“You okay?” Isaac’s whispers break my train of thought.
“I’m fine,” my voice comes out harsher than I mean it to.
Isaac blinks.
“I – I didn’t mean to be that rude, I’m sorry.”
He nods and pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “Here,” he says, “this is the schedule Orwell gave me. Mildred said you could help me find the rooms.”
“Of course she did,” I say to myself under my breath.
“I can get someone else if it’s not your thing,” he offers.
I shake my head. “Anyone else would just point you towards the wrong rooms or take advantage of you.”
"Yeah, like point you toward the pool and say it's actually the English wing," Sam says.
"Or the supply closet and convince you it's Orwell's office," Patrick adds.
Suddenly everyone is recalling their first day here and how everyone points you toward the wrong place.
I sigh as I take the paper from Isaac.
Poor Isaac. He probably feels like I hate him. It’s not that, I swear. I really just don’t open up to many people. I keep secrets to myself. It’s safer that way, to rarely come out of my shell.
I’m not shy in the least, I’m loud and outspoken and brash, but I just like my space. I was raised that way.
No one actually knows my story, and I'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much.
“Anna?” Isaac’s bronze-like eyes sparkle at me. “You kind of went off into your own little world there,” he chuckles.
“Yeah,” Alex says, “she does that a lot.”
I give Isaac back his schedule. “Isaac, I’m sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now – maybe Sam could help you.”
“No he can’t; he still gets lost sometimes,” Tom points out.
“I do not! I got this, Tom,” Sam nods in satisfaction.
“No you don’t,” Tom shakes his head.
“Yeah you’re right, I totally don’t,” Sam agrees.
I roll my eyes. “You guys are idiots,” I say, taking Isaac’s paper back.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Sam comments.
“Yeah, idiots have feelings too,” Tom says.
Isaac bites his lip. “I don’t understand your friends.”
“Neither do I,” I tell him.
Sam and Tom exchange high fives under the table.
“I saw that,” I snap.
“She sees everything,” Tiffany mutters out of the corner of her mouth.
I look down at Isaac’s paper. “Most of your day is just testing,” I notice aloud.
“Yeah, I know, but where do I go?” Isaac asks.
“Orwell,” all remaining eleven Children say in unison.
Isaac’s eyes grow wide. “He creeps me out.”
Will nods at him. “Oh yeah, you’ll fit right in here.”
