CHAPTER ONE:
The air in the room completely smells of bleach and wet paint. It's enough to make me gag, but as much as I want to call up to my teacher who sits at the front of the room, clearly submerged inside the book she's so-called reading I don't. I remain quiet and watch as student after student hands in their daily test with sunken expressions on their faces; it's as if they have no emotion at all.
"Why aren't you handing in your test?"
I blink, coming back to reality and staring at the orange eyes of Kenya Baker. Those aren't her real eyes; her eyes are actually a pale and light green, though she's decided orange is her best color and wanted contacts to match her crazed orange-fested outfit she's wearing today.
It takes me a moment to respond to her question. "I'm sorry, what?"
Kenya lets out a small huff of annoyance and rolls her eyes. "God, Soda. You deaf or something? I asked why you weren't handing in your test."
"I'm not done yet, Kenya." I say. My voice is so rough from not talking all of class the words are hard to comprehend.
She blows a chunk of golden brown hair out of her eyes then narrows them upon me. "You know if you don't turn it in within a minute, they're gonna come and get you."
I focus my attention behind her, where the clock hangs on the wall; it's 8:08 AM in Tulsa, and classes here in the East Side start at 8:10. I need to turn my test in to my teacher, Miss Halbirch, before she starts screaming for the one student who did not turn in their test to please come and turn it in for class to officially start, even if you're not done. That one student is almost always me, Sodapop Curtis.
Almost.
There's suddenly a tap on my cheek and a gush of wind that smells of cigarettes and peppermint blows on my face. A tap on my temple soon follows the pair. "You in there, Soda? I've never seen you so wacked out. You're acting as if the-"
I lean forward in my seat and cover Kenya's mouth with my hand. She isn't allowed to say the Socs in this place or anywhere in the East Side. It's prohibited, and anyone who does has to go through this program they call The Project. There, a team of special doctors are allowed to do whatever they have too to make sure that you don't remember anything about your past.
And that includes the people in it.
"Don't say their names," I hiss. "You know what the travelers can do to you."
The travelers are the Socs little spies, so to speak. They go from school to school around all of Oklahoma, trying to find kids that are Tainted, or have the signs of depression. If you show signs or it's clear you are Tainted they take you to the West Side, where their kind live. There they have control of you, and you're stuck there for eternity; or unless you can find a way out alive.
So far, no one has.
Just as Kenya opens her mouth to reply the door to our classroom opens, and two travelers step inside. Our teacher continues on with her lesson even though no eyes are on her anymore; instead the entire class is staring at the travelers, mouths open in silent gapes of shock and plea. They can only hope that they aren't next to be taken to the West Side to be erased of their past and forced into the present with no recognition of who the hell they are.
The travelers are silent as they walk around the room, studying each of our gazes; probably trying to see if we're Tainted or not. I shift my gaze from them and onto my desk, where I pick at a hard piece of gum that hangs off of the side with my pencil.
I suddenly hear a shriek from in front of me, and raise my head to find the traveler's wrestling with Kenya. She's kicking, screaming, thrashing and pleading with them not to take her, her orange eyes wild with fury. The traveler's do nothing and make their way towards the door just as Kenya manages to scramble her way out of the one that's holding her grasp. Before she can even take a step towards freedom the second traveler bowls her over, knocking her against the wall as he shoves a needle dripping with clear liquid deep into her wrist. "Soda! Help me!" She cries out loud as tears of anger flow down her face and curses out of her mouth. The two men -along with the class- turn to look at where I sit in the back of the room.
I do nothing but jot down the notes the teacher wrote on the board as the traveler's drag Kenya's body out of the room, staring straight ahead as if I had never seen her before in my life.
