The Limit (14 page)

“Guess not,” I mumbled, staring at my fingers. “My sister came here four days ago.”

Honey Lady nodded. “I am aware of that.”

“But you didn’t think that maybe I’d
like to know?” I rose up straighter. “I want to see her—have a good long talk with her without being chased down.”

“If you stay in your assigned area, none of our security personnel will ever pay you any notice.”

“Before today nobody told me I was locked on the top floor.”

One of her eyes closed halfway as she tilted her head to one side. “I thought I made it clear to you when you first arrived that you need to stay on your assigned floor. A lot of kids live in this workhouse, and I’m responsible for each and every one of you. Do you have any idea what a big job that is? The only way we can even begin to monitor you is if you are sorted out. Can you imagine the nightmare I’d have keeping track of everyone if you were all free to roam anywhere in the building? It’s a matter of safety, as well as security and order.” She gave my knee a slight squeeze, and her voice got peppier, even though a hint of a threat lay beneath it. “I have to follow fire codes, so the smoke alarm release must remain functional. I trust you understand how dangerous it can be for kids to leave their floors and that you won’t try tripping it again. Don’t force me to place extra monitoring on you.”

I crammed myself farther into the corner of the sofa, pushing her hand off my leg. “I want to see Lauren.”

Honey Lady didn’t say anything for a moment as she slid her lips back and forth against each other.

“Why don’t you write her a nice e-mail?”

“Why don’t you fix my account?” I’d never spoken so rudely to an adult before. My patience with the whole e-mail problem had run out. “Lauren said they’ve been e-mailing me, but I haven’t got one message from home yet.”

“You’re kidding! Matt, I’m so sorry. I hadn’t heard anything from you about it in the last couple of days, so I assumed the problem had been taken care of. I’ll get the tech team on it ASAP.”

“Hang on,” I said as I thought out loud. “Lauren is in the workhouse now, so I should be able to get her messages. But she’s been here for four days, and I still haven’t gotten any. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” said Honey Lady. “Are you sure she wrote to you during that time? Either way, I’ll be sure to mention it to the tech team.”

“I don’t want to e-mail her, anyway. She’s here. I want to talk to her face-to-face.”

Several long seconds passed before she finally said, “I suppose that can be arranged.”

“What’s there to arrange? All I need to do is walk down to the third floor. Or Lauren can come up here.”

Honey Lady shook her head and opened her mouth.

I spoke before she had the chance to shut me down. “I want to go now.”

“Of course you do.” She reached out to squeeze my thigh again, but her hand froze before it got there, her fingers contracted, and she pulled back. “Listen, Matt, I think it’s a great idea for you to have a visit with your sister. I just need to think how to best accomplish that. We can’t let the other Top Floors and Third Floors see you and Lauren wandering around on floors other than your own.” Rising to her feet, she gave my shoulder a quick pat. “Tell you what, I’ll figure something out and let you know soon. All right?”

“I want to see her tomorrow.”

“That might be pushing—”

“Tomorrow, or you’re going to have one heck of a time keeping me on this floor.”

One corner of her closed mouth lifted. “You think so? Interesting. I wouldn’t be too anxious to test that theory if I were you. Life on the top floor can be as pleasant . . . or as miserable as you choose to make it. I’ll get back to you about your sister.”

I clenched my teeth to keep my chin still as she walked out of my room.
No, Honey Lady, don’t
you
be too anxious to test
me.

All through the next day my mind wandered away from my computer screen and down to Lauren on the third floor. I comprehended zero of my history reading
assignment and even missed a calculus problem. Every hour on the hour I sent Honey Lady an e-mail reminding her to contact me. She never wrote back. As the last minutes of lunch break ticked away, I scribbled a message on a piece of paper in thick black marker that said,
Contact me, Ms. Smoot!
Standing on a chair, I held the paper high in the air and moved it slowly from side to side, so one of the security cameras would be sure to pick it up.

My work couldn’t suck me in. I kept glancing at the clock in the lower corner of my screen, grinding my teeth when the numbers didn’t change fast enough.

With one minute to go I checked my in-box again. Still nothing from Honey Lady.

