The end of the old earth had left a lot of broken families, and most teens my age had lived in school dormitories for half their lives. It was our home now—not by choice, but by necessity. You go to class, you return to the dorms, you eat in the cafeteria, you sleep in your assigned bed. Rinse and repeat until you turn twenty-five and they ship you off to the South.
There were both girls' and boys' dormitories at Central, separated by about a hundred yards and a lot of very strict rules. Not that it stopped anyone from trying.
I shared room 214 with three other guys: Derrick, my best friend since we were dumped here at age ten; James, who was decent enough but had this annoying habit of asking too many questions; and my younger brother Clinton, who was sixteen and still optimistic enough to think the world might actually get better someday.
Whatam I now? The question kept bouncing around in my head as I stood in front of our cracked mirror, trying to scrub the dirt off my face with a wet towel. The golden flicker in my eyes was fading, but I could still feel that strange electricity humming under my skin. Whatever those cradlewalkers had done to me, it wasn't going away.
I was still trying to figure out what the hell had happened when I heard footsteps in the hallway—my roommates coming back from dinner. I tried to clean myself up faster, but that's when the three of them pushed through the door, balancing plates and talking over each other like they always did.
"Oh my goodness," said Derrick, nearly dropping his plate when he saw me. "Look who's back from his mysterious adventure."
Derrick was tall and lanky, with dark skin and this habit of grinning when he was worried. He'd been covering for me all day, I could tell.
"Ernest," Clinton called out, setting down his food and rushing over. "What happened to you, man? You look like you've been through a war zone."
A lot, trust me, bro. But as I looked at my little brother's concerned face, I noticed something that made me forget about my own problems for a second.
"What happened to your hair?" I asked, staring at Clinton's head. His hair was pure black now, no trace of the electric blue that had marked him as a Mela since birth. "Are you telling me you finally beat the curse?"
Clinton grinned and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's been like this for two days now. Someone's been so distracted lately he didn't even notice."
The curse of our bloodline. That's what we called it—the weird genetic thing that gave everyone from our family bright blue hair in a world where everyone else had normal colors. It made us stand out, made us targets, made us different when different was the last thing you wanted to be.
"How?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I've been trying to dye mine black for years and it always fights back."
"I don't know," Clinton shrugged. "Marvel gave me some new dye compound. Said it was experimental."
Marvel was one of the older kids who'd be graduating soon. He had connections to supplies that weren't supposed to exist in Central.
"Join us, Nesto," James said from across the room, organizing the food on his bed. "We brought enough rice for everyone."
James was okay, I guess. He was more of a friend to Derrick and Clinton than to me, probably because I had this annoying habit of disappearing and not explaining where I'd been. He had dark hair, serious eyes, and this way of asking questions that made me uncomfortable.
I sat down on my bottom bunk, but I wasn't really hungry. At least, not for food. My body was craving something else—something I couldn't quite name. It was like I needed... energy? Power? I didn't know how to describe it.
"So," James said, settling cross-legged on his bed with his plate, "how was your day outside the walls?"
Derrick, you absolute idiot. Can't you keep one stupid secret?
I shot my best friend a look that could have melted steel. I hadn't told anyone about my plans except him, and even then, I'd only mentioned that I wanted to explore beyond Central. I definitely hadn't said anything about Maureen.
"Jim, come on," Derrick said, looking guilty. "Can't you just—"
"It's fine," I said, though it really wasn't. "I didn't go outside."
"Right," James said, but his tone suggested he didn't believe me. "You just happened to disappear for a full day and come back looking like you've been buried alive, but you stayed inside Central the whole time."
If only you knew how accurate that is.
Clinton climbed up to his top bunk and looked down at me with concern. "Come on, Ernest. We're your family. You can tell us anything."
Family. He was right about that. After eight years together, we were more like brothers than roommates. But how could I explain what had happened? How could I tell them that I'd been filled with some kind of divine essence by religious fanatics and could apparently teleport now?
"Tomorrow James is turning twenty-five," Derrick said suddenly, like he was trying to change the subject. "He's going to be promoted to the South."
The South. That's what they called it, like it was some kind of reward instead of the great unknown that swallowed everyone we'd ever known. None of us knew what happened in the South. They called it "graduation" and "real world preparation," but nobody ever came back to tell us what it was actually like.
"Don't remind me," James muttered, poking at his rice. "I'm not ready. But I guess this is what we all work toward—promotion."
"Most definitely"
"You were outside today, weren't you?" James pressed, studying my face. "I can tell. That's not regular Central dirt, Nesto. That's red sand from the outer zones."
Shit. How do you even know what outer zone dirt looks like?
"I was helping in the gardens," I said quickly. "They brought in new soil from—"
"The gardens don't use red sand," James interrupted. "And they don't have whatever that smell is."
I looked down at my clothes. I'd tried to clean up, but I probably still smelled like smoke and gunpowder and whatever chemicals they used in those electric weapons.
"Look," Derrick said, jumping in to help, "maybe Nesto doesn't want to talk about it right now. We're all stressed about you leaving tomorrow."
But James wasn't letting it go. He set down his plate and leaned forward. "Nesto, if you're getting involved with something dangerous outside Central, we need to know. We can help."
Help? Take a cup of water and relax, bro. Something inside me stirred, responding to my frustration. For just a moment, I felt that golden energy flicker behind my eyes. You have no idea what kind of help I need.
"I'm fine," I said, more sharply than I intended. "Everything's fine."
But even as I said it, I knew nothing would ever be the same again.