Extracted

Nicholas

I see all right, because the first class of the day is Group Therapy. It’s led by Beatrice LeRoy, a bright oddity in the bland scheme of the school. In her early fifties, she flows with color and animated movement in a pastel green prairie style skirt with a crème top that she has layered in plastic bead necklaces and bangle bracelets that clank every time she lifts her arms for emphasis, which is every time she speaks. The only gray about her is the streaks at the sides of her loose curly brown hair. I like her immediately, mostly for her ability to thwart the norm of this flat place.

There are seven of us, all new students who have only regained consciousness within the past month. I wonder how many more kids are in hospitals around the country, lying comatose and dreaming. Or is this the only school that has taken us in?

Gideon is here, sitting by another boy, Oliver, who is also about his age, twelve or thirteen. Jeremy’s age.

I’m surprised that the boy from the blade throwing station also recently awoke. He seemed so completely at ease, I assumed he’d been here longer. Miss LeRoy introduces him as Benjamin and his lips bend in distaste.

There is another guy in our age group, Nicholas, and the rest of our group are two girls. One’s so young and frightened, I feel like scooping her up in my lap. The thought of my little sister Mia waking up afraid and alone in a cold sterile place like this breaks my heart. Except Mia’s at home. Safe. The disease hasn’t touched her. I force myself to believe that but my chest aches anyway.

Beatrice LeRoy opens up the session saying, “This is a safe room. What’s said here, stays here.” Huh? Like Vegas. My gaze slides up toward the security camera. Or maybe not. “You’ve all been through a horrific ordeal, but we at the school are here to help you in any way we can.” Her smile is sympathetic.

We’ve been arranged in a wide sharing circle. I lean forward in my chair. I’m actually anxious for the session to really begin because I want to know if anyone else has retained their memories.

But first the therapist launches into a recital of school rules, all for our own safety and well-being during our time here.

No going off into restricted areas.

Attend all classes unless directed otherwise.

All work to be filled out upon the tablets.

Lights out promptly at nine-thirty each evening.

I tune her out as I search all the faces within the circle, gauging how each of them is taking this new life. Of course, if none of them have memories like I do, they don’t have any experiences to compare to.

They wouldn’t know that being super intelligent isn’t out of the range of normal, would they? Or that they had people in their lives that they lost. Maybe it’s better that way, not to remember.

“…not to aid in another student’s work.”

My ears pick up on that one, wondering what else I missed.

“Why?” I blurt out without thinking. Okay, maybe I’m not so super intelligent

Miss LeRoy pauses, confusion wrinkling her forehead. “Why what, dear?”

“Why can’t we help each other?”

She blinks, startled by my question. “Of course we encourage helpfulness. It’s just that until you’re able to leave this place, you must each learn to be independent and strong in your own right. Since the plague, the world outside these doors has changed. You, who have survived the illness, are our best and our brightest. You must learn to stand on your own. No weakness, only strength. Rely on no one.” The same chant from yesterday.

Nicholas frowns at the reminder of the creepy motto. His right leg starts bouncing and he rubs his knuckles down his knee to stop it…and the room narrows down to his hand. My throat is bone dry, my heart thudding. Miss LeRoy is still talking, but I can’t hear her anymore.

Tyler does that. Exactly that. It’s a nervous habit he picked up after he wrenched his leg in a bad wrestling catch. I’ve never seen anyone else bounce and rub his leg in exactly the same way.

I stare at Nicholas, his dark hair and strange handsome features for any hint of familiarity.

But how would that even be possible? He’s new too, the right age, just woke up too. Nicholas notices me staring and his frown deepens. I look away to the two younger boys. Oliver and Gideon.

No. What am I thinking? There’s no way. Just because I remember myself differently… That’s just a weird side-effect, brain trauma. I can’t look away from the boys.

Same ages as Jeremy and I bolt out of my chair and run across the room to the wastebasket in the corner and heave my guts out.