Make sure your head is all right. How did he know—?

“Your name,” he said, the words taking on a sudden edge.

“Ruby,” I answered, and had to spell my last name for him.

He began typing on the laptop, distracted for a moment. My eyes drifted back over to the machine, wondering how painful it would be for me to have the inside of my head inspected. Wondering if he could somehow see what I had done.

“Damn, they’re getting lazy,” the white coat groused, more to himself than to me. “Didn’t they pre-classify you?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“When they picked you up, did they ask you questions?” he asked, standing. The room wasn’t large by any means. He was by my side in two steps, and I was in a full panic in two heartbeats. “Did your parents report your symptoms to the soldiers?”

“Symptoms?” I squeezed out. “I don’t have any symptoms—I don’t have the—”

He shook his head, looking more annoyed than anything else. “Calm down; you’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you.” The white coat kept talking, his voice flat, something flickering in his eyes. The lines sounded practiced.

“There are many different kinds of symptoms,” he explained, leaning down to look at me eye to eye. All I could see were his crooked front teeth and the dark circles rimming his eyes. His breath smelled like coffee and spearmint. “Many different kinds of…children. I’m going to take a picture of your brain, and it’ll help us put you with the others who are like you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t have any symptoms! Grams is coming, she is, I swear—she’ll tell you, please!”

“Tell me, sweetheart, are you very good at math and puzzles? Greens are incredibly smart and have astonishing memories.”

My mind jumped back to the kids outside, to the colored X’s on the back of their shirts. Green, I thought. What had the other colors been? Red, Blue, Yellow, and—

And Orange. Like the boy with the bloody mouth.

“All right,” he said, taking a deep breath, “just lie back on that cot and we’ll get started. Now, please.”

I didn’t move. Thoughts were rushing too quickly to my head. It was a struggle to even look at him.

“Now,” he repeated, moving toward the machine. “Don’t make me call in one of the soldiers. They won’t be nearly as nice, believe me.” A screen on the side panel came alive with a single touch, and then the machine itself lit up. At the center of a gray circle was a bright white light, blinking as it set itself up for another test. It was breathing out hot air in sputters and whines that seemed to prick every pore on my body.

All I could think was, He’ll know. He’ll know what I did to them.

My back was flat against the door again, my hand blindly searching for the handle. Every single lecture my dad had ever given me about strangers seemed to be coming true. This was not a safe place. This man was not nice.