Rite of Rejection (Acceptance Book 1) (5 page)

“We don’t belong here, Eric. We need to go.” I swing my other leg around and stand up. It feels like I could simply walk out the doors and ask for a ride back to Cardinal City.

“Oh, I agree that we don’t belong here.” His sagging shoulders tell me the same story. “I would gladly follow you wherever you’d like to go, but we won’t be leaving the PIT.”

His words evaporate the small bit of hope I latched on to. He’s right. There must be guards somewhere and they’d never let us out. “I don’t…I don’t understand. How did this happen?” I sit down and drop my head and arms onto the table. Dewy drops collect in the corner of my eyes and dampen my arms.

Eric’s shuffling feet move around the table and stop next to me. The bench creaks under his weight and his warm arm covers my shoulders as if he can hide me from the horror of our new reality.

“I know. None of it makes sense, but this is what it is. You can’t go back. Even if you could get out, you couldn’t go home.”

I sit up and wipe away my traitorous tears with a dry corner of Molly’s handkerchief. I look him in the eye and ask my silent question. Why can’t I go home?

“Your parents are well on their way home now. And when they get there, they’ll take down all the pictures of you and put them in a box or burn them in their neat and tidy fireplace. Your clothes will all be donated and your room will be turned into an office or sewing room. Your parents will remove any evidence that you lived there and when people ask them about their children you won’t be included in the conversation about spelling bees and piano recitals. You no longer exist out there.”

I’m bursting with the desire to slap him across the face if it will get him to shut up. I roll my shoulders to dislodge his heavy arm. Elizabeth and Daniel exchange a knowing look. They think they know me, but they don’t. None of them do.

“How do you know? My parents love me.” My voice cracks with the force of my words. “How can you say they’ll just forget about me, pretend like I was never their daughter? Who are you to tell me what will happen?”

I wish I had his strength. We were both free this morning, but I’m the one melting down. Eric closes his eyes and takes one deep, calming breath. He exhales, a mix of pain and resolution carved into his firm jaw and drooped eyes. “Because that’s what my parents did when Elizabeth was Rejected.”

Eric’s crystal-blue eyes hold my focus, but a quick glance at Elizabeth’s identical eyes confirms his story. I can’t breathe. Every sound in the room disappears and I can only hear the deep booming of my own heart. It beats out the remaining moments of my life, all of which will be spent here, in the PIT. My arms are freezing, but my hands are warm. Eric is still holding them. He’s still staring at me. His lips are moving and he might be saying my name, but the drumbeat inside my head drowns out his words.

A wave of sound pounds into my head and I sway a little on the seat with the force of it. “Rebecca?” Daniel’s voice isn’t much more than a whisper, but it pulls me out of the downward spiral I was falling into. His dark eyes have so much compassion. My own must be blank. There is nothing left to me. “I think that’s enough for tonight, guys. Let’s get out of here and give Rebecca some time to think.”

Eric squeezes my hands again before standing to follow the others. I should be grateful for a familiar face. I’m not. Eric is a living, breathing reminder of life outside of here, wherever here is.

Alone and tired, I need sleep and a good meal. My dinner bowl still sits mostly untouched on the table, but I don’t have the energy to force myself to eat it. There’s nothing left for me in the dining hall, so I leave, not sure where I’m supposed to go or if anyone even cares.

Outside, the sun dips behind row after row of squat, plain-faced buildings. The ugly structure to my left has two doors and smells like a bowl of milk left out in the sun on a hot day in July. I head in the opposite direction down a dusty aisle between the hedges of depressing buildings. The guards from earlier are long gone.

There’s still enough light to see where I’m going, but I don’t want to be caught outside when the sun is gone. There isn’t much activity where I am, but three shrill screams have pierced the dusk since I left the dining hall. I need to find a place to spend the night, and fast.

Only a few of the structures have doors, so I poke my head into the others looking for a place to sleep. They’re all identical inside, sparse square rooms with rows of rusted metal beds, some occupied, some not. Halfway down the street I find a room with only a few motionless forms inside.

