Chapter 1, Robo-Princess

~Alice~

The dust gathering in the corner of the office was thin enough to avoid a broom, but enough to make the floor unclean. The air conditioning was on, but the fan moved slowly overhead, surely heating the room more than it was cooling it.

“I’m sure you’ll love it here. I assume you didn’t like private school?” Mr. Toman kept glancing at me. He seemed nervous. His desk was disordered. Papers mixed with files and pens mixed with pencils. I heard the small wheel squeak quietly as he opened a drawer hidden from my view.

“I was homeschooled,” I corrected him. “Rachel believes it deprived my social life.” I didn’t have to close my eyes to see the words Rachel had written for me to say. I watched Mr. Toman’s face. Occasionally he made eye contact, but then glanced away immediately.

He cleared his throat. “Rachel is your mother?”

“Yes.” Lie number thirty-two.

“And your father is...?” he looked at me. I waited for him to finish his sentence. He shifted through his papers again, obviously troubled, and then finished: “Richard Gaede?”  

“Yes.” Lie number thirty-three.

“Wonderful.”

“It’s customary.”

“Right.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and then leafed through my papers, including a photocopy of my ID and birth certificate. Charlie had faxed them in last night. Rachel said they’d be more foolproof than the last.

“Well,” he fished out a piece of paper from an envelope. His eyes flickered to me and then away again. “Everything seems in line.” He slid it across the table to me. I lifted a hand from my lap to pick it up.

“That’s your schedule. At the bottom is your locker number.” He waved his hand in my direction. He didn’t want to lean closer and point to it himself.

“Yes.”

“Yeah…” he trailed off. “Anyway, you should get going. The bell will ring at any moment.”

“Three minutes and fifty four seconds.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fifty one seconds. The bell.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. Okay.”

We stood up and lifted my backpack on my shoulders.

He walked around the desk and shook my hand quickly, “I hope you have a nice day.”

“You as well.”

The counselor accompanied me to the door, and then immediately shut it behind my back. I heard him pace back to his desk. The secretary watched me as I walked out of the office and into the hallway. Immediately, someone collided into my side, shifting my weight to my opposite leg.

“Watch it-” the boy started, but when I turned to examine him, his jaw went slack, “I, uh, I meant…”

“What should I be watching?” I asked him. He stared at me for a moment longer, but then his eyes flickered to a spot over my shoulder.

“Alice?”

I turned away from the boy towards a girl with curly hair and dark eyes. She stood taller than me, with an attire that one may have considered preppy.

“Yes,” I answered.

The girl smiled and put her hand out, “I’m Sofia Brooks.”

“I know. You are a subject?”

Sofia nodded, “Yes.”

“You don’t look like the other subjects I’ve met.”

She smiled, “I spend more time with people than most subjects do. I guess they’re rubbing off on me.”

“Should I be weary of being rubbed on?”  

A sharp bell interrupted our conversation. My timing had been correct. Immediately, students streamed in from the classrooms, crowding the hallways. Rachel had warned me of congestion. I watched them move. A high percentage held devices in their hands, probably cell phones. Another sweeping glance, and I could deduct that over half of the females kept their hair in ponytails.

Sofia laughed, drawing my attention to her once more. I’d never seen another subject laugh. In fact, Sofia was little like what I’d expected her to look like. Creases revealed themselves at the edges of her eyes and mouth when her facial expressions changed. I was not excellent at understanding facial expressions. Part of her hair was held back with a pin, but it was slipping out of place. She had a second piercing on one ear that did not match the other.

“No, I don’t think so. What’s your first class?” People streamed past us, sometimes brushing past me. Eight peoples’ arms made contact with mine. Five of which turned back to stare at me.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s on your schedule.”

I lifted the paper Mr. Toman had given me.

“See how the days of the week are at the top?” she pointed at the little black boxes. The nail polish on her finger was slightly chipped. I stared at it as she continued. “Today’s Monday, so let’s see… you have AP English first. Room 17 in West Wing. Can you find it on your own?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s my cell number- in case you need help during the day.” I don’t need help. She scribbled something on a torn piece of paper and handed it to me. “Good luck.”

