Page 82 of They're Watching You

I take off in the direction of the back door. In the distance, a shadow flaps like a massive bird over the grass in the moonlight. Remington. He isn’t waiting for me to complete my task. Beneath my bare foot, something squelches. I glance down, where a damp, half-rolled piece of paper lies on the tile. Stooping to pick it up, I unfurl it some more and read:

The owner of this scroll may skip one task. Somewhere near you lies a gilded box. Find it and retrieve your game piece.

—VOD

Victory or Dust.Remington wasn’t abandoning me. He gave me his advantage. Blinking away my bleary vision, I scan the room for a hint of gold. The advantage says it’s a box. With a jolt, I sprint toward the lockers lining the far wall of the building. Sure enough, one of them has been painted gold.

Only there’s a lock dangling in front. I grab it and pull, letting out a growl of frustration when it doesn’t fall open. How am I supposed to get the game piece if the box is locked?

I take a deep breath, ready to turn back around and face the pool, when my gaze catches on the lock. There’s something strange about it; instead of numbers, there are letters.

Like a million grains of colored sand falling into perfect place to form an image, the answer comes to me. The signature from the scroll wasn’t a signature at all.

It was a code.

I reach for the lock and spin it clockwise until it clicks on V. Then around counterclockwise to the O. Finally, holding my breath, I let the dial settle onto the D. I yank on it, my breath whooshing out along with the satisfyingpop.

I toss it to the ground, pulling open the door. Inside, there’s another rolled clue, along with a tiny bronze object. I scoop them both out, already making my way toward the back door. Unraveling the note, I read, careful not to slip as I pass over the last few tiles. GO TO THE PLACE WHERE YOU LEARNED HOW BONDS ARE FORMED AND BROKEN.

Bonds? My brain snaps to Polly, to the financial aid meeting at Henning Hall, where we met. I stuff my wet feet into my sneakers and head out the door in the direction of the Hall. But I stop before making it to the grass, my shoes skidding on the cobblestone path. The hall is where Polly and I first met, but it’s not where our friendship ended. No single location could encompass the way our friendship faded to a not-quite end.

How bonds are formed and broken. There’s more than one kind of bond. Maybe this clue isn’t referring to the ones between people, but rather, the ones between elements. Which I learned about in the chemistry classroom.

I start moving again, pausing at the doorway to peek at the bronze object. It looks like the ornamental top of a skeleton key.

The game piece. We’re building a key. And Remington just gave me my first half.

Outside, the cold night air freezes my clothing, which whips and flaps like sheets of ice against my skin. There’s no sign of Remington, so I head straight through the athletic fields, my feet flying over grass and then pounding over hard dirt. Far ahead, Remington’s figure is a vague blur, ascending the hill beneath the silvery moonlight. But once he’s crested, I lose sight of him.

I press on, my breathing ragged as I bull through a copse of trees and sprint up the path to the Lowell Math and Science Building.

An acidic taste lurks at the back of my throat. Gavin is making us compete in the place where he and I first got to know each other. Back when I believed he was a smart yet absentminded, slightly accident-prone goof.

Inside the cylindrical building, I lope up the nonfunctioning escalator. Up on the top floor, a light turns on. I leap onto the steps, following the glow to find Remington standing in the doorway to my chemistry classroom.

“The next piece is here somewhere,” Remington says, rubbing his temple as he scans the room.

“Let me guess, we have to mix the chemicals that will kill us if the poison fails.”

“Don’t give the Gamemaster ideas.” Remington searches Dr. Yamashiro’s cluttered desk, shoving papers and knickknacks aside.

“Why did you help me back there?” I whisper, walking the edge of the room, fingers dusting the windowsills and cabinetry.

“So you didn’t have to go down there again.”

“But I thought—”

“It wasn’t even a decision.” His voice is tired and worn.

A suffocating silence follows his words. It coats the air. No, this isn’t the decision. It’s the one at the end that counts. And if we can’t figure out a way to save both of us, how are we supposed to choose?

I continue skimming cracks and crevices, looking for an envelope—the society’s preferred method of communication. Instead, my fingertip brushes a set of small boxes stacked in the bookshelf that normally houses various chemistry tomes. I drag them out, noting the linchpin symbol printed on the top.

“Here!” When I start to lug the boxes out, a wave of dizziness slams into me. I squint down at the boxes in my hands, which tumble down to the floor, landing with a crash.

Remington skirts the desks to join me. “Maren, what happened?”

“I don’t know where I—why am I here?”

---