Page 2 of The Last Love Story

My computer opens a chat with Alba, and I once again find the tiniest link, which spits me out into the search function. Most of my classmates have probably never tried this. The trick is to make it look like I’m researching hot dogs. With the Streamlining, everything was digitized. What baseball movie might feature hot dogs? What baseball book?

But when I type inbaseball book with hot dog scene, my screen flashes red and directs me back to the test.

I frown.

“Stop it,” Nef whispers, barely moving her lips.

But when have I ever stopped? I try again, but this time I don’t even get pastbookbefore my search is flagged.Surprise makes me gasp aloud.

“What’s happening over there?” our proctor barks, shoving herself to her feet.

I had thought I’d be able to get in at least a chapter before I was flagged as inactive. But this is something different. My heart hammers, but it’s not fear, as Ms. Astor cuts down our row, weathered skin prowling above my seated classmates, striking dark auburn hair catching the fluorescent lights.

“This test is designed to take five hours.” Her voice is raspy—a telltale sign of spending time exposed to the air without a mask.

Her red-rimmed, watery eyes fall on Nef.

“Adeyi?” she snaps.

Nef’s eyes widen like a cornered rabbit’s. She’ll take the blame for things even when she has nothing to do with it. I shove my chair back.

“It was me,” I announce, standing.

Ms. Astor doesn’t seem surprised at all as she looks me up and down, annoyance clear on her features. “Something wrong, Ms. Hart? This exam doesn’t require talking.”

Or thinking.

A male voice cuts through the room. “Ms. Hart’s allergies have been acting up. I’d be happy to take her to theinfirmary for an antihistamine.” I don’t even need to look to know it’s Hux. He’s hard to miss as he stands to his full height over his desk, his arms folding over his chest. His gaze bores into mine across the room, and for a moment I think I see a flicker of something like approval in it. Like I need Hux’s approval. He’s probably just impressed I managed to get flagged in two words.

“I don’t think I need your assistance, Mr. Finn,” I shoot back. Looking to Ms. Astor, I scramble to come up with an excuse. My eyes fall on the distorted hot dog on my screen. “I was laughing,” I blurt.

“Laughing?” Ms. Astor straightens, hands on her hips. “Who made you laugh? Conversing during a cleaning exam is prohibited.”

“I was laughing at a photo. The hot dog,” I say, raising my voice.

I look around. The room is full of faces, all these people I’ve known since I was ten. They don’t even seem to recognize me. A few of them haven’t even looked up from their screens.

“And that made you laugh? A hot dog?” Ms. Astor asks, her voice incredulous.

If I’m doing this, I’m doing it. Still, my voice feels small when I reply, “It’s a really big wiener. Ha?”

The silence is deafening. I shoot a look at Hux, who rubs a hand over his face and looks down. I think I see the start of a smile on his lips.

An awkward pall drapes over the room. I bet Ms. Astor is counting the days until my eighteenth birthday.

“Detention,” she growls finally. “Go.”

I fight a smile as I cut through the rows. As I pass Hux, I hold my hand out, low enough to be inconspicuous, and he drops the poker chip into my hand.

Somehow, that’s what makes me lose against the smile pushing across my cheeks. There’s no one in the hallway to see me grinning because I won this round.

The hinges squeak as I slip inside the detention hall. It’s massive. In the world before Streamlining, it was used as a gymnasium—I’ve seen archive footage and the rust stains on the wall where basketball hoops used to hang. Now, the floor is covered in sparring mats. If I squint, I can barely make out a table resting at the base of the bleachers. The chair sits empty, sagging from phantom weight.

I brush my hands over my arms against the onslaught of arctic air as automatic lights ping on slowly with each step I take.

A blue light flares to life as I step into the blue circle painted into the center of the wood, in direct view of the camera, and a voice sounds over the speakers: “Student 1904572, you have been sent to a labor rebooting module. Please approach mat number four and prepare to begin.”

I give a solemn nod as I back up toward the blue mat that has a4marked on it in peeling duct tape, knowing the camera is locked in on my movement.