“It is not a matter of luck.”

She smiled, insinuating she knew something that I did not: “Okay. I’ll try to find you during lunch.”

“Yes.” Then she turned and joined the other students. Her spot was immediately taken up by others traveling down the hall. They reminded me of a school of fish, or a rat nest, like the one from the old prison.

Mr. Toman had given me a map of the school, like the one Rachel had provided for the cemetery last week. Using it I traveled down the hall with the others to change building. I was excellent at navigating.

San Paolo high school had four floors and four buildings connected by covered walkways, and a population of almost two thousand students. The city was situated in the hills of the Bay Area in California. The blue sky in the windows was a stark contrast to the white walls of the inside of the building. The stairwells were just as congested as the hallways, but I was quickly able to make my way to room 217 in the building 3.

I walked in as the teacher began taking attendance. I closed the door behind me. When I turned around, I found everyone staring at me but the teacher, who was still looking at the student list. There were sixteen boys and thirteen girls, seven of which had their hair in a ponytail.

“Gile, Kristen.” The teacher called. “Kristen?” he looked up when no one answered and noticed me. “Ah,” he said, looking down at the attendance sheet again, but then he snapped his head up again. He looked at me for a long moment, then cleared his throat and looked down once more. “You must be Alice Gaede?”

The teacher’s stomach pressed against the belt of his pants, and his face was as round as his old fashion reading glasses. He had brown hair with a receding hairline. A strip of his skin on his left ring finger was lighter than the rest of his hand. He’d taken off his wedding ring.

“Yes.”

“Welcome, Alice. I’m Mr. Carmen. You may take a seat.” He continued to not look at me.

“Take it where?” a student in the front row snorted, and others glanced at each other. Mr. Carmen, though, did not look amused. He still did not look at me either.

“Have a seat, Alice.”

Four desks were unoccupied.

“Skeller, Brian.” Again, no one answered. Mr. Carmen looked up impatiently. “Well?” he realized I was still standing. He took his glasses off and squinted at me. “Is there a problem, Ms. Gaede?”

“Not of immediate importance.”

“Then why are you still standing?”

“You didn’t specify which seat I should sit in.”

Everyone shifted in amusement.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, you didn’t specify which seat I should sit in, sir,” I repeated louder, even though I’d spoken loud enough the first time. Someone whistled from the back.

The teacher’s face was quickly becoming red. He jabbed his finger towards the seat right in front of his desk. “Sit there. And I suggest not establishing a bad reputation on your first day here, Ms. Gaede,” he continued as I sat at the indicated place.

“I will remember it.”

This time several kids burst out laughing, but I did not understand why.

“Silence!” Mr. Carmen yelled. The room quieted a little, but some people around me continued to whisper.

“Now.” Mr. Carmen straightened his tie and took a deep breath. He picked up a piece of chalk. “Where were we last class?”

The class released a collective groan, but when he began writing on the board, everyone pulled out paper and writing implements. I listened to his lecture for 65 minutes: Rachel hadn’t given me school materials beyond a single notebook, and a pencil.

She’d handed them to me, saying, “Put the notebook and pencil on your desk during class, and no one will question you.”

Mr. Carmen didn’t, in fact, question me, but many people continuously glanced in my direction. When class was dismissed at the sound of the bell, I did as Sofia had told me and looked at my schedule to see what my next class was. The students filed out of the classroom, and a couple of the girls glanced at me irritably. As I stood up, one of them approached me after brushing a boy off her arm.

“I’m Barbara. You’re Alice, right? The new girl?” She asked once she reached my desk. The highlights in her hair were the color of the stuff in Richard’s test tubes, and dark black makeup surrounded her eyes, clumping at the corners. Instead of a backpack she carried a purse on one shoulder, and the weight made her weight rest unevenly on her feet. I could smell aggressive perfume emanating from her body.

