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21

AMITY

I rememberwhat Vale told me about how to walk, how to act in the Forge, and I take a small centering breath, straightening to my full height.

It’s like my calm face. Not whatever face I make when I’m naturally calm, but the mask they taught us in school. The waiting face, where you wait until you have your reactions and emotions under control. This is like that, but frownier. I’ll have to come up with a name for this one. It could be my Tough Face. I smile a little and look around.

Unnervingly, men who are standing around the halls, in this complex that still feels so much like a high school, are staring straight back at me. Their eyes meet mine, and some of them have something dark in their gaze that sends a shiver through me.

I hurry to fix my face, wiping the smile away. Vale’s body moves closer and when his hand brushes against mine he grabs hold of it, giving my palm a quick squeeze.Now we’re walking down the hall with our hands joined and he leans down to mutter into my ear.

“It’s easier this way,” he says, I guess about holding hands. “They’ll know to leave you alone.”

Know to leave me alone because I have his protection? Because I belong to him the way the women up here seem to belong to the men who claim them? I argue defiantly in my head about it, but outwardly I keep walking silently.

I’m tempted to look down, glimpse the sight of our hands folded together, but I keep my eyes trained on a spot in the distance, detached.

His hand is large and warm. A few times as we go down the stairs and walk through long hallways he readjusts the grip, one time lacing our fingers, later slipping his palm around mine to squeeze again when we have to pass through a crowded space outside the cafeteria.

I wish we were walking somewhere else. Walking on the trail at Herring Run, or browsing the shops in Hampden back in Baltimore.

We stop, finally, outside a room, and he drops my hand. A small placard, hanging from one side and covered in graffiti, says Teachers’ Lounge.

I look over to Vale in question. He sighs and shakes his head slightly, knocking.

“Be as honest as you can,” he murmurs. “He can tell…”

A voice calls from inside and we push into a wide room with a dingy carpet and blank cinderblock walls. If this was a teachers’ lounge, it was a pretty wretched place.

There’s a long table set up. Farther down the room, at the end of the table, sits Vale’s father and two other men.Isaiah Adamson stands and comes to greet us. He’s like I remember, as tall as Vale, with the same dark brown skin like mahogany, with gray feathering his temples and cold brown eyes.

“I guess you two found each other,” he says, and I can’t tell who he is speaking to.

Vale nods. “Father, this is Ami.” Vale’s tone is tight, formal and something else. I wonder if he’s afraid of his father.

“Sit down,” his father says curtly. Vale and I pull chairs out and sit at the table and his father resumes his spot at the head.

There’s silence.I’m here, and this is what I’m doing, I coach myself as I’ve coached my little brother, Ethan, so many times.This is what is happening. I glance around the room, locating myself in place to relieve the anxiety of the situation.

I catch Vale’s dad studying me carefully, and I remember Vale said he was trained by MAV, that he knows all of the “tricks.”

I want to ask about Zeph but I wait. The silence stretches. Vale cracks first.

“What? What do you need?” He’s frustrated.

“Why don’t you tell me whatyouwant,” Vale’s dad says directly to me, “and we’ll see what we can do.”

“I want to talk to my friend Zeph, he’s a new recruit,” I say. The Peaceful Society wants me to do more than that. They want me to get involved with the organization, to learn more and report back to them.

I don’t know if it’s even possible, if women have anyrole to play up here, but I have to try. “I want to work for the Forge, join the rebellion. There must be a way I can help.”

Vale’s father tilts his head.

“What do you know about the work we do here?” he asks finally.

“I know that you are trying to restore the Rights that were revoked in the PS. The right to assembly and, um, creative freedom,” I list, thinking of Ren. “Movement and expression.” I think of Zeph’s father. “I know there are a lot of men who had to leave their families,” I say, “and want to find a way back.”

It’s the most positive spin I can put on it. I’m not going to claim I want to fight on behalf of hurting and killing people. Vale said to be as honest as I can, and I think I’ve threaded the needle.