Joylessness accompanies us as we head back to our dorms. Dee hops off the lift at floor eight, and I continue alone for two more flights.
When I open the door, the whole gang's already there. Ebony is ignoring the boys. Thomas paces from desk to door and Johnny pushing the heels of his palms to his forehead. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, you are driving me insane!"
"It's a free country, Johnny. Let him do what he wants," I mumble, chucking my pack under my bunk.
Johnny sits up in the desk chair, a new light in his eyes. He seems excited--like he'd been waiting for the opportunity to argue. "You call this freedom? Open your eyes, Adelaide Sh'adow Amnesia Jane Sandler. We're locked up like rats in here."
"Pfft," says Ebony.
"Don't flatter yourself," I add.
"I'll flatter myself all I like."
I'd roll my eyes harder if I could. Even I steer clear of Johnny because the only person more infuriatingly childish than me is him.
"What are we doing back here?" Thomas sighs, exasperated. At least he's stopped pacing about and I don't have to hear his stupid chains. There is nothing more I'd like to do than rip them off him, then perhaps choke myself with them.
"Exams," replies Ebony. "They're testing us."
Oh, so maybe I hadn't been listening properly earlier. Campbell's exams are today. Lol. I haven't studied. Should I be stressed? Maybe I should be stressed.
But like, cbs.
A knock sounds at the door and the four of us freeze. Uninvited, a guard enters. "Thomas Cosplay, Adelaide Sh'adow Amnesia Jane Sandler, Jonathan Chasing and Ebony Thrie?"
"Yes?" Thomas answers on our behalf.
The guard hands him a set of blue items. "Get dressed. It is time for your examination."
***
It's like we're ABBA auditioning for the Voice if ABBA's wardrobe consisted solely of inpatient gowns and Campbell is... Simon Cowell. I don't know. I haven't seen the Voice.
The four of us stand awkwardly before a jury of thirteen. I half-expect Johnny to lash out as he is the stupid child of us, but he's decided to shut up for once.
"Take a seat," says the man at the centre of the table, gesturing behind us. We turn to seats that are each kept by armed guards.
In case you literally take a seat.
"Before we commence, we'd just like to know how things are going for you in 2002," the middle man begins. "Are you all settling well?"
"It's been less than a day," Johnny finally speaks. The woman two seats to the right of Middle Man scrawls something on a sheet of paper before her.
"Well then, Jonathan." The room grows a shade darker. "Did you have any first impressions you wanted to share?"
A moment passes before Johnny gives a small shake of his head.
"How about the rest of you? How are we going? Ebony?"
"I think we're doing well, all things considered," Thomas pipes up to her defence. His answer pleases the table. Particularly the woman on the far left, who begins scribbling uncontrollably.
What I would give for a pen and paper!
"What are we considering, Thomas?" Middle Man presses.
"Maybe the fact that we've seen more guns in the last twenty-four hours than we have ever."
The adults laugh.
"Girls? Is there anything you'd like to add?"
Ebony and I share a wordless glance, but we don't expect the other to say anything. Campbell notes this behaviour and Middle Man rises.
"We will be commencing the examination soon, so we will leave the four of you alone here." And, like a professional choir, the jury rises and walks out of the door.
"Wait!" Johnny calls after them. Only Middle Man stops and turns. "What are we supposed to do?"
Middle Man shrugs. "What you must."
And with that, the last of the guards have left. Johnny is on his feet, running to the door, trying its handle. Locked. My eyes bounce between the four corners of the room. No cameras—I think. Solid walls. No mirrors. No glass panes.
"What are we supposed to do?" Johnny repeats desperately.
"We'll find out soon," I yawn. Man, I've done nothing today and I'm sleepy.
"Sit down, Johnny," Thomas sighs. Johnny only ever seems to listen to Thomas, so it comes as no surprise when he flops into his seat, exhaling dejectedly. Ebony is pressed to the back of her seat with her head bowed, nodding rhythmically like she hears a song that I do not.
Leaning back in my seat, I try to focus on the sounds of the room. The echoing of my tidal breaths, the jostling of Johnny's heel against the floor, the everlasting sigh that draws out of Thomas' lips.
I hear the faint tink-tinkling of chimes in syncopated cascades. The music crescendos and I'm inundated by the prattling of the world.
