Page 14 of Strange Love

“Okay, good,” Melissa replies. “Because they will start looking for a husband as soon as you do. It will be your turn.”

The next weeks passed in a blur of confusion. I wasn’t stupid, even though I didn’t completely comprehend what was happening. It was clear that the older girls were being “married” off to powerful men from beyond The Station’s walls. And then they would bring in new girls to replace them. It made sense why they wanted my sister; she was young enough not to question or remember where she came from. The younger children were more accessible to indoctrinate.

I started jotting down notes whenever possible, keeping track of Auron and the other men who left the compound. Auron rarely sleeps here despite having a big quiet room in the main building. I suspect he chooses the comfort of the outside world, just as any sane person would do.

There had to be a weakness in their security somewhere. Sure, the men patrolled the perimeter with guns, and there were adult members of The Station all around, but someone had to slip up eventually. And when they did, I’d make my escape and never look back. Now that I’m beginning to understand what kinds of things happen here, I’d rather die than live like this.

Chapter 8

“Every Little Step”

Ivy - Age 18, 1988

This day has been a rollercoaster of emotions. As I walked up to the school this morning, my heart raced with fear and nerves. Eyes gravitated in my direction, judging me without knowing anything about me. But then, as Sascha greeted me with a warm smile and joined me at lunch, I felt a flicker of excitement.

Maybe things would be different than I imagined.

That hope was quickly dashed when her words cut through my thoughts like a knife. People would be interested in getting to know me. My past would always follow me; no matter how hard I tried, I would never fit in. Everything about me was just too different from what anyone else had ever known. The possibility of being rejected and isolated again caused my previously optimistic mindset to plummet like a plane crashing down from the sky.

By the time I wander into fifth-period English class, I’m desperate for this day to end, and then I spot him, Mr. Hockey God himself, surrounded by a group of adoring fans. They all sit in the back of the classroom, and everyone in the vicinity is focused on him.

He sits in the group’s center, leaning back in his desk with his tan arms folded across his chest and his long legs stretching into the aisle. He doesn’t bother to move them when people walk by. Everyone steps over them, careful not to cause him any minor inconvenience.

I’m awed at how he exudes effortless attractiveness, his mere presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. Maybe it’s that he’s tall, a hockey player, or just plain beautiful to look at, but everyone, including me, is drawn to him.

I can’t stop myself from stealing glances at him as I slide into my desk on the side of the front row. The behavior is unlike me, yet I don’t dare take my eyes off him. It’s as if I can’t stop myself.

As the others laugh and chat around him, he turns towards me, and our eyes meet briefly but intensely. He leans forward in his desk, almost like he’s studying me back with the same intensity. A current passes between us, or maybe I imagine it. My heart skips a beat as my cheeks heat and flush. I swivel my body to face the front of the room to break the invisible chord pulling me toward him. I look around the room, anywhere but at him. It’s littered with inspirational posters and one large poster reminding us to “JUST SAY NO.”

Moments later, our English teacher strides in and takes his place at the front of the class. Mr. Payton introduces himself and begins taking roll, his pen tapping on his clipboard impatiently. As soon as my name is called, I hear snickers and whispering from some girls in the back of the room. I take a deep breath as my cheeks sting with embarrassment. It’s bad enough that I don’t know how to fit in here, but to have strangers laugh at me hurts more than I care to admit. It’s exactly what I was afraid would happen.

“Ivy Owens,” Mr. Payton repeats, and I struggle to find my voice.

Finally, just as he’s about to call my name for a third time, I say, “Here.” He gives me an exasperated look and continues with roll call. I try not to turn around, but knowing Corey Delacour is sitting in the back of the classroom is too tempting, and I can’t help but look over my shoulder casually to catch a glimpse of him. When I do, his piercing brown eyes are trained on me, regarding me with similar curiosity.

A boy with spiky blonde hair leans close to Corey, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he whispers something. Corey erupts in laughter and nudges him with his elbow. The teacher’s voice breaks through their conversation.

“Mr. Tazman and Mr. Delacour,” he states, “is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Both boys shake their heads but don’t appear embarrassed to have been called out. “Good. Let’s continue then, shall we?”

Mr. Payton has been going over this syllabus for approximately a decade with no end in sight. The classroom is stuffy with the weight of heavy perfumes and sweat from the people who’ve been to gym class, and the clock ticks slower with each passing minute. I’m not accustomed to classroom-type lectures, and I find my mind wandering again to the boy in the back of the room. I’m starting to fidget in my seat when Mr. Payton gets through his first-day spiel and begins explaining our first project— a group project. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse. My heart sinks as I think about working with a group of strangers. I would much rather complete the entire thing on my own.

We’re given a mandatory reading list, and I take a sigh of relief when I see I’ve read most of the books on the list already. We are supposed to pick one and write our names down on a sheet of paper that’s being passed around. There are seven spots next to each book. The choices are Catcher in the Rye, Animal Farm, The Metamorphosis, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and Catch 22. Of the five, I’ve read all but The Metamorphosis, and the whole “turning into a giant insect thing” really gives me the creeps, so that’s not even an option. I bite my pen mindlessly, pondering which book I should choose. Holden Caulfield and I are kindred spirits, both wandering around disillusioned in a world where nothing is quite real, so when the paper gets passed to me, I write my name next to Catcher in the Rye and pass the paper on.

Mr. Payton scans the list of names once the paper is returned to him, and tells us we will work in groups based on the book we chose. He writes the names of each book on the chalkboard and below each book lists the students who will be working on a composition paper together.

I hold my breath as his chalk clicks against the board with every word he writes. When he starts the Catcher in the Rye list, I lean forward in anticipation. He writes the name Owens, two names my eyes scan directly over, and then the name Delacour. The signup sheet went to Corey after me, so there’s a small, illogical part of my brain that wants to think he chose this group based on the fact that I did it first and not because Holden Caulfield says “fuck” so many times.

Chapter 9

“P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)”

Corey - Age 18, 1988

Iscan the book titles list and am drawn to Catcher in the Rye. My decision is solidified when I see Ivy’s name scribbled a few spots above mine, and I am excited to work with her. That eagerness is short-lived when I pass the paper on, and Taz and two annoying, giggling girls sitting next to us also sign up for the book.

I glance over at Taz and try to hide my disappointment. While I usually wouldn’t mind working with him, I hoped for some space to talk to Ivy on this. The way she carries herself makes it evident that she’s shy and guarded. Between Taz’s loud personality and the girls’ tendency to be unfriendly to anyone outside their immediate circle, there’s no way I can use this group as a chance to get to know her.

“You will be expected to read the book of your choice on your own time, and you will work on your paper during group time in and outside of class if necessary. I suggest you gather your fellow student’s phone numbers in case you need to organize work times apart from school,” Mr. Payton instructs.