“I don’t believe I’m the only new girl.”

“Haha, you’re so funny.” As she spoke she pulled out something from her purse. “Gum?” she asked before I could reply.

“Yes, it is.”

“Right…” The way she said it made the “igh” sound longer than the other letters as she popped a strip of bright blue in her mouth. “Anyway, we have a bit of a problem.”

“What problem do we have?”

“We’re wearing the same shoes.” Her breath smelled of mint and a half-eaten taco with extra cheese.

“Yes.” I’d already noticed our flats were identical.

“Great. So, you’ll donate them or something? Something good might as well come out of this,” she adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse, “I like to think of others.”

“No.”

She stared at me for a moment, and then cocked her hands on her hips, “What?” I could see the bright blue gum under her tongue.

“I said, no,” I repeated. “I am not donating them.” She must have also had a hearing problem. I watched her as she took a moment to come up with an answer.

“I mean, it’s in your best interest. I’d be embarrassed of wearing something that fit so much better with someone else.” She flipped a strand of hair off her shoulder and winked at someone behind me. A couple of students still packing their things glanced at us.

“You don’t seem embarrassed.”

Something flashed in her eyes, and I saw a muscle twitch on her face, but then she smiled. “Sassy. I like it. Can I call you Ali?”

“No.”

“Don’t sweat it, it’s cool. Hey, what happened?” she asked, pointing to the thick white bandage around my arm.

“I got shot.”

Barbara put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, you’re hilarious. You know an attitude like that could get you on the steering committee. Think about it.”

“Ladies, I must ask you to leave. It’s almost second period,” Mr. Carmen interrupted our conversation.

“Chill, Mr. Car, we’re going,” Barbara rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Alice.” Then she wrapped her arm around mine.

In less than a second I twisted her arm, locked it behind her back, and pushed her to the ground. Her purse fell to the floor and spilled all its contents. Barbara started screaming and the couple of kids still lingering in the classroom crowded around us.

“S**t! Help, she’s trying to kill me! GET OFF!”

Mr. Carmen ran around his desk and attempted to pry me off her. I let go immediately, and Barbara scrambled to her feet.

“She tried killing me!” she screamed. Her gum had fallen out of her mouth and was now squished on her right breast.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I mistook your sign of affection for a hostile gesture.”

“Hostile gesture, my a*s!” She pointed a finger in my direction, “You b***h.” Her face grew bright red as she grabbed her stuff and stalked out of the classroom. Her voice rose above the commotion in the hall. “I’ve been attacked by a psycho b***h!”

Mr. Carmen turned towards the students. “What are you staring at? There’s nothing to see here!” he barked, and everyone dispersed immediately, whispering and glancing over their shoulders.

I watched them, and then turned to the teacher.

“I said I was sorry,” I told him.

~)(~

“Her English class has been changed, and the girl involved in the incident have been spoken to. Unfortunately, there is no other teacher available to teach AP English, therefore you will still have Mr. Carmen, who will also be given a false explanation,” Mr. Acton said, crossing his arms over his chest. When he looked at me, he did not avert his gaze.  

“Great. Thank you, James,” Rachel, seated by my side, answered. Her reflection from the window duplicated her image: pale skin, dark hair, sharp features. She was of average height, but her high heels made her half a foot taller than me. She was dressed in contemporary fashion, with a large handbag by her feet. She did not sound compassionate.

Mr. Action turned to look at her, “I won’t be able to do this again. You told me she was ready. She almost killed one of my students within the first two hours of the day.”

“She is,” Rachel answered quickly. “Aren’t you, Alice?”

“Yes.”

“She just needs time to adjust.”

Mr. Acton glanced at me, “Ms. Gaede, can you give us a moment?”

“I am not able to handle-”

“He’s asking you to leave,” Rachel explained. “Wait in the hallway. You can sit on the bench.”

