Page 57 of Privilege

“Vale, what happened to you?” I ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer, glancing away, out to the rest of the pool, before turning back to face me. “Why’d you cut your hair?” he asks without answering my question.

This time I look away. I can’t talk to him about that. He nods grimly. We both have secrets.

“Let’s do some laps,” he says, changing the subject.

I nod. “Yeah.”

He starts again, swimming at a slower tempo this time, and I begin my routine, starting with the crawl before moving to the backstroke. I see him now and then and he keeps going, steady, not taking breaks.

He’s right. He is a swimmer. He’s lasting longer than I thought he would, keeping up a steady pace. Beside him I find myself pushing harder, showing off a little. When he finally stops I glance up at the clock and it’s been half an hour of steady swimming. We’re both breathing hard and deep, recovering.

His smile is respectful. “Thanks, Ami. I feel better.”

“That was great,” I agree. “I haven’t swum since I got up here. I really appreciate it.”

“Just find me. We can come here anytime,” he assures me, pushing up and out of the water. I blink a little at his triceps.

“Um, yeah.” I push out myself. “I should, uh, probably get back.”

Vale nods. “I’ll walk you out.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him, a little formally. He shrugs.

“Yeah, I do.”

We duck back through the side door and I get dressed again behind the shelving, rubbing as much water off with a towel as I can before pulling my clothes on. My hair is dripping and I rub it with the same towel, wringing the water out.

Luckily it’s not too cold out today. I’ll take a shower when I get back.

“What should I do with this?” I ask, coming out. Vale is dressed. He throws his suit in the open washing machine with his towel.

“In here is fine.”

“Okay.” I follow him out, zipping up my jacket. There’s a side door out of the athletic complex onto the grounds. We follow a pathway that has us circling around, back toward the front.

The whole complex is shut off with fencing and roads, and all the entrances are guarded. There are old sports fields back here, but instead of empty grass with paint marking the fields, they’re filled with trucks.

Rows and rows of eighteen-wheelers are lined up on what looks like the former football field. On the basketball and tennis courts there are dozens of school buses. I stop short, caught off guard by all the vehicles.

I peer down the aisle between them, and the rows go on and on until the fence of the complex, maybe half a mileaway. I glance toward Vale, who is scanning the scene also. His face reflects the surprise I feel.

“That’s a lot of trucks,” I say.

“Yeah.” Vale doesn’t add anything, just leads me past. I spot men moving through the vehicles, looking them up and down, bending down to check underneath, like they’re doing an inspection.

“What does the Forge do with…?” I start to ask but Vale cuts me off in a low voice.

“Don’t ask. I shouldn’t have brought you back here. Come on.” He leads the way between two buildings to scrubby grass in the front and the guard booth on the bridge where we came in.

“Is the Forge shipping something? Or moving somewhere?” I mutter, my mind racing to explain the vehicles. Vale shakes his head.

“It’s classified,” he tells me with finality, sounding a bit like Isaiah. But he still looks perplexed. “Let’s just do this thing for my father and I’ll try to figure out what’s going on with the trucks.”

“They’re not always here?” I ask quickly, noting his confusion.

“No. Well, I’ve been away. I don’t know everything that’s happening.”

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