the ones you will see in the dinner,” he continued. He sauntered to Eleanor and Vivienne’s table. “Let’s rehearse. We’ll start with you two. Vivienne, you order first. Pretend I’m the waiter.”

Vivienne sat up straight and proper in her seat, holding the menu beneath her nose. After a moment’s pretend contemplation, she turned to Mr. Key, lashes aflutter.

“I’ll have the pumpkin stew, please,” she said sweetly.

“Very nice,” Mr. Key gushed. “I see you sidestepped the onion stew. Why?”

“It would be atrocious on the breath.”

With a voice decidedly cooler, he turned to Eleanor. “What would you have, Miss?”

“Um.” Okay. So onion stew wasn’t the right answer. She could feel the stares of her sisters and the ever impatient Mr. Key. “I’ll take the steak and potatoes.”

The class and instructor groaned as one. He yanked the menu from her hands, shaking his head.

“No, no, Eleanor. Steak and potatoes are much too gluttonous for ladies. And ladies ask for their food " they do not take.” He moved onto the other girls, whose answers were much more satisfactory than hers. She wondered how she was supposed to survive on a week of stew in order to make herself look dainty.

After the menus were taken care of, they were to practice conversations with the men. Thankfully, they were allowed to do this without the scrutiny of the rest of the class watching. Again, Vivienne went first. She leaned across the table at Eleanor, chin balanced on her hand. Her smile was small and alluring.

“Do you often frequent the Pairings?” she asked, in a husky, come-hither voice.

Eleanor snorted. “I do.”

“What do you look for in a partner?”

“Breathing.”

Her mouth twisted in irritation. “Take it seriously, will you?” she hissed.

“You’re drooling like an idiot. Would you take that seriously?”

Vivienne tried to soldier on. “You know, this is my first Pairing.” At this point, she brought her hand to her face, as though covering a blush. “I’m a bit nervous.” The large eyes flicked back to her, wide and imploring. “Will you be gentle?”

Eleanor mimed cutting food. “I’ll tear through your virginity like this steak.”

Vivienne stood up, infuriated and truly blushing now. “That’s disgusting, Eleanor!”

“What? I’m sure a few of them talk like that. Are you going to call them disgusting?”

She sat back down, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “We’re switching. I’ll be the man.”

“Fine by me, princess. You start.”

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“I haven’t showered in a week.”

“Eleanor.”

“I enjoy running.”

“Running? That’s an odd sport for a lady.”

Eleanor squinted at her, sure that had been Vivienne’s opinion talking. “Much more useful than Etiquette, I assure you. If you knew the b***h I had to share an apartment with, you’d enjoy the solitude of running too.”

At that point, Vivienne left for another table, fuming. Eleanor would have enjoyed herself more if Mr. Key had not chosen that moment to listen to her conversation and sent her out into the hall where the guardians stood.

“Just once,” said Evan, “I’d like to see you stay in there for the whole class period.”

She sat cross legged on the floor, which felt good after sitting with her back erect for the past hour. “I’m not too fussed, to be honest.”

Sexual Education followed after, a class Eleanor did not mind. Mr. Red stood at the front of the room, reading from pamphlets that told Daughters how to take care of themselves. They had covered prenatal care in depth, and like Mr. Key, the lessons were now more about what to do when the men were in their lives. Today’s topic covered all sorts of things that could go wrong in a Pairing situation: what they should do if a man is far too rough, if he is not talkative, if he does not want sex. Eleanor only half listened. She doodled in a notebook she’d taken from Evan for most of the hour, drawing little bowties on the paper, looking up when he paused to turn the page. If Charlotte had been by her side, she would have giggled throughout the hour with her how Mr. Red turned as scarlet as his name as he described Pairing acts. But Lara hung onto his every word, desperate for tips of the trade.

There was a quick lunch before the three hour block of Crafts. Eleanor’s box contained fruit and assorted nuts, and even a sliver of turkey. She gobbled it down quickly before leaving for Crafts.

It was the most utterly useless class she could imagine having, and would wish it upon no poor soul. It was with a heart of lead that she returned to her apartment to retrieve her homework: three washcloths in various patterns. As she agonized over the flaws screaming at her from the yarn, Evan squeezed her shoulders.

“They’re getting better " no, really, hand one here.” He turned the square over in his hand. “Look how much more even your stitches are becoming " oh,” he stopped, his finger slipping through an enormous hole where she had dropped several stitches but marched on anyway. She snatched it out of his hand, stalking off in silence to class.

