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  “Leader? And the Commission…you mean the Commission of the People?” When she nodded, my eyes widened even further. “You mean to say that Leader Simon and the Commission decided that my father could go far in Central and that’s why they led us to this neighborhood?”

  “Absolutely.” Susan grinned. “This is where they put the hopefuls. It’s the perfect distance between the Leadership District to allow a little space, but close enough to make it to work if there is an emergency of some sort.” She looked up at the house, which was fortunate because she did not see how much the statement had disturbed me. I was already worried about how much politics would become ingrained in my life, now I knew there was no avoiding it. It was surreal to think that the leader of our country, and the Commission of the People, had looked over my father’s work and decided he was qualified to become part of an even higher class of politician in Central.

  “Such a beautiful house,” Susan breathed, breaking me out of my trance. “Have you looked through it, yet?”

  “Yes. We’re just waiting for the truck.”

  “It’s so nice to see someone move in,” she continued. “It’s been sitting empty for so long.”

  “…what do you mean?”

  “No one has lived in that house since they built it three years ago,” Susan explained.

  “Really? Three years?”

  “Yeah…” She looked over the house again as my chest began to feel tight with fear. “I didn’t think it was finished yet, because no one was ever seen in the house, but I guess they were just waiting for the next hopeful.” Finally turning her attention away from the house, she turned her smile to me. “Well, I need to take Jake for a walk, but I’ll stop by later tonight to meet your parents.”

  “They’d love that.”

  “Have a great day and enjoy!” she called, pulling her dog back toward the sidewalk. “This is the best place to be.”

  She continued on her way, the dog padding along beside her. I watched her leave and then slowly turned to the house, wondering why the real estate agent had lied to my father about the age of the house.

  The dread that had been consuming me loomed darkly over the grand house, causing my fear about our move to Central to return full-force.

  Chapter Three

  My room was completely unpacked and sorted in three days, so I spent the following two days helping my parents with the rest of the house. Neighbors came to greet us and immediately set to helping. The extra help was appreciated, but I could not help feeling uneasy about the smiling neighbors, particularly with what Susan had said about our home and neighborhood. In many ways, it was flattering that so many influential people believed my father could do well. However, that also increased the weight on my shoulders. A world that I wanted no part of was rapidly devouring what little hope I had of a non-political life.

  Throughout the week neighbors invited us to dinners, enveloping us into the community as if we had been there for years. I met some kids in the neighborhood, but none were my age. The parents of my future classmates explained that the Third Tier Education students were on an end of term trip and would be back just before the beginning of the next term—apparently the end of year trip to Europe was not something unique to my old school.

  After the first week in Central, I finally ventured out to explore the city. I picked up maps for the bus and train routes, blending in with the tourists as I attempted to find my way into downtown.

  I explored the city center, noting restaurants, shops, and cafés I found interesting, trying to remember the bus routes. I stumbled on an enormous bookstore and decided to look for my school books as an excuse to get out of the heat of the summer sun. When I walked in, one of the employees approached me immediately.

  “May I help you find something?”

  “Um…” I said awkwardly, fumbling as if I had been asked to answer in a foreign language. “No, I don’t know what classes I’m taking, yet. I’m supposed to get my schedule soon. I just wanted to see where the store was…”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she assured with a broad grin. “The school sends your required books here and pays for them. All you need to do is pick them up.”

  “…the school pays for the books?”

  “They do,” she affirmed. “Follow me.” I walked to the customer service desk with her, stunned that the school in Central would pay for the books of all the students.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, typing into her computer.

  “Lily Sandover.”

  As she typed, another girl my age stepped up beside me. She had straight brown hair, dark brown eyes, and was wearing a black tank top that left a sliver of her abdomen exposed above her dark green cargo pants. She was built with lean muscles and, while she looked tough, she had an air of warmth around her.

  “Hello, Becca.” The store clerk smiled when she glanced up to see who had leaned on the counter next to me.

  “Hey, Hannah,” the girl named Becca greeted. “Is it too early to pick up books?”

  “No. I’m just about to get Lily’s books for her.” The store clerk nodded to me. Becca turned.

  “Hey, Lily,” she said, extending her hand, which I nervously took. “I’m Rebecca Davis,” she introduced. “But everyone calls me Becca.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said quietly, trying to stop the nervous tremor in my voice.

  “Are you new to Central?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “A little,” Becca chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable when you fall into routine.”

  “I hope so,” I murmured, not convinced.

  “Here you are, ladies.” Hannah returned with two stacks of books bound together with our names taped to the top. Becca glanced at my last name and suddenly gasped.

  “Sandover? You’re the daughter of the new Western Region Regulator!”

  “Yeah…”

  “Wow!” Becca smiled broadly. “My mom is Samantha Davis, Regulator of Midwest Region Two. Our parents are going to be working together.”

  I blinked, stunned. “This is the first…”

  “What?”

