Down in the bunker, swallowed in almost complete darkness, it’s surprisingly chilly. I turn my head to Alexander and say with a light laugh, “I didn’t expect it to be so cold down here.” Alexander doesn’t respond, but he takes out his thick navy jacket from his bag and hands it to me.
“Better?” he asks as he crawls back into his bed.
“Somewhat,” I say as a smile forms across my lips. Wrapped up in the coarse material thick with Alexander’s scent I’m overcome with the feeling of safety. Tonight is the first night I’ve laid in a bed with blankets and pillows in nearly seven years.
I prop myself up above the last lit candle and stare down into its flame. I’m about to blow it out when I’m hit with the thought that today is my birthday. I am sixteen years old today. Outside of the cell, I let myself lose count. I let go of my numbers, but the flickering flame pulls up memories of past birthdays before the prison with my mother, father, and brother. My heart hurts that they aren’t here with me for this one. “Happy Birthday,” I whisper in my head before blowing out the flame and letting the bunker fall into complete darkness.
I drift into the deepest sleep I’ve ever reached, and my mind places me in one of my last memories with Alexander and Zavy. It was just three months before my family was taken, and my father had already been missing for a week. I move through the dream as if it was in real-time and I can’t help but think how simple my life was then. How simple all of our lives were then.
***
I drag my heavy feet into the overcrowded wooden school building. The sun has just begun to peek over the trees, a sure sign it’s much too early to be awake.
“Welcome back,” Ms. White’s voice rings through the hallway. She floats effortlessly down the crowded hall, her beautiful pink dress glowing in the dim morning light. She’s all dressed for the occasion, the first day back to school.
I follow her into our classroom and take a seat in my usual spot. The same wooden desk as the last two years. I’m in fifth grade and this will be my last year in this building, at this desk. Then, all of us, Ms. White included, will be moved to the newer school building next door for the older kids. I’m told I should be in fourth grade, but I tested out of my first year. I drop my patched together bag to the floor under my desk and let my head lay on my folded hands.
“Too early for you too?” I ask Zavy, my best friend. She skipped her first year of school just like I did, so we’ve pretty much stuck together since day one. Zavy sits with her face flat on the desk with her long jet black hair blanketing her shoulders. For a moment, I think she may actually be asleep until she gives me a small nod in return. Then, there’s a loud smack on both of our desks and we rocket up.
“Why the long faces?” Alexander asks, taking his seat behind me. Zavy drops her head back to her desk, determined to get a few more minutes of sleep before Ms. White begins teaching.
“I don’t know how you can function at this time of day,” I say and turn to face Alexander.
“Well,” he begins and his light green eyes dance with excitement, “I may have just happened to have heard something life-changing.”
“What?” I ask and I sit up straighter in my chair. The weight of exhaustion seems to lift as curiosity floods my veins.
“They’re letting fifth graders take training classes,” Alexander whispers to me.
“Like to work for the King?” I ask and wrinkle my nose.
“Isn’t that really cool?” Alexander boasts.
“No,” I say simply and turn back to the front of the room. In actuality, I do think the idea of getting training to be in the King’s army is really cool. It’s the idea of Alexander being on the other end of a war that makes me want to throw up. Of course, none of us can be sent to war until we’re fifteen, but just the thought threatens to break me.
The scratching of chalk against the green board pulls my attention up. GIFTS is delicately scratched out in Ms. White’s clean handwriting. The loose chatter in the room subsides and even Zavy lifts her head from her desk. We don’t talk about the gifts very much, not in class, not with family, and not with each other. This is mostly because there are too many mixed emotions that come with that conversation.
“It’s time to talk about the gifts that some of you possess,” Ms. White says as she walks in front of her desk. “I know this is a hard conversation to have, and many of you have a lot to learn.” She pauses and scans each of our faces. The silence in the room makes my ears throb.
I know that gifts are powers that get passed down to certain people based on their ancestors. I have a feeling Ms. White is going to finally tell me all the things I don’t know.
“Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a gift?” Ms.