“Ready, Matt?” Her voice made me jump and spin around. She stood at the opening of my cubicle.

“Where’s Lauren?” I asked.

“She’s meeting us in the lobby.”

“Let’s go!” I sprang out of my chair, sending it sliding to crash against my desk.

It was all I could do to keep from running. Even walking, I still beat Honey Lady to the elevator by a good ten seconds.

“Sharlene Smoot, first floor,” she said, strong and clear. It opened for her as easily as it had for the gorilla guard.

The elevator carried us down, not moving nearly fast enough. I bounced on my feet, thinking I should have started another fire and taken the stairs. Finally, the elevator came to a stop with a little bump. The instant the doors slid open, I burst through them and sprinted into the lobby. Other than Crab Woman hunched over her computer at her desk, not a single person occupied the space. I walked around the chairs and sofas, as if Lauren might be crouched behind one of them.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Just wait,” said Honey Lady with that sweet smile of hers. She settled into one of the chairs, crossing her long legs. They distracted me for a second.

“Matt!”

The next thing I knew, Lauren threw herself against me, practically knocking me over. Her arms wrapped around my neck and squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe. For a moment I made do without air.

I nudged her softly to loosen her arms. “You . . . you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Of course not. I don’t know why I said that stuff last night. We were just worried about you, since you never write back to us.”

“I wrote you guys a lot, but something’s wrong with my account. I’ve never received a single e-mail from home.”

“Lauren and Matt, come sit down. You’ll be more comfortable.” Honey Lady stood up, grabbed on to Lauren, and guided her to a seat on the sofa closest to the chair she’d chosen for herself. “Matt, why don’t you tell Lauren about the projects you’ve been working on since you arrived.”

“She hates when I talk math,” I said, sitting down close to my sister.

“You got that right,” she said, snuggling up to me. “My work is weird. I mean, I don’t even know how to do it. Still, I have to sit in my little chair and stare at the computer screen for four hours every day. It’s really stupid.”

“You’re still in the training period,” said Honey Lady. Leaning around Lauren, she told me very forcefully, “I assure you, your little sister is
not
just sitting in a chair and staring at her computer screen.”

Lauren shrugged. “That’s what it seems like.”

At that moment I couldn’t have cared less about Lauren’s boring work assignment. “Tell me what’s going on at home. How is it possible that you ended up here? Can you think of anything Mom and Dad have been doing different with their money?”

“I don’t know,” said Lauren. “I mean, I didn’t notice anything—well, besides the new car. Dad didn’t want to buy it, but he had to after his wreck. He only got a few bruises, but his car was totaled.”

“When did all this happen?” I asked.

“The wreck was Friday. He bought the new car on Saturday.”

“Terrible things like that happen to good people sometimes,” said Honey Lady. “Don’t be angry or blame your parents. They couldn’t help what happened.”

Blame my parents? I hadn’t thought about blaming anyone, but I guess it
was
their fault, wasn’t it? It made me think—just how much had Dad spent on this new car of his? Had he looked into our account first and figured how much was available before it sent the family into a second financial crisis?

Lauren sat with her eyes closed, one finger rubbing a straight line up and down the middle of her forehead. I pulled her hand down and held on to it. “Was it . . . bad when they came to get you?”
As bad as when they took me?
I meant. Had she been too terrified to think straight? Did Abbie cry and scream as they dragged Lauren away?

“I wouldn’t say
bad,
” she said. “It was more of a surprise. We weren’t out shopping like last time. I would’ve been much more scared if you hadn’t been taken first and I didn’t know you’d be here. We still cried, but not as much as before, because we’re getting used to it.”

You can get used to anything, I guess. Roofing nails shoved under your toenails. Drops of acid plopping onto
your skin. Watching your family ripped apart before your eyes.

“So, tell me what you’ve been doing since you got here,” I said.

“I’ve made two best friends so far. Chloe, on the third floor, and Taylor. I’m not sure where she went.”

“How do you know her if she isn’t on your floor?” I asked.

