SOJOURNER (III): tmr gally

12: I should still

Ella 12

"How do you handle it?" Eli and I sit together in the cafeteria. From across the table, Eli's eyes linger on me. My hands shake as I try to force myself to have the pea soup. It's my first day out of the hospital.

I shrug. If I don't think about the pain, it isn't happening. That's what I tell myself. I'm older now than I used to be, so I'm able to brush it off better than I could've when I was five, like the rest. Now, I'm ten. I thought they would've been done by now, but they aren't.

"They only try every four months now," I offer. "A couple hours a year is worth my name."

"I don't remember my original name anymore," he tells me. "I just know it isn't Eli."

"I remember yours," I have a smirk on my face.

His jaw drops. Last time I saw him, his hair was shorter. Now, the long brown mess hangs over his eyes. I don't like the look. There is a space between us now that wasn't there before.

I can't tell if he believes me or not.

"Don't tell me," he begs.

"I wasn't going to," I bring the bowl up to my lips, but my hands shake. Drops run down the side of the bowl.

"Crap," he jumps over the table, sitting down next to me. He takes the bowl from my hands and uses a napkin to clean up my face.

"You know, we are allowed say shit," I tell him. "They won't torture us over it."

He rolls his eyes, dropping the napkin down. He leans against the table, shaking his head at me. "I don't get you."

I don't expect him too.

"Just tell them you think Emily is your name," he instructs. "Then they'll stop."

I couldn't. I know how much power the name holds. "They'll stop sooner or later. I've been having more seizures when they try. It puts the smoke man off the whole thing."

Eli puts his hands in his lap, staring out into the cafeteria. He loves to people watch. Mostly because we've been allowed to eat in the cafeteria less and less, so every time we are here is an opportunity that e can't waste.

Lately, we've spent more time with the Smoke man and less time with the others. Eli and I were never hotshots to begin with, but fewer people talk to us now than before.

"You can't know that he'll stop," he remarks. "We aren't even going up for another five years. They are still building the Maze."

I shrug. I don't particularly care what WICKED does and doesn't do anymore. My hands shake as I drink a swig of water.

"Emily," a man comes up behind me. I can feel his presence.

I get out of my chair, shoving my food forward. The bowl crashes against the ground. Shards of glass and soup coat the floor. The cafeteria goes silent.

The man doesn't tell me why he has come to collect me. I have it figured out.

I know people are staring at me when I leave, but I don't care. This isn't my fault.

My heart races and suddenly I'm sitting straight up. That wasn't from the Changing. I can remember the words more now, and the textures of the world. It was a not-dream-like dream. Perhaps not even a fabrication, simply a manifestation of the past repeated. It's all too confusing. I don't want to think about it.