Her favorite spot was open " seated directly behind an enormous vase, blocking her from the line of fire. Vivienne sat with the older Daughters in the front of class, in full gush about their stupid sweaters and blankets and aprons. Eleanor looked again at her pitiful work " she would be stuck in washcloth hell forever. Though they normally sat together for other classes, Lara sat with a group of Daughters who were far more competent in needlework than she was. Eleanor deeply suspected that she was embarrassed to be around someone so elementary-minded. Had Charlotte not gone to the Pairings, she would have sat dutifully at her side, whispering from the corner of her mouth.

“No, no,” she would moan, “don’t purl on that line, sister!”

When the door banged open, a rotund man with bright jewels on every finger waddled inside. The middle aisle was broad, and Eleanor rather thought that was because he could not fit down the others. He dabbed at the sweat on his bald head as he simpered at them from the front podium.

“Good afternoon, lovelies.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winston,” chirped the Daughters in return.

“When we met last, I mentioned that we would begin a new technique " one I’m certain you’ll be very excited to try out.” He looked around at them all, as though he were about to reveal a bag of sweets. “Today, those ready to proceed will start working with three needles.”

In the front, Vivienne and her friends squealed, clapping and bobbing in their seats. Eleanor was less than amused " she could hardly hold the two.

“Those among us who have not yet mastered the basic techniques,” he said, with the slightest glance in Eleanor’s corner, “will of course remain where they are comfortable. Alright, girls, you know how it goes: one hour, and then we will switch to sewing.”

Eleanor crossed the room and selected a ball of yarn from the expendable pile " yarns so cheap, hideous, and frayed that they were perfect for beginners. Eleanor was one of twelve Daughters who had yet to get the hang of knitting " ten were much younger, and one was…mentally unavailable. She grabbed a skein of green yarn that smelled strongly of mothballs and returned to her seat.

The good thing about “new technique” days was the fact that Mr. Winston’s attention was tied up for half an hour, teaching the more proficient Daughters. Eleanor was free to knit her crooked dishcloths without Mr. Winston seething disapproval down the back of her neck.

Unfortunately, the group of girls working with three needles learned the art quickly enough, and Mr. Winston began his rotation around the room, hands clapped neatly in front of his enormous belly.

Eleanor tried frantically to appear immersed in her work, hoping he would see how hard she was working and wouldn’t want interrupt her. It might have worked if she had not pushed the needle so hard through the loop of yarn that she jabbed herself in the chin. The row of girls behind her burst out laughing.

“So enthusiastic, Eleanor. Let me see this handiwork of yours.”

With dread, she pulled the dishcloths from under her yarn, where they were hiding. He pursed his lips, looking at all the holes and worn spots.

“What happened here?” he asked, pointing out a frayed section.

“I couldn’t get the stitch on.”

“Eleanor, I just don’t understand why you have such trouble with knitting. It’s a very simple craft.”

“I don’t know either, sir.”

“You’d better start devoting more time for your projects " you need it more than any girl I’ve ever met.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, trying to ignore the stares of her sisters. He went further down the row to coo over Wendy’s superb popcorn stitch " whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Vivienne held up the front of the sock she knitted with her stupid three needles and laughed with her friends. Eleanor began to wonder whether the next person she stabbed would not be herself, and if it would be an accident or not.

More than happy to put away the yarn once the hour was over, she was slightly more enthusiastic about the sewing segment. Eleanor had been most surprised when Mr. Winston told her a month ago that she could now use the sewing machines. It was difficult work for her " she often ripped the finer fabrics in her haste.

Painting was the final segment, and the most befuddling of the three. Eleanor had no idea what made abstract paintings good or bad, but Mr. Winston often complimented her in his own way.

“If only you were so competent in knitting!”

The three hours finally pulled to a close, and Eleanor was the first one out the door.

“I didn’t hear as much yelling today,” Evan commented.

“He gave me extra work.”

“Which you’ll never touch.”

“Naturally.”

But Physical Improvement was next, and not even her horrid knitting could dilute the elation in her step. As usual, she was alone in her enthusiasm " grumbles filled the changing room.

“Charles got my curls perfect today too,” complained Louise, pulling her hair back into an elastic band.

“I hate getting sweaty,” snapped another. “Couldn’t we all just eat less and skip this?”

Several others piped up in agreement.           

The changing room was quite the place for gossip. Though she had little to contribute, Eleanor liked to listen to the ramblings.

“Have you seen Rita’s new hair?” squawked Yvette.

