Teresa sat at a table in a cold, dark room in WICKED headquarters. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that it was always like that here-cold and dark-and she wondered why.
Sure, there were lights above the table. But they barely penetrated the gloom that seemed a living thing within the walls of this place that was her home. And somehow Alaska refused to be hot like the rest of the world, the extreme cold overcoming any warmth the WICKED people tried to pump through the building's halls. Teresa shivered so hard that she found it impossible to relax. Although the cold wasn't the only reason she was tense-not by a long shot.
She never would've guessed it possible, but she missed the unbearable heat of the sun-ravaged world, missed the glow of it all, the intense light that made things seem bearable. Anything beat the dim monotony of WICKED.
She'd been there for two years now. More than a quarter of her life. Long enough that the memories of her past were fading, replaced by the day-to-day of her new world. Two long years and she had yet to find a friend. Only grown-ups, long-faced and serious. One of them was nice-the man named Randall-but she hardly ever saw him. He'd promised that Teresa would have a friend soon. Very soon. And then many more after that.
In fact, that was why she was sitting in this room. Waiting. Supposedly they'd found others like her.
There was a knock at the door; then it opened. That was how things were at WICKED-everyone was polite. They made Teresa feel like she mattered. But then the feeling vanished and the truth was made clear once again: Teresa was nothing but a subject.
A woman entered. She was young and pretty, though her hair was pulled back into a bun that looked downright painful. Her face had a hardness-a tightness-to it, as if the skin were being yanked along with her hair into whatever held it all in place behind her head. She gave Teresa a quick nod and the hint of a smile, then got right to business.
"Thank you for waiting," the woman said. "We have someone we'd like you to meet and we're ready to take you to him. I was waiting for Chancellor Michael's final approval. Hence the delay."
"I don't mind waiting," Teresa replied. "But you didn't even tell me your name."
A flash of surprise crossed the woman's face. Grown-ups at WICKED often looked surprised when Teresa talked to them. They still expected her to act like most children her age.
"And," Teresa added. "I don't get why I haven't been allowed to meet Mr. Michael yet. I've been here almost two years. Don't you think I should get to shake hands with him?"
The woman stammered but quickly recovered. "First of all, my name is Ladena. But that's not important. As for the Chancellor, he . . . has no need to meet you. He has his job and you have yours. Be happy that you live in such a safe place, with all the food you need. That should be enough."
Teresa just stared back, trying to show that she wasn't happy with Ladena's answer. It took a few seconds, but the woman realized what she'd done.
"I'm . . . sorry," she said. "It's just . . . I'm not used to all this. I don't know how best to . . ."
"It's okay," Teresa said loudly and with confidence. "I didn't expect anything different, I guess. I knew the Chancellor didn't want to see the kids he's asked to give away their lives. No big deal. But thanks for telling me your name."
Once again the woman seemed shocked, but only for a second. There was a spark of anger in her eyes as she looked at Teresa. "I used to think we were making questionable decisions. But not anymore. Not after I've seen what's going on out there in the world. I really think you should be thankful to be here, safe and sound. I think you should be very, very thankful."