I sink down onto a thin mattress and the bed creaks, the useless springs sagging beneath me. I cover up as much of myself as I can with a threadbare, scratchy blanket. Lying down, I will myself to get some rest, but my mind refuses to shut down for the night. If what they said at dinner is true, the Cardinal thinks I’m a dangerous person. It’s almost enough to make me laugh. How could a man with that much power be afraid of me?

If only I could get a message out. Convince him I’m not a threat. My parents could tell him. Cheryl knows I’m not a criminal. He would believe them. He would have to.

I roll about in vain to find a comfortable spot on my dingy pillow. Something scurries in the corner and I pull the blanket up under my chin.

My chest tightens. I’ll never have the chance to send the Cardinal a message. I only exist to the rats.

Five

Pale sunlight streaks through a cracked, mud-caked window. My first morning in the PIT. I sit up and stretch my muscles, but they protest against the cool morning air. Everyone else in the bunk is still asleep, looking much too peaceful, given our circumstances.

A low rumble in my stomach tempts me into the brisk air outside and back toward the long building where dinner was served last night. The sharp smell of something burning guides me in the right direction. Now that the sun is up, I get my first good look at my new home. The view does nothing to raise my spirits.

Row after row of single-story, concrete buildings are the only landmarks on the way to the dining hall. Some of them with small, dirty windows like the bunkhouse I slept in and others with only a small, rusted door or a hole where the door should be. The only peek of green is the occasional weed poking up amongst the mud and gravel that serve as roadways. Everything about the place is untended and rundown.

I push through the door of the dining hall and a dry mist sprays down from tubing above the door. It smells like rubbing alcohol, just like the disinfectant shower at the hospital back home. Last year, when my grandfather got sick my family went to visit him. Before we could go inside, we had to pass through an outer room that sprayed us down so we wouldn’t bring any germs into my grandfather’s room.

Rubbing at the filmy layer left on my arms, I grab another bowl and dunk my cup into the water barrel. No one covered it and small flecks of dirt and tiny insects float at the top of my water. I slump onto the bench and take a slurp of what looks like overcooked oatmeal. I push down a few mushy mouthfuls and set the bowl back down. I’m not hungry anymore.

Instead, I stare across the empty room and pretend I’m not here. I close my eyes, and I’m back in my kitchen at home. My father is at the table, reading the morning news on his Noteboard. Mother is at the stove and the smell of bacon and eggs fills the small room. The loud pop of hot grease in the frying pan pulls me out of my daydream. I look around, eyes wide with anticipation. My shoulders sag. There is definitely no bacon here. The noise was nothing more than a girl with a cough. She lets out another sharp cough and walks up to me.

“Is anyone sitting here?” the skinny, freckled girl asks.

“No,” I say, even though I don’t really want company. It’s the polite thing to do. “You can sit here.”

“Thanks,” the girl says, sliding onto the bench. “I’m Susan.”

“Hi, Susan. I’m Rebecca.” Susan’s shoulders are slim under her dress, like she doesn’t eat enough, but she doesn’t have the disheveled look shared by the other people in the room. “Are you new here, too?”

“Me?” Susan giggles behind a mouthful of congealed oatmeal. “No, I’ve been here a few years. I’ve just managed to figure out how to survive a little better than most.” She glances around the room, then dips her head closer to mine the way Cheryl does when she wants to tell me a secret. Or, the way she used to. “In here, it’s all about who you know.”

So far I know a skinny girl with a cough and a table full of people who think I’m some kind of Cardinal-hating rabble-rouser.

More people are making their way into the dining hall for an early-morning bowl of mush. Some of them slump onto benches and eat mechanically, their glazed eyes staring at nothing. Halfway down the hall, a small group are chatting over breakfast, laughing at an older man at another table who appears to have fallen asleep in his bowl. Others rush in, pushing to get to the front of the line. They wolf down their meal in seconds before flying back out again.

Across the room is a familiar face. I don’t remember his name, but the red hair and freckle-covered, pale face are unforgettable. The last I saw him, he was hauled up between two guards dragging him off stage. I felt bad for him as I stood there with my assumed acceptance.