  “I have never had someone say that their parent was another Regulator.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Becca giggled. “I felt the same way when I first moved here. You get used to it. Particularly with Jessica Daniels’ constant reminder that her father is the Chair of Finance for Leader Simon.” Becca rolled her eyes. “You have to get used to it just to keep your sanity.”

  Becca pulled her stack of books off the counter.

  “Do you want to get some coffee?” she offered.

  The shy part of me wanted to make up an excuse or false appointment, but Becca’s warm smile made me feel a bit more relaxed, and I knew I would need to have some friends if I was going to survive being trapped in Central.

  “That would be great.”

  We went to a nearby café that Becca said was her favorite, sitting at a table near the windows with our drinks.

  “How do you like Central so far?” Becca started.

  “It’s nice,” I said mechanically.

  Becca laughed. “I’m not your parents,” she assured with a broad, brilliant smile. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “No, really,” I assured. “It’s nice…”

  “But?” she pressed.

  “Well, I just…I didn’t really want to come here.”

  “Have you ever moved before?”

  “Not out of my hometown.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense,” Becca stated. “Your father must have been born in a political family, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “My mom started out as a law clerk,” Becca explained. “As she moved higher, we started moving a lot from bigger city to bigger city, but the first move was the hardest.”

  “It wasn’t so much the move or changing houses,” I told her. “I just…I don’t want anything to do with Central. I felt as though, if I moved here, I would hav
e to go into politics.”

  “Don’t want to follow the family tradition of government employment?” Becca smirked. When I shook my head, she leaned forward, her smile widening. “Me, neither.”

  “Really?” I asked, confused. “I thought everyone wanted to work for Central.”

  “Well, everyone can.” She leaned back in her chair. “Not me. I want to work with animals.”

  “You don’t call that wanting to work for the government?” I grumbled, hoping that by lifting my cup to my mouth, she would not hear the quip. Her hearty laugh told me otherwise.

  “I like you,” she beamed. “You have a sense of humor.”

  “You mean because I called everyone in the government animals? You should be careful, you could be pegged a traitor for finding that funny.”

  “Oh, come on,” Becca laughed. “That kind of stuff doesn’t happen anymore.”

  I took a drink, feeling more relaxed knowing that she understood my cynical humor and found it funny.

  “So, how am I going to survive here with everyone talking politics all the time?” I asked lightly. “How many political kids am I going to run into around here?”

  “Well, you’re not in luck if you want to avoid them,” Becca said with an exaggerated pained expression. “All children of Central employees, like you and me, go to the same Third Tier school.”

  “All of them?” I blinked in shock. “How big is this school?”

  “About one thousand students, give or take,” Becca answered. “Are you in your third year?” When I nodded, she smiled. “Great! We’re in the same year. Are you a social person?”

  “No, not really,” I conceded.

  “Neither am I,” Becca chuckled. “However, in order to survive here, you’re going to have to become one…or, at least pretend. This school is a collective body and if you don’t know what’s going on, you will get destroyed.”

  “How so?” I asked, trying to conceal my horror at the statement.

  “Because it’s your job to report things to your father.”

  “Report?”

  “The children all go to the same school and they talk about what their parents are doing. It keeps everyone in the loop. If there is any chance of something bad happening in the government, someone needs to tell their parent. That way it can be brought to attention and action can be taken. It’s all about being on the inside track.”

  “People just talk that freely about their parents’ work?”

  “Well, sort of,” Becca said. “Not the Commish Kids.”

  “Is that what you call kids who have parents in the Commission of the People?” I laughed, choking on my coffee.

  “Oh, no.” Becca shook her head. “The whole family gets pulled into the Commission, not just the parents.” Becca chuckled. “Everyone will tell you if they are part of the Commission, but they won’t tell you what the Commission talks about. That’s top secret.”

  “That’s not suspicious at all,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

  “It’s just a security measure,” she said with a shrug. “Since the Commission is the one who deals with the dirty politicians in Central. They have to keep things pretty under-wraps.”

  “Good point…” I took another sip of my coffee and sighed. “So, by being ‘social,’ what do you mean?”

  “The entire school goes to a club at the end of each week. You are considered an outcast if you aren’t there, unless there is a legitimate excuse.”

  “A club? Really?”

  “It’s a dance club,” she elaborated. “It’s actually a lot of fun, and it’s where all the gossip happens. It’s called Club Archangel.”

  “And do all the parents know that their kids go to this club?” I asked skeptically.

  “Oh, of course,” she assured. “Then again, there are some things that go on in the club that they don’t know about. But, by the looks of you, you’re not into drugs or one-night stands in back alleys.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Becca laughed. “Other than the club, there are the trips at the end of the term that you’re supposed to take.”

  “I thought there was one going on right now…”

  “There is.”

  “Why aren’t you there?”

  “I got really sick as soon as school was over,” Becca said, making a face. “Mom says it was the release of stress from a hectic term.”

