“How did I not even hit it once? Not even once?” An angry voice drifted out of the booth. I glanced back to see a tall, muscular blond boy with a pinched face glaring at Julian like he was at fault.
“Don’t worry about it,” Julian said evenly. The boy flushed.
Outside, I spotted two news vans with the bus, and a reporter held out a microphone to someone I couldn’t see. I leaned to peer past the cameraman.
Madison St. John. She wore workout clothes, the expensive kind that hugged her perfect figure. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she wore a full face of makeup.
“Of course, I’m thrilled to be here,” she gushed to the camera. “I’m so proud of my brother, and I totally believe in what we’re doing.”
“The White House issued a statement today condemning this program as dangerous and disorganized. They’ve urged people not to join. What’s your response to that?”
Madison smiled wider, her ponytail swinging. “Well, they’re certainly entitled to their opinion, but we believe in what we’re doing. We know our results will speak for themselves.”
The reporter signaled for the cameraman to stop filming, and she thanked Madison. Madison nodded and enthusiastically shook her hand. She drew the attention of everyone in the immediate area with that bright smile.
I turned away, too hungry and annoyed for that much bubbliness. Noah and Patrick weren’t on the bus yet, so I sank into an empty seat behind the handcuffs girl who’d been on my bus from Dallas. She was still wearing the handcuffs.
The bus took us back to the gym we’d been at yesterday, and I suppressed a moan when the team leaders informed us we’d be doing the obstacle course again, three rounds. It was probably to see how we performed when exhausted and sore, but I was willing to bet that everyone else was at least somewhat well fed.
I got in line behind Patrick to start. He promptly fell on his face while doing the tire run. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel a little bit better.
By my third round on the obstacle course, I was dragging, my heart beating faster than normal for this level of exercise. I stopped at the net climb and put my hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath.
“Move,” a voice said from behind me. A shoulder roughly bumped against mine, and I stumbled, barely staying upright. It was the blond boy who hadn’t hit the target even once. He had a friend with him, pale and freckled and currently inspecting me in an obviously sleazy way. He sort of grimaced, like he didn’t appreciate what he saw. His friend snorted.
“Keep it moving over there on the net climb!” a team leader called. The boys moved away from me and started climbing. A few feet away, Julian watched us and marked something on his clipboard. Wonderful.
I slipped off the very first bar of the monkey bars, and by the time I hit the rope climb, I felt like I was about to pass out. I swallowed hard.
“That’s all right.” Someone patted my back. “Why don’t you go get some water and sit down for a minute?”
Tears filled my eyes, and I didn’t turn around to see which team leader had said it. I didn’t need to further this humiliation by letting them see me cry.
I sat down against the wall next to a Black girl with a pink headband, her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. She didn’t look nearly as tired as I felt. The white, red-faced boy a few feet away looked like he might hurl at any moment, though.
“You all right?” the girl asked as I slumped down and leaned my head against my knees.
“I’m fine.” My stomach growled loudly, and she gawked at it, alarmed. “I’m just a little hungry.”
“They have some protein bars and stuff up front,” she said.
I shook my head. “I don’t have any money.”
She dug into her pocket. “Well, I was about to eat mine, and I don’t need the whole thing.” She tore open the package and broke the bar in half, then held one half out to me.
I took it slowly. “Oh, my god, thank you.”
She reeled back a little, clearly startled by that level of gratitude for half a protein bar. “Yeah, sure.”
I ate the bar in three bites. I was still hungry when I was done, but at least my hands had stopped shaking.
“Thank you,” I said again. “I’m Clara.”
“Laila.” She polished off her half and hopped to her feet. “Good luck.”
“You too.”
The last portion of tryouts was an actual scrab fight. They didn’t have a setup like at Bubba’s, so a few team leaders had to be our scrab stand-ins. Julian stood in the middle of the boxing ring with Liam, who had fastened fake claws onto either arm. He wore a helmet and a bulky pad strapped to his chest.
“These”—Julian held up one of Liam’s arms—“are not sharp. We’ve rounded the edges, so he’s going to whack you with them. We’re going to have real versions of these for our recruits on certain ground teams.” He gestured at us. “Number one thirty-eight, let’s start with you.”
The freckled asshole who’d leered at me earlier stood and ducked under the ropes to enter the ring. His tag said Hunter Ward 138.
“We’re not giving you fake weapons because we don’t need you beating us to hell with them,” Julian said. That got a few laughs. “Tap the weak spots. He’s wearing pads, but there’s no need to hit him hard. We’re just seeing how you move.” Julian climbed out of the ring. “This is going to be quick, because we have a lot of you to get through.” He made a sit motion with his hands. “You guys can sit while you wait.”
I sat cross-legged on the ground. The boy next to me leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out and crossed at
