Chapter 5

I went back to my room, blissful and happily surprised at the outcome of the moment that I dreaded most. Overthinking definitely doesn’t help anyone. I plopped joyfully onto my bouncy, spring mattress and enjoyed the most comfortable bed that I had ever laid on in my whole life.

All the things that the parentless got, including their mattresses, were all the unwanted, old things that the working families donated into the recycling program. Although this mattress was not nearly as nice as some of my childhood classmates got to sleep on at night, it was far better than the hard, moth-eaten ones I had to sleep on throughout mine.

I spread my arms and legs over the stretch of the bed and smiled, so overjoyed by how fast I had made friends. I was especially pleased that one of them invited me to spend time together. That made me a little nervous. I had only gone to one social event in my life and it was almost six years since that birthday party. What were the social normalities? What if I got every single one wrong? What was I even supposed to wear? Then a thought hit me, What if this is a date? In all the surviving films from the time when they still made movies that I had watched, the guy always asks the girl on a date, and usually the first date was dinner. Angeles is a guy and he most definitely asked me out to dinner. All of my questions that I asked myself before intensified. I had never even spent time with someone outside of education or the parentless wing other than from a pity invite, so how was I supposed to know what to do on an actual date?

The only thing I had control over right now was what I would wear. I looked down at what I was wearing. An oversized t-shirt and boy’s sweatpants was definitely not the way to go.

Forgetting for a second that I only owned three outfits in the whole world, I opened my drawer, expecting to find a dozen combinations of new, nice clothes that were bought specifically for me, but instead was met with a gray long sleeve, worn jean shorts that were way too tight, and a light purple dress that had a couple stains on it. The long sleeve and jean shorts were my backup clothes, with the exception of the long sleeve when Burke chilled in the winter time. The purple dress was rarely donned. It was only for occasions where I needed to make an impression. The annual Burke Adoption Day was the only time this particular dress was worn and it was what I would have worn on my secondary education graduation day.

The dress felt like the right choice. I unburied it from the bottom of my drawer, and as I grabbed it, I felt a book page underneath it. Reminders of what were printed on the page flooded through my mind enraging me into a rabid state of pure fury. Why had my parents left me for this. They doomed me to a neglected life only to come in ten years later to ‘save me’ and then proceed to use my asset. Why did my parents want that power? Are they planning on destroying everything?

So many questions poured through my head. My sight was blurred and interrupted by my flooding thoughts. The wicked goal of my parents created a blockade, restricting my vision. The hurt plugged my ears from the constant whirring and muffled chatter I was used to hearing. The fear prevented my brain from any form of rational thought. I stood, my hand inside the top drawer of my nightstand, clasped around the purple dress, as I just stewed in pure hatred of my parents. The sadness and agony of knowing they are too far gone and will never love me like parents should ever again emptied me. I felt like a clear glass full of water. If someone stood behind me, they would see right through my distorted nothingness.

I crumpled to my knees, sobbing silent sorrows until all the anger, pain, and fear was replaced by pure loneliness. I looked up, my eyes red and sore, brain exhausted, body weak. I looked at the dress in my hand. It had a stain of salty tears from my crying, but when I saw the happy-go-lucky purple shade the old, stained fabric showed, I remembered that there were people in my life that have given me things instead of robbing me. Booker had given me his trust, Milton, Walker, and Ramiro, their acquaintance, and Angeles, his time.

I whipped my head to the digital time readout above my door. 17:20, it read. There was only half an hour until I had agreed to meet Angeles and I did not look attractive in any definition of the word.

I rushed up to my feet and across the hall into the girls’ bathrooms. I hurriedly picked up a towel from the community pile, hung it and my dress on a hook to keep them dry, stepped into a shower and quickly washed myself. When I got out of the warm shower, the tear spot on my dress was almost dry. Good enough. I dried myself and put my hair up in the towel I used to help it dry faster. I slipped on the dress and laid my oversized t-shirt and sweatpants over my arm, then rushed out of the bathroom and back towards my room.

I looked at the digital readout. 17:45. If I didn’t leave now, I would be late to meet Angeles. I didn’t know much about get-togethers, not to mention dates, but I guessed that being late was not seen as polite. I stripped the towel off my head and ripped my brush through my damp, long brown hair. Hoping that my fresh shower smell would last through dinner, I ditched the deodorant and ran toward the door. 17:48. Two minutes. I cursed myself under my breath for not being mindful of the time, and took off down the hall. After the first turn, I noticed that I had forgotten my trusty map. I cursed myself again. I now had to rely on pure memory to navigate these halls.

Fortunately, I knew most of the way to the Apex common area, but with less than three turns left, I hit a four-way fork.

Panicking, I trusted my gut, and picked one at random. After about half a minute of running down that hall, I realized it was the wrong turn. Spinning around, I begged that I would be able to find the common area in time. When I reached the fork again, I had to put my hands on my knees to catch my breath. The combination of nervous jitters and running, made it extremely difficult for my heart to keep up.

When I calmed myself, I felt something new, but familiar. In my mind, I heard whispers of wielders engaging in pre-dinner chatter, kind of like how I heard things in the elevator, but this time, I could locate my way towards it.