“Yes.” I stood up and walked out of the office, then placed myself on the hard seat and rested my hands on my lap. I could hear their conversation despite the closed door.

“What’s wrong with her?” Mr. Acton asked in a low voice.

A secretary walked down the hall. She her head high as she walked past me, and then stopped to glance at a mirror hanging on the wall. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, then glanced at me once before continuing on her way. I believe it was a defiant look.

“What are you talking about? She’s perfect.”

“Exactly. Even more than the others. It’s disturbing. Can she even form an independent thought?”

“When she is told to.”

“Rachel, I’ve allowed other subjects into my school because they were able to integrate seamlessly. But if Alice doesn’t, I won’t allow her to stay. She’s a risk to everyone, including herself. She’ll realize she’s different.”

“She knows she’s different.”

“For Christ’s sake, she’s just a kid.”

“She’s much more than a kid. She is the future to this nation’s protection- even though only I recognize it.”

“And what’s with the giant bandage? Where are you sending her?”

“Her training provides her with sufficient protection,” Rachel didn’t answer his question. “Give her a second chance, James. She’ll do well, I promise.”

“I’m afraid our definition of success is different.”

“Is that a yes?”

There was a long pause in the conversation, but finally the school principal sighed, “For this once, yes.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

“Don’t make me.”

I heard Rachel stand up and her heels click on the floor as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

“Come,” she gestured, so I stood up and followed her. I knew I was perfect. My IQ was very high. I was athletic, fast, and strong. At age 17, I could solve problems intended for fourth year engineering college students within minutes. I could recite 60-line Shakespearean monologues I’d memorized last year, and replicate famous paintings by memory. I could do both at once if I wished. I performed excellently in all skills.

We walked out of the building to the visitor parking lot. It still had plenty of people, who all turned to look in our direction as we past by. I circled the car to sit in in the passenger seat as Rachel sat in the driver’s.

“Did they see it?” Rachel asked after I’d buckled my seatbelt. She put the keys into the ignition.

“See what?” I asked. The sun shined through the window and across my face.

“The knife. Did you take it out?”

“No.”

“Pull the visor down, Alice. You’ll burn your eyes out.” I did as she told me. “You can’t attack a student again, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Or teachers, or staff.”

“And if they attack me?”

“Disarm them.”

“Yes.”

Rachel drove the rest of the way to the new house in silence. When we arrived, we walked up the steps to the front door.

As she pulled her keys out of her purse, she asked, “When did you run on the treadmill last?”

“Saturday.”

We both stepped inside. The new house was relatively small, but modern. The walls were white and the furniture geometric, their placement in each room making it seem bigger than it actually was. The door opened to a hall. On the right was a staircase that lead upstairs, and on the left was a living room with low couches and a large, flatscreen TV. Down the hall was the kitchen that connected to the dining room.

“I want you to run 5 miles and take a shower.”

“Yes.”

I ran for thirty minutes.

~)(~

The next morning I woke up with the alarm clock. It beeped once before I turned it off, and then I stood up and made my bed. On the back of my door I found a list.

1. Have breakfast

2. Brush your teeth

3. Get dressed (clothes on chair)

Rachel usually left me lists when she wasn’t home.

I walked downstairs into the kitchen. Richard sat at the table, drinking coffee. He had curly auburn hair, a square jaw, and wide shoulders.

“Good morning,” I greeted him, as was customary.

“Morning,” he mumbled. Richard wasn’t customary.

I walked to the cabinet and took out the box of cereal labeled “Alice.” I placed it on the counter and then went to retrieve the bowl, but it wasn’t in its usual place. I stared at the empty spot.

“You okay, robo-princess?”

Richard called me that sometimes. Rachel reprimanded him when he did so and told him it was a stupid nickname.

“There are no bowls.”

“Maybe they’re in the dishwasher?” I couldn’t tell whether or not he was speaking with sarcasm. Emotional inflections were difficult for me to interpret.

I turned and opened the dishwasher.

“You’re right,” I told him, taking out one of the bowls. It was still warm and slightly wet.

