Chapter 18

I walked home. When I arrived, Maegan was already waiting for me. Drea had taken her home, and she lay on the floor, working on her homework.

"There you are, Mir," she greeted me from the living room. "Where've you been?"

"Academy," I said, grinning at her. "Where else?"

"Anywhere," she said. "Look at all this homework. We're not supposed to have this many pages in Second Level."

I bent down and looked at her homework, spread across the carpet. "You have three pages, Mae. It could be a lot worse than this."

"Thanks for the reminder." She rolled her eyes.

"Do you need any help?"

"If you happen to know how to slow down time so I don't have to spend so much of it on this homework . . ."

"Sorry," I said, smiling apologetically, and rose from the floor. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Maegan grumbled, not sounding particularly thankful.

I moved into the kitchen, where Drea stood organizing groceries and putting them away into their respective cabinets. "Drea," I said. "Need some help?"

"Miranda," she answered, offering me a tight smile. "No, I don't think so. But thank you."

"All right." I perched on the edge of the counter and looked out the window. "It's going to get cold soon, isn't it?"

"According to the System," Drea answered. She turned to me. "How is Fourth Academy? Are your classes going well?"

I shrugged. "They're going pretty well. I usually have a lot of work, but I've heard that's just one of the perks of getting into Fourth Level," I said with a half laugh.

"I've heard that, too," Drea said distantly, staring out the window.

Of course. Neither Ora nor Drea had attended Fourth-Level Academy. Drea had probably been classified as Omri in Third Level and trained for her position instead of continuing her classes. Even though I felt strained by the amount of homework I had in Fourth Level classes every day, I could see that Drea felt some sort of longing for it.

I thought of Thane's comment: What if you loved someone else? What if the System decided you weren't right for each other?

Would Drea have chosen a different path? Would she have chosen Fourth Level over Omri classification? Had the System decided she wasn't right for Fourth Level?

"Drea," I said. "If you . . . if you'd been able to choose, would you have chosen Fourth Level?"

Drea looked up at me, her eyes wide with confusion and fear. "Miranda, you can't just - " she began. "You don't get to talk about things like that. It's the System's decision. To choose is to defy them."

"Right," I said, looking down. "I know that. Sorry."

"It's okay," Drea murmured. She turned to the window again, smiling a little. "I think the System was right, though. I enjoy working here. All of you are so supportive, especially Ora."

"That's good." I swallowed. Did she mean that? How would I know? "Do you have a favorite part?"

Drea's smile broadened. This smile, I thought, had to be real. "I love seeing the four of you eat breakfast together in the morning. It's really sweet."

I forced a smile in response. "Thanks, Drea."

"Don't thank me. I should be thanking you," she said and turned back to her groceries.

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

I interpreted that to mean she wasn't allowed to ask me for help. "Okay. I'll see you later."

"Good luck with your schoolwork," she said as I disappeared into my room.

I tossed my bag on the floor, realizing too late that I shouldn't abuse it because it was brand-new. A week or so ago, they'd finally given us all of our new gear for the Fourth Level term, including new bags and uniforms. Though the change was refreshing, I sometimes forgot to treat my new gear differently than the old.

As I drew notebooks and textbooks from my backpack, I thought of Drea. She'd wanted Fourth Level. She longed to study Fourth Level and take a different career path. She wanted a family of her own. I'd seen it in the look on her face when she'd described the way my family ate breakfast together in the morning: she wanted more than just to watch the scene. She wanted to sit down, to discuss school and work over morning coffee and System reports. But because she'd been classified as Omri, she would never have that chance.

I realized that I'd clenched my fist around the piece of paper in my hand. It crumpled and folded around my fingers, and I released it, attempting to smooth it out on the desk. I didn't want to admit that these thoughts, these feelings, had come from Thane. Never before had I thought about choices and careers and Omri.

Then again, what was before? Before Thane? He'd revealed to me that even I hadn't retained half my memories from Third Level. And if we'd known each other before I'd talked to him just days ago . . .

Had that been his infraction? Putting forbidden thoughts into people's heads?

I stared at my homework, but I could only think of Thane and his reminder. Come to the Terminal, he'd said. I'll give you a week.

I skipped the step in which I wondered about how he would know when I would be there, when he would know to come. Because I had already decided.

I was going to the Terminal tomorrow.