My legs are like water as I walk across the room to Wes. He gives my body a quick scan, and I twist my mouth at him. It’s not a smile exactly, but I hope it’s enough to show him I’m okay. He returns the gesture, but he won’t meet my eyes. There is something defeated in the way he holds his body, like it is difficult for him to stand up straight.
I limp toward him, knowing the pain of the TM is written all over my face. Afraid that it will give me away, I glance over at the scientists. But none of them have even raised their heads.
I was nervous they would take one look at me and know that I wasn’t Seventeen, but they don’t even see us. We are less than human, not even as important as the hunk of metal still humming lightly behind me.
Wes was right: it is easy to be invisible here.
CHAPTER 5
I keep my head down as we walk through the corridors. The 1989 Facility is not quite as bright or clean as it is in 2012. The walls are more of a tired beige color than a bright white. There is dust in the corners, and some of the tiles on the floor are chipped.
There are also more people down here than I thought there would be, and we pass guard after guard. I lose some of my fear when none of them even look at us. Sometimes we even pass other recruits wearing the same black spandex outfit as Wes, and I try not to stare at them. Even though they all look different, they have a similar quality in the deliberate, determined way they carry themselves. As if every action has been carefully thought out and planned.
They are too much like human robots, and so I stop watching them, instead concentrating on Wes’s back as we wind through the halls.
Despite how crowded it is, this place is lifeless. I have to think of a plan to get Wes away from here. That’s why I came with him, so we’ll have time to find a solution. But first we have to make it out of the Facility.
We arrive at a metal door with ASSIMILATION CENTER written on a plaque overhead. Wes pulls his own ID badge out from under his shirt and fits it into a slot near the handle. It opens immediately.
We walk into a small space with several rooms connected to it. Each door has a name above it: FINAL DEBRIEF, OUTFITTING, WEAPONRY, CULTURAL INTEGRATION.
I want to ask Wes what they all mean, but I stay silent. He leads us toward the one marked OUTFITTING, and uses his badge to open this door too.
Inside is a large room with white cupboards built into every wall. There are a few dressing tables toward the back, with wigs and makeup arranged in neat rows.
Wes walks toward the fourth door on the left. He gives me a look, then tips his head to the side. I follow his line of sight and approach the second closet.
It is filled with neat dresses, skirts, and sweaters. We are investigating an election, and that means we need to dress the part—young professionals. Uptown kids. I grab a blue dress with a wide lace collar. I start to take off my sweatshirt, then pause. Out of the corner of my eye, I glance over at Wes. He pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the open closet.
I feel my face start to heat up, but a noise near the door distracts me and I turn to see another recruit enter the room. She is about seventeen, with long dark hair and a small, compact body. Her eyes skim past me, then linger on Wes as she moves forward.
She seems different from the other recruits out in the hallway, and I watch her closely as she walks toward the other side of the room. There is a spark in her eyes, a sense of recognition as she studies Wes. And . . . something else. Something that makes me want to throw a blanket over Wes’s bare chest.
I turn my back to her and peek over at Wes again. He has on dark, pressed slacks, but hasn’t put a shirt on yet, and I see the muscles in his back flex as he bends over to pull on black dress shoes.
I don’t like that girl looking, but I understand why she would, even if it does seem oddly out of character for a recruit. Wes straightens and I quickly unzip my hoodie. I toss it aside, then reach for the hem of my own shirt.
Can Wes see me? Will I have to be naked in front of him and this recruit? There’s certainly nowhere to hide in here. How many times has this pretty dark-haired girl seen him without his clothes on? What will he think of my non-athletic body?
I grip the hem of my shirt with both hands. Wes still has his back to me, likely trying to give me some privacy.
As quickly as I can, I pull off my clothes and yank on the new ones. By the time I’m dressed, Wes is near one of the mirrors, slicking down his newly side-parted hair. The girl recruit is taking a shirt out of the closet with her back to us. She is standing in a sports bra, completely unself-conscious. I notice that Wes is studiously ignoring her.
My eyes meet his in the mirror and he cocks his head toward one of the dressing tables. I sit down and take in the little pots of makeup and accessories.
We’re aiming for uptown preppy kids. That means classy. I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is down, streaming over my shoulders, and my green eyes seem larger than normal. The skin underneath looks bruised and a little purple.
I grab some concealer and smooth it over my