He sits between two much older boys, evidence of a recent fight scratched across their faces and knuckles. I still feel sorry for him.

The room is full of people now, but all traces of last night’s guards are gone. There’s no one here to tell me where to go or what to do next. “So, what exactly are we supposed to do here?”

“Well,” Susan says, wiping bits of oatmeal from the corner of her mouth with a scrap of cloth she tucks back into the fitted bodice of her dress, “that depends.”

“On what?”

“On what kind of life you want to have. You don’t have to do anything,” she says, gesturing to a few people with their heads down and snoring loudly. “But that means you’re stuck with whatever the PIT throws at you. Lumpy bed, too bad. Burnt breakfast, eat it anyway.” Susan pushes her bowl away and a thin smile spreads on her face, her freckles stretching across her nose. “Now, if you’re interested in trading up, a soft bed, a real breakfast, you have options.”

Susan stands up, and despite her frail-looking frame she moves with a purpose and confidence that I’ve seen only once before when Ernestine Baker strode across the stage at the Acceptance ceremony. Her long legs dance in a small circle as she smooths the skirt of her dress. There wasn’t anything like what Susan is wearing on the table for me to pick from last night. Susan’s dress still has most of its original color and the hem is even and straight with hardly any wear. The bodice fits against her thin frame, snug along her waist and chest. It almost looks like something I might have worn back home, if not for the revealing neckline exposing more than is prudent in polite circles of society.

I don’t have any idea who Susan knows or what options she has, but it has to be better than sitting around here waiting for an inedible lunch. I stand up and try to mimic some of Susan’s confidence as I follow her back out into the dim morning light.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we pass the building I slept in and venture into unknown territory.

“You’ll need to meet my boss.” Susan says, not bothering to look back at me.

“Rebecca?” A deep voice spins me around, and I smash my nose into the faded shirt of Daniel. He’s just as handsome in the light of day as he was at dinner. “What are you doing?” he asks, casting a sneer over my head at Susan.

“Rebecca is coming with me. She decided she’s interested in the finer things the PIT has to offer.” Susan steps up next to me and links her arm inside my elbow. This close, she smells like sweat and lemons. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”

Daniel turns his attention back to me and the intensity of his stare makes me take a faltering step back. His eyebrows are raised, clearly waiting to hear what I have to say.

“I…I guess so.” I want to sound confident, like I know what I’m doing, but my voice comes out wispy and breathless.

“Rebecca,” Daniel says, his voice taking on a warm tone, waiting until I look him in the eye. “I need for you to trust me. This is not what you want.”

“Wow, you are tense, big man,” Susan slips her arm out of mine and steps forward until she’s less than an inch from Daniel, her head tipped back to look up at his face. “When I’m done here, maybe we can meet up and I can help you with that.”

She’s way too close, the bodice of her dress brushing against Daniel’s chest with every deep breath. The way her voice drops when she speaks to him makes me instantly uncomfortable. They both turn to me, waiting for my answer. If my mother was here, I would ask her what to do. She knows the appropriate response for every social situation imaginable.

For as long as I can remember, my mother stood next to me, whispering words of instruction in my ear.
Stand up when making an introduction. Always show appreciation for a compliment, but remember humility is a desirable trait in a wife. Always refuse an undesirable offer with politeness in case a better offer doesn’t come along.

My mother isn’t here now, and I’m on my own for how to handle myself. I meet Daniel’s eyes, searching for a sign. I want to trust him, but I don’t know him any better than I know Susan.

Daniel nods his head and stretches a long arm around Susan, holding his hand out to mine. I reach for my grandmother’s necklace, but my clammy fingers find only the scratchy material of the dress I slept in. Susan opens her mouth, but before she can get the first word out I put my hand in Daniel’s. I sigh with the relief of his warm fingers wrapping around mine. With the slightest of motions he tugs me around to stand beside him and eases an arm around my shoulders.

“You’re making a mistake, Rebecca,” Susan calls out as we walk back toward the dining hall. I turn to answer her, but she’s already walking away in the opposite direction.