  “Are the classes at this school that hard?”

  Becca sipped her coffee and made a face.

  “They’re not necessarily difficult, but they are work intensive,” she admitted. “Especially this coming term. We’re supposed to read J.A.N.E. and know it forward and backward and sideways and be able to recite it…or something.”

  “J.A.N.E.?” I said slowly. “You mean An Angel Without Wings?’”

  Becca nodded, tapping her pile of books.

  “For years all we have heard about is the magnificent work of anonymous writer J.A.N.E. and the unforgettable accounts of the revolutionary Thomas Ankell as he overthrew the corrupt government of the Washington System.”

  “The first classic of neo-American literature,” I added, smiling at her cynical tone.

  “I don’t know,” she sighed, undoing the binding on her books and pulling out the novel we had heard so much about. We had never been allowed to read the book before because, according to the adults, we were not old enough. Becca flipped through the pages and sighed. “Seems a little anti-climactic to me.”

  “You haven’t read it, yet.”

  “I know, but I thought it would be heavier, or…I don’t know, encrusted with gold,” she joked. “Particularly if we’re supposed to have the hardcopy. I mean, who reads hardcopies anymore?”

  While I wanted very little to do with the government started by Thomas Ankell, I had heard so much about him and about the book that I had an undeniable urge to read it.

  “Anyway,” Becca continued, setting the book back on the stack, “what kind of grades did you get at your last school?”

  “I have a three-point-eight.”

  “Oh, yeah, you won’t have any problems here, smarty-pants.”

  “I just didn’t have a social life at my old school,” I disagreed with a smile.

  “Well, don’t let your obligatory social life make your grades suffer,” Becca scolded playfully.

  We finished our coffee and began walking home when we ran out of things to talk about. Having just met, we were still slightly awkward around one another as new friends and conversation was harder to maintain.

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “Balkan Street, in the northwest,” Becca answered. “You?”

  “Capo Avenue.”

  She stopped and blinked in surprise, her eyebrows raising.

  “Really? Your family is in that neighborhood?” When I nodded, she whistled. “Your father must be one hell of a politician…”

  “Does everyone know about this placing system but me?” I tried to laugh off my annoyance and worry.

  “There’s no system,” she corrected. “Just an understanding.”

  “Which house is closer, yours or mine?”

  “Mine,” Becca answered. “Do you want to come over?”

  I tried not to show my excitement at the invitation. I was worried that my enthusiasm at making my first friend in Central would scare her away.

  “Could I?”

  “Sure,” Becca agreed. “You can meet Davey, my dog.”

  Becca’s house was big, but still somehow warm and inviting. Her room was covered in pictures and posters, including some of her best friends—which she claimed were my new friends, too. She pointed to pictures of Jill, a blonde with dark blue eyes, and Taylor, a larger girl who did not have one picture where she sported a straight face. Becca assured to me they would help me transition into Central and make sure I did not fall in with a bad crowd.

  I was thrilled when Becca invited me over to her house the following day to go over old y
earbooks and learn about the school and my other classmates. I accepted quickly, knowing my parents would be too happy I was being social to complain about me not helping unpack the house.

  When I got home, my mom asked me what I had found around town, and I told her that I had made my first friend in Central.

  Chapter Four

  The following day, I went to Becca’s house to learn about those who would soon be my classmates. When I arrived at ten o’clock the door was answered by Becca’s father, a tall man with broad shoulders, a kind face, and even kinder eyes.

  “Hello,” I greeted, extending my hand, “my name is Lily Sandover. I’m a friend of Becca’s.”

  “Oh, yes, Lily, daughter of Thomas Sandover,” the man said, stepping aside. “I’m Bradly Davis, Becca’s father. Becca!” he called.

  A few moments later, Becca came downstairs to collect me, Davey in tow.

  “Lily, it was very nice to meet you, and please send my best to your father,” Mr. Davis said as Becca reached the bottom of the stairs. “Now, you two go off and do…whatever it is you girls do when your parents aren’t around.”

  Becca laughed and kissed her dad on the cheek.

  “It’s best that you don’t know, Dad.”

  “I agree,” he said quickly, kissing her forehead.

  I laughed when I saw a box of doughnuts on Becca’s bed and two mugs of coffee on the nightstand.

  “Wow, does it take you a lot to get going in the morning, or something?” I teased.

  “No,” she laughed. “You have a lot of studying to do.” She patted a stack of thick yearbooks. “I have provided you with the necessary materials—books, doughnuts, and coffee.” She handed me one cup and sat on the bed, patting for me to join her.

  “I really want to thank you for all of this,” I said sincerely. She snorted and waved the question away.

  “Please, it’s no big deal. I was the new kid once, too, and I had Jill. It’s my turn to help someone new.” Becca took a deep breath. “Okay! So, we have exactly four days until school starts, and you will need to know a lot by then.” She grabbed the first yearbook. “So, we begin,” she said ominously, though she was smiling.