“Damn right I am,” he said, and lifted the coffee mug to his lips again. I closed the dishwasher and then opened the fridge and found the milk jug labeled “Alice.”

“You eating that flaky stuff again?” Richard asked.

“Are you referring to my cereal?”

“It’s not like any cereal I’ve ever seen.”

“Then this is the first time you’ve seen it.” I took out the measuring cups and poured one-cup of fat free milk and one cup of cereal, and then I cut a Fuji apple into eight slices and sat at the small round table. My breakfast consisted of 400 calories.

“Want some coffee?” Richard asked me.

I looked at him, “I don’t know.”

He laughed and poured the remains down the sink; “I forgot preferential questions get to you.”

“What do you mean ‘get to me’?”

“Never mind,” he muttered. He tapped his fingers on the table as he swirled the remains of his coffee around in his mug. “How was your first day of school yesterday?”

“Rachel picked me up at ten.”

“What? Why?”

“I accidentally disarmed a student. I thought she meant to attack me.”

Richard choked on whatever he was eating and pounded his chest. He was laughing. “Good lord, Alice. What do you mean you disarmed a student?”

“I rendered her incapable of harming me. I did not injure her.”

“What did Rachel say?”

“She was relieved I hadn’t used my knife.”

“Yeah.” He settled back down in his chair. He was still grinning. “‘Course she was.”

~Richard~

I watched as she ate. She was strange. Stranger than the others, I meant. Rachel told me she wasn’t different, but I didn’t believe her.

Alice chewed each spoonful eight times. I counted. Every morning she ate the same breakfast, day after day. After finishing she’d go back upstairs (as she did today) to the bathroom. Shortly later Rachel would arrive and join her (there she was at the door), probably to help with some female crap. Or to not help her. You never really knew with Rachel.

At seven twenty they both came downstairs. I would have liked to see her classmate’s reaction when Alice walked into classrooms. She wasn’t drop dead gorgeous- but she was perfect. Everything was proportionate, every feature fit seamlessly with the rest of her figure. They must have performed some plastic surgery along with the intervention. It was kind of intimidating, actually.

~Alice~

Rachel had chosen my outfit. I looked at myself in the mirror hanging on the wall. I wore a denim skirt with a white tank top under a red cardigan and black converse. She’d put my hair into a bun using a little round sponge, dark eyeliner around my eyes, mascara on my eyelashes, and gloss on my lips. My eyes were brown and my hair was blond.

“You look perfect,” Rachel told me.

“I know.”

Richard snorted from the kitchen and she looked at him critically. He looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. At school they were my parents, but at home she was my trainer and he her weapons developer. Sometimes they were lovers, other times they were business partners. I did not ask.

Rachel picked up the car keys, “Get your stuff, or we’ll be late. I’ll go turn the car on.”

“Yes.” I went into the kitchen to get my backpack.

“Have a nice day,” Richard told me.

“Thank you.”

“Alice?” he called me back when I reached the door.

“Yes?”

“Try to make some friends, okay?”

~Richard~

She looked at me as if I’d asked her to do something ridiculous, but then answered with her usual, “Yes,” and shut the door behind her.

~Alice~

Rachel let me drive the car because Charlie had sent my license in the mail that morning. It was not like riding the motorcycle.

When we arrived at school, she indicated where to stop. When I changed the gear into parking, she pulled out a piece of paper from her bag and offered it to me.

“Here.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Your schedule. I added some more information to help you today.”

I took the paper and looked at it. All the times had been crossed out and rewritten five minutes earlier. Next to AP English was a note that said, “sit at back of classroom.” All over the paper were other scribbles like “don’t correct teacher,” “don’t show bullet wound,” and “don’t finish test first.”

“Sofia said she’ll look for you at lunch, but if she can’t find you, you’ll have to sit at a table with other students your age.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at three.”

“Yes.”

