“Wrong!” I roared. I pulled at the sleeve of my blouse. It ripped and slid down, revealing the four crescent scars on my upper arm.

“I don’t understand, what are those supposed to mean?”

My eyes were bright and open too wide. “Don’t you see, Hosea? They mean we have to play by her rules. It’s the only way to get any power. And power is the only way to stay safe!”

He looked confused, but I couldn’t explain—there wasn’t time. I turned on my heel, picked up my skirt and, for the first time in ten years, I ran.

The Senator

THE SENATOR

TEN YEARS AGO...

After I survived the Pit and that first beating, I limped away from the cracked window and followed Headmistress Jones. She flexed her hand as she walked with satisfied strides, back down the wood-paneled hall. Holding my aching ribs, I kept my gaze on my feet. We went down a wide staircase and through an airy room. We walked another long hall and rounded a corner before starting down the same wide set of stairs. Realizing we’d walked in a circle, I raised my head. The airy room we passed through not five minutes before was below—a dining room. Every student in the Schoolhouse was present for supper.

Seeing them, I faltered, but Jones kept walking, intending to parade me through the gawking crowd—again.

Students turned to stare as we marched down the center aisle. Their pity poked at my mortified features. We passed several Teachers, including one with raspberry-red hair who frowned sympathetically.

Finally, we left the audience behind and marched on. My relief was short-lived. After a series of turns, I saw that we were, once again, heading to the wide staircase for a third showing.

Just then, a woman appeared at the top of the steps. Seeing Jones, she started our way. The seams of her purple and gold robes were stitched with emerald-green thread. Heavy animal claws hung at her neck and ears and a single bone studded with tiny lavender gemstones pierced her nose. As she neared, I saw she was not an unusually tall student, as I first suspected from her coloring. She was too old. I picked apart her features. Large eyes, but not like the Clayskin maids. Too dark to be English. So, by default, she was Kongo. Only, she was not a worker. She moved upright with uncompromising strides.

She stopped before us.

“Senator Osprey,” Jones said.

The dark-skinned woman nodded stiffly. “Teacher Jones.” Her tone was authoritative.

Jones smiled tightly, tugged at the shirt of her uniform.

“As you know, Senator, I was promoted this year. I’m now Headmistress of the Schoolhouse. Headmistress Jones.”

“Director Kumar informed us of the change.”

Hidden behind Jones’ bulk, I gulped. She was, clearly, displeased by the change.

“What brings you to House Cobane?” Jones said. Her words strained through clenched teeth.