“She came in at the same time I did. We rode in the limousine together. I went over to her room and we had dinner and talked until that lady”—Lauren pointed to Crab Woman at the reception desk—“came in and told us to go to our own rooms and go to sleep. Then in the morning, right when I was barely starting the test, I heard Taylor crying way loud. I peeked out of my door and saw . . .” Lauren’s eyes shifted to Honey Lady and then back to me. “I saw her being walked away from her testing room. Miss Smoot, where did Taylor go?”

“Taylor is a First Floor and has been assigned to a work project appropriate for her skill set,” said Honey Lady. “Some children don’t have even the basic computer skills needed to be productive in the workhouse. We can’t accommodate children with limited intellectual abilities.” A nice way of saying they don’t want any stupid kids here. “After they’re tested, First Floors remain in this facility only for the short time they spend waiting
to be transported to their permanent assignment in a labor-oriented workhouse. A van comes by once a week to pick up any First Floors we’ve accumulated.”

My stomach sank. Those child slave-labor workhouses I dreaded when I first came here really might exist.

I was almost afraid to ask. “What kind of work do they do?”

“Oh, those workhouses are wonderful!” The cheerleader was back in full force. “Sometimes it’s the best thing that can happen for these kids. They acquire real skills as they work on projects such as carpentry, baking, or agriculture—skills that can transfer into jobs in these trades as the kids transition into adulthood. When they go to the labor workhouses, it’s almost like they’re getting an apprenticeship.”

Yeah, I remember reading about apprenticeships in history books too. Some of the apprentices were treated worse than the poor kids in the old workhouses.

“I still don’t understand why you’re here, Lauren. I mean, we were already over the limit. That’s what made them take me.”

She just shrugged and shook her head. Her middle finger went back to rubbing.

“Hon . . . Miss Smoot, do you know?”

“I’d have to look up that information.”
She shook out her hair and lifted her chin. “Why don’t you two discuss your school schedules? Talk about which subjects you each enjoy.”

I turned slowly to face her.
Thanks for your opinion, but why do you care what we talk about?
Why was she sitting so close to us anyway?

“Can Lauren and I take a walk outside?” I asked, standing up.

Honey Lady smiled, and her voice was all happy and sweet, even though her words weren’t. “No. I’m sorry. You’d have to complete the required paperwork first.”

Was she kidding? “We just want a little fresh air. Aren’t grown-ups supposed to encourage kids to do that?”

“Matt, I thought you understood by now. A limited amount of adult supervisors are responsible for a large number of children in this facility. Many layers of precautionary measures exist to ensure the safety of every last resident here.”

“Fine.” I slumped back down on the sofa, folding my arms across my chest. Lauren sat slumped even more than I was, with her head flopped back on the sofa. Her eyes were squeezed tight as if she were tired or . . . oh, no—in pain. Another headache. She hadn’t been here very long. She shouldn’t be getting them already.

“You could discuss your favorite ways to spend your free hours,” said Honey Lady.

“We talk. A lot,” said Lauren, without moving or opening her eyes. “Live and in person. We can’t text. No bars.”

I watched her closely, trying to assess how bad she was feeling. “That must drive you insane.”

“Yes! And my friends back home aren’t very good with anything other than their stupid phones.” Her head popped up and her eyes were on fire. “I e-mailed Shayla today and told her if she doesn’t write me back right
now
, I’m never going to talk to her again, and we will
not
buy matching earrings to wear on the field trip to the state capital—if I’m home in time.” The eyes closed and the head flopped back again.

“Hang on, are you having trouble receiving e-mails from the outside too?”

Honey Lady jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, but I could only get you two a few minutes of visitation today. It has now expired, and I’m going to have to escort you back to your floors.”

Lauren moaned softly.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Right now,” said Honey Lady.

“Wait. Something’s the matter with her.”

“I’m all right,” said Lauren, wincing as she pushed herself off the sofa.

“She’s just tired.” Honey Lady nudged us forward.
“It takes a while to get used to a new schedule and routine. Plus, I bet I’m correct in assuming that you’ve been doing a lot of talking with your friends after lights-out, haven’t you?”

With a sheepish shrug, Lauren nodded.