She got out and circled the car to sit in the driver’s seat as I retrieved my backpack from the trunk. Rachel rolled down the window and waved as she drove away. I watched until the car disappeared, then walked into the school.

As I traveled the halls, I couldn’t understand why everyone stared at me. A tall boy whistled, but when I turned to look at him, his eyes went wide and he turned away. Last night Rachel had taken away my knife. I wondered whether the police had already found the men I’d locked in the cellar.

My first class was history. I walked into the room and saw that it was empty, except for the teacher. The class was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Plastic reproductions of Roman and Greek sculptures stood among the desks, and the walls were covered in posters and pictures of ancient empires.

All the seats were unoccupied. I looked down at the schedule. Rachel hadn’t written where I should sit.

“Alice, right?” The teacher asked. She looked up from her desk. Her eyes rested on me for a moment.

“Yes.” I did not wonder how she knew my name.

“I’m Ms. Holly. You’re early.” She smiled. Her hair was a darker blond than mine, and wavy. She was younger than the other teachers I’d seen.

“Yes. Five minutes and six seconds.”

The teacher made an expression I was unable to recognize, but then gestured to the room, “Feel free to take a seat. Class’ll start in just a bit.”

“Yes.” I stared at the empty seats. I’d asked Mr. Carmen where to sit yesterday, and he’d become angry, so I didn’t ask Ms. Holly. Slowly, I walked to the front row and examined the desks.

“Difficult choice?”

“Yes.”

“Goats and Monkeys.”

I turned to face her. “How come you are quoting Shakespeare?”

“You recognize it?” She seemed pleased. “It’s just a little test I give all my students. I throw quotes at them.”

“I believe it would be difficult to throw sentences.”

“But I can try.” Ms. Holly leaned against her desk. She wore a purple dress. “Do you know what play it’s from?”

“Othello.”

“Very good,” She laughed. “Where’d you move from?”

“I didn’t move. I was homeschooled.” People began to walk in, occupying seats. The desk I’d decided to sit in was taken. I felt a feeling in my chest as I looked at the remaining unoccupied ones.

“Why don’t you sit close to my desk, Alice?” Ms. Holly pointed to one on my far right.

“Because you did not tell me to.” A student glanced at me oddly as I replied.

“I think you should sit here,” she rephrased herself.

“Yes.” I went and sat down. I think I felt relieved as I took my notebook out and placed it on the desk next to my pencil. At seven fifty some seats were still empty, but Ms. Holly closed the door and turned to face the class.

“Good morning, everyone.”

“Good morning.” I was the only one to answer.

“Well, it’s good to know that at least one of my students knows how to speak.” Immediately there was a chorus of half-hearted replies.

“That’s better.”

Ms. Holly lectured us on the Roman Empire for forty-five minutes. I wasn’t the only one to not take notes, but the others like me did not listen. I recorded. Without a device, of course. At one point of the class, two students in the back struck up a conversation while Ms. Holley attempted to answer another pupil’s question.

Without an instant’s pause she picked up a whiteboard eraser and threw it at them. It bounced off one of their backpacks, and the two students stopped speaking abruptly as the rest of the class chuckled in amusement.

“Rule number one,” Ms. Holly spoke charmingly. “If I have to throw an eraser at you, you are probably doing something wrong.” The two students seemed bashful, but judging by everyone’s reaction, this did not seem like an extraordinary event.

“Anyway,” she sang, “you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. I’m done lecturing.” She picked up a pile of papers from her desk and began handing them out. “Please find a partner and work on this together. You have the rest of class to finish it.”

I looked at the paper on my desk and then around the class. I found a lot of potential partners.

“Hey.” A girl dragged her chair up to my desk. She held a pencil in her free hand. The eraser had been used to the edge of the metal wrap it was fixed in.

“Hi,” I replied.

“Wow,” she muttered after sitting down by my side and registering my face.

We considered each other. She had short black hair and brown eyes. The ends of her hair curled a little and were died an electric blue. She wore a silver headband and her skin was almost as pale as Rachel’s.