We walk by several rows of dilapidated buildings before Daniel finally breaks the silence. “I realize you’re new here, but you need to learn to be a better judge of character, and fast. You may not be a hardened criminal, but this place is crawling with them and they can’t wait to eat an innocent thing like you alive.” His tone is warm, but his words rip at the wounds still fresh from everything that happened yesterday.

I bite my lip. With each step I chant the promise silently to myself. I will not cry. My shoulders tremble from the effort of holding my breath to fight the tears. My lungs are ready to burn through my chest. I suck in a huge breath and a lone sob escapes from inside.

Daniel sighs and pulls me to the side of the pathway between two plain concrete buildings. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in. It wasn’t easy for any of us, but you can’t let them see your weakness. The time for tears has come and gone. If you want to survive in here, you have to let those insecurities go.”

I nod and wipe away my last tear. Daniel’s right. I can’t afford to wallow in self-pity. It won’t change anything.

“So what are you going to do now?” Daniel’s face is so serious.

I don’t know if he’s asking what I’m going to do right now, or what my plan is for the rest of forever in the PIT. Either way, I have no idea. I always have a schedule. Every day I wake up and know exactly what’s planned. I have school and homework, piano lessons, and spending time with Cheryl. Now, there is no plan; just a long stretch of unmarked time between horrible meals and lousy sleep. I shake my head back and forth. I have no idea what I’m going to do.

Daniel looks around as if the answer to my future is written on one of the barren walls around us. “I might be able to help you.”

Now I’m the one standing too close, but I don’t care. The sleeve of his shirt is worn and soft under my hand. “Please.”

“I can’t make any promises.” He takes my hand off his sleeve, but doesn’t let go, which makes me feel a little better. “Come with me and try not to sound like a liability when we get there.”

Tugging me behind him, Daniel winds his way through so many side streets and alleys that I lose track of where we are in minutes. We move farther into the maze of buildings. I have no idea where we are, but I’m certain it’s nowhere near the dining hall or the building I slept in last night.

The longer we walk, the more spread out the buildings are, but they all look like they should be condemned. Few of these buildings have windows, though several of them get plenty of light through their missing roofs. I’m worried. I barely know Daniel. He could be a rapist or a murderer and I’ve just let him lead me to a deserted stretch of the PIT where no one can hear me scream and I’d never be able to find my way back out. If he was lying about helping me, I’m as good as dead.

He stops suddenly in front of a run-down building that looks identical to the others in the alley. Without a word, he pushes open the door, pulls me in and slams the door behind us. Inside is dimly lit by a tiny window that’s almost completely covered in dirt and grime. I can only see part of the room, but the soft rustle of cloth indicates we aren’t alone.

“Becca. I was wondering if we would see you today.” Eric walks out of the dim shadows, and his welcoming smile makes my empty stomach flip. “I see you found Daniel.”

“Just in time, too,” Daniel tells him, plopping onto a nearby bunk. “I stopped her from joining up with our favorite harlot.”

Is Daniel suggesting Susan is a…? I can’t even think the word.

My eyes adjust to the lack of light and I can make out more of the room. Elizabeth and Molly are here as well, sitting together on another bunk. The room is mostly empty, other than a few beds pressed up against the cracked walls.

Elizabeth jumps up and pulls Daniel over to a dark corner. She drops her voice, but the room is much too small for whispers to stay secret. “I’m glad you found yourself a little pet, but what is she doing here? Now is not the time to start picking up strangers.”

“E, Becca is hardly a stranger.” Eric envelops my hand in his and my skin tingles where we touch. “Somewhere in a trash bin at her parents’ house my name is signed in her dance card. We’re practically engaged.”

I appreciate him standing up for me, but the way he stands so close makes it hard to concentrate on the conversation. My brain is focused on each millimeter of skin touching his and the way my hand fits perfectly in his. And did he say engaged? My heart is pounding so loud, it’s practically drowning out the conversation. I barely know him. We can’t be engaged yet.

“Eric, you need to stay out of this. You’re my brother, but you don’t get a say, yet. And I say that five is too many.” Elizabeth’s voice has an authority I’ve never heard from a girl before. Part of me is scared to death of her, but the other part is in awe of her confidence.