Grateful for the first time that I had an asset, I raced down the correct hallway, only slowing down to a brisk walk when I approached the last turn that would put me into the Apex commons hallway.

I rounded the corner and ran right into Angeles’s abdomen.

“Right on time,” he said when he saw me.

“Sorry! So sorry!” I apologized as I bounced right off of his dense body.

Angeles laughed. “I saw you coming so I thought I’d surprise you. Why were you running anyway? I’d wait for you,” he teased.

“Oh, well I just didn’t want to be late.”

“I know. I saw you saying that ten seconds ago,” he continued to tease me.

“Does that future prediction thing have an off button?” I retorted, “It gets in the way of having an enjoyable conversation.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Damn Shae! You got a spark in you.”

We both laughed.

“But seriously, does it? I want to talk with you without you already knowing what I’m going to say.”

“Uh, I mean I’ll try, I’m so used to doing it all the time, it's a habit.”

“Could you try? Pleeeease?” I begged, imitating a spoiled child.

He laughed, “Sure, I’ll try. Can’t promise I will be able to though.”

“That’s alright, thanks.”

They walked into the common area, and about a hundred wielders were already in line.

“Oh, we should’ve come earlier,” I told Angeles disappointedly.

“Nah, what they’re serving tonight isn’t worth waiting in line half an hour for. That’s tomorrow night,” Angeles informed.

“How do you know what they’re serv- ohhh.” I understood. Angeles probably can see the chefs’ putting up the week's menu in the back of the kitchen.

“I’m a wielder, I know things,” he replied.

“Do you have another response?” I teased.

“Ha! Nope!”

“Well, what’s tomorrow night?”

Angeles lowered to whisper in my ear, “Pizza.”

“Really?”

“Shh!” He whispered in my ear again, “You see that guy with the ear tattoo?”

“Yeah,” I whispered back.

“He overhears any conversation a mile around him, but only if he’s already heard part of it. I really don’t want him to beat me to the first spot in line tomorrow.”

“Oh, I see,” I whispered back, joining in on his silent mission.

“Too late Angeles,” the guy with the ear tattoo shouted across the room towards them.”

“Damn it,” Angeles looked away, embarrassed at his defeat.

I just laughed at him.

“Shut up,” he said.

The line progressed forward slowly. Angeles educated me on all the assets that people had in line that he could remember.

“He’s our tattoo artist. He can print his memories as images on any surface. It's also real useful if you ever want to decorate your room. He gets gigs all the time. That girl there can make herself glow. That helped when the power went out for a week three years ago. That little girl can change her skin and hair color by creating more melanin. Who knows if that is her biological appearance. And that kid-” I tried my best to listen, but all the information seemed to go in one ear and out the other. There were too many wielders, and not enough time to memorize all their skills. I did like the idea of putting images on my wall, so I took note of the young adult with dozens of makeshift tattoos all over his body.

After a good twenty minutes after eighteen, Angeles and I finally arrived at the dish area. This time, stacks and stacks of clean, decent dishes were available. I uttered a comment about how horrible the dishes I used for lunch were, and Angeles laughed.

“That’s Wreaker’s doing. He got his name by wreaking havoc on a good quarter of our dishes because people dared him to. They had to throw out the majority of them, but the ones that they could salvage they did. We were so close to running out of good dishes, that Leader actually punished him with a couple years of imprisonment. Of course, he got out by bending the metal of the door until it broke, so as a hilarious punishment, he now works in welding downstairs.”

I laughed. That was definitely something Booker would do.

I looked over the shoulder of the wielder in front of me and realized that Angeles was right. This was not a meal worth waiting half an hour for. The pot of what was supposed to be mac n’ cheese looked absolutely disgusting. The noodles were barely covered in what appeared to be and probably was melted packaged cheese. Kids, teenagers and young adults alike all scrunched their noses as the droopy substance was shoveled onto their plates.

“Next,” the cafeteria worker blurted, not even trying to hide their lack of interest.

“You can go first,” Angeles groused.

I regretfully allowed my plate to be filled with two scoops of whatever the concoction was. Angeles followed suit.

We sat down at one of the edge tables close to the entrance.

“Sorry you have to deal with the worst meal of the week without enjoying the good ones first,” Angeles said

“It’s alright.”

“You didn’t strike me as a dress kind of girl,” Angeles noticed, observing my wet hair and changed outfit.

I looked down at what I thought was the right attire for a formal occasion, and compared it to the same sweats that Angeles was working out in a few hours ago. I realized with a sudden flash of hot embarrassment, that this wasn’t a date after all. I had assumed more out of Angeles’s words than he had meant. I tried to cover up my dress and my intentions.

“I’m not, my other clothes are dirty,” I gulped.

“That’s not what you were going to say,” a huge, arrogant smile spread across Angeles’s face, “Tell me what you really meant.”

“Ugh! I thought I told you to stop hearing my words before I say them! Also if you know what I was going to say, why do I have to repeat them? Huh?” I fumed.

“Calm down babe,” Angeles laughed, “I’m honored you’d want to go on a date with me.”