“Anyway,” she used her hand to indicate the rest of the class. A couple of bracelets jangled on her wrists. “If you want to know, I’m saving your life.”

“Thank you.”

“You're very welcome.” She tilted her chair back to grab her notebook from her backpack. “Trust me, you don’t wanna be partners with anyone in this class. Except for me. I’m awesome.

She slapped her notebook onto my desk, and a couple of papers fell out. “Crap.” She leaned down to pick them up, and I saw that they were drawings and sketches. “What’s your name, anyway?” she asked as she stuffed them back together.

“Alice Gaede.”

“Alice Gaede? That sounds nice.” I could probably draw something based on that name.” She pulled out a pen from her pencil case and clicked its end. “I’m Wrena Speaker.”

I thought about what Richard had told me this morning.

“Do you want to be my friend?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. It might ruin my relationship with myself, and I don’t tend to like people,” she tapped the end of her pen on her cheek. “But what the hell. Yeah, sure. We can be friends. Maybe if we get this crap done before the end of class Ms. Holly will let us leave early. She’s cool, isn’t she? I would have thrown something heavier at them.”

“Her body temperature seems normal.” The noise around us had faded to a low murmur as everyone found partners and began to work.

“You’re weird. But it’s ok, I’m weird, too. Now come on, let’s do this.”

“Yes.” No one had ever called me weird before. I looked at the paper. There were twenty questions. I took out my pencil and began answering them. Wrena was left handed.

Five minutes later, she glanced at me and gaped at my paper.

“Yo! You’re already on number eight? Dude, where’d you find all the answers?” She began turning the pages of her Ancient History textbook. She looked back at me. “You don’t even have a textbook out!”

“I don’t have a textbook.”

“Then how do you know the answers?” she demanded.

“I learned them.”

“Well no duh,” she muttered. “I’d ask to copy them, but that would insinuate I don’t know them, which I do.”

“Yes.”

Fifteen minutes later I was finished. I stood up and handed it to Ms. Holly.

“That was fast,” the teacher told me, looking up from a pale of research papers she was grading.

“Yes.” I replied, and returned to my seat. Wrena rested her face on the open textbook in a gesture of defeat.

“I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

She shifted her head sideways so she could squint at me, “I’m just kidding. I’m annoyed you finished before me.”

I pulled out my schedule. “I can be the first to finish everything but tests.”

She sighed and sat up again, and then picked up my notebook. “Is this yours?” she asked, opening it.

“Yes.”

“What the…” she muttered, leafing through it. “It’s empty! Did you take any notes?”

“No.”

“Well you better hope you’re a listening kind of learner.” She finished the other questions in a rush and scribbled her name at the top of the page.

“Yo, Ms. Holly, we’re done. Can we go?”

“Yes, if you’ve finished the worksheet, you can go. The homework is online. Alice, I’ll email you the link.”

“Yes.”

Wrena stood up and tossed me my backpack. I caught it with one hand.

“Come on, I’ll show you around our loser school,” she told me. I followed her out the door. Wrena wore white shorts and an oversized tee-shirt.

“What haven’t you seen yet?” she asked.

“Room 1, 2, 4, 5, 6-”

“Ok, ok, what about the gym? Have you seen the gym yet?”

“No.”

“You’re lucky,” she laughed, taking a right down another hallway. Her hair moved slightly as she walked. We were the only ones around. “It smells like hell. But you have to see it anyway. It’s kind of a right of passage, you know?”

“No.” I glanced through a window on a door. Students stared at the board while the teacher lectured about a subject.

“Well, now you do. And what’s with you and all your short answers? You kind of sound like a robot.”

“Richard calls me robo-princess, sometimes,” I told her.

“Seems fitting. You do kinda give off the stereotypical princess-y vide. At least, the Disney ones: blond hair, perfect skin. Anorexic.”

“I’m not anorexic.”

