Proven

Chapter Six

I rush off to first period as soon as I can, meaning I shoveled my breakfast in incredibly fast. Language arts is my first and favorite class. Words always came easily, and when you're able to read the teacher's mind, you know exactly how to improve. Even if she doesn't tell you.

As much as I try not to, it's hard to stay honest when you have all the quiz answers at your fingertips. Stuck on a question? Dig into your teacher's brain. Last year, though, I took special care to get honest 'A's. There was no way I would cheat to get into this school.

Mr. Devon, the language arts teacher, eyes me down when I take my seat. I may be a good student, but I'm never this early. According the clock on the wall, I have fifteen minutes to spare.

I shrug it off, pulling a pen and paper out to pass the time. Art is one of my favorite subjects too. It allowed me to express myself without giving away my identity. Writing made that a little harder, my stories are almost always about supernaturals created by mysterious groups. The organization that gave me my gift is called The Good Facility. A simple, cheesy name. But it gets the job done.

Line after line and curve after curve, I develop a picture of a tattered girl. Her clothes are ripped, face is frowning, and hair hanging shamelessly around her face. I shade the last little part of her face just as the first person takes their seat.

I look to see a slightly familiar girl setting up her stuff. Propping my elbow up on my desk, I wave to her. She gives a greeting back, but it's so quiet I can't hear her. Pepper is her name, I remember. The name suits we too, with freckles splattered all over face. She looks like somebody just dipped their brush in paint and flicked it at her face.

~After Classes~

I can't dare go back in my room. It would stick me as a direct target of Emma's. We're all supposed to do homework as soon as eighth period ends. The hour after is considered ninth period, taking place in the bedrooms.

So I sneak off to the library, hoping that nobody notices my absence.

I shove the doors open, looking for Ms. Limm before anything else. With tender feet, I inch through the library, strolling through the shelves. Ms. Limm is nowhere to be found. Exhausted, I go to the checkout counter. Nothing.

I try to tell myself that she's probably getting food or something. But she's always at the library, unless it's a meal time or after curfew. Quietly, I inch behind the counter and sit down. If I can read her, that will help me.

Eyes closed, I grip onto a book from the floor. This time, my vision is clear as soon as I get it.

There's a room. A room I've never seen before. One small light flickers above, casting a pinkish glow on the place. Ms. Limm walks forward, then glances down.

She's bound with handcuffs.

No matter how badly I want to close this image off, I keep on watching. They got her, I don't know when or how, but it happened. In front of Ms. Limm are two men. Both are dressed in white tuxedos, hair slicked back down their necks.

Now is when I notice the two woman gripping her arms. They also are matching. Black one-piece, rubbery suits that zip all the way up their neck. The classic spy. I catch a glimpse of the woman on the right.

It is not a woman.

Instead, a teenage girl gives a stern look. "My" head whips back around. This time I look to the other spy. The face is all too familiar.

Emma.