“And so can you explain this?”

I looked up, but the desk was clear. No napkins, no bag of evidence. Nothing. I looked at Mellin, and there in her hand was a pen, the pen Mitch had left behind. The one I had stashed under the toilet tank.

The relief made me blink hard, pushed the air in and out of my body quicker. To an observer, I must have seemed on the verge of tears, and maybe I was. They hadn’t found the notes after all!

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” She allowed the pen to roll off her palm and hit the desk like a single die.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I…I found it in the hall. Someone must have dropped it.” God, there was so much room in my head right now, so much movement. I wasn’t trapped, not as bad as I’d thought I was. I could handle this.

“I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t sure anyone would believe me that it was just in the hallway, so I hid it in my room. I didn’t use it at all. I just kept it there until I could figure out what to do.”

She watched me speak, checking my eyes, which direction I looked, my breathing patterns–anything that would betray a lie. But I was so relieved that this version of the truth came easily. It was convincing, even to me.

“Mr. Dusome, you know the rules, do you not?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“This is contraband.”

“Yes, ma’am. It is. But I promise, I never wrote a single mark with it.” That much was the god’s honest truth. I softened my gaze, opening my eyes wide in a sign of innocence.

She opened a drawer and swiped the pen into it like it was something rancid she’d rather not touch. “Very well. The next time you come across anything like this, the appropriate response is to leave it where it is and to call one of the Watchmen to come and retrieve it.”

“That’s a great idea, ma’am. I wish I hadn’t panicked. I apologize.”

“That’s enough out of you.” She folded her hands in front of her. “You do realize that I am still going to have to offer corrective measures for this infraction, of course.”

I nodded. I didn’t have words for that. I was going into the Correction Room after all. At least I was only taking myself there and not any of the others. I could live through the screech, holding on to that to lessen the pain.

She buzzed in the Watchmen who had brought me to her office. They stood in the doorway, arms clasped behind their backs, awaiting instruction. I tried to pull myself together for what was to come.

“Return our student to his abode. He is to remain there under lock and key for exactly forty-eight hours—no food, and no privileged Program duties. He is to do nothing but think about his actions and meditate on the Program. After the room is cleaned, of course.”