“I’m just kidding. But I bet you could balance a book on your head, and all that stuff.” We walked into a large room filled with mobile tables and stools. At the far end was a long lunch counter. “This is the cafeteria. On good days, they sell coffee.”

“What are the good days?”

“When the manager gets his desert.” She snorted. We crossed the cafeteria and exited through a door in the back.

“So why’d ya move to little old San Paolo anyway?”

“I didn’t move here, I was just homeschooled.”

“Ew. Why would you do that? No social life, man. I mean, I guess I can’t testify, but at least I spend time with my own species at school.”

It took me a while to answer her. Rachel hadn’t told me what to reply to that.

“Rachel wanted to.”

“Who’s Rachel?”

“My mother.”

“You call your mom by her first name?” Wrena asked, but before I could answer, her cellphone began playing the song “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor. She pulled it out of her pocket. “Speak of the devil,” she muttered, then pressed “answer” and held the cell up to her ear. “Y’ello?”

We stopped walking and I looked around. The two double doors at the end of the hallway were open, and I could hear noise echoing out of the room behind them. I walked forward and Wrena followed me.

“Yes, mom. Uh-huh. Ya. You already told me that. Hey listen, can I bring a friend home? Ok, hold up.” She covered the microphone with her hand and turned to me. “Do you wanna come over?”

“I don’t know,” I answered her, looking away from the open doors.

“Cool.” She spoke into the phone again, “Yeah, she’s coming. Don’t act so surprised. No, I haven’t threatened her. Her name’s Alice. Hey, make cookies or something? Thanks. Yeah, me too. Bye. Bye.” She turned the phone off and stuck it in her pocket again. “Good lord, that woman never stops talking. Hey, what are you looking at?”

I pointed towards the big open room beyond the double doors. A long rectangle painted on the floor was divided by an elevated net, splitting twelve people into two groups of six. A ball was passed around as players yelled numbers at each other.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“Have you never heard of volleyball?” Rachel would have called the look on Wrena’s face “quizzical.”

“I have heard of it before. It’s a sport, but I’ve never seen it,” I informed her.

“You are one odd duck.”

“I’m not a duck.”

“Exactly. Anyway, should you tell your mom or something that you’re coming over?” The movement of the players was mesmerizing, but the smell less so. I wrinkled my nose.

“I will call her.” I took my phone out of my bag and began to dial Rachel’s number.

“Hey, why don’t you just text her? It’s almost time for next class.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how to text? See, I told you. Duck.” She pushed her silver headband back and took my phone. She typed something into the screen, then showed me. The little bubble read, “Going to friend’s house after school. Txt u l8er.”

I frowned, confused, but then the bell rang and the doors behind us swung open as everyone exited their classrooms. The hallway filled up within seconds.

~Richard~

I loaded the gun and weighed it one hand, and then the other. The handle was small in my grip, but it would be perfect for Alice. I didn’t know why Rachel wanted more weapons- the kid had and knew how to use more than enough. I rested it on the counter and picked up my leftover coffee from this morning. As I lifted the mug Rachel’s phone buzzed on the kitchen table.

“Rachel!” I called. I waited a couple of seconds before shouting again. “Rachel!”

“What?” she yelled from upstairs.

“Your phone!”

“Check it, please?”

I muttered something and approached the table. She was probably doing her nails. Or finding a new crime case for Alice. I picked up her phone: it was a message from Alice. I didn’t even know she knew how to text.

Going to friend’s house after school. Txt u l8er.

I opened my mouth to call Rachel again, but then shut it. This definitely wasn’t Alice. Someone had sent this for her. I half smiled; maybe she’d listened to my advice. I erased the text and put the phone back down.

“So?” Rachel called.

“Nothing, it was mine,” I answered quickly.

~Alice~

“What’s your next class?” Wrena asked.

I put my phone away and looked at my schedule. “Statistics.”

“Math is on the opposite wing. Wanna meet up for lunch? I’ll save you a seat.”

I didn’t understand what “I’ll save you a seat” meant, but I answered, “Yes.”