Page 42 of Unmade

He didn’t take the bait. “Not much. But I know my way around the frozen food section in the kitchen behind the cafeteria,” he replied. Then he turned to Rose. “Go home and get some rest, man. Take tomorrow off. There won’t be any regular classes anyway.”

I was curious about that. I’d heard the term “lockdown protocol” at least three times tonight, and I didn’t know exactly what that entailed, aside from not letting people in and out without safety procedures. For instance, nobody was going back to Lincoln Towers. Coach had told me all the recruits were heading to the operators’ dorms. They were on the same floor as our water-damaged ones, but evidently farther away.

Everyone was gonna see Doc tomorrow, too, for an eval. Go me; I wasn’t the only one with an appointment anymore.

After Rose and Beckett had wrapped up, I followed the latter toward the elevators, and I glanced around to see if I spotted any of the other recruits.

“So what’s tomorrow gonna look like?” I asked.

“You’ll get to study on your own while Coach and I set up a new structure for the rest of the week,” he answered, swiping his card. Not tapping it.

I nodded in acknowledgment. “Why is the lobby floor called both the ground floor and the first floor?”

“Technically, the lobby is the ground floor, and the area behind closed doors—the schoolhouse, the cafeteria—is the first floor. I don’t know why. We use them interchangeably.”

Huh. “It says first floor on the directory by the elevators in the lobby.”

“Maybe they got charged by the letter when they made those.”

I let out a laugh. That was funny.

Beckett cocked his head at me, clearly in observation mode.

“What?” I asked.

The doors opened again, and he gestured for me to go first. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve heard you laugh before.”

Oh.

I shrugged, unsure of what to say.

Actually, when my stomach snarled, I knew exactly what. “Why do you have a frozen food section?”

“Because sometimes, operators are jet-lagged, return from assignments in the middle of the night, or work the graveyard shift.”

That made sense.

We entered the dark cafeteria, and Beckett led the way behind the counters and into the kitchen. He flicked on the lights, and everything was pristine. Like a restaurant kitchen, with long metal countertops, a washing station, and walk-in fridge and freezer. Scratch that, there was a second fridge and freezer down a narrow hallway.

“Pick your poison. I’ll turn on the oven,” he said, opening the door to the freezer. “Don’t worry, you can open the door from the inside.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to me.

I walked in, impressed by the selection. They had a small fucking grocery store here. All the good brands too. Pizza, lean meals, taquitos, fucking Hot Pockets, nuggets, waffles, and tons of other stuff.

I grabbed a cheese pizza with Italian sausage and peppers and nodded to myself. Yeah, this was what I wanted. With the cheese crust too? Sign me the fuck up.

When I walked out again, Beckett was across the kitchen and talking to someone on the phone.

“Fuck it, I’m not gonna dwell on it,” he was saying. “If they can’t handle what happened tonight, they don’t belong here.”

I tilted my head.

“Sounds good. Talk then.” He ended the call and ran a hand through his hair. “Looks like we have our first two dropouts for this year.”

“Who?” Why would anyone drop out this early? Nothing had fucking happened.

“Douglas Fuller and Jasper Davies,” he replied. “They said they might reapply next year, but you know who won’t get selected?”

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