Page 5 of Privilege

3

AMITY

I try notto get distracted as he looms over me, his hand engulfing my wrist as he holds up my SafeGuard to scan. He smells like pine soap and something faintly familiar, chlorine or some other chemical they use in the pool at school.

“What are you doing here?” I demand. “And what did you do to his SafeGuard?” I speak through clenched lips and teeth. I see it, a nervous flick of the guard’s eyes to Zeph before his face smooths over.

“Nothing to worry about,” he murmurs in a low rumble while he holds the scanner over my wrist, but his brow furrows. His hand is warm and dry, the fingers long with no jewelry or hint of markings on his smooth skin. Our arms contrast: my tan skin dusted with freckles is pale beside his strong, brown forearm.

“That’s my friend,” I whisper. “What did you do to him?”

He stares at me for a beat. “Calm down, Pepper.”

I jerk in response. Itishim! The other kids at the MAV meetings used to call me Pepper, because of my freckles.

“Your mom is Mikayla Adamson,” I hiss. “What are you doing here? How are you a guard?”

I think this kid is eighteen, just like me. He doesn’t answer but finishes the scan, still holding on to my wrist like he’s reluctant to let go. I leave my arm there, sitting in his warm grasp.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says to me in a low voice.

“Liar,” I snap, pulling my wrist away.

There’s a huff from Zeph in front of me and Mikayla’s son gives a shake, as if clearing his head, and takes a step back. He doesn’t call to the graduates waiting behind me, just turns slowly to watch us as we leave.

Is he watching Zeph? Or is he watching me?

We join a group heading down the hall to the wide staircase. I don’t want to look back, but I can’t help taking a peek. The guard is scanning another girl’s SafeGuard now, her wrist limp in his hand, but his eyes are not on her. This time there’s no doubt—his gaze is bound to me. I keep searching my memory, trying to remember more about him. He was a quiet kid who kept to himself, but there was a time I knew his name. It was something short.

With my heart refusing to slow down, I turn and will myself to face forward as my thoughts rush in all directions. I glance over at Zeph and his wrist, but his SafeGuard looks identical to mine.

Here I am, walking with Zeph. If he does something stupid, will I get in trouble, too? Could this hurt my chances of becoming a Security Officer?

My stomach, already on edge at the prospect of taking the Oath and Zeph’s foolish plans, dips again as I imagine myself being blamed, imagine my mother getting in trouble with the Peaceful Society.

I try to swallow and my mouth is dry as sand. What am I going to do?

At the top of the stairs the flow of people splits apart, as everyone files into wide doors on either side of the hallway. Both sides are courtrooms. I see rows of wooden benches and marble on the walls and ceiling. I pull to the right, ready to enter, but Zeph tries to slip off to the other room.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I hiss, following him as closely as I can across the hall to the courtroom on the left.

“Amity, can you just go?” he says, motioning with his eyes across the hall.

“Zeph, I swear,” I say under my breath, my temper rising. We’ve stopped and there’s a pile-up behind us while we argue.

“Keep it moving,” a guard’s high, bored voice calls and the decision is made. We’re entering together and filing with the rest of the line into a row between long wooden benches.

In the front of the room there’s a fenced-off area with a group of desks. In one corner is a flag of the Peaceful Society, a stylized dove holding a twig from the olive tree. On the other side is a flag of the United Nations.

I sit with Zeph next to me, and he’s way too still for my comfort. We’ve been friends long enough for me to know that he’s always in motion, foot tapping, looking around, leg jiggling. If he has something in his hands he’s either taking it apart or putting it back together.

Right now he’s sitting entirely still and it’s scaring me. I let my hand creep over to his wrist, trying to feel his SafeGuard, but he jerks away.

“Not now, Amity,” he murmurs. I glance around. Everywhere there are teenagers talking, laughing, some of them rowdy on the other side of the room.

“Come on,” I say quietly.

“No.” His voice is low, final. “It’s done.”

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