The Woodlands

I felt a warm, heavy hand on my back, patting me softly, awkwardly. I let it sit there. I felt drained, no more fight left in me. I let it all out and, thankfully, he didn’t say a word.

Over the next couple of weeks, I skipped school. I went through the motions, which seemed to satisfy my mother. If she had any idea I was ditching, she certainly didn’t let on. I packed my bag, took my lunch off the kitchen table, and walked to the school. I sca

After registering my presence at the school, I always made my way to the gate of Ring Three, hiding behind bushes if I saw anyone I knew, which was few. Everyone worked or cared for children. Most preferred to work. It was unusual for people to be wandering the streets after nine AM. It was exhilarating not being at school, having some measure of freedom, and it was definitely fun knowing I was doing something I wasn’t supposed to.

Joseph was always there, sitting on the concrete pole, waiting, ready to help me through the gate. He didn’t ask about what had happened at our first meeting and I never volunteered to tell him.

The first few times he just helped me through, smiling and always holding my wrist a little too long. I always thanked him, bowed my head, and walked on through—trying not to blush at the extended contact.

After a few days, he a

We walked until we came to the next wall. Menacingly high and straight as an arrow, the giant concrete structure towered over us. It showed no signs of wear although I knew it had stood there for at least two hundred years. We followed the curve along for a while. I let my hand trail along the cool, hard surface, sanding my fingertips, until we got to the next gate through to Ring Five. I knew he wanted to follow me, I knew he wanted to ask me a hundred questions—so I stopped him.

“Thanks for the company.” I tried to smile, but my face felt awkward and hot.

He stifled a laugh at my pathetic attempt. “Anytime!” And he sauntered off in the other direction, his hand in a backwards wave like he was indifferent. It shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

His attitude infuriated and fascinated me. I couldn’t quite work out why I was even letting him be so close. Part of it was he was so different to what I was used to. In my life, in my home, everything was so serious. For whatever reason, Joseph was able to see the lighter side of things and, reluctantly, I gravitated towards him, just a little.

He kept meeting me at the gate to Ring Three and accompanying me. We started to talk.

“Yeah, I live in Ring Five,” he said chirpily, looking at me from under a curtain of hair.

“That’s fu

He bumped my shoulder, sending me flying into the wall.

“Ouch, was that really necessary?” I grimaced, rubbing my shoulder. I looked at the grey concrete—if only my impact would damage it. I would like to have seen a small crumble, some evidence that it was made by humans and didn’t grow out of the earth an unbreakable, natural force.

“Sorry,” he gri

I narrowed my eyes at him playfully. “Yeah well, watch it, you’re huge. Much bigger and stronger than me. I don’t think you know your own strength.” I watched him loping ahead of me. This was stupid; Joseph was eighteen and would be shipped off to the Classes pretty soon. Soon he would be gone and even if I went with him, we would be separated. Flirting or whatever this was would have a nasty end.

I shook my head and kept walking. I didn’t like thinking about the future. Mostly because I knew I didn’t have much of one, unlike Joseph, who went to the bigger, nicer high school in Four where everyone was being groomed for places in the Middles or Uppers of the Classes. My school had every kid from ages five-eighteen crammed into the one building. We were not groomed for places in Technology or Medical. We didn’t even have a computer in our school. We were going to be the janitors, the rubbish collectors. I sighed, as I knew there would be no place for me in the Uppers with Joseph. I would aim for Middles.

“What’s wrong?” Joseph was leaning against the wall, his knee up and his hands behind his head. Looking like the cowboy printed on one of the very, very old cans of corn that routinely showed up in our pantry. All he needed was a twig of wheat sticking out of his mouth.

I was standing still for a long time, my head cocked to the side as I likened this boy to the label on the creamed corn—he had the strong arms, the golden hair. I wonder if we could find him a hat? Joseph snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Rosa, hello? What are you thinking?”

My face flushed red and I waved him away. “Nothing. You’re just such a poser,” I snorted. I wasn’t about to tell him I was pondering on how beautiful he was.

Joseph shifted his weight self-consciously and waited for me to catch up. I realized I was being a bit rude. So of course I continued to be ruder still.

“Why are you so pale? I mean, you look like you haven’t seen the sun in years,” I said mockingly.

He held his arm in front of his face, studying his own skin.

“My parents are from Birchton and Radiata,” he said frowning, His strong brows pulled towards each other like he was focusing on a speck on the ground. Made sense, those towns were renowned for being full of beautiful, blonde people.

“Ooh,” I said mockingly. “Are they both blonde like you? If so, that’s quite the scandal.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and ran his hand through his hair. He seemed uncomfortable talking about them and he quickly turned the conversation on me. “Why are you so dark? You look like you’ve been dipped in chocolate,” he said mischievously, then added, “Although I wouldn’t mind that!” His lips curled as he kept some joke I didn’t understand to himself.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Ugh! “What’s chocolate?” I asked impatiently. I think he enjoyed irritating me.

He slapped his thigh and chuckled. “Oh my God, Rosa, you really are deprived.”

I scowled at him and crossed my arms across my chest. My mouth snapped shut like a trap and I kept it that way, letting him chatter endlessly about himself. Until he turned around, intent on rattling a response out of me.

“And I hate fish and I my favorite color is blue,” he said, gri

“You hate fish! Here I thought you loved everything; you’re always so damn happy all the time!” I snorted. He just looked at me with his soft green eyes. Being under his gaze felt like being in a spotlight, the rest of the world becoming dark and unfocused.

I avoided his eyes, looking at my hands and picking at a cracked fingernail. I wondered what I could tell him. I wanted it be something real. “Umm, I’m terrible at sewing. My mother’s always trying to teach me but I am god awful at it.”

“You’re bad at sewing? Ha! Well, that was unexpected.”