I put my face in my palms, not understanding how I had decided it was a good idea to agree to this.

Angeles changed the subject, “So, Shae, I’ve been wondering something since yesterday,”

Oh no, he’s referencing when we glanced paths during the raid. Was it that obvious I was so scared of him?

“Okay…,”

“Why were those gofers after you?”

Of course he knew that. The one thing that I was supposed to hide from the world, Angeles knew. But maybe I could play down how much I knew.

“They wanted me to find something for them.”

“What do you mean ‘find something’, is that what your asset does?”

“Yeah, in a way,”

“So you can like, what, make something appear out of thin air, because that’s what-”

“Walker does, I know,” Angeles was slightly amused that I cut him off this time. “But no, I sort of, feel it. Like underground. I mean that’s as much as I was told.”

“That’s what that Booker guy you didn’t mention told you.”

“Yeah.”

“Well what on the joyous place and earth could be so important they’d risk being discovered to try to find?”

This is where I really needed to manipulate the truth. Careful to think more than ten seconds ahead, I concocted a story better than the dinner we were served, “I don’t know.” I shook my head, pretending to be just as confused as he was. It worked.

“Interesting,” he considered, “There’s only one problem with that story, babe.”

I held my breath. Oh no, he’s seen right through my lies.

“You haven’t told me who Booker is,” he looked genuinely worried. I thought that was slightly amusing. Angeles, the strong, tough, and extremely full of himself, was worried about some guy I knew.

“I can’t tell you,” I said, telling the truth this time.

“Oh , c’mon, who is he? A brother? Uncle?” he swallowed, “Boyfriend?”

“No,” I laughed from the ridiculous idea that I had any of those people in my life, “I actually don’t have any of those.”

Angeles’s muscles relaxed a bit. His looming figure shrunk back into its seat. “Then who is it?”

“I’m not lying, I literally can’t tell you.”

“Aw c’mon please?” he pleaded, “Let me in on the knowledge?”

“No,” then seeing my opportunity, I mocked, “I’m a wielder, I know things, babe.”

At this, Angeles howled with laughter getting a few uncomfortable stares, but he didn’t mind. Wiping a tear from his eye, he said, “Good one.”

“Thanks,”

Trying to conceal the last strands of his laughter, Angeles said, “You know I’ll find out who he is eventually.”

“No you won’t. I promised I won’t slip up.”

“Nobody’s perfect. Trust me,” he smiled his crooked, charming smile, “I’ve gotten people to accidentally spill their secrets before.”

I looked sadly down at my plate. I poked the disgusting melted cheese and noodles. “But it's not my secret to tell.”

He nodded in understanding. “I get that, but it's not like I have complete control on what I hear and what I don’t. Believe me, there are plenty of things I wish I didn’t know.”

“I’ll see how long I can last without spilling his secret.”

“Alright, you do what you want to.” The two sat in silence, then Angeles added, “I may not seem like it, but I’m actually very trustworthy.”

“You? Trustworthy?” I doubted.

“Yeah,” he said ruefully, “I’ve heard more secrets than I’d like to admit. B esides the few I used to bully kids into doing something for me in primary education, I’ve kept every single last one of them.”

“Oh, I see. That does make sense,” I pondered, “But how do I know you aren’t saying that to get me to tell?”

“Shae, I value honesty just as much as you do.”

I gulped guiltily, knowing that I had already lied to him within only hours of knowing him. My real name. Leader’s real name. The reason why the Others want me I wanted to make it up to him somehow. The lesser of those lies was probably the one to tell Angeles. I sighed, “Alright, I’ll tell you,” he perked up, like a rabbit listening intently, “But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I cross my heart,” he said.

I suddenly remembered the guy who could overhear conversations, and was glad I hadn’t yet told Angeles Booker’s secret. I whispered, “Is that guy with the ear tattoo listening?”

Angeles, being on the side of the table facing everyone, scoured the room, until he found the eavesdropper who was busy having his own conversation with his friends. “No.”

“Okay,” I continued my whisper, just to be safe, “Booker is Leader’s first name.”

“No,” he gasped, amazed that I got the guy’s name out of him. Not even Angeles could do that.

“Yeah, he told me himself when he took me back to his office last night,” I bragged.

“That’s really awesome, you know that?”

“Yeah,” I laughed, “I know.”

“I think you’re the only person he has told his name to in ten years”

“Wait,” I didn't realize how rarely Booker gave out his name, “Really? Why?”

“No one knows for sure, but my parents say that after his brother joined the Others, he just told everyone to stop calling him by his given name. No one knew what to call him, so he just became known as Leader. Some say it was his way of distancing himself from his traitorous brother, which is most likely. Not even his government advisors are allowed to spread his name around. Of course, there are some, like you-,”

I took a guilty breath.

“-who tell others what his name is. To further discourage general knowledge of his name, anyone who was heard saying his real name either on camera or in his presence was sentenced to five years.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Shady dude, I wonder why he trusted you.”

“Shouldn’t have,” I said under my breath.

“Hey, don’t say that, I kind of forced you. If you get in trouble for it, blame me, I give you full right.”

“I won’t do that. It was my fault.”