“What on earth was her Maintenance team thinking?” Hilda shook her head. “No wonder their apartment never wins highest bid.”

In the next row of lockers, Eleanor recognized Amy’s voice.

“So Lucy skipped card night again,” she said. “I really don’t know what her problem is.”

A gasp followed. “You haven’t heard?” Ivy said in a whisper that carried through the room. “I’ve heard she’s been upstairs every night of the last fortnight.”

“He never has a girl so long,” Amy commented. “She must be loose.”

“Amy!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it too.”

Mr. Red was the instructor. An ex-Sphere, he was in good shape for a man climbing into his forties. When the Daughters flooded out onto the floor, he dropped the enormous weight he was lifting with a clatter " Eleanor read One Hundred Fifty Pounds on its side.

As usual, he was all business. “I want to see you little girls sprinting for ten minutes. Go.”

Physical Improvements took place in the same arena that the Sphere soldiers used for training. Around the perimeter, their equipment was scattered: the archery posts, the wall of swords, the punching sacks. Though Eleanor sprinted so hard that she imagined her lungs on fire, she felt small in the arena. She merely ran a few laps around the track, but the soldiers learned to kill in this very room. 

In this room, all their pretenses were dropped. There was no proper walking here, no strolling leisurely with the chin parallel to the floor. There was only the racing from Point A to Point B, the rush of air over her dampened skin, the bursting of her heart over her ribs. She ran so fast she could not hear the grumblings from the other Daughters over the thundering of her shoes on the ground. When the whistle blew, she was, once again, the only one fighting for breath and drenched in sweat. Mr. Red thumped her hard on the back.

“Atta girl, Eleanor.”

It was Friday, and that meant that they were free to interact with whatever equipment was in the room, save for the swords. Eleanor’s heart could skip no higher " she could even use Sphere’s equipment. She strapped on the overlarge gloves and set to work on the punching bag.

On one of her laps around the perimeter, Lara called to her, “Why do you do that, Ellie?”

“Why don’t you?”

She was almost glad that Charlotte was off at her Pairing " she would have insisted on doing something boring like walk around the room, like Lara and the rest chose to do. There was a lot of satisfaction in beating on immobile bags " she could pretend it was Mr. Winston’s flabby face, Vivienne’s beak of a nose, or anyone who displeased her that day.

She walked out to meet Evan after a quick shower. He rumpled her damp hair.

“Maintenance would not approve.”

“Good thing they aren’t here.”

On their walk home, Evan made an unfamiliar turn. She frowned for a second.

“Oh,” she said, realizing. “The evaluation.”

He tapped on the bright blue folder in his hand. “It’ll just take a second.”

“I do hope I behaved well enough this season, sir,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.

“Where’s that behavior the rest of the season?”

She smiled. Many of the guardians were far stricter than Evan, unafraid of reporting any disobedience to the Upper Establishment. She had never been further inspected as a result of the evaluations, so it was safe to assume that Evan took a deaf ear to her many, many shortcomings as a Daughter.

“Wait here,” he said, outside the office. “Don’t go anywhere, Ellie,” he warned, tapping his chest. “I’ll be able to tell.”

“I know.”

He disappeared into the office. As she always did, she walked further down the corridor to stare at the door in the center of the hall.

The door to Room Three Hundred remained black and glossy, a spot in the white wall that would not wash away. She and Evan had only visited the place that one time when she was young " and once had been plenty. Was it still so red inside? How many others had been strapped to that table since Evan? More happened in Room Three Hundred than simple disciplinary beatings " some of the older Daughters claimed that the Cross branding happened in Room Three Hundred. Some said that before their Extermination, the Daughters were restrained onto the table while chosen Establishment members had their way with the girls.

A glint of white by the door distracted her from her reverie.

It was a small plastic card, magnetic strip on the back visible. Frowning, she picked it up.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Identification of Counselor Uriel, the card read, President of Giaselian Scientific Development. She stared at the photo of the card’s owner, recognizing the long face and the smile that left the eyes ice cold.

He and the other Counselors lived in the Cocoon, Eleanor knew, in the floor above the Daughters. It would need to be returned. Surely he’d need it for accessing his laboratories, buried deep inside of Raphael’s Medical Wing, or for getting into his apartment.

A door behind her slid open and Eleanor scrambled to her feet.

An irate Evan stalked over to her.

“Can you stay in place for two minutes?”

“No.” She stuffed the card into the back of her corset. “So have I passed?”